[Why, Dahut asks. The figures don't respond, but perhaps somewhere in the mind, he knows the answer—or is he still pursuing it? A flicker of a memory, on the tip of his tongue.
These figures decide they don't want flour tortillas after all as they easily pick Dahut up and toss him to the side again. They stab his mother, again and again, until they appear to finish and fade away.
Now, it is only Dahut and his mother, the latter of whom bleeds out among the flowers. Even so, she reaches for Dahut again, with barely any strength left.]
[HE'S THE SADDEST BAG OF FLOUR TORTILLAS IN THE WORLD...
No matter how many times he's picked up and thrown aside, no matter how many times he fails, he does keep trying - he keeps trying because what else can he do? He's desperate, screaming for them to stop, and the flicker of memory grows into a feeling of deja vu that has his freneticism rising even further.
There's a second when the attackers fade where he's completely still and silent, looking at his mother's body. Only a second, though - in the next, he's on his feet and running toward her again, collapsing at her side and reaching for her bloody hand. He clutches it tightly, like that will somehow keep the life in her body.]
Mother—!! Mother!! Please hold on, I'll-- I'll go find help!!
[Well now how is he supposed to be happy like this huh. HOW!!!!!
He moves his tiny free hand, trying to cover the worst looking wound, but so many look so horrible that it wouldn't take more than a glance to know they're fatal. Still, he tries.]
I... Mother, don't talk anymore, please! Just keep breathing! That's what would make me happy...!
[All his mother manages is a faint smile at him, a plea on her face—and then, nothing. Her life ends like that, with nothing but a wish for her beloved child.
And now, Dahut is alone, sitting here in the flower field.]
[Time to continue being completely useless for a bit because if her body doesn't magically fade away he just tucks himself up into her deadass arms and holds onto her and wails and sobs!!!! And if it does he just curls into a little ball in this bloody patch of flowers and does the same thing!!! Wow i really dont have any real crying icons margaret save me]
[dommy mommy margaret isn't here to save you... her body remains, so Dahut can hold onto her all he likes.
Eventually, though, he... wakes up?
Before him is a corridor, though for some reason, he can't make out the details yet. All he can see are that there are doors, and that a mirror hangs on one of the walls.
He knows that he is Dahut, and there is something he seeks. Perhaps he might even have an idea of what it is, now. And here, he knows that if he continues, he can see his mother again. He can eat with her, talk to her, hold her hand, go to bed with her by his side. Even if pain might follow, he can do these all over again, for another chance to see her. Is what he seeks worth giving up these moments of happiness for?]
[Well. Now he's gained A FURY THAT BURNS WITHIN HIM...
But at the same time, the shape of what he's looking for is becoming a little clearer to him. And beneath it is what he wants more than anything; his mother, returned to him. If he can have that, does he really have the need for anything else? A small part of him thinks yes, but the larger and louder part acts first.
There's hardly any hesitation as he sets aside that nagging desire he still can't fully name, instead setting off down the hall in search of the face he wants to see the most.]
[Good lord he just runs at her and barrels into her full speed... Which fortunately doesn't mean much, considering he is five and very small. CLINGING TO HER LEGS.]
[HE IS... He loves being spoiled, and he especially loves being spoiled now that he feels like he has to hang onto it even more tightly than before. Life's wild when you're five and feel like every second is one of precious few!
He wraps his arms around her and hides his face away. His mumble, somewhat sulky, is a simple:]
[He'd like to just be a sulking child recovering from a nightmare! Maybe if he pretends hard enough, he'll believe it's true eventually...
He clings even tighter at that, though, shaking his head and then leaning back just enough so that he can look up at her.]
But-- But it's my duty to look after everyone...! [That's a future duty, too, but can't he take it on now, even with his small hands?] That means you, too!
... Then, you can protect your mother when you're older, and it's time for me to give you the throne and rest. How about that?
[Unfortunately, that day isn't going to come. Perhaps not elsewhere; certainly not here.
