[ it's been merely a week since that unspeakable night of tragedy, the crimes committed by bourreau a terrible event that is certain to remain consigned to history for an eternity to come. the entirety of arpéchéle, save for perhaps the minority of that man who's already begun his plans of rebuilding, remains suffused in a blanket of fearful silence, its people yet wary of the dark and not entirely certain of what to do with themselves from here on. if it were anywhere else in the world, perhaps, this feeling might have been called one of mourning. but here, it's only... unprocessable.
a mere seven days, perhaps, is far from enough for a population as a whole to recover from events that have trimmed it down by nearly a third -- and even less so, this country's.
and yet... the same meager amount of seven days... could be enough to extinguish the faintly lingering flicker of one individual. a bitter irony.
it is with this worry unceasing in his mind that, as the "watchman of death", the same figure passes for what is perhaps the seventh time that day through a certain alley, lingers in front of the house with the lycoris flowers growing beside it in orderly rows, more abundant than anywhere else. but no matter how many times he shadows it from afar with his presence, the door remains shut and no footsteps appear to grace the threshold, be they of its owner or those of guests. the handyman service -- he overhears in whispers from others who pass by -- has been closed for business the whole week, and it's even uncertain if it will open again, considering what happened to one of the two. ]
...
[ with a sigh muffled into his sleeve, ankou doubles back and paces the alley again, for the eight time now. and that's with the previous few days notwithstanding, which had elapsed in much the same manner. if nobody else will grace the entrance with their presence... he supposes, there is but one thing that can be done about it.
drawing in a breath, he alters his path and his footsteps carry him closer than he's been thus far. he loses track of how long he spends merely standing in front of it after, silent and unmoving until the startled sound of wings from a bird taking off on a roof nearby draws him out of his contemplation. his body feels heavy; burdened with the weight of uncertainty, his arm might as well weigh what it would if it had been cast in iron and lead instead of flesh and bone.
he has no right being the one to stand here... and yet, the lack of anyone else seems to force his hand. its fingers curl, and after what feels like an eternity, knuckles drum softly against the wood; then more insistently, again.
ahem. ]
...Excuse me, kind owner of this abode? Forgive my lack of manners for calling so late in the afternoon, but word of your establishment has traveled recently to my ears. Might I be permitted, I bring with me a matter of quite some import, on which I am afraid could simply wait no longer.
[ somebody kill him, actually. preferably right about now so he doesn't have time to hear a response. ]
[calling yves pathetic would be an understatement. he tells himself he's not a stranger to death, no one in this country is. he's reaching the age where more and more of his friends were reaching the point where they would succumb to the curse, fall in battle, or shed those fond memories of their bonds when they became relivers - a death of their relationship as it was, even if not a true one. so when so many others are suffering, when they've had their loved ones ripped from them so suddenly and violently, how can he be so despondent? what had he lost?
... no, that wasn't right. he knew what he'd lost.
his former teacher, the center of the massacre, driven to such despair that yves never had a chance to reach out and understand - even though he'd promised all those days ago. his new friend, the girl who never deserved to be called death, following after lucas in such a suffering form of love - and yet one yves still found himself craving.
his partner—
somehow, a surge of urgency throws him out of bed. his chest feels tight. he still feels the weight on his back. (his back, because hugo had thrown himself in to protect his blind spot, had chosen yves' life over his own and yet how was his partner using his pitiful spared existence?)
staggering steps bring him out of the bedroom, instead to the kitchen. a handful of lycoris bulbs wait for him, the only food that he could bother to scrounge from close by. the little pufferfish swims around in its bowl, and while yves doesn't have the energy to cook it, he also doesn't have the heart to let one more life extinguish needlessly because of him.
it's just as he's finishing tapping some food into the bowl that a knock startles him enough to nearly drop the whole bottle. the second knock confirms it isn't a dream.
and the words...
they call out to him to answer. his heart is heavy. he's run out of tears. every moment feels like an excruciating loneliness, knowing that the entire country is suffering and he feels just as incapacitated to fix it—
and that's why he should seize this opportunity before the silence of the small house meant for two suffocates him. when he opens the door, it's delayed - but eager as soon as his hand finds the knob. his energy is lower, but his smile shines through like the sun valiantly trying to make itself known through the clouds.]
