[COMPLETE]

[egoistically]

WHO: Van [egoistically] and Asch [not_about_logic].
WHAT: Meeting, because Van would like explanations for certain actions Asch has taken in the past~
WHERE: The dock, possibly moving from there.
WHEN: This evening.

Comments

[not_about_logic]

Asch had never had another chance for a rebellious phase. Van kept such a tight leash on him that it was only when that replica came into the mix that Asch realized--that Asch knew--that Asch had to throw himself against all of Van's ideals, because it was the only betrayal he'd ever known. It threw into doubt everything that had come before, and Asch's pride was the hardest hit, bruised easily, held onto the hurt. How dare he throw him over for some replica; how dare he allow the world to suffer that way; how dare Van ignore him after all-- After everything. He'd never expected that, and it came like a fist to the gut, like Van's fist to his gut

[egoistically]

Van didn't bother to turn; he wouldn't give Asch the satisfaction of such attention, of any attention. In his opinion, no matter what he had done to achieve his ends and do what he felt - no, what he knew - to be right, it was no excuse for Asch's behavior in the past months. All his time spent with the replica, with helping it to be his downfall. Van had no regrets as to his behavior towards his student; to the child he had taken under his wing, to the young man he had turned into. He was a Commandant, and had to discipline his soldiers accordingly. Asch, however much Van might have cared about him, was no exception to that.

Straightening a little when the soldier approached, the only indication that he was aware that the other man was there, Van released a sigh. One that he felt he had been holding in for far too long. It was one of sleepless nights and tiring months of work an planning and stress. Of months worrying and wondering what had happened to his student; something he would never admit aloud. Something he even had a hard

[not_about_logic]

Van had betrayed him. Didn't he see? If Van had given him any tools with which to handle this sort of pain, to speak to what he was feeling, then he wouldn't have been so angry, perhaps. He would have been able to articulate his anger, and words would have helped. As it stood, he was all pent up, a bottle bomb ready to explode. He would have torn Van's throat out if he could have, if he thought it would help.

But the replica was right. Asch was worse about their...about Van than he accused the replica of being. He was the weaker of the two--perhaps it was part of why he pushed the replica so damn hard. Because he knew he could never be the one to defeat Van. It wasn't even a matter of strength, but attachment. What he needed. The validation he was still so desperate for

[egoistically]

It wouldn't have surprised him in the least if Asch had decided to pull a sword on him, to attempt an attack, even a simple lunge to hit him with his fists wouldn't have been alarming. No, Van expected it. He waited for it, muscles in his back tensing, hands ready, posed for immediate defense if need be. He had taught Asch well (occasionally, he thought, too well), but also knew each of his moves by heart and could counter any that he had taught him initially.

He was surprised, though, when all that came was his voice again. Demanding as he always was. Less so than when he was younger, though. Wanting attention, undivided. Fortunately, Van generally had the time to spare and gave it without hesitation whenever present. Even more so when Asch came to Daath.

The thought of that weighing heavy on his stomach - 'che, guilt, what a weak thing - was the sole reason he finally turned to face the other man. He barely moved, only his shoulders and head, glancing back at him. He wouldn't give in completely

[not_about_logic]

Of course. Of course he did. Whatever Van's "attention" meant. And it was never what Asch wanted or what he needed, always what Van felt was best. He was a father, a brother--he had been a friend, if you could call it that--a mentor. He was everything. Something seized up in Asch's chest and for a moment he could feel his heart flinging itself against his ribcage, and everything was tight, too tight.

What was he supposed to say? The replica is better than I am. He can defeat you; I can't. Or maybe, Is this what you always wanted? Is this what you took me for?

The trouble was that Van didn't respect him, and half of it--Asch knew--was because he'd given him no reason to. He couldn't trust Van's vision, and who was to say that Asch hadn't been the one to betray him first?

