overjoyed_logs | [closed] Hold these secrets inside my mind, like a deadly disease

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[closed] Hold these secrets inside my mind, like a deadly disease

Who: Kanda, Lavi, Sion, & Ravus
Where: Kanda & Lavi's ship
When: Week 3, Day 3
Summary: Lavi and Kanda pick up a quick, easy warrant. Only with their luck, it's not so quick and even less easy - especially when faced with unexpected reunions.
Restrictions/Warnings: Language, as always, because Kanda.

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[ A tumultuous reunion and a parting of ways: Ravus, to the guest cabin; Lavi, to the bridge; Kanda, dispersed into the thick cloud of miasma which hangs over the ship, and Sion...

...to Kanda's personal quarters, the room unlocked as though the other man hadn't accounted for the prying of guests. But as much is rather unlikely, isn't it? Kanda, who is militant in all things—from the spartan decoration of the cabin to hangers spaced in strict regiment—would not have overlooked even so small a detail, were he operating at even two-thirds capacity.

(Kanda, who had looked upon him as though he were a ghost... Could the man's pallor be attributed to something else?)

Idly, Sion wonders at the man's travels—where he'd been stationed before accepting Ravus' warrant; the life he'd lead after being pronounced dead—brow furrowing lightly in concern as he stops at the bedside, his fingers smoothing over fresh linens as he lifts his eyes, his gaze falling upon the sole decoration of the room: Mugen.

His murmur after that is quiet, intended for no one but himself: ] ...it is as though you never left that place.

[Sorry, Sion. Having one's past savior walk into your home is not exactly normal fare for Kanda - though with the way his luck has been going as of late, maybe he shouldn't have been so surprised. It was enough, at any rate, to send Kanda to the cargo bay - to ensure whatever supplies they'd brought with were properly stowed and secured, obviously - while the rest of them disbursed.

Normally, he doesn't have to secure his room, because normally their guests aren't people that knew him or would dare to enter his personal space after giving them a quick rundown of the ship.

Normal, however, is the very last word that can describe this day or their guests, and so Kanda's return trip through Noah reveals all too empty corridors and living areas. Instead, his quiet, measured steps bring him to his open quarters. There he stands, silent, as Sion steps closer to his bed, stares at the sword hanging on the wall above it.

Dark brows furrow as Kanda steps into the room, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he watches this memory invade his present. And then he sighs, the sound only mildly annoyed.]

Moron. You haven't changed much either.

[A beat, as he shrugs.]

Stop saying stupid things already.

[ Moron, a terse voice interjects, and Sion blinks once (equal parts startled and delighted to have that too-tense, too-pervasive sensation of being watched dispelled at long last...!), then twice (a reminder to himself that this is real, that it is Kanda's voice which has reached his ears and not some specter's; a wishful thought), before...! He laughs, as a moron might, politely, quietly, the sound good-natured and accompanied by a gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as he pivots upon his heel, smiling (all solemnity gone from him) because it is true, he hasn't much changed either. Physically, he seems not to have aged a day, frozen in time by the military's design, and as for his character...

Well, perhaps it still leaves something to be desired.

(Who would respond 'moron' as though it were a term of endearment, after all?!) ]

Shall I say, instead, that I am happy to see you? [ That he has never once thought of himself as Kanda's savior, but as something far more selfish: a friend. ] Or that...

[ Something even stupider, confessed wholeheartedly and without delay: ]

Though I hadn't expected our paths to cross for a second time, I believe we stand together now for a reason.

...Say whatever you want. Doesn't make it any less ridiculous.

[Stepping further into the room, Kanda crosses over to the dresser opposite the bed, leans back against it, arms crossed over his chest. He sighs and glances towards the door, then back to the man before him.

Now that the shock of it has worn off, now that he can stop and really look at the man before him... Sion's still sporting that idiot smile and unwavering optimism. How the man can have that while working for the Company, he can't begin to understand.]