Sorry for the wait, I—
[recognize you. the moments of that night flash through his mind and make his smile struggle against the weight of memory. he steps aside, opening the door wider to invite the other inside]
... come in, come in. [he continues anyway, voice softened.] I can listen to your request inside. Ah, sorry if it's a bit—messy... We're going through a... transition, you could say.
[ alas... the hand of god, if there even is such a thing as a real one anywhere in this country or otherwise, has no such mercy to spare for either of them. enlarged by the silence surrounding the home, somehow lending it an even more solitary look than it should have had at the moment, it is the shuffling from within that reaches ankou's ears first, and it is then that he already has his answer. even separated by an indescribably long ocean of time, his friend is as he remembers from his memories. someone who, even in his darkest hour, will not turn away a call for help from another, and thus will open his door.
and greet him with that smile.
ah... indeed. how long has it been since he last witnessed it directed at him? yves noirge's unwavering ability to pick himself back up even from the darkest depths of the entangling mire, to climb back to his own two feet -- and in his process of doing so, to pull those around him along in his wake as well, whether he realizes it or not. the position of one who saves others.
given that, it is perhaps presumptuous of ankou of all people to have worried over him in the manner he has... but nevertheless. ]
I do not mind. Please, rest at ease that you have no need to concern yourself with accommodating me.
[ it's spoken softer, more wistfully than he intended upon the backdrop of his thoughts, but he can hide that behind his long hair and the many adornments of his eccentric outfit as well. all while he carries himself through the doorway, the way he was invited. after all, where has one ever seen a watchman of death who feels shy of entering a mortal's home, especially when permitted so upfront? never mind that there's probably only one of those going around in the first place, so it's not like there's a rule for it exactly.
now, the moment of recognition he spots... that, he could indeed have done without. it would have been ideal if yves had not found it in himself to register a mere outsider such as him on that night, given everything else that occurred, but he can figure out how to work around it as well. he posts himself in the middle of the room, giving it as much of a sweeping glance as he can without appearing too suspicious. it's not like he's checking up on the owner's living conditions, or signs of how he's been spending his time, or anything. he has no such agenda whatsoever. ]
I am afraid that much of the country finds itself in a similar state, you see, so it hardly comes as a surprise to encounter it here as well. Even my own humble residence has not been spared the same atmosphere.
[ a harmless lie is a meager price to pay, if it will help set a dear friend's mind more at ease. if it will ground him in the present, bleak as it is, and yet remind him that there are others around him with whom he might shoulder his burdens and share them. ]
[given the fact that courrune was once run by two bachelors, it probably wasn't impeccably tidy to begin with - you would think that cutting that number in half might lead to a better amount of mess but... with yves in the state that he's been in, beside himself in grief, it's probably even worse. having a guest in actually prompts hugo's voice in yves' ear, scolding him, "How can you expect to greet customers with a sorry place like this?"
- so he might be, so casually and with little quick snatches of the hand, tidying up literally as ankou walks in. don't worry about it, don't worry about it.]
Let me at least prepare you some tea...
[he's pretty sure he was able to pick some good leaves out!! even in his sorry, half-addled state! surely they aren't poisonous to the average person!
it's as he's getting out the kettle and looking for the aforementioned brew that he listens to ankou's words and pauses thoughtfully. he hadn't been going out much - he'd tried, ever so briefly, but the sorry condolences people had offered him, coupled with his own inability to find it in him to lift up their own spirits with his so downtrodden... it was too much to bear.
but hearing it from someone else makes him ruminate on the thought, that perhaps he ought to be trying harder.]
... I don't think there's anyone whose lives were left untouched by what happened. It'll be hard to see through the grief for a while. [not that he's speaking from experience or anything] But I do want to say...
[he turns back to ankou, and while his expression is far from happy - it is softened. touched by something gentler, more graceful than sorrow.]
Thank you, for your help that night. I'm glad I was able to find my friends before they could think we'd leave them behind. So even if things are heavy, they're still lighter than they could've been. I'm grateful that we got to meet.
