Eternal Sonata Fanfiction (!)
Title: Irony
Author/Artist: SageSoren
Theme: Balance
Game: Eternal Sonata
Character(s): Count Waltz, though Polka and Allegretto are thoroughly mentioned.
Pairings (if any): None.
Rating: PG-13, maybe. Violence and blood are mentioned.
Warnings: If you haven't gone through Mt. Rock or figured out what the Mineral Powder does, don't read this. I practically tell you half of what happens there.
Summary: Who needed balance when you could have fun?
I've never written from the perspective of a psycho before, so I apologize for any over-done or awkward parts. 8D
I hope it's not -too- all over the place. (I had a hard time making it 2000 words.) Thank you to the people on the ES LJ comm who gave me their views of Waltz. It helped me add a lot to this!
For karthurcontest, but x-posted to baroquecastle, among others.
Whoever said his life needed balance was a fool.
He had lived a prim and proper life, learning table manners and wearing starched clothing with lace like someone's porcelain doll. They had always told him he would and could amount to something. That he would be grand. And oh! He didn't doubt it, no, not for a second, even as he lay defeated, laughing to himself before a rapidly darkening sky.
He had amounted to something great and memorable, with or without the fabled balance they had promised would keep him in one piece.
===
Waltz, for all the awkward glances he attracted from his inferiors, considered himself very "together". He was stunning, educated, had land to play with and subjects to harass and nearby regions practically screaming that they needed him for a ruler. He also had marvelous taste in clothing. It was enough at first, but it would not be for long.
He had always been hard to entertain, even from the time he was a small child. Things bored him quickly, and it was hard to keep him occupied; a real pity because it was in his boredom that he had begun to realize how much fun it was to play with danger. There always had to be a new and exciting rule added to his games--a higher stake, a greater penalty. The boy found things more thrilling when there was more to lose. What was the fun of winning when there was never a risk involved? How could you really call it victory when there wasn't a struggle?
People's lives were his favorite stake, in fact. The suffering one death could leave in its wake was always so satisfying to watch somehow. It was possible that the real entertainment value in this came from the way he himself did not understand grief and therefore felt no empathy. In his mind, there were no human beings valuable enough to warrant mourning. People were tools. People were worthless.
The Mineral Powder had been an accident. He had first gotten wind of it when miners discovered that the dust from a particular mine seemed to have peculiar, almost toxic qualities. Upon further investigation, it was found that the minerals that occurred naturally in this mine could be used for their medicinal properties only until the side-effects kicked in. Devout users of this so-called "Mineral Powder" eventually gave way to forms of dementia, losing their minds and becoming particularly aggressive.
In other words, they were the perfect soldiers.
And oh, did he have a laugh when he found out! Waltz easily lost track of the number of aids he had to rid himself of when they called his plans unethical and crude. They, of course, simply became the first test subjects. He laughed again to discover sometime later that they had attacked travelers and harassed farmers.
He laughed a lot, really.
Laughing was a nice way for him to escape reality. At least, that was what Legato said. It wasn't true, though. Waltz did not consider his "fits of madness" anything of the sort. He wasn't trying to run away from reality and its problems or burdens. He was laughing at them. After all, when the world is so sad and ironic, what's not to laugh at?
Smiling was never a good thing in his court, either. Persons of state always seemed so much more approachable when they smiled their stately, proper smiles, but not Waltz. Smiling brought up this crazy look in his eyes that made it seem like maybe he had lost control a long, long time ago, and maybe there was no chance of it ever coming back.
Because of this, at least no one had ever questioned the motivation behind him hiring someone like Fugue. Fugue seemed plausibly as loopy as his employer, even if no one had the courage to mention it. No one trusts people with monocles anymore.
The count had never banked on the idea that anyone would ever rise against him. His current help was trust-worthy, or too afraid to make a move. Baroque stood not a chance as long as he kept Serenade as his pretty little traitor. As long as she squealed, Baroque was simply a tacky rainbow-colored distraction, as far as he was concerned. He would have paid money to see the look on the prince's face when and if he discovered Serenade's traitorous position. It was all too easy.
