[ The note that Corvo sends maybe... explains some of the strange things he has been dreaming about. The strangeness of it all is relative, when he had been trapped in the virtual reality of Twilight Town, he'd had a number of strange dreams; the memories of his Other being stitched back together by a witch, filtering through him.
In a way, the dreams are similar. He remembers that strange place beyond sleep, that was where he had waited inside of Sora before the CDC had brought him here. It is... disturbing to return there for reasons all its own. It was a place one drowned to reach and the Station of Awakening echoed with a sense of precariousness, of being on the precipice of something grand. Something which required preparation, something which could end in failure: a disappearance from this world, into nothingness.
But the dream has become disturbing in other ways as well. The dark things that have always lingered there are more aggressive, the shadows and suggestions coming up from the darkness are mournful and alien. The usually beautiful stained glass pathway between the Stations are broken, grimy. And, always, they have been leading him towards nothing more than Xion's crumpled coat, empty and lit from above as if mocking him. The voice that once would have advised him now only has one thing to say: You cannot save her－
He's woken with tears in his eyes each time, shivering--whether with anger or fear, unclear.
He had thought maybe it was just grief. He thinks, still, that maybe it is just grief but the changes in a once quite familiar environment raise questions. So, he goes to ask the assassin. ]
[ He keeps to himself, for the most part. It might be preferred, it might be because he cannot think about being another way. Means simple he's not doing much on Aquada. A cup of coffee in one hand on a bench, just watching people go by. Sips it slowly, and the mark on his hand shimmers just so in the light, before it goes back to being flat, dark, empty thing. The curving harsh lines that he think one day might eat him whole, but he accepted that far too long ago.
He's not quite sure what to make of the company, when it comes. Looks up with the cup to his mouth and swallows down on it before he nods. Elbow hooked behind him on the bench as he sits, one leg over the other, cross at the angles. ]
[ Roxas hesitates at a distance from the man, aware of the miasma surrounding him in a strange visceral way. That was the power of a pretty, pure little heart and even though it is weighted with suffering, it is still that. He suspects a little more strongly that this is the same odd scent that had found him in the depths of his sleep. If it has already touched him... why hesitate. He comes a little closer.
He doesn't quite look at the man, his attention inward on the muttering of his thoughts. At first he's not sure what he wanted to ask in the first place, but then it tumbles out of his mouth, ]
Do you have the dreams too?
[ A question lacking in context, but he suspects he'll be understood. ]
[ the nature of his own paranoia means that to be approached openly means he waits on an edge to see what he's being sought out for by a veritable strange. Seems unlikely to be anything pleasant, or maybe -- paranoia is a strange affliction.
The question, however, takes him a back -- he'd sent out the message, of course. But he thought maybe it would be enough time to warm them before it perhaps infected any of them.
Wishful thinking hoped it wouldn't touch any of their minds.
But he knows better than to trust a hope, the same way he knows without explanation what dreams he is talking of. ]
I do. [ he presses his lips together. The coffee set against his propped up leg and he motions to the space beside him. ] Tell me.
[ The boy comes and sits down. His movements are listless and his head droops, sorrow was exhausting. But then, maybe the other man knew a little something about that. ]
Some of it is familiar. [ In a way, he doesn't want Corvo to feel like it's all his fault. The dreams were there before. ] I'm someone else... and when he falls into the water he sinks through the darkness and then I'm really me again, drowning. But then my feet touch something solid and the water is gone and there's doves everywhere.
It's usually... pretty. Stained glass illuminated in the darkness. It hasn't been lately, it's been dark and broken and there's too many Heartless. [ He digs the toe of his boot into the ground, frowning. ] When I fight them all and make my way to the last station, there's one more dark thing huddled in the center.
[ The first time he'd dreamt it, he'd bore down upon it as if it were another enemy only to pull back at the last moment with the realization of whose tiny coat it was. He ducks his head between his shoulders now, staring determinedly at nothing. ]
It's Xion's coat and he tells me I can't save her.
[ Sora's voice, like it always was, because it was patterned out of Sora's dream, Sora's destiny. Something Roxas was never supposed to lay claim to and every attempt to make his own way has ended in tragedy. ]
[ He lets him tell it all, without interruptions, and doesn't mind the jumbled nature of the telling. Where the void was concerned, things were never quite clear to say later. Snatched images was how he remembered it most often.
Even then, doesn't sound like anything he knows, but it wouldn't matter would it. The void fed off what was there. But it's... that jarring sought of beauty. Illuminated glass in dark rooms. Does his best to imagine it.
But it turns quick to all shattered glass at the last instance. He knows that note. ]
I am sorry. That's for me, not for you. Please do not take that note to heart.
[ In his heart, somewhere, there's a skipped beat and a sigh, and thinks quiet as if hushing a loved one, I'm sorry. ] Has there been anything else?
It's true though. [ His voice is hollow, void of any emotion other than acceptance. ] I can't save her.
[ His hands uncurl, staring into his palms. He'd held her in his arms and watch her dissolve into nothingness. Was that better or worse than not knowing what had happened to her at all? He doesn't know what happened on Macha, doesn't know where, or when, or what. All he has is the whispering amongst the recruits that Honey had killed her. It sticks in his head, malicious and irritating. She did it...
