[ Before entering the cell, a different variable will be introduced to the experiment for both participants.
A memory is implanted in Dahut. You were born under an auspicious star, they said. How lucky that the heavens blessed you with a strong, healthy body. Even as a child, you didn’t so much as fall ill even once. The older you got, everyone found it remarkable how formidable your body was. No broken bones, no illness, no problems. Somehow, you seemed impervious to illness… and isn’t that a gift in this land? It didn’t take long for you to earn the attention of the Institute, brought to their doors under the guise of invitation—and then kept their for experimentation. Your parents sold you off. You’d be surprised how much people would be willing to part with, for enough gold. Each day, you were picked apart until you lost track of your scars and experiments. You didn’t have a single friend to find, instead only locked away in the white walls of your room, waiting for what horrors would come next. They do not let you choose to end it, and are just barely careful to keep you alive. And yet despite it all… you do not seek the end. No. You want to see that blue sky again. Your family. Maybe if you survive this, that will be your ticket. Maybe someone else’s life can be the price you pay.
A memory is implanted in Luke. How happy you were on your wedding day. After all that hardship, you were able to survive past earning your parent’s acceptance and married your sweetheart even though she was beneath your station. How could you have expected that jealousy and cruelty lurked beneath the surface, ending at her death by the hand of your previous arranged marriage? Love had saved you. It had made you a happy man, content to die at the end of your 23 years so that you could preserve how dearly you adored her… but now it’s impossible to let go of. You killed the person who killed her. You killed your family for the poor security afforded to your fallen beloved’s home. You killed her family for their lack of compassion. You intend to kill everyone who had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on her and being incapable of saving her. And then, when it is over, you will kill yourself—but not yet. No, not yet. Now isn’t this a love worth surviving for?
In the cell, the following await you: a dagger, a poison, a rapier.
The rage in your memories is strong. This newly implanted life fights against the last life’s memory of your years in Arpéchéle and that memory still fights against the memory of your weeks on the Eudora and time in your home world. They all wrestle for dominance, but a bloodlust permeates every single feeling.
But the heart isn’t so simple. The other strong feeling demanding your attention is your relationship with the person you’re in the cell with—what you know, genuinely know of them, and all the feelings that come with that.
Is emotion still worthwhile, if it will destroy you from the inside? ]
Cloaked figures come in to snatch away each set of sweet, darling participants before their respective matches, untying them from the posts. They're impossibly strong, capable of lifting even the biggest members of this group with ease, so attempts at escape are futile.
Participants are then dragged or carried to a small room between the holding area and the cell that's aglow with machinery. Those still in the holding area will have trouble seeing what's happening. Those in the small room, on the other hand, will be hooked up to one of the machines. Moments later, an entire lifetime of new memories flood into their minds in a hideously painful, disorienting burst.
Before they have a chance to start processing, they're thrown into the cell, the door slamming shut and locking behind them.]
Edited (don't look at me it's so late) 2024-04-10 10:54 (UTC)
[Since Dahut and Luke are first, he's-- well, he's still reflexively afraid when these cloaked figures enter. Funny. That's an emotion he thought he lost a long, long time ago. He's more wary than anything, though - at least until he watches the figures move toward Luke, and then realizes they're also coming toward him, and then he's a kicking, spitting, biting, punching mess all over again. A BITCH NEVER QUITS.]
Don't touch me—! Don't touch me!! Put him down!! Don't—!
[But alas, he is such a tiny little green bean that this figure just hoists him up like he weighs 2 ounces and starts walking away to the small room. Dahut's still violently struggling to escape despite the futility... His eyes give a panicked sweep of the holding area like he's desperately trying to brain his way out of this when it's really a problem only brawn can solve, bouncing from locked door to ceiling to floor to Luke before they eventually land on the four who remain. Sheba, his comrade in mischief and now god-awful torture. Diluc, whose hugs and smiles he cherishes. Dion, who he's seen and felt seen by, and values so highly.
...Scien, whose hand he'd finally tried to reach back for, even just a little. Brainblasts emotionshare when they make eye contact; it's just desperate anxiety mostly for the rest of them, a discombobulated distress, indignant fury, and the despairing desire to be better than what he is as everything he wants to accomplish and protect slips through his fingers. His hand raises in a short burst of movement like he's going to reach out.]
Scien, I—
[No, no last words for you, into the memory pear wiggler you go GOODBYE FRIENDS.
Anyway thanks to hiS FUCKING RELIVER EFFECT, after they're chucked into the cell he spends several long seconds frozen where he's fallen on the floor, paralyzed by the combination of an entirely new life's worth of memories and the trauma he still hasn't finished processing and the inherent indecisiveness of his new cursed form. Wowee.]
[Similarly, even when (if?) Luke calms down, he's immediately trying to fight off the cloaked figures. He cares about the rest of you, he really does, and his hero complex is as strong as it's ever been, but he trusts everyone's abilities enough that he can turn his attention towards Dahut, once more trying, and failing, to protect him from this.]
