[ Open // Signius' Night Out ]
Method: [action/prose]
Who: Signius Dremire and anyone else.
Where: Around the Sleipnir (like with Allen's post, just say where)
When: January 23, Evening
What: Signius' awakens and decides that maybe -- MAYBE -- he should get a better look around the ship.
( So much for resting. )
Who: Signius Dremire and anyone else.
Where: Around the Sleipnir (like with Allen's post, just say where)
When: January 23, Evening
What: Signius' awakens and decides that maybe -- MAYBE -- he should get a better look around the ship.
( So much for resting. )
Where first Kanda had been looking out at the landscape, the passing minutes superimposed his own reflection onto the tableau, and though he would have liked to, he could not prevent his eyes from focusing on it, this image of himself that was so unlike the face he recognized in his own mirror.
The two simple syllables spoken by the newcomer broke over this fugue state, a hailing that the swordsman could not fail to answer. In the mirror of the bay's windowpane, his gaze shifted and he looked at the other through the glass. He would not, now, have wanted to look at him straight on. But with the intervening surface mediating between them, there came some small inkling of Kanda's usual intensity and his firm, unyielding confidence.
Through the reflection, Kanda met the man's gaze as an equal, recognizing in the tone the word had been spoken, another who for whom it was a name. And he was also quiet for a time, like hard ground that is slow in absorbing water after a storm.
At length he murmured a simple response which might have been acknowledgment, or agreement, or something in between, "Hn."
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"You look like you've been through Hel itself and lived to tell about it." His face remained passive, though his stance shifted a bit. His entire body shifted into a more neutral stance, a bit less defensive. "Nothing is ever easy for us."
He'd felt it in the past, a bonding between knights who had seen battle. They didn't need to be from the same war, or the same army, but when stuck together when things got messy the bond linked them closer than even blood ties. It had been a long time since Signius had felt a tie to anyone or anything, having erected walls of stone and steel around his heart and emotions long ago. Yet deep within he knew that if any of what he learned this day was true, he would need to learn to trust some of the people on the ship.
It's not their trust you need to worry about, Signius. The voice in his head mocked. His eyes narrowed slightly at the voice in his head, though all he could see was his own reflection glaring back at him, and the mocking laughter of his subconscious.
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He had been taught, of course, of the fire and brimstone and eternal damnation, the sins and their punishments. He'd been taught, too, that he was an apostle of God, chosen for the salvation of mankind. It was the tale that the Church and the Order spun him as a child to secure his compliance, to make him more tractable as they hooked his body up to the Innocence, leaving it to blow his limbs apart and burst through his flesh again and again as they tried to force him to synchronize with it.
The number of times he must have died only to have his body heal itself so that he could be blasted into death again--there was no tallying the count. It had, for him, always been interminable.
The threat of eternal undying torment, pain and burning without end? That wasn't what came after life, it was what happened during it, and he had long since stopped believing the stories the Order told about divinity and the ways of God. Between Hell and life, there was no difference, and no deliverance or salvation was real, no matter who promised it.
Yet it was only now, after all the years of his life in which he'd fought for them, giving his blood in battle to their cause, that he had finally learned the extent of their deceit, their hypocrisy and treason against the very faith they claimed. And the truth was that he didn't care. He couldn't even have feigned surprise. It wasn't a loss of faith which had cast him so low.
He closed his eyes for a moment, his head bowing slightly. It wasn't a nod of assent, but in a way it was an acknowledgment.
And then, finally, he broke his long silence. The words coming out low in a cracked whisper that didn't carry well, since really he was speaking more to himself more than anyone: yes, he had lived to tell about it. But what he said was just, "I always do."
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He had then awoke coughing blood and water, alone and cold on the bank of a river miles from where he'd died. He'd lost his country and was betrayed by those he'd done unthinkable for, and not even the Gods nor Demons wanted anything to do with him. In life he'd been exiled because of what he had done, and in death he was not wanted either.
Signius Dremire no longer feared death. He knew that at least for him, it was little more than the final darkness, an eternal night without stars.
The other man looked like he'd had better days, though most of them likely had. He wouldn't ask what had happened -- a courtesy he did, in all honesty, for himself. He did not want to have to answer that question in kind. Instead, Signius turned only slightly to give more attention to the other.
"Signius." He'd finally say. Most people would have held out a hand, though Signius only bowed his head ever-so-slightly.
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It certainly wasn't politeness that drove him now either. He never gave a damn how rude he was since he was never interested in making friends, and would just as soon alienate people than build any kind of camaraderie with them. But the swordsman also had his pride and his honor. He conducted himself so as to be answerable to those values. And he had never shamed himself by disguising his identity or failing to give his name when it was asked for.
His eyes still closed, he swallowed hard and clenched his jaw against the hollow emptiness in his chest, the space where everything he felt he knew about himself and what drove him in life had once been. So little was left there now. A few tattered threads hanging from the ragged edges of the void, and yet it was this wreck out of which he would have to drag himself.
But there was already one strand to cling to, wasn't there: I always do. That's just how I operate. And from there, he could grab hold of another.
Say your name, something in him demanded, and he forced his mouth to do it.
"Kanda," he said without turning, his voice managing to disguise how the syllables felt like ash against his tongue.
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"They say we are going to be in this place for some time." His face fell into a slightly irritated expression, though he finally turned so his back was to the window. There was little left to see this night other than his own reflection, and even he did not wish to see himself right now. Leaning against the wall beside the window, he continued. "We are not prisoners, but it sounds as if it would be foolish to try to leave."