Besides, this was Forte. It was doubtlessly named that way for a reason. A formidably named place deserved a formidable ruler, like him! With as much strength as that, how could it ever fall to somewhere like Baroque? It was simply unthinkable. It would never happen.
In playing with his new hobbies, Waltz began to invest more and more time towards the creation of a better Mineral Powder. He wanted something with faster, more extreme results. He was tired of waiting and watching. Seeing townspeople slowly go mad was fun at first, but it had lost its charm. Many experiments aimed at increasing the potency of Mineral Powder failed; even paid scholars could find nothing that truly increased the already considerable strength of the toxin.
He began to look on his own.
There was something about the agogos that struck him from the first moment he laid eyes on them. It was their air of mystery in particular. Even the locals could not properly explain what an agogo was or where the creatures came from. (What were they there for? What did they eat? What did they sound like if you stepped on them?) People said they simply... appeared and were very peaceful, never seeming to consume plant life or harm flowers like common insects. They were perfect. Waltz decided almost immediately that such an unknown creature must be made of an unheard of substance, and perhaps it was the key to unlocking the maximum potential of the Mineral Powder. Try as he might to capture even one, he lacked a particular quality, and because of it, agogos fled in his majestic presence. They, like most things, had good reason to.
Polka was another story. For some reason, the curious agogos flocked to her. Better still, they exhibited new qualities when she was around--they glowed. Waltz made several attempts to capture her instead, but she fought him every step of the way... Her, and her little band of nobodies. She took down Fugue after only one sound defeat and later defeated Rondo as well. It was beyond what he had predicted. It was unprecedented. It was... interesting. She was only a weak, sickly little girl. Why was she winning? When he came face-to-face with her, Waltz wasn't honestly sure what he expected. Half of him wanted her to back down and give him the agogos like anyone else would have. The other half of him almost wanted her to bite back. He wanted the challenge. He wanted to kill her himself for the pleasure of smiling wickedly over her dead body and smearing her blood on his face.
She would be the one to up the stakes in his little game. She would be what made victory a real win. She would add the challenge he'd sorely missed in his life of charades before.
Balance! Who needed it? For all that had happened, extremities had proven capable of creating the most exciting outcomes and the highest stakes. They alone had made his life interesting and given him all the opportunities to do the things he had always wanted. They had shown him what power one was capable of if he simply pushed everything else away. They had let him hurt his own subjects just for the joy of watching other people suffer.
But she was so different from him. She gave herself up for her friends and for Baroque. She gave him what he wanted to save other lives. She was so different from him. Just before he hit her, he saw it in her eyes. Her eyes were pure, bright and full of hope. He was mad and sadistic now because it was what he'd let himself become. He was his own reason for scaring the agogos away. They had seen in her what had not been in him: the power to do good. He'd have wondered why that had ever mattered to them, but he didn't have time. He had no time see what truly terrible but remarkable effect the empowered Mineral Powder had on a human body.
Her friends were on him in a second, weapons drawn. Waltz only laughed at them. They would not win. They couldn't. They were neither her extreme nor his; not completely beautiful nor incurably ugly inside, and they lacked the necessary heart to beat him. Her pathetic little boyfriend with his unpolished sword and flimsy armor was hardly competition. Waltz would not go easy on anyone, much less this pretender who thought himself a worthy opponent.
Everything about Waltz's appearance contradicted his inward self, and it was obvious now. Outwardly, he was still rather pleasing to look at. His hair was gold like an autumn field and he had beautiful eyes as deep and velvety as any night sky. He dressed and looked the part of an angel quite thoroughly, accented with stars and ribbon. A life of easy nobility had granted him a smooth and even gait. His personal fighting style was practically its own art form. Waltz easily considered himself the closest thing to earthly perfection in most regards. It was little wonder he had accomplished so much at so young an age. Allegretto was nothing compared to him. He was rugged-looking from a life on the streets and, although quick, was not nearly so coordinated or learned in sword styles. The count had no need to assure himself victory over such a creature. He wouldn't lose. He never did.