Dahut--!
[It's a little easier to move now, but it's futile--his struggles get him nowhere. The new memories are forced into his head, and his heart aches as love and joy are placed into his hands, and then ripped out of them. Anguish and rage flood him instead, and he's not this sort of person, he's never been particularly understanding of revenge-seekers, but here, like this, maybe he could be. Maybe he always was, and was just lying to himself all along, the way he lies to everyone else.
He's shoved into the cell and he lands low on his feet by reflex, even though he's breathing hard as his brain fights to sort through the wildly conflicting information in his head. For now, with his back to Dahut, his paranoia is directed outward--like a guard dog, he stays crouched, his hands grasping at the floor like he can rip it to pieces and get them out of here. Like he could save Dahut, and then go find Rosa... Rosa, who was angry with him for ly-- Rosa, who lost her hand, but reached out anyw-- Rosa, whose body was so cold in his ar--
Actually. Can he malfunction from the power of his love memories. I assume not but I think that would be so funny.]
[you know what im going to say yes because i also think that's funny
Dahut's brain, in the meantime, finally decides to kick in and he's immediately scanning everything - walls, floors, ceiling, door, Luke, weapons. He doesn't want to turn to violence first, but his heart is jackrabbitting away in his chest because he knows how much of a disadvantage he's at. His body is strong - is it? - and he can survive any illness - but can he? - but he's so small that just about any person here could shred him like a ragdoll in moments.
It's a good thing for him that Luke's about to have a moment because he hesitates even as he rises.]
I don't want to fight—!
[A declaration to Luke? To the faceless person putting them all through this? Maybe he's just helplessly yelling into the cold and unfeeling cosmos because he has no better outlet.
That said, after a bare second's pause beyond that, he makes a dash for the dagger and the vial of poison.]
[Cool awesome I guess he's just overwhelmed with love pain for a bit here. Thank god no one else is around to punch him and pour drinks on him and then abscond with him into the night.
But he grits his teeth through the pain, one hand at his chest as he tries to push it down and focus on the present.]
Stay back, I'll cover you--
[Except he turns his head, then, and sees Dahut running for the weapons, and. Ah. Well. That's not very helpful for his anxiety.]
[imagine dahut did both of those things except the drink is poison
BUT NO HE DOESN'T!! Luke says "I'll cover you" and Dahut feels a pang of regret which sends him into another indecision spiral. The logical thing here is to do what he can to survive, whatever the price of it may be. He's already thrown away the lives of others here to save what's important to him. What's one more? And he wants so, so badly to-- to get out of the Institute, to go back to his family - his family? to his mother, to the orphanage, to somewhere farther still, he wants to see his mother so, so badly--
But his heart has never been logical, always pushing him to do some insane bullshit even when it conflicts directly with his goals. He scoops up the vial and the dagger and, rather than rushing at Luke, he scrambles to the far other side of the room, pressing his back to the wall and sliding toward the corner.]
[The punch would go unnoticed but the poison might suck yeah
Dahut scrambles away, and Luke--well, the smart thing to do would be to grab the sword, if only to put it between himself and Dahut. And maybe he will in a second. But right now, all his focus is on Dahut, his mind and his heart and his scrambled memories trying so, so hard to make sense of this.
Dahut is... trying to protect himself, surely? He's panicked. It's normal. They've been through a lot. Dahut had tried to help him earlier.
Right?
(Or had he been lying? Trying to calm Luke down, to weaken him? Why would he go for the weapons if he actually trusted Luke not to hurt him?)
He watches Dahut carefully, some of his protectiveness beginning to cool.]
Anyway the very last thing he wants to hear right now is "put them down" because that sounds like something a SERIAL KILLER WOULD SAY!!!!
Or, you know, like the words of someone who's reacting to a person who went for the weapons first, but Dahut isn't exactly thinking or feeling clearly at the moment. He is, at least, holding the dagger in a defensive sort of position like he's getting ready to box back a mob of raccoons, rather than looking like he's going to book it and try to bash Luke into the floorboards with his 2 strength.]
[STOP YOU CAN'T ACCUSE HIM OF WITCHCRAFT HE ACCUSED YOU FIRST.
His whole body stills for a second at the question, because it forces him to confront the ugly part of a strong will to survive. He wants to defend himself, but does he? Why? Luke has done nothing in the entire time they've known each other but protect him. Luke would never hurt him. He wouldn't, would he? And so, if he didn't really grab this to defend himself...]
I... have to get back to—
[To who? The family that sold him to the Institute so they could pick him apart and put him back together? The woman who took him into an orphanage and raised him like her own flesh and blood, who he'd last seen months, weeks, days, decades ago? To the Institute, to Scien? To the Eudora, to the dead?