He would leave out the part where Kaite explained that they were originally sent to kill the group. That was probably for the best. He folded his arms over his chest, tapping his armored side with his fingertips.
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Though he was certain that the Order would have seen it differently, he had nowhere now that he felt he should be, no purpose to drive him on or pull him up. What he had instead was an answer to a question he had searched for all his life, and now that the answer had ceased to satisfy, he couldn't help but feel that even the question had somehow failed him. He didn't want to leave, though, because he didn't have anywhere that he wanted to go.
So now he did return to his silence, offering neither word nor gesture in reply, his eyes traveling back to the glass and trying to see something beyond it, something besides the image of himself it cast back.
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But the plan didn't continue as smoothly when Allen found himself blinking awake, sitting up and finding that the bed Kanda had been on was empty. A kind of cold dread swept over him as he left his own bed quickly in search of his fellow exorcist. It was a panicked kind of search and he almost ran straight past him as Allen swept through the dining area, but something made him stop.
His footsteps stilled as he looked over to the windowed area, staring quietly at Kanda and then at the company he was in. Allen had seen the other man in passing, but didn't yet know his name. The momentary relief of locating his comrade began to slowly shift to concern given the encounters Kanda had experienced on this ship so far. Hopefully the man beside him wasn't about to start casting spells on him.
Cautiously, the white-haired boy began to walk over, presenting a polite smile and raising a hand in greeting.
"Good evening, sir," he said in a friendly but quiet voice "Have you been keeping my teammate company, or the other way around?"
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He dipped his head slightly in return, glancing back over to Kanda from the edge of his vision. The two didn't seem like a likely duo, but perhaps that was how things were wherever they were from. "Something of the sorts."
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He doesn't want any more or less to do with Allen right now than he does with Signius, and he doesn't even find relief in the idea that the two conversing might remove some pressure from him to do so. He doesn't care enough about social pressure or convention for it to matter. To judge by his reaction, Allen might as well not have come in at all.
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His gaze flickered briefly to Kanda, not terribly surprised or shocked by his silence and lack of response to Allen's presence, before he looked back to the older man beside them.
"You were in that cell with us this morning, right? So then you weren't part of this crew originally," he paused, smiling faintly as he offered a hand in greeting--very unlike Kanda through and through "I'm Allen, and this is Kanda."
Allen hadn't heard Kanda speak a word since they arrived there, as such he'd been giving introductions for the both of them to this point. Under that assumption he wasn't to know that this man had not only heard Kanda speak for himself, but had been given his name. "We're exorcists where we come from, but that seems to be something very different compared to here."
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He glanced curiously at Allen's hand, before he unfolded his arms and reached out to take it. He squeezed a bit, unsure as to whether his grip was too firm or not. What Allen couldn't realize was that this was the first human contact that Signius had had in years. Well, outside of being roughed up by the men in armor earlier that morning.
"Correct." He glanced back to Kanda from the corner of his vision before he nodded slightly. "I am Signius, though your friend has already introduced himself."
Somewhere deep inside, he wondered if exorcists in their world were like knights. He wouldn't ask that, of course, but he wondered it all the same. Would that make their knights into priests?
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He supposed that Allen would make something of him having told Signius his name--probably, knowing Allen's foolishness, the wrong thing. Only Kanda didn't care what Allen thought of him now. He didn't care what Signius thought of him either. Or, for that matter, what kind of judgments--right or wrong--he might make about Kanda and Allen.
Clearly he'd already made one: Allen was not Kanda's friend. Kanda didn't keep friends. His comrade-in-arms; his teammate. Fine. But not his friend. That was something they had never been, and it hadn't occurred to Kanda to think that maybe that constant had changed now.
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"Eh?" Allen's trajectory of greeting was distracted by the information the knight had given him: Kanda had already introduced himself. Allen couldn't easily keep the surprise off his face as his eyes darted briefly to Kanda. He watched him in silence for a second then the smile returned, bright and masking any kind of complicated, potentially selfish, feelings that may have been present under the surface.
"Well, that's good to know; I was starting to worry. I'm very pleased to meet you, Signius.
"Have you had chance to explore the ship yourself yet?"
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The transformation was slight, but it was there; gone, or at least now being subdued, was that cold husk of a person who had been there a moment before. Now it had been replaced with a man who was used to dealing with people in a more formal regard, though there were still hints that he was not all what he used to be. Some of the fire had burned out of his eyes, and he looked bloody tired, but he didn't look like he might run off and write dark poetry in the dark. Yet.
He supposed it was like muscle memory in a way. The moment he'd been pulled here his entire body had screamed out at once, and it was like he'd never been away from the battlefield. Now other things were returning to him, and he wasn't sure what that was going to bring. He cleared his throat lightly.
"A pleasure," He nodded. "I just awoke, myself. This is the first room I have actually entered since then, though it seems this is a rather large vessel. Have you been exploring, Mr. Allen?"
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What the swordsman had noticed, though, was the weight of Allen's gaze as it touched him momentarily and then darted away again. It made him frown. Most things about Allen usually made him frown, so that in itself was nothing unusual.
But whether it was the fleeting look or the tone of that single questioning syllable, Kanda was struck by the unshakable impression that Allen was wondering why he'd chosen a stranger to speak to over his teammate. It was an irritating thought, and of course it would be someone like Allen who would think of it. Damn Beansprout. As if he couldn't have guessed why Kanda didn't want to talk to him. As if he couldn't have figured why Kanda would prefer speaking to a stranger who didn't have any designs on getting too close.
Perhaps though, Allen would take Signius off with him on some investigation of the ship now. Or vice versa. And then Kanda would be left alone again. Probably, he felt, that would be for the best.
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