who falls

[rewritten_history]

♥ Who: Crystal Exarch and WHOEVS!
♥ Where: In the botanical garden
♥ When: Fourth week of September
♥ What: Someone's drowsy and doesn't yet know how to stop it.
♥ Rating: PG?


Given his limitations, it was only a matter of time. All too familiar with his own body and how it now worked, the absence of the Crystal Tower within the city was going to show itself on him eventually, and the Exarch was well aware of it. When the first signs appeared and hunger began to gnaw at his stomach, he did what he could to stave it off, eating full meals for the first time in years, but even that could only get him so far.

Well and truly, he belonged to the Tower now in exchange for his immortality. Without its strength, his own would begin to wane, and wane it did. Food kept his eyes open longer and longer for a time, but as the days passed and his movement became more and more sluggish, sustenance failed him little by little. It would come to a head, he knew, and sooner than he would have liked.

In the botanical gardens, it caught up with him. To anyone who happened to observe him, it would appear as though the Exarch was simply taking a very leisurely walk among the flora, enjoying the flowers. But then he stopped, pressed a hand to his forehead, caught in a sudden spell of dizziness. It passed in short time, as they had done before, but it was warning enough that he heeded well. A bench in a secluded area of the park, thankfully not far from where he was, served as a pleasant enough spot for him to lower his weary form down upon and sit, watching leaves sway in a breeze without seeing them at all.

Beneath the hood, eyes fluttered and breathing began to even out. Leaves scuttled along the path, playing a soft lullaby he couldn't quite ignore. Shortly after, fight it though he tried, the sounds of the wind, the calls of strange birds, and everything around soothed him to sleep.

Comments

[rewritten_history]

If nothing, the talking is helping him to maintain awareness, not only to listen and to respond rather than merely putting one foot in front of the other and listening to his tired mind's scattered wanderings, but their source is a concern in and of itself. Even now, past knowing the Ascian will not take advantage of his sorry state, he cannot help a wariness, and alertness as to the man's place around him, the line of their conversation.

He could and would still turn his back on the man if circumstances were right, but he did just wake up to find Emet sitting - sleeping - right beside him on a bench, closer than was in his comfort.

"I have no doubt that it may, should we find a way to save this world. How many lifetimes, how many generations have you seen rise and fall before your ageless eyes?"

Just as well, the Exarch continued on under his own steam. He had suffered worse and would continue to suffer again in the days to come. Of that much, he was certain, but it was hardly the least of his concerns. Once he had bundled down on his bed properly and taken a good, long rest, he would be at his research again as if nothing of the sort had happened.

[unsunderworld]

As long as he's willing to keep responding and being interested, Emet-Selch will keep talking. He has had so very few people to talk to over the centuries, after all.

"I stopped attempting to number the lifetimes after Allag, perhaps even before," he says. "It became as meaningless as counting fish in the oceans. Even were I to count in kingdoms, the numbers would be higher than most are capable of understanding."

He has noticed the effort, the way the other man's pace slows, but does not comment on it, merely adjusting his own. He can well imagine the droop of ears beneath the hood, now that he's seen the face beneath once.

"You may find yourself thinking the same, given time," he says. "After all, with your plot to sacrifice yourself foiled, you've nothing but time, now."

[rewritten_history]

He had been well aware of the consequences of joining himself with the Tower, though he had not expected to survive the full extent of the plot he and the Ironworks had set into motion. A century of awareness longer than his mere twenty-four years of age, barring the two hundred he slept away, had been a daunting task to himself, though he was not alone.

In truth, he could not blame Emet for recreating a city that he had once known, people he had once loved. To be left alone for so long would have driven anyone mad. Despite having lived through the horrors that were the Seventh and then the Eighth Umbral Calamities and what it did to him and his worlds, he felt for the man. It was strange, that empathy. Not enough to sway him, but strange all the same.

"Time is all we ever truly have. I do not expect I should see the number of years, of generations, of civilizations that you have, but we do not know. None can predict a future, only hope to shape it."

[unsunderworld]

"True enough," he agrees. "Even memories fade - if not in the weakening of the flesh, then in the immaterial recycling of the soul. Even time can strip them away, as it wears away all things."

And surely that too is experience, from a man who has forgotten more than even the most vaulted of scholars might ever know.

"One learns to see patterns, over time," he says, this time in disagreement. "Nothing can be predicted with certainty, save that time takes all in the end. But the general shape of history is not unlike the weather - it will not rain without clouds except in the most exceptional circumstances, nor will it snow in summer. In a similar way, one can be confident that a headless empire will collapse and an oppressed people someday throw off their yoke, but not when that might happen, or what will remain among the ruins."

[rewritten_history]

They are getting closer, surely, step by step, bit by agonizing bit, and the corner that will lead them to the residences is within sight. How tempting it is just to stop by one of the benches along the side of the road and take another brief rest, but if he stops now, it might be another hour or three before he can make himself wake and stand again to continue on to his soft bed and softer sheets.

It's a point he focuses on, almost as much as the man traveling with him. At the same time, he can't help but wonder why Emet follows him so. Surely there must be other people in the city and other vices the Ascian might find than a tired miqo'te trudging with as much grace as he can back home.

"I suppose. History tends to repeat itself, however vaguely, should one not learn from mistakes. The same is also true of such events, great and small. But the turn of the seasons and what determines how one war will end are not quite the same. Best not to press too much influence, perhaps."