Anyway this is a great time for Dahut's right hand to decide it's had enough of his shit and send the dagger he'd been holding protectively toward his own throat, which just has him yelping in CONFUSED SHOCK NOW HE HAS TO PUSH HIS ARM AWAY WITH HIS OTHER ARM and he drops the poison vial.]
...To them? [To THE PEOPLE WHO PUT THEM IN HERE BECAUSE YOU'RE AN ACCOMPLICE??? Okay maybe his paranoia doesn't spike quite that bad, but. Dahut is not instilling him with confidence.
He moves closer, intending to... well, to press this interrogation, honestly. The warm fondness he feels for Dahut is fighting terribly hard against his implanted life right now. But Dahut's possessed hand breaks through his muddled memories--only briefly, but enough to shock Luke, and to have him lunging towards Dahut with the intent of getting the dagger away from him.
It means he doesn't notice the poison, which shatters beneath his foot, spilling out over the floor.]
[NOT LIKE THIS... but also yeah maybe Luke MAYBE!! WHAT THEN!! WHAT THEN HUH!!!!
Anyway he also doesn't notice the crunch and shatter of glass or the fact that he's just lost the one thing that would have given him even the slightest bit of an edge here. Even though he's a genius, he doesn't trust in his own strength enough to think he can win in a fight against a trained combatant with only a dagger, but you only have to get one hit in when the dagger's covered in poison!
But he's not thinking of that either, because Luke is a friend but he's also an enemy, and Luke is trying to save him from himself, but is he really? He has to be, because this is Luke, who he's so very fond of, but is fondness trust, for him? Has it ever been? He wants to trust. He wants a hand to reach out for, but it's not here - and maybe the best thing he can do is just try to end things quickly, or maybe it's better to see if they can't get their memories sorted together. Aren't they better than this?
All of this indecisive insanity is happening while he's valiantly trying to keep his right hand from taking the rest of his body out, so he doesn't really have a spare hand to fend Luke off as he lunges over and tries to get the dagger away. His reply is whiplike and immediate, full of the hurt fury of a cornered animal and the panic of someone who's just been through too many damn lifetimes and traumas.]
Don't touch me—!!
[(typhoon voice) UNHAND ME I AM NOT A CRIMINAL
He tries to squirm away but his right hand is still trying to kill him and he's also literally backed himself into a corner.]
Didn't Luke fail to wake up from the last dream? Hadn't he needed Dahut's concern and care to drag him out of the metaphorical fire? I don't know if I would've woken up on my own, he'd said, and he's proving that now as he grabs Dahut's wrist and holds tightly. Too tightly. Dahut screams, and the sheer terror claws at his heart, only for his altered thoughts to pour in, rerouting the emotions he's developed over their weeks together. Dahut screams, and Luke thinks--
he's scared he doesn't trust me what's he afraid of what did he do what did I do]
Enough!
[The shout rips out of him, utterly beyond his control. He's yelling at himself more than Dahut, but he knows Dahut has no way of knowing that--and maybe it's that hero's heart or maybe it's his manipulative side, trying to gain the advantage, but either way, he tries to soften his tone.]
[Luke's out here trying to speak more softly but IT'S TOO LATE FOR THAT!! The combination of having his wrist gripped so tightly and hearing a yell that - to him, in this moment - feels directed at him is not doing him any good. He's better than this. He should be. He's faced arguably worse with a cooler head, but this is even more disorienting than the last pocket he'd been plucked away to, forced to experience a life on repeat and the suffering of two others.
The desire to survive is both his own and not. He wants to see his family again, he wants to see his mother again, he wants to be done with all of this and be back in a place that doesn't pick his old wounds apart and salt them. He's 65 and 15 and 5, old and tired but young and terrified, and for a moment, the hand at his wrist isn't Luke's at all, but some distant someone who's already taken too much from him.
His unruly arm strains and his body pulls back, and he lets out a wordless shout of panic-bitten frustration and anger and pent-up despair from failure on failure and death on death, before a curt:]
I can't!!
[Which is partially an "I won't" and partially true because his hand is still locked tightly on this blade pointed at his throat, as if some deep and buried part of him understands better than any what truly needs to be done.
He can't shrink any further into himself or into this wall, though, so the second his right arm starts to finally relent, he's setting everything aside. His forced hesitation, the familiar fondness he feels toward Luke, the real-tasting false life crammed into his head, even his desire to get out and back to kinder arms. He just wants to push Luke away, to get more space again, maybe with more space he can think easier, breathe easier, calm his awful heart, put his stupid brain to use--
He tries to shove himself forward with both arms and all his lil weenie strength, still not letting go of the dagger. There is the distinct impression that the only reason he's not swinging it at Luke is because Luke's holding his wrist.]
[There are two problems for Luke, here, and the first is assumption. Dahut is so much smaller than he is, so easy to scoop up and carry off, his playful punches barely noticeable to a trained soldier. Even knowing what desperation and adrenaline can do to a person, he believes, without question, that he can overpower Dahut. Whether he does it to protect Dahut from himself, or to gain the upper hand... Luke can't answer that as clearly, but winning the fight through strength was never part of the question.