[it's innate, the way that yves immediately switches the focus without any conscious effort. if ankou shares that his own home is burdened by atmosphere, then maybe he might be a little sad? then it's more important than ever for yves to share one small, but still important bright spot. that ankou's involvement brought some solace, even amidst the miasma.]
[ a veritable barrage of attacks, each one more difficult to deflect than the last. ankou's body freezes at the mention of tea, the passage of innumerable years apparently having done nothing to dull the natural instinct to fear this particular danger -- he'd been about to raise his hands and wave the sleeves in a languid gesture of denial, carry the dialogue to a different topic... but with his conversational skills as unpracticed as they've become, before he can, yves appears to find the better words to do it first. with something he had not expected, of all things, which almost has him closing his eyes underneath the weight of a frown.
such a thing he couldn't even begin to accept... if the previous subject had merely frozen him in place, this one all but stuns him. a muffled breath escapes through ankou's lips, its sound only the quiet starting note of a bitter laugh that doesn't continue. ]
To think that I would find myself receiving words of gratitude from you, of all people...
[ it doesn't sit right with him, disturbs an order of things that feels too fundamental and set in stone. then again, he supposes between the two of them at the moment... as much as it may unsettle him, he's the only one truly aware of such things. this won't do. if he doesn't pull himself together, he'll end up possibly causing more trouble than what he sought to resolve by coming here -- though he supposes this would not constitute a very uncharacteristic accomplishment on his list by this point. ]
As one who has come all this way to seek your aid with a personal matter, I do have to say I find it rather amusing in the context.
[ there. that's not how he's finding it at all, but yves doesn't need to know that. what matters is it's fixed now, and so is his image.
with the whimsical trace of one of his mystery smiles on his lips -- and against his better judgment -- ankou turns his body and takes a few steps, diverting his attention to a set of cups that appear to have been placed aside and forgotten after use. he deliberately avoids the two grouped apart, no doubt because they were the pair most often utilized together by the two who lived here, and merely contents himself with picking one up from the remainder of the bunch. turning it, he places it in its proper position upon the accompanying saucer found beneath it, and thus extracts it from the rest. he repeats the motion with another, leaving himself to stand where he is, a teacup in each hand.
that's probably going to only give yves the exact incentive he needed to continue with his tea plan... but that's fine. with a tilt of his head, he offers more softly: ]
I was merely fulfilling what she had asked of me. On the contrary, it is I who ought to be bestowing you with my gratitude for your timely arrival. Thank you for helping lay their two souls to rest.
[yves listens intently as he begins to work on brewing the tea, ignore the fact that there are weird spots on the leaves he's using. surely that's nothing. but he'll still go through the motions, mercilessly distracted from throwing in anything else as this stranger speaks because he was definitely reaching for some chili powder
while the kettle is heating up, yves will turn just enough that he can rest his back against the counter. sadness makes a home in his gaze, though there's something terribly fond in it too. the type of despair that only comes from sincere, unabashed affection]
... I just hope they found what they were looking for. Whatever they couldn't find from everyone else, with what life had given them... Maybe they can find it in Hades, as long as they're together.
[though it makes him think again of how hugo went alone - no love to accompany him, and no partner to trail after his heel. it makes yves pause just a moment, breathing in slowly as if the influx of oxygen will be a balm to soothe his aching heart]
For those of us left here, we can keep going on their behalf - and make sure they're never forgotten. Not just for the bad parts, but the things that other people don't want to acknowledge. Like their kindness, and how they touched the lives of others so gently.
[who would be there to mourn the ends of bourreau and the so-called death? who would be the one to cry for those who were once called villains? if no one else in the whole island will, then yves will take up the mantle. and with every reminisce, he will think again of what he's lost - and how he has to be strong enough to endure, if he wasn't the one strong enough to sacrifice
. . . when he looks back up to ankou, it's with a sheepish smile]
... Sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I? You said that you had a request... I don't want to delay you, even though I'm happy for the chance to talk.
one may always leave it to yves to still extend affection and care towards even those who were ostracized from society, regardless of what deeds they had committed. with him around, ankou is starting to feel certain he may not even need to worry about who might care for the resting place where the two remain together, apart from himself. that is... reassuring. not only for the state of the grave itself, but also because if its lonely and detested presence can act as a weight to yet detain his friend in this world, among the living, then that gives it even more purpose still. he's certain... that she would have smiled happily to know it, as well.
he allows an eyebrow rise softly, however, committed to his act. ]
Oh? Am I to take that as a wish from you? If it is conversation you desire, then that is something I am more than happy to offer. You may even think of it as a bonus of sorts when it comes to repaying you.