Because even if things are slightly different this time around, everything ends the same way. Dahut goes through his day with his mother, one way or another, and she offers to hold his hand as he falls asleep. He goes to bed, comforted by his presence.
He dreams of worse times.
And he wakes up to a field of flowers, and his mother's dying body.]
He hates his own powerlessness even more, but still, above all, he just wants to hold his mother's warm hand. When he awakens this time and he sees her dying yet again, he goes to her side, but his body feels like it's made of lead. He collapses next to her, reaches for her hand - the one that he'd gone to sleep holding.]
Before him is a corridor, though for some reason, he can't make out the details yet. All he can see are that there are doors, and that a mirror hangs on one of the walls.
He knows that he is Dahut, a Reliver, assistant to Scien Brofiise, and a junior crew member of the Eudora in recent weeks; and there is something he seeks. He knows well what it is, now. And here, he knows that if he continues, he can see his mother again. He can eat with her, talk to her, hold her hand, go to bed with her by his side. Even if pain might follow, he can do these all over again, for another chance to see her. Is revenge worth giving up these moments of happiness for?
[Again, it repeats - but this time, he remembers who he is. He remembers why he's here. He remembers so clearly what he's after, the tangled web of wants and desires that have made up his current self.
He knows that if he continues, he'll see his mother again, enjoy her loving warmth and presence and company, and it will end as it has before - in her death. More than anything else, that's what gives him pause. Can he really selfishly put her, any version of her, through this intentionally?
Avenging her death is so important to him, but preserving her memory and cherishing her as she lived are equally important. And all of that together means... he shouldn't continue, right?
Rather than looking for her right away this time, he wanders over to the mirror, finally. mostly because i aki want to see what nonsense jan can put here]
[Well, ONCE UPON A TIME the mirror was just a nice normal mirror that would show that you were a baby.
Now, he sees himself as he truly is in the present—15-year-old Dahut. Then, flashes of the other appearances. People he's hated, people he's cared about but who met tragic ends. Other forms he's lived, and the ways he's died. His limbs cut off and his heart gouged out, for instance. Ultimately, it ends on an image of him with an arrow through his heart.
Is he truly not willing to continue in this dream? Reality is cruel; he should know that well. There's nothing waiting for him there, except the ugly desire that burns inside of him.
But if he wishes to face all of that, nevertheless, he can step through the mirror.]
He doesn't want power, though!! He just wants a fckin nap!! He... hesitates. Reality is cruel. As he watches these faces and scenes flash across the mirror, he's still and silent in his contemplation. His gaze rests on this final image for several long moments.
Frankly, he doesn't want to face this. He would rather be in a sweet dream where his life didn't devolve into a nightmare, but unfortunately for him, it seems that happens anyway, sooner or later. And if everything is going to eventually devolve into a nightmare, then he might as well face the nightmare that he's known for sixty years.
He steps through the mirror! On the other side, he arrives in a strange dimension, where an eerie aura hangs over everything. "Why is this picture, Jan" it was the best one I could find with an easy search. Hopefully you get the idea of the vibe. Atmosphere aside, his surroundings are familiar to him. It'll be a place he recognizes, whether back home or in the Eudora.
Gradually, he comes to understand his situation. He is a lost soul, wandering in Hell as his dying regrets keep him lingering. If he looks down or reaches up, he'll see that arrow through his heart, though at least in this form, he feels no pain. He's dead, after all!
He can take a stroll through the region if he likes, remembering his life as he takes in the familiarity. Ultimately, though, the area gives way to a place less familiar to him, with another figure in the distance.]
[HELP YOUR IMAGES JAN the vibe is easy enough to get though ALSO LISTEN. HIS SENIOR CITIZEN DISCOUNTS.
Anyway, it can be Scien's office and the Institute itself because that's where he's spent the most collective time in his life, probably. God. That office already has an air of gloom and decay hanging over it anyway because of the ghosts of all of the moldy pieces of bread.
