awashlogs | Event Twenty-One

Entry tags:

Event Twenty-One

Sometimes I feel happy,
Sometimes I feel sad.
Sometimes I feel curious,
Sometimes I feel mad.
Sometimes I feel silly,
Sometimes I feel surprised.
How many feelings,
Do I have inside?

t's another regular, normal day in the Town. There's absolutely nothing to show that anything could possibly be wrong; the birds are chirping, the sky is bright, and everything is absolutely, entirely wrong.

This time, though? The problem is internal. Slowly, bit by bit, people are going to stop feeling entirely like themselves -- or maybe even stop feeling at all.

And suddenly that nice, bright day doesn't seem quite so nice and not quite so bright any longer after all.

Welcome to Awash's Twenty-First event log, everyone! Further information on this event can be found here at the OOC post. You are welcome to make your own logs and posts for this event!

If there are any questions, please ask them here. Thank you!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ A head tilt, a blink. ]

I'm saying that the armor you're wearing is stronger than you. [ And then a head tilt the other way, and she releases his hands. ]

Or does that make you strong to have acknowledged your weakness in wearing it? [ She taps a finger to her chin, as if her question is a puzzle she can't quite figure out. ]

[ The corners of his lips turn down while, at his side, his fingers curl into loose fists. ]

By itself, it is true that the flesh is susceptible to harm. That is why armorers exist. The strength of humans lies in our ability to overcome these shortcomings.

[ She moves.

She moves, by taking a step to the side. And then another, and then another-- she's walking around him, observing him, looking over his armor. Or, perhaps, him. ]

It is a strength of humans-- the talent, the artistry, the knowledge passed down from generation to generation to be able to make something like this for their feeble sons...

[ She's come around to his side, placing a hand at the plate upon his shoulder for a touch that... slides as she finally moves to be directly in front of him. ]

It's a very fine quality. Such a deep, dark color... Better to hide all the blows you've endured, I'm assuming.

Tell me, does the quality of armor make you more complacent to injury?

[ He angles his head slightly, tracking Pyra's movement. When her hand settles on his shoulder, his eyes dart over and slide their way up her arm to her face.

Is she mocking him, he wonders. A small part of him bristles at this perceived insult, giving his words a marginally sharpened edge. ]

The armor is insurance. It would be remiss of me to rely on it overmuch, when I can hone my skills to avoid sustaining a blow in the first place.

You're awfully curious today. Do you enjoy making such meaningless inquiries?

[ If she picks up on the slight hint of an edge in his tone, she doesn't show it. ]

Meaningless? [ For a moment, she looks perplexed even slightly insulted by his question. ]

[ And then there's a sigh as she shakes her head. ] Here I had thought someone prideful would enjoy talking about themselves...

[ Who would enjoy talking about himself after being asked probing questions in such an inept manner? Hearing her purported justification, he eases back into a more diplomatic stance.

That small part of him questions his choice. ]

You're usually more careful with your words. This directness is unlike you.

You think so...?

[ A thoughtful pause. ] I'm just... curious.

[ She shifts her weight from one leg to the other. ]

And there is never seems as if there is enough time to ever really get to know someone. [ She adopts a more sincere tone, looking appropriately troubled as she looks away. ]

The lifespan of humans are so short, and even here there is a chance that one might leave within a heartbeat...

....There are so many things I haven't bother to ask of others here, as well.

[ After a moment she seems to recall that he's still there. Blinking, she raises her gaze back to him, taking a step towards him. ] Including you.

For instance:

[ She folds her hands before her politely. ]

"Our own lord Berkut, broken by a band of farmers and cowhands."

[ Again there's that curious look as she looks up at him beneath her bangs. ] Just how is it, that you're still standing so proud, if that is the case?

[ She's too close—not from his perspective, but based on what it means to conduct oneself properly.

His face hardens. Whatever Pyra's intentions are, he stands tall and poised. ]

That failure must be repaid tenfold. Next time, I will disperse that very same band of commoners once and for all.

[ A brow raises in response to his firm assurance... But she doesn't back away, and neither does she let up on the path she's leading them both down on this conversation. ]

What is this... the third chance?

The fourth?

[ That's what the voices within his "heart" had said as well. But instead of pointing out that the emperor of Rigel might not be so lenient to grant him another chance, she-- ]

[ ---feels that she must point out that he's been granted far too many chances already.

Confident that she has his attention by now, her voice drops intentionally so that he might strain to hear: ] To have that many chances at failure, you are quite favored. Quite blessed.

[ And somehow, somehow her voice continues to contain that same quality of gentleness it has within it despite her words twist into a point she knows bothers him. ] I'm in wonder of you... How spectacularly you have been beaten before, and how you continue to fight. Perhaps... it is your Emperor who is soft, to give you so many chances.

[ And here she will somehow, suddenly close enough that she's mere inches away from him, reaching up place a hand upon his shoulder once more. ] Or maybe it is you, who are forcing your empire to its knees.

