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12-30-2015, 05:34 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
He was a feral, unbound force—a broken creature made out of sharp edges, knives and shattered glass, with haunted, burning eyes. Which way he ever turned, he knocked something over, cut someone, something, like a slow-spinning storm of swords. It was a long, long time since he had been the cold god seeing everything, everyone, and gracing them with his warm smile and thoughtful words. Now.. now, he just hurt everyone with his unchecked, rampant emotions—his thoughtless, selfish grief. It was probably for the better that Tembovu had never managed to say what he thought, what he felt, or who knows what that final shard of glass might've done when pushed into his heart?
Mauja was just a ghost in the darkness, a white wraith leaning against a deity's shrine; the wind buffeted him, tore at his long mane and long tail, at his heart, but it couldn't reach it. Tembovu stood in the way, darkness around his eyes, and had Mauja turned, what would he have seen? Would he have seen anything at all?
The blur of his tears left the world oddly anonymous, every shape indistinct, unimportant. It was only the smell of it, the feel of it, the sound of their breathing mingling with the low roar of the ocean, and the wail of the wind as it raced along the isthmus. “He did,” Tembovu was saying, tripping his heart up again. He wanted to stumble along with it, fall onto his white knees, bury his head against the base of the shrine and cry—
Because it was easier to fall, than to face the future.
To face some kind of eternity (—alone), knowing how you had failed to hold on to something beautiful. Something important. And now, it was too late, and that hurt just as fucking much. Guilt, shame, regret—it burned in his mind, in his soul, his heart, and the words tumbling out of the giant's mouth were gentle blows bruising his aching skin. They were oddly tender yet burned where they fell, driving him deeper into his grief and guilt while trying to drag him out of it at the same time.
He felt trapped, between the monster he had created, and the angel he tried to be. Of course it was logical. Of course it made sense. He wasn't so dumb that he couldn't see that.
It was just, he had no idea how to stop it. How to stop pulling back. How to stop gorging on his grief and living in the past. How to stop driving others away, the ones he could love now, just because he had lost those he could've loved. “And, while solitude may feel safer or less vulnerable, in the end it will leave you more empty and desolate than you feel now.” And at the same time, some part of him wanted to scream—to tell everyone to shut the fuck up and stop trying to tell him how to mourn. It was the part of him that had lain dormant for so long, buried deep, that now he had no idea what to do with it—with all these things he felt.
"I know," he was sobbing uselessly into Spark's shrine, and something told him he'd been saying those two words over and over for a little while. He just couldn't recall for how long, or why, or if he'd said anything else or just .. said them like it could somehow make things right, make him less stupid, less cruel. "It's just—I don't know," but if the quiet fear edging into his voice had any effect he didn't know. Tembovu was bearing down on him, but Mauja barely noticed, "—I never mean to—"
His words were cut short by the sudden warmth of having the giant so close again, thick neck slung over Mauja's back, holding him close to the broad chest in which a strong, scarred heart beat so valiantly. Mauja was sure that he had lost, too—but what? Was there a gaping void in his soul, a blackness sucking at his thoughts and at his dreams? And how did he go on, living with it?
The tears still fell, slow and serene, burning his eyes. He didn't know what this was—what it meant—he just knew the steadfast pounding of Tembovu's pulse was soothing, pushing something into his mind. Slowly, he melted under the touch, under the pressure, neck shifting to press the flat of his cheek into whatever part of Tembovu was nearest.
"It's just, I'm afraid," he whispered, there in the darkness.
[ Mau: I CAN'T LIFE. /flails ]
Mauja was just a ghost in the darkness, a white wraith leaning against a deity's shrine; the wind buffeted him, tore at his long mane and long tail, at his heart, but it couldn't reach it. Tembovu stood in the way, darkness around his eyes, and had Mauja turned, what would he have seen? Would he have seen anything at all?
The blur of his tears left the world oddly anonymous, every shape indistinct, unimportant. It was only the smell of it, the feel of it, the sound of their breathing mingling with the low roar of the ocean, and the wail of the wind as it raced along the isthmus. “He did,” Tembovu was saying, tripping his heart up again. He wanted to stumble along with it, fall onto his white knees, bury his head against the base of the shrine and cry—
Because it was easier to fall, than to face the future.
To face some kind of eternity (—alone), knowing how you had failed to hold on to something beautiful. Something important. And now, it was too late, and that hurt just as fucking much. Guilt, shame, regret—it burned in his mind, in his soul, his heart, and the words tumbling out of the giant's mouth were gentle blows bruising his aching skin. They were oddly tender yet burned where they fell, driving him deeper into his grief and guilt while trying to drag him out of it at the same time.
He felt trapped, between the monster he had created, and the angel he tried to be. Of course it was logical. Of course it made sense. He wasn't so dumb that he couldn't see that.
It was just, he had no idea how to stop it. How to stop pulling back. How to stop gorging on his grief and living in the past. How to stop driving others away, the ones he could love now, just because he had lost those he could've loved. “And, while solitude may feel safer or less vulnerable, in the end it will leave you more empty and desolate than you feel now.” And at the same time, some part of him wanted to scream—to tell everyone to shut the fuck up and stop trying to tell him how to mourn. It was the part of him that had lain dormant for so long, buried deep, that now he had no idea what to do with it—with all these things he felt.
"I know," he was sobbing uselessly into Spark's shrine, and something told him he'd been saying those two words over and over for a little while. He just couldn't recall for how long, or why, or if he'd said anything else or just .. said them like it could somehow make things right, make him less stupid, less cruel. "It's just—I don't know," but if the quiet fear edging into his voice had any effect he didn't know. Tembovu was bearing down on him, but Mauja barely noticed, "—I never mean to—"
His words were cut short by the sudden warmth of having the giant so close again, thick neck slung over Mauja's back, holding him close to the broad chest in which a strong, scarred heart beat so valiantly. Mauja was sure that he had lost, too—but what? Was there a gaping void in his soul, a blackness sucking at his thoughts and at his dreams? And how did he go on, living with it?
The tears still fell, slow and serene, burning his eyes. He didn't know what this was—what it meant—he just knew the steadfast pounding of Tembovu's pulse was soothing, pushing something into his mind. Slowly, he melted under the touch, under the pressure, neck shifting to press the flat of his cheek into whatever part of Tembovu was nearest.
"It's just, I'm afraid," he whispered, there in the darkness.
[ Mau: I CAN'T LIFE. /flails ]