The second is ignorance. From day one, Luke has had a good relationship with Dahut. He was the only one beside him during Scien's trial, after all. No one else witnessed the exhaustion that bled through his facade, or the decades shining through the frozen youth of his face. Dahut has only ever jumped at him in playfulness and jest.
He isn't prepared for Dahut to move towards him. It's enough to catch him off-guard, and though the memories implanted within him are strong, in this moment, they can't overpower Luke's instinct to protect. So he jerks backwards, his grip loosening, as he falls back on his other hand, cutting his palm on broken glass and narrowly missing the spilled poison.]
[Luke has two problems but Dahut only has one, which is the fact that Luke is still holding onto his wrist when he goes stumbling back and crashing down. THANKS LUKE!!!
Dahut does try to pull back, his mind already leaps and bounds ahead of his body - get away, get back to the other side of the room, grab the other weapon on the way there just in case, try the door because there has to be a better way out of this - but he fuckin fumbles the bag on Step One: Get Away. Instead of his clean break, he's pulled along after Luke just far enough that he loses his balance. Even when the grip on his wrist loosens, yanking his hand free doesn't help him right it and he goes down, bracing himself with his hands (sorry if any accidental stabbies happen, he's still holding his bff dagger).
He lands in a jumble half against Luke and half on the floor, his forearm having slid through the glass and poison alike.]
[Looks at my 4. Well. There will definitely be accidental stabbies!!! Yay!!!! "There would've been anyway" listen yeah but it's more fun this way
Dahut falls half on him, and, unfortunately, so does the dagger!! Right in his side, which I so conveniently have an icon for. Wow. Crazy how that worked out. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at the pain, which never really gets any easier to handle, despite how many he's fought. How many he's killed. For her.
For her--
The implanted memories surge, and his heart does, too. He forgets about the poison on the floor, or even the dagger, as he shoves Dahut off of him, rolling into his side in agony and clutching at his chest. SOMETIMES YOU'RE A BEING MADE OF LOVE AND THAT CAUSES A LOT OF PROBLEMS IN YOUR NEW BODY THAT CANNOT HANDLE LOVE,,,]
[WHY DID YOU DO THIS I HATE IT HERE IM LOSING MY MIND well. Dahut has now done more damage than he ever thought he could and it's entirely accidental this is so funny. He's officially harmed Luke more in this stupid 2 second scrap than he did in the entire yakety sax chase with Scien weeks ago.
He's shoved off and now there is more of him in this poison and glass puddle, and alarm bells ring because he'd forgotten about it while he was trying to break free but he's being forced to remember it very quickly. A burning sensation starts almost immediately at the points of contact the liquid's made with his open wounds, and he yelps and scrambles upright, more glass embedding in his palms, leaving drips and streaks of blood across the floor.
A glance over to the side when he reflexively reaches to snatch his dagger back reveals Luke looking like he's seen better days, and for a brief second, Dahut goes cold wondering if he'd hit somewhere lethal. That's the last thing he wants, but is it?
Or is this what he's looking for? His chance. It'd be an easy matter to run over while Luke's distracted and drive the blade through his throat, sever an artery, end it. He could. He should. Logically, this is the fastest way out. He's fond of Luke, but what does fondness mean? Normally, he's prone to quick action to the point of recklessness, but now, it takes him seconds just to position the dagger offensively. This is it. This is it--
This really is it because a bitch touched a fast-acting poison and seconds later, he's coughing up several mouthfuls of blood.]
Imagine if I said this set off a TB attack, how funny would that be. Just two fools coughing on the floor like losers.
But no, that would be too easy. Instead, Luke fights through the pain, letting his paranoia drag his thoughts away from Rosa and back to the now. He can hear Dahut moving, and his mind tells him that Dahut can't be trusted--that Dahut's fear will win out, and he will strike with purpose, and Luke will meet his end.
By the time he faces Dion, that thought won't seem so bad. But right now, he still has hope. He puts pressure on his wound as he rolls over, his gaze darting to Dahut--only to see him coughing up blood?! BINCH STOP COPYING HIM THOSE ARE HIS TB SYMPTOMS WHAT THE FCK.]
[STOP PLEASE THE BLOOD ALL OVER THE FLOOR AS THE PERSON WATCHING IS LIKE 🧍♂️
Dahut will not stop copying Luke's TB symptoms though BINCH. IT'S HIS TB SHOW NOW. Which is to say he's really coughing up a lot of blood! He can't stop! There's something pale and panicked in his expression but he's still gripping this dagger like his life depends on it even as he collapses onto the floor and convulses. Wow this happens to him a lot.]
[LMFSKDJHGKS WELL MAYBE OBSERVATION JIM SHOULD'VE THOUGHT OF THAT!!!!
