[OPEN] ❁ don't let it get the best of you, you'll make it out alive

[roseblooms]

WHO: Fawkes and YOU!
WHERE: All around Recolle during the nightmares/fog event!
WHEN: Various times in the month of October!
WHAT: Nightmares, fog encounters, and etc.
WARNINGS: Will be attached to the headers of various top-levels within!

Comments

[despirit]

[he doesn't know this man, he couldn't say what draws him in other than the desire for things to be better. that he can sense pain the way some people can detect a light, and when he steps in, he knows he's intruding, but his eyes seek nothing but Fawkes.]

You don't have to do this.

[he's close enough to reach out, put a hand on his shoulder.]

[roseblooms]

[It's strange, he thinks, because the feeling of the hand on his shoulder isn't unwelcome in the slightest. It's almost as though someone ought to be doing that, or something similar to it, even if he can't quite put his finger on why. But no — it's right that someone else should be here, himself and his mother and the moon, and someone —

Strange. Why is there supposed to be someone else here? What role do they play, what are they supposed to do?]

She'll die if I don't.

[That much, at least, is true. He knows it's true; whatever else she might be, he knows for certain that the woman in the bed isn't lying about that.]

[despirit]

And you'll die if you do. Everything has a time, you know.

[he speaks with the calmness of someone who's had to say this before, stepping up to be by the man's side.]

It's not easy. But what do you feel right now?

[roseblooms]

I'll...die?

[Strange. It's like the thought had never actually concretely occurred to him until his visitor said it, but once he did — no, he's not wrong. He's not wrong in the slightest.

If he goes through with this, his mother will live, and he won't.

Still, the words are thick in his throat, and it takes him a bit before he's able to answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the mirror until he can find the presence of mind to tear them away and look up at his guest.]

...I feel like this is something I have to do. That it's...right...

[despirit]

Is it really?

[he's not smiling, a rarity, but he keeps his eye trained on Fawkes.]

Do you have to destroy yourself for someone else's sake? I may not know about you and her, but that doesn't sound like something a mother would say. At least, one worth all that.

[roseblooms]

That's how this works.

[It feels like someone else is saying it, as he says it — like they're someone else's words coming out of his mouth, someone else's voice filling his throat. But it's no less true, for all that.

No, he knows it's true, because someone else once knew it was true, too.]

This mirror. Your life, for your heart's desire. That's why it's —

[For you, Mother...]

— why it's called the Forlorn Hope.

[despirit]

But if you have your heart's desire, wouldn't you want to be around to take part in it? If you died, you still wouldn't get it. It'd still be on the other side from you. Not to mention that you don't even know if it'll work, once you're dead.

[look at him, Fawkes. if he's allowed, he'll turn his face to make it so.]

Objects like that aren't made to bring happiness. Not really. Better to let it be, and hope that its curse stays quiet for now.

[roseblooms]

It's not about me.

[But that's not an argument; the phrase is devoid of protest, and instead is simply thin and faint, like a statement of quiet fact.]

It's the first selfless thing I've ever done. That she lives, no matter what happens to me...that is his heart's desire.

[..."His"?]

[despirit]

So it's not your heart's desire? In that case, then wouldn't the mirror not work? Who is he that he sends you to do his work for him?

[he's got a guess, but he's hoping it'll be wrong.]

[roseblooms]

What?

[He looks up abruptly, blinking in open confusion at his companion.]

I said, that's my heart's desire...

[...Didn't...he...?]

[despirit]

You said it was "his."

[if it was his, then who was he?]

[roseblooms]

...The other me. The one I was before.

[His brow furrows slightly, as he seems to grasp for the particulars of something he only nebulously knows.]

He did this, he...he tried to do this. That was his wish...

[Though it feels like there ought to be a "but" attached, and he tests out that impulse tentatively.]

...But...someone...

[despirit]

But? What happened with someone? Was he stopped?

[he's guessing, trying to help the stranger along.]

[roseblooms]

Someone —

[Yeah, well, it doesn't make a lot of sense for you to save your mom just so she can spend the rest of her life mourning the death of her son!]

Yusuke.

[The name comes to his lips, unbidden yet immediate, and his eyes widen slightly with the recognition.]

Yusuke didn't want me to die.

[despirit]

And do you think Yusuke would still feel the same now?

[hey, he'll take any name he can get through to this guy.]

Does it make sense to you that he'd want you to keep living?

[roseblooms]

...Yes...

[The answer comes reluctant and small, but the logic is sound and the rationale is working.]

He...he's never wanted me to die. He got in the way — he wouldn't let me...

[He frowns, brow furrowing as he looks up in quiet uncertainty at his guest.]

Is that you? You're him...right now.

[despirit]

Well, my name's not Yusuke, if that's what you mean. But I know me and him would agree that you should live.

[and he offers out a hand, to help Fawkes get up.]

If it'd help, I can pray for your mom. That when her time comes, she can greet it with peace, and not this fear.

[roseblooms]

[His expression crumples, but he still reaches for the hand that's been offered to him, taking it and letting himself be helped to his feet. It's not really about the standing up at all, though, is it — but more the symbolic nature of someone extending a hand at all, of someone being there seeking to take some of the burden.]

Do you think that would help...?

[It's an honest question.]

[despirit]

I think it would. That way she can remember she's cared for, even in the moments where she can't smile - that she's not heading into something entirely unknown. But you know her better than me, so if you think it'd hurt instead of help, just say so.

[fear, he's often seen, in moments like this, comes from the unknown. from slipping away from everything one cares for. sometimes, it helps to remember that even when gone, they weren't cut off from all they loved.]