Perhaps this belief was why Allegretto had been a sore underestimation from the start. Something in this flimsy, ill-bred, worthless boy burned stronger than Waltz's own desires. It caught him off-guard at first--his first mistake. Waltz countered with perfection, but somehow perfection could not beat fury here. He became inwardly baffled at why his attacks were lacking in sheer effectiveness--his second mistake. Waltz faltered at the blazing look in the other boy's eyes, and another opening became available.
The oldest of the group, Jazz, whom he cold not deny was a solid man with even more solid sword skills, closed in on him suddenly. A strange feeling closed in on him even faster. Fear? No, this was anticipation! The gargantuan sword made a broad sweep and forced Waltz's rapier from his hand. The flimsy weapon clattered uselessly to the ground at his side. Suddenly, there was blood everywhere, and it was his own. There was no pain at all. He was simply numb with the sick satisfaction of impending defeat at the hands of a worthy opponent.
But the worthless Allegretto was the one who finished him off.
And all this, just for a silly girl.
Waltz almost wondered what Polka thought now that her Allegretto was quite the treasonous murderer.
The world would remember the count forever for what he did, or maybe what he failed to do. Of that much, he was certain. It was encouraging; the promise of immortality in text books that school children everywhere would someday have to read. It was humorous, almost. He could picture their horrified grimaces and hoped the Mineral Powder soldiers would become a bedtime threat.
===
They didn't even linger over him when he fell. He was glad. There was no place left for him now that he had failed. Funny; he'd always felt too good for the world with all its scars, treachery and worthless human beings. Suddenly it seemed it was too good for him.
"Goodbye," he murmured, feeling laughter rise in his throat. He allowed himself to raise his tone only slightly for emphasis, and he reached one violet gloved hand to the clouds. "Goodbye, worthless world!"
And he laughed quietly at the irony until the sky became black.
Author/Artist: SageSoren
Theme: Balance
Game: Eternal Sonata
Character(s): Count Waltz, though Polka and Allegretto are thoroughly mentioned.
Pairings (if any): None.
Rating: PG-13, maybe. Violence and blood are mentioned.
Warnings: If you haven't gone through Mt. Rock or figured out what the Mineral Powder does, don't read this. I practically tell you half of what happens there.
Summary: Who needed balance when you could have fun?
I've never written from the perspective of a psycho before, so I apologize for any over-done or awkward parts. 8D
I hope it's not -too- all over the place. (I had a hard time making it 2000 words.) Thank you to the people on the ES LJ comm who gave me their views of Waltz. It helped me add a lot to this!
For karthurcontest, but x-posted to baroquecastle, among others.
Whoever said his life needed balance was a fool.
He had lived a prim and proper life, learning table manners and wearing starched clothing with lace like someone's porcelain doll. They had always told him he would and could amount to something. That he would be grand. And oh! He didn't doubt it, no, not for a second, even as he lay defeated, laughing to himself before a rapidly darkening sky.
He had amounted to something great and memorable, with or without the fabled balance they had promised would keep him in one piece.
===
Waltz, for all the awkward glances he attracted from his inferiors, considered himself very "together". He was stunning, educated, had land to play with and subjects to harass and nearby regions practically screaming that they needed him for a ruler. He also had marvelous taste in clothing. It was enough at first, but it would not be for long.
He had always been hard to entertain, even from the time he was a small child. Things bored him quickly, and it was hard to keep him occupied; a real pity because it was in his boredom that he had begun to realize how much fun it was to play with danger. There always had to be a new and exciting rule added to his games--a higher stake, a greater penalty. The boy found things more thrilling when there was more to lose. What was the fun of winning when there was never a risk involved? How could you really call it victory when there wasn't a struggle?
