[Incomplete.]
Who: Elena, Schuldig and Shu.
When: Nowwww-ish, after this.
Where: Sunde.
Rating: PG for now.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Would the real Shu please stand up? :< Schuldig is still crazy. Shu #4 and Elena #1 go to collectively bitchslap him.
There hadn't been a great deal of time for explanations. A brief moment of peace, calm, quiet after Asellus had managed to disentangle their limbs and pull him off the gravel she'd pasted him to, time enough for him to stop at the bathhouse and get cleaned up, time enough for him to go and become reacquainted with his old home. His home once again, in fact. His fingers had slid across every surface, but it had been like feeling, touching, sensing through some kind of filter, a funnel or a screen that made everything seem not-quite-real. Asellus's talk rolled off of him like water, and he immersed himself in it, a different kind of cleansing that made his heart feel heavy as a rock.
Before Purgatorium, Shu had always found that little cliché so painful - the declaration that one had to be dreaming, as things seemed so unreal. How could anything feel like a dream? How could anything truly feel so intangible?
He certainly knew now. He knew.
He cried for about a minute, deathly silent. Absurd, really, but it was the shock more than anything; no grief, no sense of loss this time; the fantasy of what he may have left behind had proven far more picturesque than the reality. His duty was here.
All that time, that entire year... what had he done with it, really? Sat in his room, staring out of the window, writing, reminiscing. Apple had stopped by, but she was in the midst of her travels all around the continent, compiling Mathiu's biography. He'd reached out for her hand, held her at one point. Tried to articulate, tried to present what had happened in the - by her perspective - brief time he'd been absent. She'd not understood, shaken her head, frowned. Said she wanted to believe, but it all seemed so farfetched. He hadn't met her eyes, showing her to the door. She said she hoped he felt better soon. She hated seeing him so gaunt.
And here it was again, just when the memories had crinkled enough that they no longer felt real either, when all of his world was starting to blend together into one great mess of unreal experiences. No sooner all that, either, than discovering Schuldig, the man he'd loved - did love still; Schuldig, the one he'd missed most of all, had taken his loss in a way few could have anticipated.
Elena had retrieved him as soon as she could. When she was done pasting him to the wall, compressing his ribs with her fierce hugs and staining his coat with her tears, when all those brief moments of just holding and babbling had passed, it had come back down to that. He couldn't ignore the worry in Elena's eyes, the dark rings of exhaustion that promised a damaging story, and he hadn't been disappointed. It hadn't taken much prompting. They had to go. They had to go now.
He hadn't slept yet. It didn't matter. The world couldn't feel any stranger, even with the lack of sleep making it feel a little off-kilter. His emotions still ran hot and cold, his skin cold and clammy with nervous sweat, his lower lip trembling with some kind of deep-seated shock. It didn't matter. His voice was level. His hands never wavered. He was still, in some essence, in some way he couldn't let go, in command.
The only thing he'd ever regretted was never getting the job finished. Another chance to come back, to lay all the old bones to rest... what more could he ask for? However long it took, he'd do it. However much he struggled, he'd find his way.
Starting with the two most important people of all, the immediate problem pressed to his lap and urged to be solved.
The path to Sunde was so well memorised, trodden countless times here and countless times more in his dreams and nightmares at home. Elena's wrist was hot in the palm of his slick hand, and the pace was a little more than her shorter legs could manage; for all that, she did a valiant job of not tripping, of talking and explaining along the way.
The zombie. Schuldig's seeming madness, his desire to delude himself.
And two others. Imposters? Figments of Schuldig's imagination?
Who could tell until they were there.
Sunde loomed before them, and they pressed on.
"Is he going to be dangerous, too? Do you... suppose there's the possibility he will reject me?"
When: Nowwww-ish, after this.
Where: Sunde.
Rating: PG for now.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Would the real Shu please stand up? :< Schuldig is still crazy. Shu #4 and Elena #1 go to collectively bitchslap him.
There hadn't been a great deal of time for explanations. A brief moment of peace, calm, quiet after Asellus had managed to disentangle their limbs and pull him off the gravel she'd pasted him to, time enough for him to stop at the bathhouse and get cleaned up, time enough for him to go and become reacquainted with his old home. His home once again, in fact. His fingers had slid across every surface, but it had been like feeling, touching, sensing through some kind of filter, a funnel or a screen that made everything seem not-quite-real. Asellus's talk rolled off of him like water, and he immersed himself in it, a different kind of cleansing that made his heart feel heavy as a rock.
Before Purgatorium, Shu had always found that little cliché so painful - the declaration that one had to be dreaming, as things seemed so unreal. How could anything feel like a dream? How could anything truly feel so intangible?
He certainly knew now. He knew.
He cried for about a minute, deathly silent. Absurd, really, but it was the shock more than anything; no grief, no sense of loss this time; the fantasy of what he may have left behind had proven far more picturesque than the reality. His duty was here.
All that time, that entire year... what had he done with it, really? Sat in his room, staring out of the window, writing, reminiscing. Apple had stopped by, but she was in the midst of her travels all around the continent, compiling Mathiu's biography. He'd reached out for her hand, held her at one point. Tried to articulate, tried to present what had happened in the - by her perspective - brief time he'd been absent. She'd not understood, shaken her head, frowned. Said she wanted to believe, but it all seemed so farfetched. He hadn't met her eyes, showing her to the door. She said she hoped he felt better soon. She hated seeing him so gaunt.
And here it was again, just when the memories had crinkled enough that they no longer felt real either, when all of his world was starting to blend together into one great mess of unreal experiences. No sooner all that, either, than discovering Schuldig, the man he'd loved - did love still; Schuldig, the one he'd missed most of all, had taken his loss in a way few could have anticipated.
Elena had retrieved him as soon as she could. When she was done pasting him to the wall, compressing his ribs with her fierce hugs and staining his coat with her tears, when all those brief moments of just holding and babbling had passed, it had come back down to that. He couldn't ignore the worry in Elena's eyes, the dark rings of exhaustion that promised a damaging story, and he hadn't been disappointed. It hadn't taken much prompting. They had to go. They had to go now.
He hadn't slept yet. It didn't matter. The world couldn't feel any stranger, even with the lack of sleep making it feel a little off-kilter. His emotions still ran hot and cold, his skin cold and clammy with nervous sweat, his lower lip trembling with some kind of deep-seated shock. It didn't matter. His voice was level. His hands never wavered. He was still, in some essence, in some way he couldn't let go, in command.
The only thing he'd ever regretted was never getting the job finished. Another chance to come back, to lay all the old bones to rest... what more could he ask for? However long it took, he'd do it. However much he struggled, he'd find his way.
Starting with the two most important people of all, the immediate problem pressed to his lap and urged to be solved.
The path to Sunde was so well memorised, trodden countless times here and countless times more in his dreams and nightmares at home. Elena's wrist was hot in the palm of his slick hand, and the pace was a little more than her shorter legs could manage; for all that, she did a valiant job of not tripping, of talking and explaining along the way.
The zombie. Schuldig's seeming madness, his desire to delude himself.
And two others. Imposters? Figments of Schuldig's imagination?
Who could tell until they were there.
Sunde loomed before them, and they pressed on.
"Is he going to be dangerous, too? Do you... suppose there's the possibility he will reject me?"