The reason we're here is because the Company [A sneer slips into place at the name, his distaste obvious] issued a warrant and we accepted. Still.

It's an opportunity, I guess.

Were the Quad solely defined by opportunity and those vying to take it, life as we know it would be much too sad and terribly lonely.

[ And Sion Astal would not and could not stand for such a thing. That sort of existence—hollow and bereft of joy, of all the color and sound to be found in the worlds surrounding—he would wish to save anyone (everyone) from it. Perhaps that is why he hasn't broken yet, his smile remaining true, his eyes still boyishly bright: regardless of how many times his hand has been forced, made to submit to Company order, he clings to the good which will someday come of it.

(The change he would give anything for.)

Where Kanda shifts, resting against the dresser in a guarded stance (amazing to him still, how the man always managed to cloister himself away with so very little space between them), Sion takes the liberty of sinking down, atop the mattress of the bed, intent upon staying put—at least, for the next while. ]

Will you not believe in something other than the Company? [ —says the man dressed in Company black, the color robbing all warmth from his skin. ] Let something, anything else be your reason.

[ His smile wanes, after that, tempering into something wistful; melancholy. ]

… We both know, after all, that the "you" and "I" in the here and now are present if only because of your own stubbornness; your inability to part from a fight.

[ Even at the expense of himself and others.

How badly Kanda had been hurt, on that day. ]

Edited 2017-01-17 02:19 (UTC)

...He wasn't going to stop. He no longer knew how.

[Pausing at that, Kanda's frown deepens, throat working to swallow past the sudden dryness there, the pain the memory evoked even after all this time.

Having to cut down his only friend, not once but twice, to protect people like Sion from that boy's madness, from the rage and hate that had consumed every last shred of humanity left him, and all because of the mechanization of the Company - the experimentation of the Nine - is a scar that runs deep. One that never fully heals.

One that Sion's very presence re-opened with the ease of the sharpest blade.]

More would have died that day, had it not been for my 'stubbornness' - you included, most like. So no. I can't just let what the Company did go. They did that to him. Destroyed him. And then made me end it.

[There's a harsh undercurrent of rage in the eerily calm, quiet words at the end, unblunted even after all this time.

And yet, as he stands here now, staring back at Sion... it seems to smother a little bit, bank itself until the chaotic feelings are back under his control, enough so he can breathe again, at least. Closing his eyes for a moment, he takes a slow series of breaths, head turning slightly towards the door when he hears the distant tenor of Lavi's voice, Noah's answer, and the dry laughter from his partner that follows.

This sliver of normalcy grounds him all the more, lets him open his eyes and turn a calm gaze on his guest once more.

Lets him meet such a clear, unwavering gaze with a more hard-won one of his own.

Everything Sion's eyes had seen back then, everything they've had to have seen since and yet they're still crystal clear, unclouded by the corruption of time or the reality around them. It's unexpected, and yet unsurprising.

It frustrates Kanda and annoys him all at once, and he can't say exactly why - though he thinks it might have something to do with the weird things he says while looking like that.]

What the hell do you mean - reason for what?

Edited 2017-01-17 03:45 (UTC)

[ Kanda's eyes flash and his moods boil, then pass, hints of storms which never broke, kept at bay by something softer, gentler: the sound of home. And though Sion holds Kanda's gaze—gold interlocked and effortlessly accepting of blue—for a moment, perhaps two, he looks almost distant, echoes of the 'banter' between Lavi and Noah resonant in his ears. That is... warmth, isn't it? Even if Kanda may not yet have realized it for himself, his glance toward the door served only to strengthen Sion's whisper of a thought, leaving no doubt, no concern in the Director's mind, because--...

Kanda has just begun to tread upon it, hasn't he, the path which Sion himself could not walk.

Though...! There is, perhaps, another far more pressing (and humorous) worry waiting yet to be addressed: Kanda's propensity for being thoroughly dense (and often at the most questionable of times).

Kanda, don't you know...? ]

You reason for being.

