[open] where you'll find me, is where you'll find all is love
[OOC: Lola's final post before I rift her for some time. I will be bringing her back again at some point - so not to worry! Also, this is open to backtagging as I know some people are on hiatus and stuff. And this isn't just for people who know her too! Anyone's welcome to meet Lola even if it'll be the first time for a while. Anywho - there are ( Read more... )
"Thank you," is all she can croak for a while, hoping the sheltering embrace of her soft feathers, her periodic stroking hands on Lola's back, will do the work of conveying her feelings. Lola doesn't know it, but with her simple act, the naked outrage and compassion that showed in her words, she's done more to console Iris than anyone has in a long while. She understands. She doesn't have to say anything for Iris to know that. She knows what this meant to Iris, what it meant to them, and she feels the pain of something beautiful torn away.
And though she'd never have wished this pain on another living being, a tiny sliver of her heart is glad. So few understand the true depth of what she's lost: not just a limb, not even the capacity for flight, but the very mark of identity long sought and deeply cherished. It's as if, for the second time in far too short a span, someone's reached inside her very soul against all of her protests, and wrenched out the core of what makes her be.
Knowing Lola knows that, and hearing the cracks in Lola's voice as she speaks, she can't help but sob herself, hot tears sinking into the collar of Lola's shirt.
"It was-- it was everything to me," she manages hoarsely, feeling she should say something even though it seems like there's nothing left to say. "It still... it still is, I... I...." I will become myself again, or nothing can keep me in this world. But no, she can't say that to Lola.
"...Thank you," she says again, in lieu of the words that threaten to tumble out. "That... that you see me... for who I am, it... it makes all the difference." She sniffles back her tears. "So many people don't."
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And as much as she doesn't want to cry, she can tell how broken her friend is and can feel the warm droplets that fall about her neck. She hates crying in front of people. She sees it as a sign of weakness. But the tears come anyway. She's silent in her crying, the only sign being the dampening of Iris' shirt and the ever-growing more prominent shaking of her shoulders. She's heartbroken and she's angry - an anger that she’s never felt so strongly for a long time. They've stolen part of her, part of their dream and they had no right to. They’ve ruined it.
Lola’s silent for a long time, she just listens to her words and tries to stop crying. She wants to make this better; she doesn’t want it all to be gone. Because it’s too important to them both. And she might not know how to fix this, how to restore what is gone - but she wants to more than anything. This is more important than the War and the monsters; it’s something that she can’t quite describe because perhaps as a youth, she doesn’t know all the words. But she knows it’s important.
“We will fix this, I promise,” she utters in a strained voice, “It is not over. I know you are still you. Broken wings can be fixed,” Because she doesn’t see the wing as completely gone - only broken. And then they’ll show the CLF that they haven’t won; that they can harm - but they can’t destroy something like this.
“Of course I do, it would be shallow and sad if I could not,” She blinks back a fresh wave of tears, “How... how can they not? How can they not see this? How good you are? How good this is?” It makes her sad that people can’t see others for who they are. She’ll never understand how others can’t understand this.
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That starts her crying again, though whether from sorrow, joy or some third, foreign emotion, she's not wholly sure. She feels empty and aching, warm and secure. She feels like she'll never come back to herself. She feels like she's home. So many thoughts, and so weak of a grasp of how to reconcile them, how to describe anything she's feeling right now. She just wants to sob into Lola forever. It's the only thing she feels like she knows how to do any more.
But she can't burden the younger girl with that much of her pain. She doesn't deserve that weight, and the last thing she wants to do is crush her friend as she's been crushed, beyond her ability to bear. So at length, she relaxes her grip just a touch, sitting up and wiping at moist, reddened eyes, her lip trembling weakly as she tries to find words.
Staring back into Lola's gaze, she realises the only ones that come to mind are ones she doesn't want to say.
I want to die.
Instead, she forces herself to be optimistic, though it's a shallow pretence at best. "Do you... do you really think they can fix me?" she murmurs. "Do you really think it can be okay?"
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She's still until Iris pulls back and she sits up herself. She keeps her head down for a few moments, sniffling and rubbing furiously at her eyes to erase any trace of tears. Happy enough that they're gone - she looks up with a watery, yet curious look.
Lola nods at her questions. She may have found in a war and regularly kills monsters that threaten Chicago, but somewhere inside - she's not lost all her optimism.
"I do," she says gently, "I do not know every about angels, but there will be a way - somehow. We will just need to find it," She nods again, "A bird may break it's wings, but not it's spirit. Given the time and patience to heal, it can fly once more,"
She doesn't know how long that would take, though. She wants nothing more than to tell Iris when that day will come. But it's just something she can't tell. "That is all you need, Iris. Time to heal. Our wings are important to us and they need time. You will okay,"
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She doesn't know how to exist in chaos.
But if there's one thing she's learnt over the course of her stay here, it's that dwelling on the inevitable-- the fact that, soon, she'll likely be ending her life-- is only causing her needless pain. At least for the moment, she may as well try and pretend. Lola's giving her a convenient illusion to lean into. She can rest there, for a while, make believe everything's okay. It won't solve the problem, but it's better than the truth.
She once believed that she valued nothing more than the spiritual truth. But then, she once believed in a lot of things that don't make sense in this crazy world. She doesn't know what belief can really mean, in a world like this. And so it's yielded, ultimately, to a desire to simply get by.
She drinks in Lola's words, closing her eyes and nodding, trying to make herself feel it. "Time to heal," she whispers, and pictures what that would be like. It only ends up bringing more tears to her eyes, at the beauty of something she wants and can never have.
Time to change the topic, perhaps. "...You'll have your own wings soon, right?" she says with a wavery smile. "Do you still think you're going to be an Archangel, like your mother?" Maybe then you could murder the demon who did this to me, she can't help but think, and it wouldn't be on your conscience. It would just be the natural course of things. She tries to squash down the bitter thought. It's not the kind of thing you should be thinking about your friend. "You're excited, I bet."
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She smiles at the question and looks down for a few moments. She has been thinking about it a lot recently. Her fifteenth birthday's in just under a month's time. She'll only have another twelve months after that until she gets her wings. "Yes," she says finally, "I am counting down the days. I'll be changing around April 5th, 2012,"
She pauses again at the second question, she does wonder what she'll be when she does change. Her mother told her somethings about changing, my Calling or Papa's Calling can influence it. Like genes, like how you have Papa's smile. But it is also something you must craft too, the person you are now will reflect in your wings. But since coming to Chicago, she's changed. Had she remained in Spain, she would have definitely become an Archangel, without a doubt. But now she's not so sure.
Living in Chicago has helped her integrate into the society she's due to be part of. She's seen angels and demons now. Back home, she'd never met one before. And now she can see that there can be good demons and bad angels. There are bad people in the world, but not everyone deserves to die.
"I do not know," she confesses with a shake of her head. "I always believed I would be. But now, Chicago has changed me. I... I do not wish to kill people. There is so much death and loss here anyway. Some demons are not so different to angels, really, too. They can also be good people," Lola sighs and looks down again for a few moments. "I.. I want to be a good person. I want to protect people, I want to keep them safe from all the bad things in the world. I would rather give my own life than take another,"
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