(no subject)
Who: Noir [Open to friends and hostiles, bring it on!]
What: A ghost of his former self
Where: Tetha
When: September 16th, night
There is no death as agonizing as a slow death of natural causes.
Noir Mendetta came into the Digital World on Death's doorstep, having narrowly avoided his first fatal encounter at the hands of a woman he loved. It was a poetic sort of death that he never could escape from.
Even though the digital world saved his body, his heart had been crushed, and only through the careful , considerate and often harsh words and actions of others had he healed.
But wtih old scars new wounds opened with every failure, every loss and betrayal. Family and friends would pick up the wounded warrior and set him on his feet again.
There even came a time when he was finally met with the death he had long since avoided, and his adopted family brought him back from there as well.
Unlike the heroes of his youth who had seemed so stoic and strong by themselves as they made the hard choices and made other peoples lives better...he had always needed family.
And then...a day came when one by one that family stopped.
They weren't gone. They weren't dead.
They simply stopped moving.
Like statues of all he held dear in the world they were frozen in positions that reflected day to day life with eerie acuracy.
And so to protect them he collected them. Placed them in his home where he was sure they'd be safe.
Time moved on, they never did. And neither did he.
He would talk to them sometimes, as would his daughter who had long ago learned to adore her fathers eccentric behavior. But where she drew comfort from the frozen eyes of her extended family...her father only saw emptyness.
He saw himself reflected in those eyes, what he was without them.
There was once a time when he had the fortune...or misfortune, to see the man he could be. It was so shockingly like the worst traits of his father yet somehow even worse then that. And foolishly he convinced himself he could never become that man if he stuck to one particular promise. A vice he would never allow himself.
To numb the pain, to find peace through chemicals spreading into his mind. The cheap fast way out.
But when you're backed into a corner you look for anyway out.
He hadn't opened the Pizza parlor in weeks...hadn't spoken to anyone save for brief exchanges with his Digimon partner and his daughter who seemed to adjust to his changes entirely too easily.
And at night when he could no longer take the feeling of those empty eyes watching and waiting for him he would walk the streets looking for trouble.
For a fight.
A wrong to make right.
Anything to feel alive again.
Then one night the eyes weren't waiting for him when he came home.
All but one pair, that of his lover, the only woman he thought he could understand.
She remained still as death itself smiling as his world began to crack around the edges.
**************
Out into the night again as cooler weather threatened, his coat collar up to shield his cheeks from Tetha's constant winds.
A man of black and grey walked the windy shadowy streets of Tetha looking for anything to make him feel alive again...
...or to numb the pain of a slow uneventful death.
What: A ghost of his former self
Where: Tetha
When: September 16th, night
There is no death as agonizing as a slow death of natural causes.
Noir Mendetta came into the Digital World on Death's doorstep, having narrowly avoided his first fatal encounter at the hands of a woman he loved. It was a poetic sort of death that he never could escape from.
Even though the digital world saved his body, his heart had been crushed, and only through the careful , considerate and often harsh words and actions of others had he healed.
But wtih old scars new wounds opened with every failure, every loss and betrayal. Family and friends would pick up the wounded warrior and set him on his feet again.
There even came a time when he was finally met with the death he had long since avoided, and his adopted family brought him back from there as well.
Unlike the heroes of his youth who had seemed so stoic and strong by themselves as they made the hard choices and made other peoples lives better...he had always needed family.
And then...a day came when one by one that family stopped.
They weren't gone. They weren't dead.
They simply stopped moving.
Like statues of all he held dear in the world they were frozen in positions that reflected day to day life with eerie acuracy.
And so to protect them he collected them. Placed them in his home where he was sure they'd be safe.
Time moved on, they never did. And neither did he.
He would talk to them sometimes, as would his daughter who had long ago learned to adore her fathers eccentric behavior. But where she drew comfort from the frozen eyes of her extended family...her father only saw emptyness.
He saw himself reflected in those eyes, what he was without them.
There was once a time when he had the fortune...or misfortune, to see the man he could be. It was so shockingly like the worst traits of his father yet somehow even worse then that. And foolishly he convinced himself he could never become that man if he stuck to one particular promise. A vice he would never allow himself.
To numb the pain, to find peace through chemicals spreading into his mind. The cheap fast way out.
But when you're backed into a corner you look for anyway out.
He hadn't opened the Pizza parlor in weeks...hadn't spoken to anyone save for brief exchanges with his Digimon partner and his daughter who seemed to adjust to his changes entirely too easily.
And at night when he could no longer take the feeling of those empty eyes watching and waiting for him he would walk the streets looking for trouble.
For a fight.
A wrong to make right.
Anything to feel alive again.
Then one night the eyes weren't waiting for him when he came home.
All but one pair, that of his lover, the only woman he thought he could understand.
She remained still as death itself smiling as his world began to crack around the edges.
**************
Out into the night again as cooler weather threatened, his coat collar up to shield his cheeks from Tetha's constant winds.
A man of black and grey walked the windy shadowy streets of Tetha looking for anything to make him feel alive again...
...or to numb the pain of a slow uneventful death.