All he could see was Van, Van's back to him, his shoulders and his stark, broad profile against the darkness, no more than a shadow himself. Damn it. Van was the smartest person he knew; he was the strongest. He'd never been able to accept the flaws in him;

[egoistically]

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Fresh air off the water went in before being released; a pleasant change from the salt water air he was accustomed to back in Auldrant. He was certainly thankful for that much, at least. He was enjoying the silence, the warm night air, the complete relaxation of it all. Granted, he was still tense as ever, consistently calculating in the back of his mind how he might get home in the morning, how his plan could continue in his absence, but at that very moment? He content to let it all drift to the very back, contentment in the present taking over the forefront.

At least until Asch began to give him what could be described as an excuse of a status report. He really had become lax in his duties as a General. Tsk.

Honestly, Van would have been fine not discussing 'business' for the rest of the evening, but it seemed as though the subject wasn't leaving any time soon. Another sigh, as though the entire thing was positively tiring for him, requiring much more effort than he could manage to provide at the

[not_about_logic]

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

It could all be distilled to something so simple that it was amazing it became so complicated. Why wasn't he able to speak? Even as a child, he'd never been particularly felicitous when it came to words, but he somewhere along the line his tongue had ossified. Awkward, strange, weary and cut-off, he felt the distance so acutely that he wanted to scream.

But the replica wasn't here to blame. He could have blamed Van, but now that Van was here, in front of him, it was harder. Old desires sparked up hot in his chest and he was torn between what was right for Auldrant and what was right for Van. This was the first purpose he'd known: the other half of that coin was that fighting against this was the second. He only had two.

Van had taught him fighting and nothing more, but they weren't in Auldrant now.

And Van--

This wasn't how it was supposed to be!"The replica hasn't," he snarled, sudden and bitter, biting the words with an edge that sounded foreign even to his own ears. "His blood fonons

[egoistically]

It was nostalgia that began to creep into him, then. A mere slip across his mind, but there all the same; edging around him and leaving a remnant whisper of what used to be. He almost missed how it was prior to putting his plan into action, to trying to destroy everything that the world had built itself on. Before things became so complicated that they were suffocating. It was almost - almost - too much, but that was the only way Van functioned with any form of coherency. Under great deals of stress with excessive amounts of work involved.

But perhaps the stress would be better left in Auldrant, back in a world he was no longer a part of for at least the new few hours. The added stress would only prove to make him deteriorate faster.

Although.

If the fact that he felt completely fine (other than some slight exhaustion) was any indication, he could only assume that Asch was correct about the replica and that he, too, would have no problems there until his departure. Van put no value into his words, though. It was unlike Asch to use

[not_about_logic]

Of course Van would have noticed. It wasn't like someone asking him how he was feeling--it wasn't like the replica, worrying that he wasn't taking care of himself properly, sickening as that was to contemplate--it was almost supercilious, almost condescending, the slight curl of the lip and the flare of the nostrils, when Asch knew that Van was disappointed. It wasn't... Concern.

He didn't deserve Van's concern! He didn't want it! But of course Van would have noticed, and Asch, reflexively, clenched his fists. They'd been bad enough before the fight with Susumu, but after he'd bandaged them up, with Osei's help, and they'd begun to heal, they'd split open again the moment he drew his sword against the ninja, and now they were a mess. Torn up, the blisters split and dully throbbing; what use could he be to Van now?

But it wasn't like that anymore. He'd ended things.The replica's words still haunted him. He wasn't any better; if anything, he was worse. He could have spat with anger, or shouted; thrown himself at Van, only to be

[egoistically]

A choked laugh came out; barely loud or long enough to be considered laughter, but not really classifiable as anything but. It wasn't amusement, not really, but Van found it completely ironic that Asch thought the situation to be complicated. "It's complicated?" He tilted his head up, glancing up, realizing the sky he was looking at bore no resemblance to the one he saw every day. Disturbing. "Isn't everything when you are involved?" It wasn't meant to be insulting, just a simple fact. In all the history they had together, if Asch was directly involved or affected, it generally turned into a very complicated situation