But okay, well. DAHUT IS HAVING SUCH A BAD TIME RIGHT NOW. Seeing him in this sorry state breaks the hold his anxiety has on Luke--all at once, memories of the Eudora slam back into his head, forced through by guilt and terror. He scrambles over, grabbing Dahut by the shoulders and dragging him halfway into his lap, away from the spill. His hands are bloody, but Luke pays no mind to his own wounds.]
Hang on, just hang on--
[Hang on for what? There's nothing Luke can do for him here. But he looks around futilely anyway, frantic eyes darting towards the window, the door, trying desperately to catch sight of those heartless figures that shoved them in here.]
He doesn't have the same strike of clarity as Luke. His head is still a fuzzy jumble of memories and bloodshed and betrayal, getting fuzzier still as he shudders and jerks, froth and blood oozing from his mouth.
But he does, at least, recognize this: that despite his fear, and in spite of his own intention to leave here at the cost of a life, Luke has chosen to treat his with care. To attempt and save it, even. His body cramps and spasms in a way he can't control, but at the very least, he works hard to force his stiff and twitching fingers to relinquish their hold on the blade. A thanks, since he can't get his words out, can't even smile.
Here - half in the lap of one of the friends he can call his own, only half-remembered - he takes his last few choking gasps, chasing visions of warm smiles and hands and kinder times.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
DAHUT & LUKE
A memory is implanted in Dahut. You were born under an auspicious star, they said. How lucky that the heavens blessed you with a strong, healthy body. Even as a child, you didn’t so much as fall ill even once. The older you got, everyone found it remarkable how formidable your body was. No broken bones, no illness, no problems. Somehow, you seemed impervious to illness… and isn’t that a gift in this land? It didn’t take long for you to earn the attention of the Institute, brought to their doors under the guise of invitation—and then kept their for experimentation. Your parents sold you off. You’d be surprised how much people would be willing to part with, for enough gold. Each day, you were picked apart until you lost track of your scars and experiments. You didn’t have a single friend to find, instead only locked away in the white walls of your room, waiting for what horrors would come next. They do not let you choose to end it, and are just barely careful to keep you alive. And yet despite it all… you do not seek the end. No. You want to see that blue sky again. Your family. Maybe if you survive this, that will be your ticket. Maybe someone else’s life can be the price you pay.
A memory is implanted in Luke. How happy you were on your wedding day. After all that hardship, you were able to survive past earning your parent’s acceptance and married your sweetheart even though she was beneath your station. How could you have expected that jealousy and cruelty lurked beneath the surface, ending at her death by the hand of your previous arranged marriage? Love had saved you. It had made you a happy man, content to die at the end of your 23 years so that you could preserve how dearly you adored her… but now it’s impossible to let go of. You killed the person who killed her. You killed your family for the poor security afforded to your fallen beloved’s home. You killed her family for their lack of compassion. You intend to kill everyone who had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on her and being incapable of saving her. And then, when it is over, you will kill yourself—but not yet. No, not yet. Now isn’t this a love worth surviving for?
In the cell, the following await you: a dagger, a poison, a rapier.
The rage in your memories is strong. This newly implanted life fights against the last life’s memory of your years in Arpéchéle and that memory still fights against the memory of your weeks on the Eudora and time in your home world. They all wrestle for dominance, but a bloodlust permeates every single feeling.
But the heart isn’t so simple. The other strong feeling demanding your attention is your relationship with the person you’re in the cell with—what you know, genuinely know of them, and all the feelings that come with that.
Is emotion still worthwhile, if it will destroy you from the inside? ]
1/2
Cloaked figures come in to snatch away each set of sweet, darling participants before their respective matches, untying them from the posts. They're impossibly strong, capable of lifting even the biggest members of this group with ease, so attempts at escape are futile.
Participants are then dragged or carried to a small room between the holding area and the cell that's aglow with machinery. Those still in the holding area will have trouble seeing what's happening. Those in the small room, on the other hand, will be hooked up to one of the machines. Moments later, an entire lifetime of new memories flood into their minds in a hideously painful, disorienting burst.
Before they have a chance to start processing, they're thrown into the cell, the door slamming shut and locking behind them.]
2/2
Don't touch me—! Don't touch me!! Put him down!! Don't—!
[But alas, he is such a tiny little green bean that this figure just hoists him up like he weighs 2 ounces and starts walking away to the small room. Dahut's still violently struggling to escape despite the futility... His eyes give a panicked sweep of the holding area like he's desperately trying to brain his way out of this when it's really a problem only brawn can solve, bouncing from locked door to ceiling to floor to Luke before they eventually land on the four who remain. Sheba, his comrade in mischief and now god-awful torture. Diluc, whose hugs and smiles he cherishes. Dion, who he's seen and felt seen by, and values so highly.
...Scien, whose hand he'd finally tried to reach back for, even just a little. Brainblasts emotionshare when they make eye contact; it's just desperate anxiety mostly for the rest of them, a discombobulated distress, indignant fury, and the despairing desire to be better than what he is as everything he wants to accomplish and protect slips through his fingers. His hand raises in a short burst of movement like he's going to reach out.]