People's lives were his favorite stake, in fact. The suffering one death could leave in its wake was always so satisfying to watch somehow. It was possible that the real entertainment value in this came from the way he himself did not understand grief and therefore felt no empathy. In his mind, there were no human beings valuable enough to warrant mourning. People were tools. People were worthless.
The Mineral Powder had been an accident. He had first gotten wind of it when miners discovered that the dust from a particular mine seemed to have peculiar, almost toxic qualities. Upon further investigation, it was found that the minerals that occurred naturally in this mine could be used for their medicinal properties only until the side-effects kicked in. Devout users of this so-called "Mineral Powder" eventually gave way to forms of dementia, losing their minds and becoming particularly aggressive.
In other words, they were the perfect soldiers.
And oh, did he have a laugh when he found out! Waltz easily lost track of the number of aids he had to rid himself of when they called his plans unethical and crude. They, of course, simply became the first test subjects. He laughed again to discover sometime later that they had attacked travelers and harassed farmers.
He laughed a lot, really.
Laughing was a nice way for him to escape reality. At least, that was what Legato said. It wasn't true, though. Waltz did not consider his "fits of madness" anything of the sort. He wasn't trying to run away from reality and its problems or burdens. He was laughing at them. After all, when the world is so sad and ironic, what's not to laugh at?
Smiling was never a good thing in his court, either. Persons of state always seemed so much more approachable when they smiled their stately, proper smiles, but not Waltz. Smiling brought up this crazy look in his eyes that made it seem like maybe he had lost control a long, long time ago, and maybe there was no chance of it ever coming back.
Because of this, at least no one had ever questioned the motivation behind him hiring someone like Fugue. Fugue seemed plausibly as loopy as his employer, even if no one had the courage to mention it. No one trusts people with monocles anymore.
The count had never banked on the idea that anyone would ever rise against him. His current help was trust-worthy, or too afraid to make a move. Baroque stood not a chance as long as he kept Serenade as his pretty little traitor. As long as she squealed, Baroque was simply a tacky rainbow-colored distraction, as far as he was concerned. He would have paid money to see the look on the prince's face when and if he discovered Serenade's traitorous position. It was all too easy.
Besides, this was Forte. It was doubtlessly named that way for a reason. A formidably named place deserved a formidable ruler, like him! With as much strength as that, how could it ever fall to somewhere like Baroque? It was simply unthinkable. It would never happen.
In playing with his new hobbies, Waltz began to invest more and more time towards the creation of a better Mineral Powder. He wanted something with faster, more extreme results. He was tired of waiting and watching. Seeing townspeople slowly go mad was fun at first, but it had lost its charm. Many experiments aimed at increasing the potency of Mineral Powder failed; even paid scholars could find nothing that truly increased the already considerable strength of the toxin.
He began to look on his own.
There was something about the agogos that struck him from the first moment he laid eyes on them. It was their air of mystery in particular. Even the locals could not properly explain what an agogo was or where the creatures came from. (What were they there for? What did they eat? What did they sound like if you stepped on them?) People said they simply... appeared and were very peaceful, never seeming to consume plant life or harm flowers like common insects. They were perfect. Waltz decided almost immediately that such an unknown creature must be made of an unheard of substance, and perhaps it was the key to unlocking the maximum potential of the Mineral Powder. Try as he might to capture even one, he lacked a particular quality, and because of it, agogos fled in his majestic presence. They, like most things, had good reason to.
Polka was another story. For some reason, the curious agogos flocked to her. Better still, they exhibited new qualities when she was around--they glowed. Waltz made several attempts to capture her instead, but she fought him every step of the way... Her, and her little band of nobodies. She took down Fugue after only one sound defeat and later defeated Rondo as well. It was beyond what he had predicted. It was unprecedented. It was... interesting. She was only a weak, sickly little girl. Why was she winning? When he came face-to-face with her, Waltz wasn't honestly sure what he expected. Half of him wanted her to back down and give him the agogos like anyone else would have. The other half of him almost wanted her to bite back. He wanted the challenge. He wanted to kill her himself for the pleasure of smiling wickedly over her dead body and smearing her blood on his face.
