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we broke ywkon kranna argument
Jun. 24th, 2019 12:02 pmkind of sloppy, a little stream of consciousness, i don't care enough to make it pretty, we just needed to know how it happened
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Cutting a path through the mines is slower than taking a train, yes, but trains mean being surrounded by humans for hours and hours and Kratos had frankly had enough of being surrounded by humans after all the information gathering he'd been doing in town, so the day's delay hadn't really deterred him. He likes the mines, anyway. They're gorgeous, and the ether rich system does wonders for his sickness, so truthfully he doesn't mind taking detours through them at all.
Today he minds a little. But then, it is not the mines themselves, exactly. His bones still rattle with the ache of the cannon blast, the sensation of it raking through the atmosphere dropping him to his knees and promptly making him lose everything he'd eaten today. It's only his rage that gets him to his feet despite how he's trembling. Because that ether, that came out of the cannon?
That was Martel's.
He has to get to Mithos, has to tell him, has to make sure Mithos is alright--
Voices, up ahead. A flare of ether--is that ether?--that sings a loud song against Kratos' senses, drowning out everything else. He doesn't want to investigate, exactly, but that's the way forward, and... he is a little curious. There's something about the ether's taste that is familiar, something that he hasn't tasted in five years-- and it's impossible really which is why he'd be better off not knowing, not investigating, but.
That's the way forward.
So Kratos goes.
The first thing he notices is the wings-- And they take him off guard, just for a moment, before he recognizes that they are the wrong shape and not quite the right color to be Mithos', and if that was Mithos, the Aegis would have already launched himself into Kratos' arms but instead the boy who owns the wings stands there and stares at him with surprise and maybe distaste. Kratos would think something of it if he were not squinting at the boy's face, squinting because he recognizes those eyes and that hair but it can't be, it can't, because Kratos is certain that even if maybe, just maybe, ten years slipper by without him noticing, certainly not 15 or 20 so he's probably just fishing for similarities where there are none. Except.
Except the man standing next to the boy. A man Kratos thought sure was dead. And yet.
"....Malos?"
Today he minds a little. But then, it is not the mines themselves, exactly. His bones still rattle with the ache of the cannon blast, the sensation of it raking through the atmosphere dropping him to his knees and promptly making him lose everything he'd eaten today. It's only his rage that gets him to his feet despite how he's trembling. Because that ether, that came out of the cannon?
That was Martel's.
He has to get to Mithos, has to tell him, has to make sure Mithos is alright--
Voices, up ahead. A flare of ether--is that ether?--that sings a loud song against Kratos' senses, drowning out everything else. He doesn't want to investigate, exactly, but that's the way forward, and... he is a little curious. There's something about the ether's taste that is familiar, something that he hasn't tasted in five years-- and it's impossible really which is why he'd be better off not knowing, not investigating, but.
That's the way forward.
So Kratos goes.
The first thing he notices is the wings-- And they take him off guard, just for a moment, before he recognizes that they are the wrong shape and not quite the right color to be Mithos', and if that was Mithos, the Aegis would have already launched himself into Kratos' arms but instead the boy who owns the wings stands there and stares at him with surprise and maybe distaste. Kratos would think something of it if he were not squinting at the boy's face, squinting because he recognizes those eyes and that hair but it can't be, it can't, because Kratos is certain that even if maybe, just maybe, ten years slipper by without him noticing, certainly not 15 or 20 so he's probably just fishing for similarities where there are none. Except.
Except the man standing next to the boy. A man Kratos thought sure was dead. And yet.
"....Malos?"
aegis, meet your god
Dec. 30th, 2018 03:54 pm"It... looks like I'm getting out of transmission range."
[Kratos eyes the computer monitor that's tracking Derris-Kharlan's movement warily, hoping foolishly that he's reading the numbers wrong. (He isn't.) It had been... easier. Leaving. When he still had contact with Yuan. But now...]
"So this is goodbye?"
[Yuan asks him. Kratos sighs.]
"I suppose it is."
[Yuan, to his credit, doesn't call Kratos a dumbass for everything that's lead them to this moment, though that would be the least Kratos derseves. Yuan just smiles, and though there's sadness in his expression, he doesn't make this any harder than it needs to be.]
"Goodbye, then, Kratos. It's..." [Yuan hesitates. It seems he can't find the words to properly say a more eloquent goodbye. Or perhaps, after 4000 years, they don't really need words anymore.] "Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Yuan."
[He wants to say he'll miss him, that he has regrets, that it was nice knowing Yuan for as long as he did. He can't find the words. And he's too cowardly-- too prideful-- to ask for a way home. He burned that bridge three years ago.
There's nothing Yuan could have done, anyway.
The transmission goes dead.
Kratos is left alone with the overwhelming sound of silence, and the space to consider all of his regrets. The despair might have consumed him completely, had not distraction come in the form of--
A ripple, in dimensional space, close enough to him that he can feel it. He looks up, alarmed, just in time to see an orange crystal drop from about four feet in the air and land on the glass floor below with a somehwat anticlimactic clink.
Curious, Kratos gets out of his chair and approaches it. He stares down at it for a moment, and then-
Well.
There's nothing else to do but pick it up.]
[Kratos eyes the computer monitor that's tracking Derris-Kharlan's movement warily, hoping foolishly that he's reading the numbers wrong. (He isn't.) It had been... easier. Leaving. When he still had contact with Yuan. But now...]
"So this is goodbye?"
[Yuan asks him. Kratos sighs.]
"I suppose it is."
[Yuan, to his credit, doesn't call Kratos a dumbass for everything that's lead them to this moment, though that would be the least Kratos derseves. Yuan just smiles, and though there's sadness in his expression, he doesn't make this any harder than it needs to be.]
"Goodbye, then, Kratos. It's..." [Yuan hesitates. It seems he can't find the words to properly say a more eloquent goodbye. Or perhaps, after 4000 years, they don't really need words anymore.] "Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Yuan."
[He wants to say he'll miss him, that he has regrets, that it was nice knowing Yuan for as long as he did. He can't find the words. And he's too cowardly-- too prideful-- to ask for a way home. He burned that bridge three years ago.
There's nothing Yuan could have done, anyway.
The transmission goes dead.
Kratos is left alone with the overwhelming sound of silence, and the space to consider all of his regrets. The despair might have consumed him completely, had not distraction come in the form of--
A ripple, in dimensional space, close enough to him that he can feel it. He looks up, alarmed, just in time to see an orange crystal drop from about four feet in the air and land on the glass floor below with a somehwat anticlimactic clink.
Curious, Kratos gets out of his chair and approaches it. He stares down at it for a moment, and then-
Well.
There's nothing else to do but pick it up.]