The growing strength of that conviction may be something to mention, but he doesn't realize that. ]
I don't think there's anything else... I'm just tired.
[ For that he can say nothing. He can no more absolve someone else of the thing that he can't give himself. Can't make it better, can't make it go away. It'd be too hypocritical than he can accept for himself.
So he focuses on something he can, the little bit of advice he can give. The only thing that worked when his bones were shaking with cold. ]
Do you have something you like to do? Something that makes you happy? Or you can focus on?
[ Everyone has asked him that question. Everyone has suggested he try to get his mind off of it, try to keep himself busy. What was he supposed to do when every moment was just another stinging reminder that Xion wasn't there anymore. That she'd been taken away from him. Existing without her had a bitter taste. Continuing on with the CDC had a bitter taste. She hadn't been happy during Macha, she had opposed the company's way of doing things. Was it worth it to stay on this path, save her through a method she wouldn't have approved of? It was all wrong. It was all tainted.
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D139
In a way, the dreams are similar. He remembers that strange place beyond sleep, that was where he had waited inside of Sora before the CDC had brought him here. It is... disturbing to return there for reasons all its own. It was a place one drowned to reach and the Station of Awakening echoed with a sense of precariousness, of being on the precipice of something grand. Something which required preparation, something which could end in failure: a disappearance from this world, into nothingness.
But the dream has become disturbing in other ways as well. The dark things that have always lingered there are more aggressive, the shadows and suggestions coming up from the darkness are mournful and alien. The usually beautiful stained glass pathway between the Stations are broken, grimy. And, always, they have been leading him towards nothing more than Xion's crumpled coat, empty and lit from above as if mocking him. The voice that once would have advised him now only has one thing to say: You cannot save her－
He's woken with tears in his eyes each time, shivering--whether with anger or fear, unclear.
He had thought maybe it was just grief. He thinks, still, that maybe it is just grief but the changes in a once quite familiar environment raise questions. So, he goes to ask the assassin. ]
Are you... Corvo?
no subject
He's not quite sure what to make of the company, when it comes. Looks up with the cup to his mouth and swallows down on it before he nods. Elbow hooked behind him on the bench as he sits, one leg over the other, cross at the angles. ]
I am.
no subject
He doesn't quite look at the man, his attention inward on the muttering of his thoughts. At first he's not sure what he wanted to ask in the first place, but then it tumbles out of his mouth, ]
Do you have the dreams too?
[ A question lacking in context, but he suspects he'll be understood. ]
no subject
The question, however, takes him a back -- he'd sent out the message, of course. But he thought maybe it would be enough time to warm them before it perhaps infected any of them.
Wishful thinking hoped it wouldn't touch any of their minds.
But he knows better than to trust a hope, the same way he knows without explanation what dreams he is talking of. ]
I do. [ he presses his lips together. The coffee set against his propped up leg and he motions to the space beside him. ] Tell me.
no subject
Some of it is familiar. [ In a way, he doesn't want Corvo to feel like it's all his fault. The dreams were there before. ] I'm someone else... and when he falls into the water he sinks through the darkness and then I'm really me again, drowning. But then my feet touch something solid and the water is gone and there's doves everywhere.
It's usually... pretty. Stained glass illuminated in the darkness. It hasn't been lately, it's been dark and broken and there's too many Heartless. [ He digs the toe of his boot into the ground, frowning. ] When I fight them all and make my way to the last station, there's one more dark thing huddled in the center.
[ The first time he'd dreamt it, he'd bore down upon it as if it were another enemy only to pull back at the last moment with the realization of whose tiny coat it was. He ducks his head between his shoulders now, staring determinedly at nothing. ]
It's Xion's coat and he tells me I can't save her.
[ Sora's voice, like it always was, because it was patterned out of Sora's dream, Sora's destiny. Something Roxas was never supposed to lay claim to and every attempt to make his own way has ended in tragedy. ]
no subject
Even then, doesn't sound like anything he knows, but it wouldn't matter would it. The void fed off what was there. But it's... that jarring sought of beauty. Illuminated glass in dark rooms. Does his best to imagine it.
But it turns quick to all shattered glass at the last instance. He knows that note. ]
I am sorry. That's for me, not for you. Please do not take that note to heart.
[ In his heart, somewhere, there's a skipped beat and a sigh, and thinks quiet as if hushing a loved one, I'm sorry. ] Has there been anything else?
no subject
[ His hands uncurl, staring into his palms. He'd held her in his arms and watch her dissolve into nothingness. Was that better or worse than not knowing what had happened to her at all? He doesn't know what happened on Macha, doesn't know where, or when, or what. All he has is the whispering amongst the recruits that Honey had killed her. It sticks in his head, malicious and irritating. She did it...
The growing strength of that conviction may be something to mention, but he doesn't realize that. ]
I don't think there's anything else... I'm just tired.
[ The dreams were not restful. ]
no subject
So he focuses on something he can, the little bit of advice he can give. The only thing that worked when his bones were shaking with cold. ]
Do you have something you like to do? Something that makes you happy? Or you can focus on?
no subject
He stares down at his hands, brows pinching. ]
No.
[ A petulant answer, maybe, but he is a child. ]