in progress
who; Rinali keirui and Rabi conflagratus
what; Rinali found him first. hah! kanda
where; Dojo, training area.
when; Night, after this post. In other words, as soon as Rabi went off into hiding. Backdated.
rating; PG.
open; ♥ ... No.
Rabi didn't want to be found.
It made things easier that Badou had left; less chances to stumble with one of the three other occupants of the dojo. And despite it all, it hadn't been the other redhead's words that had entirely caused Rabi to fall into the pit of self hate and inner turmoil. As little distraction as the place provided, and the heat slowing his actions down moderately, gave the Bookman apprentice far too much time to dwell on memories and thoughts. Unfortunately, the memory that was burning him most at the moment was that of the Ark - his battle with Rhode, with himself, how he was melting away from that dream world.
He had won the battle, he was sure of that, but had it actually been a victory? What if it was just a test, another trial that showed him how much he failed at keeping his Rabi persona away from his true self? The fact that his heart had won... It made no sense to him.
It wasn't like Rabi didn't care about Rinali or Allen or the rest of the Black Order or even Yuu, but any other time he could easily detach himself from the character he was interpreting, easily removing himself from thoughts and feelings they harbored. Rabi had been, for the lack of another word, a toll on him. He had actually started feeling the things Rabi felt, meant the things Rabi said, even thought things how Rabi would.
It confused him greatly, and as much as he tried to suppress back these thoughts to those of what a Bookman apprentice should have, all his ideas began to get mixed up. The idea that he might actually not belong with the rest of his friends due to his obligation as a Bookman hurt him; the idea of not being able to become Bookman worked the same effect on him. Badou's words on how no one would miss him if he were dead triggered some dead sense of self loathing, thoughts rushing quickly back and forth as he tried to make sense of them; distinguish those that mattered from those he didn't need.
Rabi couldn't do that anymore.
He couldn't do anything anymore without doubting himself, his words, actions, thoughts. He needed Bookman to be there, to give him some sort of guidance; to kick him on the back of his head like he would always do and tell him to stop being an idiot and get back in character. To say all those damned hurtful things that literally screamed that they couldn't get close to any of their 'comrades' as Exorcists. Why did the memory alone have to hurt so much?
They were in a new setting, a new place, new people. Couldn't he just drop Rabi and pick up another name, another character, for a new log? He wasn't sure he could keep up with it any longer. He was slipping, even. He knew he was being a bastard and a coward, he didn't need Yuu to tell him that. It confused him even further when he found himself wanting to rely on him, wanting to comfort Rinali for what it was worth.
It was getting tiresome, his head was splitting from the rampaging thoughts, memories of the fight with himself still fresh in his mind. Surely he couldn't have killed everything he once was, once wanted, just for the sake of letting Rabi live on. He had never confronted the situation where he would have to keep under character for so long and stay that way.
His Bookman self was a white sheet of paper, and Rabi was written and painted on top of himself. His heart, his mind, his soul. Things that didn't belong to him were now his, but for some reason he wasn't so sure if he should want them. What would Bookman say? Would he be shunned by Bookman, if this was ever to be discussed with the old man? The Zack fellow hadn't helped either with his words; they only confused Rabi even further.
"Ah," Rabi scratched the back of his head rather forcefully in frustration. He hated this feeling, the thoughts edging back and forth inside his head and invading what emptiness he wanted to have there. He knew he had hurt more than one person in the past few days with his attitude, and he wasn't sure himself if he regretted it or felt glad he had done so.
That's why he was hiding in the training area of the dojo, sheets of paper of many colors splayed around his seated self as he worked the thin material with his fingers: folding and bending, sometimes ripping pieces away. Whenever frustration hit him, he would rip the paper apart or crumple it before throwing it far away from him. There was nothing for him to get distracted from those thoughts, the painful and seemingly exaggerated beating of his heart being most obvious now, scarying him beyond believe and reminding him constantly that he had a heart.
"Bookman isn't meant to have a heart..." he opted on chanting to himself in a murmur, picking a green tinted piece of paper, folding it's corners with no clear idea of what he wanted to do. "As long as Bookman doesn't have a heart, he won't pick sides. For this purpose, History will be recorded." With each and every word he murmured, his muscles tensed and he glared at the innocent piece of paper, folding it rather forcefully as his feverish eye tried not to stray from his object of attention.
A paper cut marked itself on his index finger, but he didn't care as he altogether stopped. Finding the heat and the thoughts in his head suffocating, his breathing heavier as he closed his eye, unable to focus entirely on anything. "I have a heart... But Bookman can't... Goddammit..." Frustrated, he brought his hands to his face, frowning as he tried hard to keep his head empty, still chanting the words Bookman had once told him for a comfort he wasn't even remotely close to getting like how he would have once.
Why was he so different from who he had once been before? It made no sense; his head hurt, his insides burned - Rabi wasn't sure of what he should be doing in such pathetic state. Perhaps this was another reason why he hadn't wanted to be found by anyone. He was scared of what they would think and of what they would say.