[ how is he planning to actually pay yves for whatever shabby excuse for an errand he's come up with for this in the first place? don't worry about it, he'll figure that out.
he sets the cups he'd appropriated earlier onto the table, with delicate gestures, the soundless care in them talking deliberate volumes of the fact that he wouldn't want to miss a single word by covering it up with accidental clamor. yves's act is admirable, truly. had he been speaking to an actual stranger, the way he no doubt believes he is... they might have missed the flickers of discomfort in his vacant gaze, the restless way he can't seem to find a single action or point to settle at, or the pauses he needs at times when his own emotions assault him.
forgive me, then, for my unfair advantage. ]
It has been... a rather lengthy amount of time since I have last had the chance to trade words with someone like this.
[ ankou offers something more tangible, more real and truthful, to make up for the deception. ]
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men (derogatory)
a mere seven days, perhaps, is far from enough for a population as a whole to recover from events that have trimmed it down by nearly a third -- and even less so, this country's.
and yet... the same meager amount of seven days... could be enough to extinguish the faintly lingering flicker of one individual. a bitter irony.
it is with this worry unceasing in his mind that, as the "watchman of death", the same figure passes for what is perhaps the seventh time that day through a certain alley, lingers in front of the house with the lycoris flowers growing beside it in orderly rows, more abundant than anywhere else. but no matter how many times he shadows it from afar with his presence, the door remains shut and no footsteps appear to grace the threshold, be they of its owner or those of guests. the handyman service -- he overhears in whispers from others who pass by -- has been closed for business the whole week, and it's even uncertain if it will open again, considering what happened to one of the two. ]
...
[ with a sigh muffled into his sleeve, ankou doubles back and paces the alley again, for the eight time now. and that's with the previous few days notwithstanding, which had elapsed in much the same manner. if nobody else will grace the entrance with their presence... he supposes, there is but one thing that can be done about it.
drawing in a breath, he alters his path and his footsteps carry him closer than he's been thus far. he loses track of how long he spends merely standing in front of it after, silent and unmoving until the startled sound of wings from a bird taking off on a roof nearby draws him out of his contemplation. his body feels heavy; burdened with the weight of uncertainty, his arm might as well weigh what it would if it had been cast in iron and lead instead of flesh and bone.
he has no right being the one to stand here... and yet, the lack of anyone else seems to force his hand. its fingers curl, and after what feels like an eternity, knuckles drum softly against the wood; then more insistently, again.
ahem. ]
...Excuse me, kind owner of this abode? Forgive my lack of manners for calling so late in the afternoon, but word of your establishment has traveled recently to my ears. Might I be permitted, I bring with me a matter of quite some import, on which I am afraid could simply wait no longer.
[ somebody kill him, actually. preferably right about now so he doesn't have time to hear a response. ]
no subject
... no, that wasn't right. he knew what he'd lost.
his former teacher, the center of the massacre, driven to such despair that yves never had a chance to reach out and understand - even though he'd promised all those days ago. his new friend, the girl who never deserved to be called death, following after lucas in such a suffering form of love - and yet one yves still found himself craving.
his partner—
somehow, a surge of urgency throws him out of bed. his chest feels tight. he still feels the weight on his back. (his back, because hugo had thrown himself in to protect his blind spot, had chosen yves' life over his own and yet how was his partner using his pitiful spared existence?)
staggering steps bring him out of the bedroom, instead to the kitchen. a handful of lycoris bulbs wait for him, the only food that he could bother to scrounge from close by. the little pufferfish swims around in its bowl, and while yves doesn't have the energy to cook it, he also doesn't have the heart to let one more life extinguish needlessly because of him.
it's just as he's finishing tapping some food into the bowl that a knock startles him enough to nearly drop the whole bottle. the second knock confirms it isn't a dream.
and the words...
they call out to him to answer. his heart is heavy. he's run out of tears. every moment feels like an excruciating loneliness, knowing that the entire country is suffering and he feels just as incapacitated to fix it—
and that's why he should seize this opportunity before the silence of the small house meant for two suffocates him. when he opens the door, it's delayed - but eager as soon as his hand finds the knob. his energy is lower, but his smile shines through like the sun valiantly trying to make itself known through the clouds.]