Scien, I—
[No, no last words for you, into the memory pear wiggler you go GOODBYE FRIENDS.
Anyway thanks to hiS FUCKING RELIVER EFFECT, after they're chucked into the cell he spends several long seconds frozen where he's fallen on the floor, paralyzed by the combination of an entirely new life's worth of memories and the trauma he still hasn't finished processing and the inherent indecisiveness of his new cursed form. Wowee.]
no subject
Dahut--!
[It's a little easier to move now, but it's futile--his struggles get him nowhere. The new memories are forced into his head, and his heart aches as love and joy are placed into his hands, and then ripped out of them. Anguish and rage flood him instead, and he's not this sort of person, he's never been particularly understanding of revenge-seekers, but here, like this, maybe he could be. Maybe he always was, and was just lying to himself all along, the way he lies to everyone else.
He's shoved into the cell and he lands low on his feet by reflex, even though he's breathing hard as his brain fights to sort through the wildly conflicting information in his head. For now, with his back to Dahut, his paranoia is directed outward--like a guard dog, he stays crouched, his hands grasping at the floor like he can rip it to pieces and get them out of here. Like he could save Dahut, and then go find Rosa... Rosa, who was angry with him for ly-- Rosa, who lost her hand, but reached out anyw-- Rosa, whose body was so cold in his ar--
Actually. Can he malfunction from the power of his love memories. I assume not but I think that would be so funny.]
no subject
Dahut's brain, in the meantime, finally decides to kick in and he's immediately scanning everything - walls, floors, ceiling, door, Luke, weapons. He doesn't want to turn to violence first, but his heart is jackrabbitting away in his chest because he knows how much of a disadvantage he's at. His body is strong - is it? - and he can survive any illness - but can he? - but he's so small that just about any person here could shred him like a ragdoll in moments.
It's a good thing for him that Luke's about to have a moment because he hesitates even as he rises.]
I don't want to fight—!
[A declaration to Luke? To the faceless person putting them all through this? Maybe he's just helplessly yelling into the cold and unfeeling cosmos because he has no better outlet.
That said, after a bare second's pause beyond that, he makes a dash for the dagger and the vial of poison.]
no subject
But he grits his teeth through the pain, one hand at his chest as he tries to push it down and focus on the present.]
Stay back, I'll cover you--
[Except he turns his head, then, and sees Dahut running for the weapons, and. Ah. Well. That's not very helpful for his anxiety.]
no subject
BUT NO HE DOESN'T!! Luke says "I'll cover you" and Dahut feels a pang of regret which sends him into another indecision spiral. The logical thing here is to do what he can to survive, whatever the price of it may be. He's already thrown away the lives of others here to save what's important to him. What's one more? And he wants so, so badly to-- to get out of the Institute, to go back to his family - his family? to his mother, to the orphanage, to somewhere farther still, he wants to see his mother so, so badly--
But his heart has never been logical, always pushing him to do some insane bullshit even when it conflicts directly with his goals. He scoops up the vial and the dagger and, rather than rushing at Luke, he scrambles to the far other side of the room, pressing his back to the wall and sliding toward the corner.]
Stay over there.
no subject
Dahut scrambles away, and Luke--well, the smart thing to do would be to grab the sword, if only to put it between himself and Dahut. And maybe he will in a second. But right now, all his focus is on Dahut, his mind and his heart and his scrambled memories trying so, so hard to make sense of this.
Dahut is... trying to protect himself, surely? He's panicked. It's normal. They've been through a lot. Dahut had tried to help him earlier.
Right?
(Or had he been lying? Trying to calm Luke down, to weaken him? Why would he go for the weapons if he actually trusted Luke not to hurt him?)
He watches Dahut carefully, some of his protectiveness beginning to cool.]
Put them down.
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Anyway the very last thing he wants to hear right now is "put them down" because that sounds like something a SERIAL KILLER WOULD SAY!!!!
Or, you know, like the words of someone who's reacting to a person who went for the weapons first, but Dahut isn't exactly thinking or feeling clearly at the moment. He is, at least, holding the dagger in a defensive sort of position like he's getting ready to box back a mob of raccoons, rather than looking like he's going to book it and try to bash Luke into the floorboards with his 2 strength.]
Why?
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...Why'd you grab them?
[What were YOU doing at the devil's sacrament]
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His whole body stills for a second at the question, because it forces him to confront the ugly part of a strong will to survive. He wants to defend himself, but does he? Why? Luke has done nothing in the entire time they've known each other but protect him. Luke would never hurt him. He wouldn't, would he? And so, if he didn't really grab this to defend himself...]
I... have to get back to—
[To who? The family that sold him to the Institute so they could pick him apart and put him back together? The woman who took him into an orphanage and raised him like her own flesh and blood, who he'd last seen months, weeks, days, decades ago? To the Institute, to Scien? To the Eudora, to the dead?