[ —is Sion's answer, accompanied by a thoughtful lowering of white lashes over golden eyes. As much should have been obvious, but then, as Sion shifts atop the mattress, glancing to the sword which hangs as decoration for the second time, he knows in his heart that Kanda (his friend) will be just fine, even if...

He cannot pretend to agree with the man, that the life of someone held dear had to end by Kanda's own blade.

(However far away someone may have wandered; their being eroded, their sense of self gone, even then... their heart remained. Even when the smallest part of a person remained intact, if that flame managed to stay lit in the darkness, that person would not disappear. This, Sion believes more than anything.) ]

You know... I think I found my own on that day. I failed you. [ Failed many, despite his promises to protect them. ] I should have been strong enough to save the both of you, and yet...

[ At that time, his hopes had turned to ash in his mouth, the taste bitten back with a grimace when a knife had found its way into his gut, then refused entirely (spit back out), when it came time to spare the one person who deserved freedom more than anyone else.

Kanda, who had been the very first person to dislike him. Kanda, who could change and has, albeit in slow degrees and increments. ]

I could not, and I never had the chance to say that I am sorry.

...You really are a moron sometimes, aren't you?

[Kanda, too, turns his gaze to Mugen, his thoughts on the chaos of that day still - though the sounds of his everyday world around him enough to keep him anchored more firmly in this present, this future granted him by the man before him.

Even so, some things are easier to say when you're not looking directly at the person that has had such an impact on your life - the very ones that has broken the chains that had held you down. Some things are easier to say to a sword that represents who you'd been and who, deep down, so much of you still remained to be.]

It was never your place to save either of us. Not me and certainly not him, but... you did.

[Shoving off the dresser, Kanda crossed the distance in a few short strides, to curl a firm grip in Sion's lapel, give it a slight shake as he glares down at the man, his expression stony once more. Because that apology?

Complete bullshit.

Sion's regret in this, to him, is utterly misplaced. It's selfish in a way that Kanda can almost understand, but even so.

EVEN SO. ]

So what the hell do you mean, you couldn't? [Fist clenching all the more, his scowl deepens as he points to the sword that so distracts them both.] I haven't had to use that since that day. The day you gave me a chance to actually live at your own expense, you bastard, so don't think for one fucking second that I'll accept that bullshit apology.

[The day Kanda lost something dear and gained something he'd never expected. A future. One free of military control, one free of being a weapon pointed blindly at an enemy, unleashed to slaughter. He'd hung his sword up that day, the first step away from the soldier, even if so much of the other mannerisms remained.]

I--

[ Kanda seizes the lapel of his coat, and Sion's eyes flash wide with surprise (less at the action, more at the surge of sentiment behind it), the gold of them shining and bright and just a little too empty; a touch too addled with the concept of kindness and good, that which he offered so readily to those who surrounded him. "It is as though you want to save us, Sion", someone had said to him, once upon a time, "all of us. Everyone. From fate which only you are able to see, and I wonder if the only reason you are able to say all of these things is because you tried your own hand at destruction once."

(Her voice rings in his head, though he cannot place her name or face, only the way her words had washed over him, leaving his heart bare and his eyes wet with tears.)

With a shake of his head (disagreement), Sion's own stubbornness ventures into the foray, a hand lifted to clasp Kanda's own, his fingers curling into a squeeze— ]

I needed to say it, all the same. [ Even if Kanda could not (would never) accept his apology, it had been owed and long past due. At that time, it had been his duty to protect his comrades and--... ] Of course it was my place, to intervene.

Before my eyes, I saw two people who were suffering. Two, who should never have been fighting to begin with, and I was the one who failed to prevent that sort of hell.

[ Kanda, the face you made as you fought him... it was as though you were tearing your own soul asunder. ]

How... could I not want to save the both of you?

[ And how he could still not wish to atone for that day? ]

My heart is glad beyond belief that you and I are able to meet as men who have chosen their own paths, but I cannot forgive my own inability, and that is why...

[ His posture is at ease, gentle as something inexplicably sad colors his smile. ]

… I want to change everything, Kanda. And I will fight to do it. You are the one person I wished to speak of this to.

[ A wish gone unrealized, until the moment their paths had crossed for a second time. ]

[Even now, years later, he still doesn't know what Sion had been saying to them in the heat of battle - he'd been too far gone, too lost in the pain of facing someone so dear again, of seeing what the experiments had stripped and replaced on the only person that had been by his side without reservation since they'd both awakened on that cursed vessel.

He can still see the anger and hate - and in the end, the tears and lingering warmth - in a cerulean gaze.

He could remember that pained tone in this man's voice, echoed softer now in the quiet space between them, the way blood had bloomed on a once pristine uniform beneath Sion's damnable smile, the memory made worse with the ghost pressure in his hand that still knows the feeling of how deep his blade burying itself in not just Sion, but the weight of piercing over and over through the heart he'd most cherished, each rending of flesh shredding his own soul until the other's breath had stopped.

Until he'd thought what was left of his humanity had shattered...

That pain was no less now, a mere three years later, but it was tempered by something else.

Someone else, even if he didn't have the strength of courage yet to see it.

And yet, in this moment... he can only swallow hard around the thickness in his throat, grit his teeth against the rekindled hopelessness of that day, grounded now by this person in front of him, the hand warm and sure around his own.

It's a lifeline, this thing called touch.

Something that threads the tie of bonds deep within one's soul. So maybe that's why, rather than address the last, he simply lets out a shuddered breath, the clear ebb and flow of emotions roiling so plainly in his expression calming for a moment as he shifts his grip enough to let go the cloth beneath his fingertips but not the hand still gripping his.

Instead, he shifts to sit beside Sion, shoulder to shoulder, to turn the hand over his so he could trace the pale line of veins across the back of it with his free hand. And when he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough with a mix of emotions that he cannot hope to grasp or understand just yet.]

...If you had to say it, and I have to accept it... then I have no choice but to do the same. So... [Canting his head to the side, sky blue seeks out that golden gaze as he lifts that hand, taps the knuckles lightly to his chest, then his forehead before releasing it with an uncharacteristic gentleness.]

Thank you, Sion. You saved me from myself and from those people that day, and I owe you this much at least. My thanks, for my life to live on my own terms.

Edited 2017-01-29 01:14 (UTC)

[ Kanda...?

Years ago, when he'd said goodbye to the other man (and good luck), Sion could have never foreseen this: a day when they'd come together again (though how he'd hoped, how he'd wished), a time when Kanda would hold his hand with such gratitude and gentleness. Caught by surprise (and beneath the weight of such an acknowledgement), Sion's expression goes blank with shock; with distress as his chest constricts, his (damnable) smile becoming a flickering, unreadable thing. Hearing the words thank you leaves him as overjoyed as he is overwhelmed; as happy as he is pained. Having impacted Kanda (his comrade, his friend) in such a way is the highest honor, the greatest gift, and yet... it aches.

Aches, in stark contrast to the ginger way his knuckles touch to Kanda's chest, his forehead, in a giving and receiving of acceptance—of faith. And if Sion closes his eyes, his brow furrowed in focus when he does, he can feel that lifeline: the warm weight of Kanda's hand beyond the pain he exists in (that constant thrum of agony, the side effect of human experimentation).

Unbidden, tears prick at the corners of his eyes, leaving them glassy, over-bright as they re-open, his newly-freed hand pressing flat over his own heart, gold locking with the blue of the horizon with certainty, because--...

There is only one thing left to say, isn't there? ]

You are most welcome, my friend. [ Tears streaking in twin-trails down his cheeks, he gives a nod of his head, the fringe of his hair bouncing lightly with the motion. ] What happens now, and what happens next, you will be the one to decide it.

[ And that is all which Sion could wish for anyone, the freedom to pursue their happiness. The choice to be precisely where they wanted to, living wholeheartedly and thoroughly unabashed.

Kanda... this is okay, isn't it?

Still side-by-side, Sion shifts in to connect shoulder with shoulder, using his weight to bump and to jostle as a reminder of something which shouldn't need to be voiced, but when knowing the other man... ]

And it would do you well to remember that you are not alone, in the meantime.

Edited 2017-01-29 23:08 (UTC)

[He's not prepared for the hint of tears brightening Sion's gaze - doesn't know what to do with that or how to diffuse them, and so he tries not to withdraw physically from them. Opting instead to clear his throat at the sincere words, he can only nod an agreement and drop his gaze to watch Sion's hand rest where he'd let it go.

The words, both given and received, still do not feel like enough to clear the debt between them so far as Kanda's concerned - but he's grown enough not to voice that now, at any rate.

Because he's sure, given the strain of emotion behind Sion's understanding and affirmation about his own future, that the admission would be ill received.

Instead, he jostles the other back with a short bark of laughter, before his gaze betrays him, automatically cutting up towards the bridge before darting back, as if to cover the slip.]

So it seems, at least for now.

[He pauses at that, then attempts to deflect from the cryptic words by focusing the next on Sion himself.]

Though this doesn't make me like the Company any more, you can request us for a contract any time. And no, social dinners do not count as contracting unless there's soba involved.

[That's right, Sion. He still eats it three meals a day. Nothing's going to take his soba from him.]

'At least for now?' [ —Sion echoes with a cant of head, his tears both blinked and held back with a boyish grin, Kanda's swift return of his side-check clearly well received, and yet--... There are many things which Sion has missed, aren't there? Times when Kanda's temper had gotten the best of him, moments when acclimating to the strange concept of freedom had felt terribly lonely, and the growing pains when Kanda had become (slowly, habitually) accustomed to the presence of another: a trusted someone, a partner willfully chosen where so, so very much in Kanda's life had once been dictated by those who had thought him only to be a weapon.

So then, what do those cryptic words mean? They are much too pensive—too broody—for someone like Kanda who burns so very brightly, and so...! ]

Do not be so ominous, it hardly suits you. [ A scoff, as he rights himself, palms pressing to the mattress (his hand, lowering from his heart) as he makes to shove off of the bed, finding his feet with an easy bounce and swing, his weight shifting between the toebox and heel of his feet. ] For someone so easily vexed by the presence of others...

[ A light as air laugh, silvered and bright, because what he says next is only of the utmost truth: ]

You really do draw people in, you know. [ When first we met, something about your scowl... just made me want to reach out all the more to you. ] And that's why you'll be my guest at many a social dinner.

[ A considering hum, a tap of his chin as he glances back, over his shoulder, eyes bright and grin decidedly cheeky. ]

Soba in a dashi broth... topped with crispy tempura and garnished with scallions...?

[Kanda could only offer a grunt and a roll of the eyes at the cheery reprimand, unwilling to elaborate on the nature of Lavi’s other calling, how the ghost of his departure has ever hovered between them, much like a spectre there to delineate between the killjoy and the bookman.

The entire train of thought, contemplations he’s never taken the time to dwell on, is swiftly derailed with Sion’s insane assessment. People were intimidated by his scowls, practically feared his glares, and usually ran the moment his hands strayed down to the hilt of his side-arms.

They did not attempt to draw closer, unless they were idiot rabbits or idiot nobles that tended to wear their emotions on their damned sleeves.]

What the hells? Maybe you’re the one out your damned mind.

[Shaking his head, Kanda abruptly pushes to his feet with a glare, expression twisting to a mix of interest and distaste all at once.]

Soba, I can accept. Dealing with a whole room full of idiots like you? [Making a face, a hint of a smirk peeks through.] Pass.

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[closed] Hold these secrets inside my mind, like a deadly disease

Sion + Kanda

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