ximilian | reach the residents

（ chaotic, malicious intent. and it is cruel, isn't it? he cants his head faintly to one side, not unlike a bird, and then: ）

Does it resent its... （ a faint pause. he rarely lacks a word at hand to describe his meaning, but after a careful consideration — ） imprisonment?

（ the individual parts yearn to be whole. but what is it exactly that whole means to them? ）

[ that makes her consider her answer for a moment — not because she doesn't want to say anything, but rather because she isn't quite sure, in the end. she doubts anyone can be, with the orbs. ]

It wants to become whole again... but I believe it does resent the fact that we are containing it in a way that stops it from spreading its chaos across the station.

[ she resists a huff — in her humble opinion, it doesn't make much sense, because if the chaos spreads to the station, there will soon be no one left to gather the individual orbs... but then, maybe the orb isn't one to adhere to logic, at all. pure beings of chaos rarely do. ]

（ the station, she had told him once, was built to contain the orbs. he wonders if this place too is a paradox — existing forever and for never, outside of the space-time continuum. he studies her in profile for a time, mouth pressed into a then line.

then, gently — ）

What will you and Degar do? If we succeed. Are you bound here forever?

（ he asks that part specifically — his assumption being that if he did not and it was the ultimate result of this place that she might attempt to downplay or avoid answering him directly. he doubts she would lie to him now, at least not about something like this. ）

[ he asks one question, and she opens her mouth, to answer with a wry joke with entirely the purpose of deflecting it all; and then the second question comes, and the words die where they are, half-formed on her lips.

for a moment, she says nothing.

then, she breathes a laugh. ]

I should have guessed it'd be you, [ she glances at him with a shake of her head, ] who'd come to that conclusion eventually.

（ his mouth twitches down at one corner, but he does not flinch away from regarding her. his gaze is solemn, dark eyes as unreadable as they ever are. then: ）

Could someone alter the terms of their regret to return you to your worlds?

（ it is not an offer, exactly. his own regret is too tangled up in his own feelings in his family for him to be willing to let go so easily. but it is clearly the beginnings of a strategic approach. yet — he is aware that, while it may work, it may result in one of the current coterie being trapped in the same manner. he can imagine neither viveca nor degar would wish for such a thing. ）

Probably, [ she admits, because there's little that the orbs can't do, ] But it might bring with it some unintentional consequences.

[ a sigh. ] As long as the orbs are here, as long as they exist, someone is needed on this station. Right now, it's us. To send us home would mean whoever does it becomes bound to this place, or will have to find someone else to do it... And I can't let that happen to anyone. [ she can guess that he would have realised it all too, even without her saying it, but it feels like something that should be said out loud. ]

（ ask him if consequences scare him, viv. this man has never met a consequence he didn't immediately try to make himself the sole inheritor of. he lets his attention drift back to the playing board, and after a moment's consideration he moves one of the abalone pieces a level nearer the surface.

then: ）

Could one choose to stay, then? Alongside you both.

I don't see why anyone would want to. [ her words are half a huff as she shakes her head, curls bouncing above her shoulders. ]

But... I suppose, yes. [ if someone really wanted to. ]

（ a bit dryly, perhaps — ）

Surely you can't think that people inclined to trust their fate to the whims of mysterious chaos-causing orbs the universe over aren't at least a little foolish when it comes to self preservation and sacrifice?

（ clearly, a call-out for the both of them. cut from the same stupidly stubborn 'will murder for the greater good' cloth. ）

You may be surprised by what the crew would do if they were to learn this information.

（ it's hardly a threat to tell people. he takes no issue with being a vault — but he can think of a handful of people, easily, who would be willing to change their regrets for them both should this ever come to light. but as to staying... aware now that it's an option, it will be something that sits in the back of his mind. ）

Ha, [ it's more a breath than a laugh, but humorous regardless — the hit lands, for both of them.

but when he says she might be surprised, she does laugh — this time entirely without humour. it wouldn't surprise her, at all. ]

That's exactly why I haven't brought it up. I don't want anyone feeling obligated to do something about this. It's what we chose to do. I won't have anyone undermine that by thinking they know what's better for us.