Anyway this is a great time for Dahut's right hand to decide it's had enough of his shit and send the dagger he'd been holding protectively toward his own throat, which just has him yelping in CONFUSED SHOCK NOW HE HAS TO PUSH HIS ARM AWAY WITH HIS OTHER ARM and he drops the poison vial.]
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...To them? [To THE PEOPLE WHO PUT THEM IN HERE BECAUSE YOU'RE AN ACCOMPLICE??? Okay maybe his paranoia doesn't spike quite that bad, but. Dahut is not instilling him with confidence.
He moves closer, intending to... well, to press this interrogation, honestly. The warm fondness he feels for Dahut is fighting terribly hard against his implanted life right now. But Dahut's possessed hand breaks through his muddled memories--only briefly, but enough to shock Luke, and to have him lunging towards Dahut with the intent of getting the dagger away from him.
It means he doesn't notice the poison, which shatters beneath his foot, spilling out over the floor.]
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Anyway he also doesn't notice the crunch and shatter of glass or the fact that he's just lost the one thing that would have given him even the slightest bit of an edge here. Even though he's a genius, he doesn't trust in his own strength enough to think he can win in a fight against a trained combatant with only a dagger, but you only have to get one hit in when the dagger's covered in poison!
But he's not thinking of that either, because Luke is a friend but he's also an enemy, and Luke is trying to save him from himself, but is he really? He has to be, because this is Luke, who he's so very fond of, but is fondness trust, for him? Has it ever been? He wants to trust. He wants a hand to reach out for, but it's not here - and maybe the best thing he can do is just try to end things quickly, or maybe it's better to see if they can't get their memories sorted together. Aren't they better than this?
All of this indecisive insanity is happening while he's valiantly trying to keep his right hand from taking the rest of his body out, so he doesn't really have a spare hand to fend Luke off as he lunges over and tries to get the dagger away. His reply is whiplike and immediate, full of the hurt fury of a cornered animal and the panic of someone who's just been through too many damn lifetimes and traumas.]
Don't touch me—!!
[(typhoon voice) UNHAND ME I AM NOT A CRIMINAL
He tries to squirm away but his right hand is still trying to kill him and he's also literally backed himself into a corner.]
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--Or are they?
Didn't Luke fail to wake up from the last dream? Hadn't he needed Dahut's concern and care to drag him out of the metaphorical fire? I don't know if I would've woken up on my own, he'd said, and he's proving that now as he grabs Dahut's wrist and holds tightly. Too tightly. Dahut screams, and the sheer terror claws at his heart, only for his altered thoughts to pour in, rerouting the emotions he's developed over their weeks together. Dahut screams, and Luke thinks--
he's scared
he doesn't trust me
what's he afraid of
what did he do
what did I do]
Enough!
[The shout rips out of him, utterly beyond his control. He's yelling at himself more than Dahut, but he knows Dahut has no way of knowing that--and maybe it's that hero's heart or maybe it's his manipulative side, trying to gain the advantage, but either way, he tries to soften his tone.]
Let it go--drop it, and I'll let go--
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The desire to survive is both his own and not. He wants to see his family again, he wants to see his mother again, he wants to be done with all of this and be back in a place that doesn't pick his old wounds apart and salt them. He's 65 and 15 and 5, old and tired but young and terrified, and for a moment, the hand at his wrist isn't Luke's at all, but some distant someone who's already taken too much from him.
His unruly arm strains and his body pulls back, and he lets out a wordless shout of panic-bitten frustration and anger and pent-up despair from failure on failure and death on death, before a curt:]
I can't!!
[Which is partially an "I won't" and partially true because his hand is still locked tightly on this blade pointed at his throat, as if some deep and buried part of him understands better than any what truly needs to be done.
He can't shrink any further into himself or into this wall, though, so the second his right arm starts to finally relent, he's setting everything aside. His forced hesitation, the familiar fondness he feels toward Luke, the real-tasting false life crammed into his head, even his desire to get out and back to kinder arms. He just wants to push Luke away, to get more space again, maybe with more space he can think easier, breathe easier, calm his awful heart, put his stupid brain to use--
He tries to shove himself forward with both arms and all his lil weenie strength, still not letting go of the dagger. There is the distinct impression that the only reason he's not swinging it at Luke is because Luke's holding his wrist.]
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The second is ignorance. From day one, Luke has had a good relationship with Dahut. He was the only one beside him during Scien's trial, after all. No one else witnessed the exhaustion that bled through his facade, or the decades shining through the frozen youth of his face. Dahut has only ever jumped at him in playfulness and jest.
He isn't prepared for Dahut to move towards him. It's enough to catch him off-guard, and though the memories implanted within him are strong, in this moment, they can't overpower Luke's instinct to protect. So he jerks backwards, his grip loosening, as he falls back on his other hand, cutting his palm on broken glass and narrowly missing the spilled poison.]