She would be the one to up the stakes in his little game. She would be what made victory a real win. She would add the challenge he'd sorely missed in his life of charades before.
Balance! Who needed it? For all that had happened, extremities had proven capable of creating the most exciting outcomes and the highest stakes. They alone had made his life interesting and given him all the opportunities to do the things he had always wanted. They had shown him what power one was capable of if he simply pushed everything else away. They had let him hurt his own subjects just for the joy of watching other people suffer.
But she was so different from him. She gave herself up for her friends and for Baroque. She gave him what he wanted to save other lives. She was so different from him. Just before he hit her, he saw it in her eyes. Her eyes were pure, bright and full of hope. He was mad and sadistic now because it was what he'd let himself become. He was his own reason for scaring the agogos away. They had seen in her what had not been in him: the power to do good. He'd have wondered why that had ever mattered to them, but he didn't have time. He had no time see what truly terrible but remarkable effect the empowered Mineral Powder had on a human body.
Her friends were on him in a second, weapons drawn. Waltz only laughed at them. They would not win. They couldn't. They were neither her extreme nor his; not completely beautiful nor incurably ugly inside, and they lacked the necessary heart to beat him. Her pathetic little boyfriend with his unpolished sword and flimsy armor was hardly competition. Waltz would not go easy on anyone, much less this pretender who thought himself a worthy opponent.
Everything about Waltz's appearance contradicted his inward self, and it was obvious now. Outwardly, he was still rather pleasing to look at. His hair was gold like an autumn field and he had beautiful eyes as deep and velvety as any night sky. He dressed and looked the part of an angel quite thoroughly, accented with stars and ribbon. A life of easy nobility had granted him a smooth and even gait. His personal fighting style was practically its own art form. Waltz easily considered himself the closest thing to earthly perfection in most regards. It was little wonder he had accomplished so much at so young an age. Allegretto was nothing compared to him. He was rugged-looking from a life on the streets and, although quick, was not nearly so coordinated or learned in sword styles. The count had no need to assure himself victory over such a creature. He wouldn't lose. He never did.
Perhaps this belief was why Allegretto had been a sore underestimation from the start. Something in this flimsy, ill-bred, worthless boy burned stronger than Waltz's own desires. It caught him off-guard at first--his first mistake. Waltz countered with perfection, but somehow perfection could not beat fury here. He became inwardly baffled at why his attacks were lacking in sheer effectiveness--his second mistake. Waltz faltered at the blazing look in the other boy's eyes, and another opening became available.
The oldest of the group, Jazz, whom he cold not deny was a solid man with even more solid sword skills, closed in on him suddenly. A strange feeling closed in on him even faster. Fear? No, this was anticipation! The gargantuan sword made a broad sweep and forced Waltz's rapier from his hand. The flimsy weapon clattered uselessly to the ground at his side. Suddenly, there was blood everywhere, and it was his own. There was no pain at all. He was simply numb with the sick satisfaction of impending defeat at the hands of a worthy opponent.
But the worthless Allegretto was the one who finished him off.
And all this, just for a silly girl.
Waltz almost wondered what Polka thought now that her Allegretto was quite the treasonous murderer.
The world would remember the count forever for what he did, or maybe what he failed to do. Of that much, he was certain. It was encouraging; the promise of immortality in text books that school children everywhere would someday have to read. It was humorous, almost. He could picture their horrified grimaces and hoped the Mineral Powder soldiers would become a bedtime threat.
===
They didn't even linger over him when he fell. He was glad. There was no place left for him now that he had failed. Funny; he'd always felt too good for the world with all its scars, treachery and worthless human beings. Suddenly it seemed it was too good for him.
"Goodbye," he murmured, feeling laughter rise in his throat. He allowed himself to raise his tone only slightly for emphasis, and he reached one violet gloved hand to the clouds. "Goodbye, worthless world!"
And he laughed quietly at the irony until the sky became black.