Now he is the moldy bread ghost, though. Damn. HE GUESSES THIS IS HIS LIFE NOW. Or his afterlife. This is fine! At least the arrow through his chest doesn't hurt. He just kind of rests his hand on it like it's a fun new accessory as he meanders around, pondering all of the dumbass decisions that have led him to this point.
There's a little bit of hesitation as he starts edging into new territory, though. The figure likewise is something he's cautious of on instinct. HE. HE'LL WALK... THAT WAY... SQUINTING. Is this a familiar figure. A shadow figure. Satan come to challenge him to a drinking contest, perhaps...]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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These figures decide they don't want flour tortillas after all as they easily pick Dahut up and toss him to the side again. They stab his mother, again and again, until they appear to finish and fade away.
Now, it is only Dahut and his mother, the latter of whom bleeds out among the flowers. Even so, she reaches for Dahut again, with barely any strength left.]
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No matter how many times he's picked up and thrown aside, no matter how many times he fails, he does keep trying - he keeps trying because what else can he do? He's desperate, screaming for them to stop, and the flicker of memory grows into a feeling of deja vu that has his freneticism rising even further.
There's a second when the attackers fade where he's completely still and silent, looking at his mother's body. Only a second, though - in the next, he's on his feet and running toward her again, collapsing at her side and reaching for her bloody hand. He clutches it tightly, like that will somehow keep the life in her body.]
Mother—!! Mother!! Please hold on, I'll-- I'll go find help!!
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D-Dahut... are you all right? All I want—is for you to be happy...
[Her breathing grows weaker, her blood spilling further and further from her body, dyeing the flowers red. The light begins to fade from her eyes.]
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He moves his tiny free hand, trying to cover the worst looking wound, but so many look so horrible that it wouldn't take more than a glance to know they're fatal. Still, he tries.]
I... Mother, don't talk anymore, please! Just keep breathing! That's what would make me happy...!
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And now, Dahut is alone, sitting here in the flower field.]
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Eventually, though, he... wakes up?
Before him is a corridor, though for some reason, he can't make out the details yet. All he can see are that there are doors, and that a mirror hangs on one of the walls.
He knows that he is Dahut, and there is something he seeks. Perhaps he might even have an idea of what it is, now. And here, he knows that if he continues, he can see his mother again. He can eat with her, talk to her, hold her hand, go to bed with her by his side. Even if pain might follow, he can do these all over again, for another chance to see her. Is what he seeks worth giving up these moments of happiness for?]
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But at the same time, the shape of what he's looking for is becoming a little clearer to him. And beneath it is what he wants more than anything; his mother, returned to him. If he can have that, does he really have the need for anything else? A small part of him thinks yes, but the larger and louder part acts first.
There's hardly any hesitation as he sets aside that nagging desire he still can't fully name, instead setting off down the hall in search of the face he wants to see the most.]
Mother—?! Mother, where are you!
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Dahut, what is it? Did you oversleep, my child? You almost missed breakfast.
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Mother, I had a terrible dream...!
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[She will reach down to pick him up if he is receptive to this.]
It's all right, I'm here with you. Your mother will protect you, no matter what.
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He wraps his arms around her and hides his face away. His mumble, somewhat sulky, is a simple:]
I want to protect you, though...
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Oh, but you've not yet grown up, Dahut. Until you're an adult, it's a mother's duty to look after her child.
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He clings even tighter at that, though, shaking his head and then leaning back just enough so that he can look up at her.]
But-- But it's my duty to look after everyone...! [That's a future duty, too, but can't he take it on now, even with his small hands?] That means you, too!
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[Unfortunately, that day isn't going to come. Perhaps not elsewhere; certainly not here.
Because even if things are slightly different this time around, everything ends the same way. Dahut goes through his day with his mother, one way or another, and she offers to hold his hand as he falls asleep. He goes to bed, comforted by his presence.
He dreams of worse times.
And he wakes up to a field of flowers, and his mother's dying body.]
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He hates his own powerlessness even more, but still, above all, he just wants to hold his mother's warm hand. When he awakens this time and he sees her dying yet again, he goes to her side, but his body feels like it's made of lead. He collapses next to her, reaches for her hand - the one that he'd gone to sleep holding.]
Mother, I'm sorry... Again, I...
[He couldn't protect her.]
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... Again, Dahut wakes up.
Before him is a corridor, though for some reason, he can't make out the details yet. All he can see are that there are doors, and that a mirror hangs on one of the walls.
He knows that he is Dahut, a Reliver, assistant to Scien Brofiise, and a junior crew member of the Eudora in recent weeks; and there is something he seeks. He knows well what it is, now. And here, he knows that if he continues, he can see his mother again. He can eat with her, talk to her, hold her hand, go to bed with her by his side. Even if pain might follow, he can do these all over again, for another chance to see her. Is revenge worth giving up these moments of happiness for?
Again, it repeats.]
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He knows that if he continues, he'll see his mother again, enjoy her loving warmth and presence and company, and it will end as it has before - in her death. More than anything else, that's what gives him pause. Can he really selfishly put her, any version of her, through this intentionally?
Avenging her death is so important to him, but preserving her memory and cherishing her as she lived are equally important. And all of that together means... he shouldn't continue, right?
Rather than looking for her right away this time, he wanders over to the mirror, finally. mostly because i aki want to see what nonsense jan can put here]
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Now, he sees himself as he truly is in the present—15-year-old Dahut. Then, flashes of the other appearances. People he's hated, people he's cared about but who met tragic ends. Other forms he's lived, and the ways he's died. His limbs cut off and his heart gouged out, for instance. Ultimately, it ends on an image of him with an arrow through his heart.
Is he truly not willing to continue in this dream? Reality is cruel; he should know that well. There's nothing waiting for him there, except the ugly desire that burns inside of him.
But if he wishes to face all of that, nevertheless, he can step through the mirror.]
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He doesn't want power, though!! He just wants a fckin nap!! He... hesitates. Reality is cruel. As he watches these faces and scenes flash across the mirror, he's still and silent in his contemplation. His gaze rests on this final image for several long moments.
Frankly, he doesn't want to face this. He would rather be in a sweet dream where his life didn't devolve into a nightmare, but unfortunately for him, it seems that happens anyway, sooner or later. And if everything is going to eventually devolve into a nightmare, then he might as well face the nightmare that he's known for sixty years.
Quietly, spoken to no one, he says:]
I love you... I miss you. I'll see you very soon.
[And then, he steps through the mirror.]
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He steps through the mirror! On the other side, he arrives in a strange dimension, where an eerie aura hangs over everything. "Why is this picture, Jan" it was the best one I could find with an easy search. Hopefully you get the idea of the vibe. Atmosphere aside, his surroundings are familiar to him. It'll be a place he recognizes, whether back home or in the Eudora.
Gradually, he comes to understand his situation. He is a lost soul, wandering in Hell as his dying regrets keep him lingering. If he looks down or reaches up, he'll see that arrow through his heart, though at least in this form, he feels no pain. He's dead, after all!
He can take a stroll through the region if he likes, remembering his life as he takes in the familiarity. Ultimately, though, the area gives way to a place less familiar to him, with another figure in the distance.]
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Anyway, it can be Scien's office and the Institute itself because that's where he's spent the most collective time in his life, probably. God. That office already has an air of gloom and decay hanging over it anyway because of the ghosts of all of the moldy pieces of bread.
Now he is the moldy bread ghost, though. Damn. HE GUESSES THIS IS HIS LIFE NOW. Or his afterlife. This is fine! At least the arrow through his chest doesn't hurt. He just kind of rests his hand on it like it's a fun new accessory as he meanders around, pondering all of the dumbass decisions that have led him to this point.
There's a little bit of hesitation as he starts edging into new territory, though. The figure likewise is something he's cautious of on instinct. HE. HE'LL WALK... THAT WAY... SQUINTING. Is this a familiar figure. A shadow figure. Satan come to challenge him to a drinking contest, perhaps...]
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