（ local man, wildly guilty of exactly what she's saying she's afraid of, flinches minutely. it's barely notable, mostly in the faint narrowing of his eyes. there and gone like a whisper. when he speaks again, it seems almost like a sidestep into another conversation than a continuation of the one they're having. ）

May I ask what your regret was? The one that brought you here.

（ he won't be offended if she doesn't want to tell him. at any rate, he can surmise — but he would rather hear it from her, genuinely given, than to assume. ）

[ it doesn't escape her attention, the way he shifts the conversation from one rail to another — but she doesn't call attention to it, either... not least because now it's her time to flinch infinitesimally, upon hearing the question. ]

It should have been something else. Something better. But... [ she sighs. ] I'm sure you've guessed, based on when it was that I disappeared from my world. After the attempt on my father's life. I — I wished I'd succeeded. [ she pauses, then shakes her head. ] No, more than that, I wished I'd done it far earlier.

（ ah. ）

How old were you then?

（ the timeline is uncertain. even in her own world, where the fox's disappearance had happened years earlier, there is no accounting for the whims of the ximilia. ）

Twenty-two.

[ she doesn't loo at him — instead, her eyes are fixed on nothing in particular in the air. ]

I thought that if only I'd managed to kill him earlier, then maybe... maybe I could have stopped Mom from being sentenced to the camps. Maybe none of my friends would have died there. Cal and Yvonne wouldn't have had to risk their lives for all those years.

（ the same age he is now. it's funny, with all the time he's spent in tsukuyomi, all the lives that have spun out in the realm of nightmares, that he can hear her say that and marvel at how young it feels, seems, is. for a moment, it's a dizzying dichotomy, and he feels something not entirely unlike vertigo. standing at the edge of a cliff, looking into the deep darkness below, the way the world shifts like it wants to swallow you whole. ）

I'm sorry, for those you lost.

（ then, in the camps, and nearer the now — the previous crew may not all be dead, but they are certainly gone. she and degar have each other, but it must still be lonely. they hold themselves apart from the current crew for a reason. ）

Stirring oneself to patricide is not easy, even with a man such as your father. Doing it earlier would have meant being a different person from that point on. You did the best you could with the information and knowledge you had at the time.

You don't think I know that?

[ there's no sharpness, no accusation — just quiet wryness of someone who's thought it to herself countless of times, and still finds it ringing hollow. ]

That's what regrets are — choices we made that we thought to be the only option at the time, and just didn't know better. [ then, with a small smile at him, ] What you did made my regret useless, though. Mom's out of the camps, now, and Father is no longer running everything.

（ she gets a sideways glance. ）

I think that knowing things in here — （ a tap against his head ） isn't the same as accepting them here. （ the hand falls, settles over the placement of his heart. ）

（ aka: it's okay to accept support from others, said the hypocrite. ）

It wasn't useless. Without your being a member of the previous crew, nothing would have progressed the same. Perhaps it was not your sacrifice that re-wrote the fabric of your world, but the seed of it that set everything in motion.

[ the only response he gets at first is a raise of her eyebrows, as if to say, yes, and clearly you have taken this to heart as well.

then, though, she listens to his next words, and sighs. ]

Maybe you're right. Maybe not. It's a kind notion, anyway, to let me think I've done more good than harm for my home by being here. [ twirling a curl around her finger, she looks down. ] It's just as well; in the end, I wouldn't...

[ she trails off, doesn't finish the sentence. instead, she turns her attention back to their board, to make her next move. ]

（ baby steps, viv. baby steps.

he watches her make the move, expression soft and attentive.

how many things could be concealed within what she did not say? he has stolen more of her secrets than even he intended to, and he does consider leaving well enough alone. he has a shark he could move to one of the underwater vents, and the game would carry on between them. but after a moment, he hazards — ）

'Return'?

As we established, yes. That's one way to put it.

[ but is it the one she was thinking? from her tone, perhaps not.

she doesn't elaborate. ]

reach the residents

● ● ● REACH THE RESIDENTS

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

apologies for the delay!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject