ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ ᴜɴᴅʏɪɴɢ (
necrolord) wrote in
deercountry2022-07-06 11:01 am
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Entry tags:
12 . july catch-all
Who: John Gaius and an assortment of people trying to kick his ass.
What: Designated spot for boatgate fallout. Note the closed log and player plot catchall log as needed. And the move-out log.
When: July
Where: Mostly Gaze.
Content Warnings: Tagged in headers as needed. Note all the usual warnings of this character.
What: Designated spot for boatgate fallout. Note the closed log and player plot catchall log as needed. And the move-out log.
When: July
Where: Mostly Gaze.
Content Warnings: Tagged in headers as needed. Note all the usual warnings of this character.
no subject
[ Gideon kneels in front of an empty catacomb niche. Gideon stands upon the shore. ]
I think this is gonna be the last update you'll get from me for a while. Maybe even forever. After this, you won't need me anymore. I don't think you'll mind that.
[ Waves crash against the sand, and Gideon knows she won't fall in. Not this time. ]
I'm sorry I left you underground. I'm sorry I chose wrong.
[ A ghost, vanishing into stone. A ghost, inhabiting a blade for nearly twenty years. There are no ghosts hear, because there is nothing left to haunt. It's all over. ]
I'm going to finish the mission. That's what you want, right? Please tell me that's what you want.
[ Hoe thrust into the ground twice in a row means yes. Gideon closes her eyes and breathes in the damp, salty air. She does not laugh and she does not tremble, drunk on the clarity of purpose. ]
Right. [ Gideon opens her eyes. ] Bye, mum.
[ Gideon clutches the knife. She waits. ]
no subject
This is different. A man pulls himself out of the water, dressed only in soaked-through welcoming robes. They cling and stick awkwardly around his legs; he stumbles in the surf. His hair is slicked down close against his skull, and he keeps having to blink saltwater out of his horrible dark-hole eyes.
It isn't difficult to approach him. He isn't moving very well or quickly. When he looks up at her, on his hands and knees upon the sand, there is a brief and terrible confusion on his face when he meets her golden eyes. His throat works with a swallow, as he recovers.
And God rasps: ]
What do you have? A knife?
no subject
The question is stupid. It's probably yet another private joke, and Gideon is so sick of secrets, and even more fed up with gags that aren't even funny. Instead of answering, she drops to a crouch, bringing her knife to God's throat with the quickness of a person who has fought all their life. ]
Guess.
[ Apocalypse-gold meets hell-black, and Gideon's hand only shakes a little. She grips the handle tighter, knuckles blanching. ]
Come on. You have one shot to make your last words not be completely fucking stupid. One opportunity.
no subject
Beneath his voice, against her knife, he murmurs: ]
No.
[ Get it? No one? Just him, then; it's always just him. He has always been the one playing every part.
John blows out a breath that makes his throat move against the knife. He shuts his eyes. He shifts back slowly to his knees, hands down and her knife still to his skin, and he settles on: ]
I really thought it'd be worth it.
[ The wreckage on this beach can tell her how far that got him. ]
no subject
You could say you're sorry.
[ She's sick of the language of cost, of deals and worth being applied to people, instead of things. It's still foolish of her to expect any more though. That's what she always was: his thing. ]
I wanted it. Real bad. But you knew that already. [ She's talking about something else, of course. It'd be dumb to say it aloud. Her mouth twists into an ugly, knife-sharp smile. ] Guess it wasn't worth it.
It's easier this way. [ right? ] You can be what you are, and I can be what I am.
[ She adds a little pressure to the knife. Enough to draw out a thin trickle of blood, but no more. ]
no subject
He looks her in the face, then, black-hole eyes to gold. For a moment there is something raw in his face, some unmasked desperation: he searches her eyes like he thinks he'll find something in them, some great answer. It never seems to come. ]
We know what your mom wanted. [ He presses his mouth into a thin smile that isn't even one, really. It seems tenuous over the gravity in his eyes. ] She lost custody ages ago. You seem pretty certain of what I am.
[ He doesn't deny it, either. He does not apologize. His voice is rough with sleep or saltwater, and he's still on his knees like a man awaiting execution, like the pirates on his boat. The waves roll in and out around them, brine swirling around his knees. ]
So what are you?
[ She was his until he lost her. He knows. ]
no subject
The idea that Gideon's mum ever had anything as loving as custody is laughable, and Gideon returns that thin smile with a smirk of her own. It's a sneer worthy of the Reverend Daughter; Gideon would like to think that she'd be proud of her. But she knows better. ]
You talk about who you are. All the time. You're God, not my dad.
[ Now they're clear. Now they're on the same page, and it feels almost like equal footing, maybe. God kneels, and she stands, and she can imagine their dynamic reversed. She should kill him, while it lasts.
But, fuck, what are you? "Bomb" is a four-letter word, a single syllable that should be so easy to say. Gideon presses her lips together and everything, but the sound doesn't come. It's lodged somewhere in her throat, blocked by the memory of a forehead pressed against hers. By little circles, and red eyes, and the smell of burning rice. The weight of a lizard. The sweetness of honey. A second-place trophy, taped together just for her. She thinks of her calloused hands held by smaller ones, and she knows that when she digs through her pocket, the sea will have returned to her a set of silver-winged pins. ]
I'm their sister.
[ Saltwater laps against Gideon's ankles, burning where she cut herself on the rocks. This isn't what her flesh is for. This isn't how it ends. ]
I'm a cavalier.
[ The pressure on the Lord's holy neck relents. Gideon pulls the knife away, and for the first time, it does not belong to her God, or to a ghost, or to her parents. It is hers, to use as she sees fit, and honestly?
He's so not worth it. ]
But not like you care, right? So here's what you need to know: I'm done with your shit.
[ Gideon straightens up. She sheathes her knife. She thinks about kicking him into the sea, but even she knows that would ruin the dramatic, fuck-you tension. Instead, she turns away, waiting to hear if he's got anything to say about it before she starts walking home. ]
no subject
He closes his eyes but does not flinch. He nearly has a joke for that one, but it dies at the twist of her mouth. He is so tired, and her blade is cold as seawater against his throat. For a moment there is nothing but the dull roll of the waves.
I'm their sister.
Or: they are all each other's, and none of them are his.
She drops the knife. In its wake, the thin cut at his neck closes, but the blood remains. The seawater makes it run thin and diluted to the dip of his collarbone. He drops his head with a slow exhale and lets it, left bloodied and alone on his knees.
She leaves him behind without another word, and he has nothing to say to that. ]