tampered | Of Reunions and Rue

Entry tags:

Of Reunions and Rue

When; November 23rd

Rating; PG-13 to be on the safe side :\

Characters; Saya Otonashi

sangreine and Karl Fei-Ong

worldofourown and others involved in this fiasco.

Summary; Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep~

Log; Everything is sliding into place, pearls on a string, beading into a delightful, sharp-spangled necklace. Settled on a park bench, body dappled by the late afternoon sun through leaves stirring overhead, Karl waits for Saya to arrive. His common sense is still emerging from the disorganization of unexpected victory -- but he knows, knows that she'll be here. It's that self-righteous little Valkyrie in her. The one that strives to protect and defend, even if it's on the wrong side, for the worst purpose.

But once Karl has her back -- with family -- that babel of priorities will narrow into the true one. Coax her into being the real Saya.

And then...

A twisted smile flits across Karl's face.

Then he and his darling Bride can pick up where they left off.

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[There's no dramatic entrance, no fanfare to announce Karl's victory. Just Saya with her deliberate steps and her slumped shoulders and her resentment, approaching the bench where he's waiting.]

[If she could remember, Saya might have spared a thought for the irony of her being imprisoned in Diva's mansion, reduced to a plaything while her sister is completely, joyfully free. Some forgotten part of her might understand something of it, since for all she's terrified of what's about to happen to her, Saya refuses to avert her eyes.]

[Well?]

[ Her presence -- the call of her blood -- isn't that fanfare enough? When she approaches, he rises with a sneering smile, the caricature of politeness. ]

[ He has plans for her -- oh, he has plans aplenty. But he won't carry them out without Diva's say-so, or the risk of ruining the tenuous happiness his Queen has found here. Saya, in her way, is a large chunk of that happiness, isn't she? Beloved sister. Coveted enemy. ]

[ The errant lamb come home. ]

So cold? No smile, no hello?

[A lamb at the altar she may be, but never a docile one. She finally accepts the call of whatever inside her commanded her to fight. She'll turn to dust before she gives him the satisfaction of a smile.]

What did you do to Charlie? [No reason for him to hide it anymore, now that he has what he wants. No reason for Saya to know, she supposes, but she needs to all the same.]

[ That's just the way he wants her. Unconquerable, to her core. Just like Diva. It's the same logic as behind a man who worships moonlight. The highest adoration is reserved for the unreachable, the remote and pure. ]

Does it matter?

[ It's almost a croon. That pathetic little human was a means to an end. He already has the prize. ]

It matters. [Charlie matters; the short and perhaps delusional life Saya had pieced together in this place matters.]

[Her fists clench, gaze hardening, stance squaring to perhaps imply that she isn't going anywhere without that answer. A bluff, of course, but well worth the attempt. A meaningless victory it would be, but a victory nonetheless.]

[ Short? That remains to be seen. Delusional? Well, dearest Saya, that's what Karl is here to fix for you, isn't he? He knows he's insane -- fused mind and body on what he can't have, can't feel, can't be. But she's no better -- a tigress masquerading as a housecat. ]

[ What a tragedy. ]

[ What a waste. ]

Not anymore. [ He ignores her defensive stance. Drifts closer, laying a mock-companionable hand on her shoulder. ] She's not a part of your life. She never ought to have been.

[Saya hasn't found the strength to fight for herself, yet, but hearing him dismiss Charlie, the one who'd taken her in with a gentle hand, lets those frayed and neglected circuits in her mind finally connect.]

[Saya turns and shoves him away, all her will and effort behind it. He might have won her compliance in this one way, but she's not his to toy with. She is better.]

Don't touch me!

[ She shoves, and he dances out of her way. Eyes glittering with a feral glee, lips spread in sharp-edged grin. Definitely awake. He isn't sure whether to drop to his knees in adoration, or lunge at her and maul her to shreds. ]

[ Soon, soon ... there'll be time for both. And more. ]

Not even a handhold? A peck on the cheek? It's been so long, after all. [ Mock-pouting. ] We are family. Why the formalities?

[She finally turns her head, but not in pitiful submission. Disgusting. The forgotten, buried instinct that finds his offer compelling is dampened down before it's even acknowledged.]

You'll never be one tiny fraction of what they are to me. [A poor substitute for what she wishes she had the conviction to say: I'll never be like you.]

[ She might feel a ghostly caress on her cheek. Just faint. But it's there. Having her so close, at last, her blood thrumming like the sweetest siren's call, how can he be expected to behave? ]

[ At her remark, he scoffs. ]

Because that's all they are. A tiny fraction. Dirt under your pretty little boot. [ Coolly, ] You aren't one of them, Saya. Don't forget. If they know what you are -- the things you've done -- they'd never accept you. Not the way we do.

[She looks to him, a flicker in her eyes dispelling the hate she intends to show, enough that she doesn't recoil from his touch. His words always strike her in just the right way to soften her -- she hates him all the more for it, for knowing her better than she does.]

Then what am I? [Let's have it. Say it, the truth she's been dancing around for days and days. At least give her that.]

[ His gaze is half-lidded, pleased and indulgent -- but with something vibrating in his aura that's too menacing for perfect comfort. When she doesn't recoil, he steps in, invading her personal bubble. Close enough to memorize the pretty striations in her eyes -- red, brown, black. Close enough to breathe her in. ]

What are you? [ He touches the backs of his cool fingers to her cheek. It's an open mockery, matching the facsimile of tenderness in his voice. ] A Chiropteran Queen. A blood-drinker. A monster. Just like your sister Diva. Just like me.

[Being anywhere with him is an invasion of her personal bubble. With that truth -- and she knows it's truth -- he punctures right through it, giving her no choice but to hang on him as she deflates. Her hand snaps up to grab his arm, though making not a move to prevent him from touching her. Grounding her reeling mind the only way she can.]

Why... can't I remember? [Hanging on by a thread, she can't help but give him the ammunition to send her into freefall. She has to know, all of it.]

[ His other hand spans -- ever-so-casual -- around the small of her back. To observers, it would seem like an intimate clasp. Two lovers on the cusp of a kiss. Except there's nothing remotely tender in Karl's crooked smile. She's not shoving him away. Not crying denials. ]

[ This can only get better and better. ]

Because you've been asleep. In hibernation. You need a Chevalier's blood to fill the gaps. [ It occurs to him -- what timeline is she from? The pathetically innocent Saya in Okinawa? Or the ruthless one before Diva's Met performance in New York -- the one he'd died before he could watch? The latter would mean she survived the battle. But did his Diva? ] What's the last thing you do remember?

[Too enrapt to break contact, Saya allows the touch. She has greater needs at the moment. If she must chance the beast's claws to get what she needs, so be it.]

Chevalier? [The word carries a weight, tugging at her, a wisp of rich music she can't quite catch.]

[When she reaches for her last memory, it flits out of her grasp like a leaf in the wind. Frustrating and pointless as ever. A stray feeling here and there, but never at her behest. With what she knows perhaps she shouldn't wish to remember... but irrationally, illogically, she does.]

Waking up here. Setsuna finding me. [Disappointment is tempered by hope -- that Karl, however ruthless and terrible, wants her to remember. That he could make her whole again.]

Edited 2012-11-25 04:31 (UTC)

Nothing more? Nothing beyond that. [ He leans in, his cool forehead almost touching hers. All the easier to absorb the turmoil burgeoning in her gaze, like storm-clouds piled at the horizon. There's a coaxing sway in his voice, as if he's crooning a terrible lullaby of skulls and blowflies. ]Don't I seem familiar to you? Didn't Diva? Surely it brought something back.

Yes. [More than familiar. Much more. Shock and dread tangled with communion and grueling, undeniable intimacy. Impossible to tell if they were enemies or if she held him in some twisted regard.] That's why I don't want to go with you.

[But she will. She'll even tolerate the unnatural cold of his touch in hopes that something will come to her, anything.] But there's nothing more.

[Between one blink and the next, the steel edge returns to her eyes.] What do you want with me? [The truth, not some half-spun wisp of his obsession.]

Afraid? [ Tsk-tsking. She doesn't have a choice in leaving with him. Not unless she wants her friends slowly, systematically, utterly slaughtered. It's something he can hold over her head forever -- a black noose of promise. ]

[ What do I want? His breath, chill and dry, flits across her face as he exhales a chuckle. ]

To kill you. [ simple, sweet, succinct. ] To make you suffer, as you made me suffer. [ Echoing her remark, conscious of the irony that it's hollow and untrue. ] But there's nothing more.

[His cruel laughter, the cloying weight of his promise, should send her shrinking back. But hearing it plainly spoken dilutes the fear; like most shadows, it only loomed large until the light shined down.]

[Instead, her features smooth out and she responds in a whisper,] I'm sorry I made you suffer, Karl. [Purely honest, innocent as only the newly born can be.]

[ I'm sorry. He blinks, his lips working, a sound jarring in his throat. Eyes wide, focusing out of infinity, to find her. The real her, not the one who just let those words -- weightless, inconsequential in her nativity -- dance off her tongue. ]

Sorry? [ It's a teeth-gritted hiss. His eyes spark red. ] You don't get to be sorry. We are Chiropterans. We're made to hate and kill. We don't settle our scores with apologies. We use our fists and fangs.

[ His hand drops from her face. Closes on her throat, at the knife's edge of a choke-hold. He can feel the hot pulse beneath. He could tear her apart right now. Make her sorrier than she could even comprehend. But it'd be a flimsy victory. She's not herself yet. ]

[ This pathetic statement confirms it. ]

Edited 2012-11-25 05:51 (UTC)

[The slightest catch of breath is the only reaction she betrays, her eyes pinpoint-focused on his. No wonder he hurt Charlie, if the only way he knows to get anything is to hurt and kill.]

[So let him kill her, if that's what he'll do. She's not fighting. Her stillness reaffirms what she always told him: I'm not like you.]

[ Her stillness is unnerving. Repulsive. Fight me. Do it. Why are you hesitating? The question will clamor in her brain like a coin in an empty cup. Everything in him twists and surges to destroy her. Yank her limb from limb. ]

[ Instead, he lets her drop with a contemptuous sound. His voice is licked with irritation. ]

That's enough.

We're going home.

[ Like an angry parent with an errant child. One who has, silently, slipped in his estimation. ]

[She doesn't fight the voice in her head, no screams or shock. Karl's haunting command for her to fight made things much clearer than the other instinct she'd had: she could. She can. But she doesn't want to.]

[She doesn't want to hurt Karl any more than she wanted Charlie hurt. Or Setsuna, or anyone.]

[No matter who she once was, this is who she wants to be.]

[Saya follows, trailing a few steps behind. Any concern over what awaits her at "home" is distant, muted. Gratefully, and just for this moment, she's not afraid.]

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Of Reunions and Rue

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