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[Luke has two problems but Dahut only has one, which is the fact that Luke is still holding onto his wrist when he goes stumbling back and crashing down. THANKS LUKE!!!
Dahut does try to pull back, his mind already leaps and bounds ahead of his body - get away, get back to the other side of the room, grab the other weapon on the way there just in case, try the door because there has to be a better way out of this - but he fuckin fumbles the bag on Step One: Get Away. Instead of his clean break, he's pulled along after Luke just far enough that he loses his balance. Even when the grip on his wrist loosens, yanking his hand free doesn't help him right it and he goes down, bracing himself with his hands (sorry if any accidental stabbies happen, he's still holding his bff dagger).
He lands in a jumble half against Luke and half on the floor, his forearm having slid through the glass and poison alike.]
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Dahut falls half on him, and, unfortunately, so does the dagger!! Right in his side, which I so conveniently have an icon for. Wow. Crazy how that worked out. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at the pain, which never really gets any easier to handle, despite how many he's fought. How many he's killed. For her.
For her--
The implanted memories surge, and his heart does, too. He forgets about the poison on the floor, or even the dagger, as he shoves Dahut off of him, rolling into his side in agony and clutching at his chest. SOMETIMES YOU'RE A BEING MADE OF LOVE AND THAT CAUSES A LOT OF PROBLEMS IN YOUR NEW BODY THAT CANNOT HANDLE LOVE,,,]
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He's shoved off and now there is more of him in this poison and glass puddle, and alarm bells ring because he'd forgotten about it while he was trying to break free but he's being forced to remember it very quickly. A burning sensation starts almost immediately at the points of contact the liquid's made with his open wounds, and he yelps and scrambles upright, more glass embedding in his palms, leaving drips and streaks of blood across the floor.
A glance over to the side when he reflexively reaches to snatch his dagger back reveals Luke looking like he's seen better days, and for a brief second, Dahut goes cold wondering if he'd hit somewhere lethal. That's the last thing he wants, but is it?
Or is this what he's looking for? His chance. It'd be an easy matter to run over while Luke's distracted and drive the blade through his throat, sever an artery, end it. He could. He should. Logically, this is the fastest way out. He's fond of Luke, but what does fondness mean? Normally, he's prone to quick action to the point of recklessness, but now, it takes him seconds just to position the dagger offensively. This is it. This is it--
This really is it because a bitch touched a fast-acting poison and seconds later, he's coughing up several mouthfuls of blood.]
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Imagine if I said this set off a TB attack, how funny would that be. Just two fools coughing on the floor like losers.
But no, that would be too easy. Instead, Luke fights through the pain, letting his paranoia drag his thoughts away from Rosa and back to the now. He can hear Dahut moving, and his mind tells him that Dahut can't be trusted--that Dahut's fear will win out, and he will strike with purpose, and Luke will meet his end.
By the time he faces Dion, that thought won't seem so bad. But right now, he still has hope. He puts pressure on his wound as he rolls over, his gaze darting to Dahut--only to see him coughing up blood?! BINCH STOP COPYING HIM THOSE ARE HIS TB SYMPTOMS WHAT THE FCK.]
Dahut--?!
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Dahut will not stop copying Luke's TB symptoms though BINCH. IT'S HIS TB SHOW NOW. Which is to say he's really coughing up a lot of blood! He can't stop! There's something pale and panicked in his expression but he's still gripping this dagger like his life depends on it even as he collapses onto the floor and convulses. Wow this happens to him a lot.]
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But okay, well. DAHUT IS HAVING SUCH A BAD TIME RIGHT NOW. Seeing him in this sorry state breaks the hold his anxiety has on Luke--all at once, memories of the Eudora slam back into his head, forced through by guilt and terror. He scrambles over, grabbing Dahut by the shoulders and dragging him halfway into his lap, away from the spill. His hands are bloody, but Luke pays no mind to his own wounds.]
Hang on, just hang on--
[Hang on for what? There's nothing Luke can do for him here. But he looks around futilely anyway, frantic eyes darting towards the window, the door, trying desperately to catch sight of those heartless figures that shoved them in here.]
Enough! End it!
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He doesn't have the same strike of clarity as Luke. His head is still a fuzzy jumble of memories and bloodshed and betrayal, getting fuzzier still as he shudders and jerks, froth and blood oozing from his mouth.
But he does, at least, recognize this: that despite his fear, and in spite of his own intention to leave here at the cost of a life, Luke has chosen to treat his with care. To attempt and save it, even. His body cramps and spasms in a way he can't control, but at the very least, he works hard to force his stiff and twitching fingers to relinquish their hold on the blade. A thanks, since he can't get his words out, can't even smile.
Here - half in the lap of one of the friends he can call his own, only half-remembered - he takes his last few choking gasps, chasing visions of warm smiles and hands and kinder times.
Dahut is dead. Fourth time's the charm!]