Sorry for the wait, I—
[recognize you. the moments of that night flash through his mind and make his smile struggle against the weight of memory. he steps aside, opening the door wider to invite the other inside]
... come in, come in. [he continues anyway, voice softened.] I can listen to your request inside. Ah, sorry if it's a bit—messy... We're going through a... transition, you could say.
[a... vacancy... of sorts.....]
no subject
and greet him with that smile.
ah... indeed. how long has it been since he last witnessed it directed at him? yves noirge's unwavering ability to pick himself back up even from the darkest depths of the entangling mire, to climb back to his own two feet -- and in his process of doing so, to pull those around him along in his wake as well, whether he realizes it or not. the position of one who saves others.
given that, it is perhaps presumptuous of ankou of all people to have worried over him in the manner he has... but nevertheless. ]
I do not mind. Please, rest at ease that you have no need to concern yourself with accommodating me.
[ it's spoken softer, more wistfully than he intended upon the backdrop of his thoughts, but he can hide that behind his long hair and the many adornments of his eccentric outfit as well. all while he carries himself through the doorway, the way he was invited. after all, where has one ever seen a watchman of death who feels shy of entering a mortal's home, especially when permitted so upfront? never mind that there's probably only one of those going around in the first place, so it's not like there's a rule for it exactly.
now, the moment of recognition he spots... that, he could indeed have done without. it would have been ideal if yves had not found it in himself to register a mere outsider such as him on that night, given everything else that occurred, but he can figure out how to work around it as well. he posts himself in the middle of the room, giving it as much of a sweeping glance as he can without appearing too suspicious. it's not like he's checking up on the owner's living conditions, or signs of how he's been spending his time, or anything. he has no such agenda whatsoever. ]
I am afraid that much of the country finds itself in a similar state, you see, so it hardly comes as a surprise to encounter it here as well. Even my own humble residence has not been spared the same atmosphere.
[ a harmless lie is a meager price to pay, if it will help set a dear friend's mind more at ease. if it will ground him in the present, bleak as it is, and yet remind him that there are others around him with whom he might shoulder his burdens and share them. ]
no subject
- so he might be, so casually and with little quick snatches of the hand, tidying up literally as ankou walks in. don't worry about it, don't worry about it.]
Let me at least prepare you some tea...
[he's pretty sure he was able to pick some good leaves out!! even in his sorry, half-addled state! surely they aren't poisonous to the average person!
it's as he's getting out the kettle and looking for the aforementioned brew that he listens to ankou's words and pauses thoughtfully. he hadn't been going out much - he'd tried, ever so briefly, but the sorry condolences people had offered him, coupled with his own inability to find it in him to lift up their own spirits with his so downtrodden... it was too much to bear.
but hearing it from someone else makes him ruminate on the thought, that perhaps he ought to be trying harder.]
... I don't think there's anyone whose lives were left untouched by what happened. It'll be hard to see through the grief for a while. [not that he's speaking from experience or anything] But I do want to say...
[he turns back to ankou, and while his expression is far from happy - it is softened. touched by something gentler, more graceful than sorrow.]
Thank you, for your help that night. I'm glad I was able to find my friends before they could think we'd leave them behind. So even if things are heavy, they're still lighter than they could've been. I'm grateful that we got to meet.
[it's innate, the way that yves immediately switches the focus without any conscious effort. if ankou shares that his own home is burdened by atmosphere, then maybe he might be a little sad? then it's more important than ever for yves to share one small, but still important bright spot. that ankou's involvement brought some solace, even amidst the miasma.]
no subject
such a thing he couldn't even begin to accept... if the previous subject had merely frozen him in place, this one all but stuns him. a muffled breath escapes through ankou's lips, its sound only the quiet starting note of a bitter laugh that doesn't continue. ]
To think that I would find myself receiving words of gratitude from you, of all people...