[ Immediately, Berkut pulls back. It's a decisive step back, one that he would rather take with confidence than to shove at Pyra, whose behavior strikes him as incredibly odd. ]

Hold your tongue! Who are you to speak of His Majesty the Emperor this way?

[ He doesn't address the rest of her claims right away. He knows, has known that he's been afforded a great many chance after resorting to literal begging—and how the humiliation gnaws at him, when he'd been performing so well for all those years prior! Ultimately, though, the Emperor's reputation trumps his in importance. ]

You are not yourself. Chroma's doing again?

[ He backs away--

She doesn't.

She doesn't let there be a single difference in the distance between them from before to now, swiftly keeping herself in a space that is too close. ] Who are you to think you know any better? One failure, two... but four? And in his name.

[ Curious, still curious. ] I wonder if he loves you as a son. That could be a strength, you know. Love. To afford you so many chances....

[ If he hasn't batted her hand away by now that's on his shoulder, she'll be holding onto it more firmly as if to keep him in place, putting a new pressure upon it. ]

But I think that... knowing what I know, you are his weakness. You are the empire's weakness.

[ It isn't four, he protests vehemently inside. Four was the result of the witch's exaggeration. At the rate he's been going, though, that fourth chance is just around the corner—and that causes his throat to close up. His pride stings from the verbal lash, desperate for that one last chance to redeem himself in the Emperor's eyes.

(He often wonders if his uncle loves him like a son.)

Locking eyes with Pyra, Berkut makes no unnecessary movements. ]

Say what you will about me, but I cannot abide your disrespect toward His Majesty.

How much longer do you plan to talk while ignoring the issue at hand? You've been cursed. Surely, you must realize that by now.

[ At that, she only asks: ]

...Are you sure about that? Me being cursed.

How else can you explain this?

Lord Berkut...

[ Suddenly, now really up in his personal space! Hi there. ]

I'm only curious.... [ Up until now, her eyes have been devoid of any spark or brightness. Now that light has returned, but it's not of the kindness he may have known within them before. ] about the weaknesses of humans. And you--

[ When did her hand get there upon his cheek with such a barely-there touch? As if she is holding something so fragile that it might break with any extra pressure. ] You're teaching me all about that.

[ A finger curls, dipping beneath his chin to guide his face down to hers. ] This armor, this scowl, this mortal flesh... it doesn't really compare to the fragility of your heart. Do you know why?

[ It's an incredibly insolent gesture, but one that he must allow for the time being. Words are hardly getting through her suddenly thick skull; while this is no fault of hers, he can't help but to grapple with that fleeting cautiousness in his heart.

Some part of him believes she doesn't mean ill. His mind knows better, yet struggles to overcome his hunch with reason.

Hardening his face—else he just might lose that very scowl she's mentioned—Berkut meets Pyra's eyes. ]

Even if I were not to ask, you would tell me.

[ Indeed she will, and she does so with a soft whisper now that they are close. ]

.....Rinea.

[ The syllables rolls off her tongue preciously, as if she is speaking of something forbidden. ] Your greatest weakness. [ The finger just under his chin will turn, suddenly, to an unpleasant grip of his jaw. ]

A weakness that... your enemies know, within Rigel and beyond. That I know.

[ His eyes widen at the mention of Rinea, and his breath catches as if Pyra has wrapped her hand around his throat and squeezed.

It's still hard to believe that anything bad might come of this; however, even in the deepest recess of his heart, he still feels a cutting sense of terror at the ideas planted in his mind by that choice of words. A weakness, she said. His weakness.

Once the initial shock wears off, Berkut reaches up to curl a hand around Pyra's wrist. He doesn't apply pressure, yet. ]

You . . . What are you implying?

[ She holds him still by his jaw; and if anything, her grip tightens as his hand comes up to wrap around hers. ] Your love.

It is your love for her is the glaring flaw in all of your strategies. She is a poison that can be used against you, she is rust on your armor, ugly and brittle. She is someone that your courts will use, a pawn you have no way of protecting when away. She is an arrow that has already struck your heart, and you're bleeding out and showing your wound to the world.

[ In truth, she doesn't actually know if anyone within the courts of the empire have actually dared used her before, but if she was a part of this war, if she was someone to fight against him, if she was to be truly terrible and do all that she could to undermine him-- ]

The good of the Rigel Empire [ Somehow, her voice continues to remain as if she's simply explaining something to a child: light and with a playfully elegant quality, almost motherly. ] ...cannot be led by weak men.

[ This is why he brings her with him, he thinks. But is that really the reason?

Rinea is the most beautiful person he knows. Inside and out, none can compare. Those around them back in Rigel are of a lesser character as a whole, but even they wouldn't be so untrustworthy as to turn her into a weapon. The terrible things Pyra speaks of, not even a hint of suspicion sparks within Berkut's heart from hearing them.

That's not what unsettles Berkut. His fingers twitch around Pyra's wrist, wanting to return the grip yet refraining from doing so. It's that she's looking down on him, enough that he bristles; his voice, low.]

The Empire can only be led by the strong. I assure you, I bear no such wound—nor do I find your accusations of treachery convincing.

Event Twenty-One

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