He was better off alone anyway, and that made complete sense to him.
what; Rinali found him first. hah! kanda
where; Dojo, training area.
when; Night, after this post. In other words, as soon as Rabi went off into hiding. Backdated.
rating; PG.
open; ♥ ... No.
Rabi didn't want to be found.
It made things easier that Badou had left; less chances to stumble with one of the three other occupants of the dojo. And despite it all, it hadn't been the other redhead's words that had entirely caused Rabi to fall into the pit of self hate and inner turmoil. As little distraction as the place provided, and the heat slowing his actions down moderately, gave the Bookman apprentice far too much time to dwell on memories and thoughts. Unfortunately, the memory that was burning him most at the moment was that of the Ark - his battle with Rhode, with himself, how he was melting away from that dream world.
He had won the battle, he was sure of that, but had it actually been a victory? What if it was just a test, another trial that showed him how much he failed at keeping his Rabi persona away from his true self? The fact that his heart had won... It made no sense to him.
It wasn't like Rabi didn't care about Rinali or Allen or the rest of the Black Order or even Yuu, but any other time he could easily detach himself from the character he was interpreting, easily removing himself from thoughts and feelings they harbored. Rabi had been, for the lack of another word, a toll on him. He had actually started feeling the things Rabi felt, meant the things Rabi said, even thought things how Rabi would.
It confused him greatly, and as much as he tried to suppress back these thoughts to those of what a Bookman apprentice should have, all his ideas began to get mixed up. The idea that he might actually not belong with the rest of his friends due to his obligation as a Bookman hurt him; the idea of not being able to become Bookman worked the same effect on him. Badou's words on how no one would miss him if he were dead triggered some dead sense of self loathing, thoughts rushing quickly back and forth as he tried to make sense of them; distinguish those that mattered from those he didn't need.
Rabi couldn't do that anymore.
He couldn't do anything anymore without doubting himself, his words, actions, thoughts. He needed Bookman to be there, to give him some sort of guidance; to kick him on the back of his head like he would always do and tell him to stop being an idiot and get back in character. To say all those damned hurtful things that literally screamed that they couldn't get close to any of their 'comrades' as Exorcists. Why did the memory alone have to hurt so much?
They were in a new setting, a new place, new people. Couldn't he just drop Rabi and pick up another name, another character, for a new log? He wasn't sure he could keep up with it any longer. He was slipping, even. He knew he was being a bastard and a coward, he didn't need Yuu to tell him that. It confused him even further when he found himself wanting to rely on him, wanting to comfort Rinali for what it was worth.
It was getting tiresome, his head was splitting from the rampaging thoughts, memories of the fight with himself still fresh in his mind. Surely he couldn't have killed everything he once was, once wanted, just for the sake of letting Rabi live on. He had never confronted the situation where he would have to keep under character for so long and stay that way.
His Bookman self was a white sheet of paper, and Rabi was written and painted on top of himself. His heart, his mind, his soul. Things that didn't belong to him were now his, but for some reason he wasn't so sure if he should want them. What would Bookman say? Would he be shunned by Bookman, if this was ever to be discussed with the old man? The Zack fellow hadn't helped either with his words; they only confused Rabi even further.
"Ah," Rabi scratched the back of his head rather forcefully in frustration. He hated this feeling, the thoughts edging back and forth inside his head and invading what emptiness he wanted to have there. He knew he had hurt more than one person in the past few days with his attitude, and he wasn't sure himself if he regretted it or felt glad he had done so.
That's why he was hiding in the training area of the dojo, sheets of paper of many colors splayed around his seated self as he worked the thin material with his fingers: folding and bending, sometimes ripping pieces away. Whenever frustration hit him, he would rip the paper apart or crumple it before throwing it far away from him. There was nothing for him to get distracted from those thoughts, the painful and seemingly exaggerated beating of his heart being most obvious now, scarying him beyond believe and reminding him constantly that he had a heart.
"Bookman isn't meant to have a heart..." he opted on chanting to himself in a murmur, picking a green tinted piece of paper, folding it's corners with no clear idea of what he wanted to do. "As long as Bookman doesn't have a heart, he won't pick sides. For this purpose, History will be recorded." With each and every word he murmured, his muscles tensed and he glared at the innocent piece of paper, folding it rather forcefully as his feverish eye tried not to stray from his object of attention.
A paper cut marked itself on his index finger, but he didn't care as he altogether stopped. Finding the heat and the thoughts in his head suffocating, his breathing heavier as he closed his eye, unable to focus entirely on anything. "I have a heart... But Bookman can't... Goddammit..." Frustrated, he brought his hands to his face, frowning as he tried hard to keep his head empty, still chanting the words Bookman had once told him for a comfort he wasn't even remotely close to getting like how he would have once.
Why was he so different from who he had once been before? It made no sense; his head hurt, his insides burned - Rabi wasn't sure of what he should be doing in such pathetic state. Perhaps this was another reason why he hadn't wanted to be found by anyone. He was scared of what they would think and of what they would say.
He was better off alone anyway, and that made complete sense to him.