[ it doesn't sit right with him, disturbs an order of things that feels too fundamental and set in stone. then again, he supposes between the two of them at the moment... as much as it may unsettle him, he's the only one truly aware of such things. this won't do. if he doesn't pull himself together, he'll end up possibly causing more trouble than what he sought to resolve by coming here -- though he supposes this would not constitute a very uncharacteristic accomplishment on his list by this point. ]
As one who has come all this way to seek your aid with a personal matter, I do have to say I find it rather amusing in the context.
[ there. that's not how he's finding it at all, but yves doesn't need to know that. what matters is it's fixed now, and so is his image.
with the whimsical trace of one of his mystery smiles on his lips -- and against his better judgment -- ankou turns his body and takes a few steps, diverting his attention to a set of cups that appear to have been placed aside and forgotten after use. he deliberately avoids the two grouped apart, no doubt because they were the pair most often utilized together by the two who lived here, and merely contents himself with picking one up from the remainder of the bunch. turning it, he places it in its proper position upon the accompanying saucer found beneath it, and thus extracts it from the rest. he repeats the motion with another, leaving himself to stand where he is, a teacup in each hand.
that's probably going to only give yves the exact incentive he needed to continue with his tea plan... but that's fine. with a tilt of his head, he offers more softly: ]
I was merely fulfilling what she had asked of me. On the contrary, it is I who ought to be bestowing you with my gratitude for your timely arrival. Thank you for helping lay their two souls to rest.
no subject
while the kettle is heating up, yves will turn just enough that he can rest his back against the counter. sadness makes a home in his gaze, though there's something terribly fond in it too. the type of despair that only comes from sincere, unabashed affection]
... I just hope they found what they were looking for. Whatever they couldn't find from everyone else, with what life had given them... Maybe they can find it in Hades, as long as they're together.
[though it makes him think again of how hugo went alone - no love to accompany him, and no partner to trail after his heel. it makes yves pause just a moment, breathing in slowly as if the influx of oxygen will be a balm to soothe his aching heart]
For those of us left here, we can keep going on their behalf - and make sure they're never forgotten. Not just for the bad parts, but the things that other people don't want to acknowledge. Like their kindness, and how they touched the lives of others so gently.
[who would be there to mourn the ends of bourreau and the so-called death? who would be the one to cry for those who were once called villains? if no one else in the whole island will, then yves will take up the mantle. and with every reminisce, he will think again of what he's lost - and how he has to be strong enough to endure, if he wasn't the one strong enough to sacrifice
. . . when he looks back up to ankou, it's with a sheepish smile]
... Sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I? You said that you had a request... I don't want to delay you, even though I'm happy for the chance to talk.
no subject
one may always leave it to yves to still extend affection and care towards even those who were ostracized from society, regardless of what deeds they had committed. with him around, ankou is starting to feel certain he may not even need to worry about who might care for the resting place where the two remain together, apart from himself. that is... reassuring. not only for the state of the grave itself, but also because if its lonely and detested presence can act as a weight to yet detain his friend in this world, among the living, then that gives it even more purpose still. he's certain... that she would have smiled happily to know it, as well.
he allows an eyebrow rise softly, however, committed to his act. ]
Oh? Am I to take that as a wish from you? If it is conversation you desire, then that is something I am more than happy to offer. You may even think of it as a bonus of sorts when it comes to repaying you.
[ how is he planning to actually pay yves for whatever shabby excuse for an errand he's come up with for this in the first place? don't worry about it, he'll figure that out.
he sets the cups he'd appropriated earlier onto the table, with delicate gestures, the soundless care in them talking deliberate volumes of the fact that he wouldn't want to miss a single word by covering it up with accidental clamor. yves's act is admirable, truly. had he been speaking to an actual stranger, the way he no doubt believes he is... they might have missed the flickers of discomfort in his vacant gaze, the restless way he can't seem to find a single action or point to settle at, or the pauses he needs at times when his own emotions assault him.
forgive me, then, for my unfair advantage. ]
It has been... a rather lengthy amount of time since I have last had the chance to trade words with someone like this.
[ ankou offers something more tangible, more real and truthful, to make up for the deception. ]