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chroma2022-04-03 11:23 am
saturations) wrote in chroma2022-04-03 11:23 am
Entry tags:
WEEK SIX: EXECUTION
EXECUTION: CLARTE
Sunday morning starts peacefully enough, until around noon, when alarms start going off on your phones. The dreadful noise is accompanied by a reminder of the execution taking place in the Central Node. You can snooze the alarms at first, but they begin to get a little more insistent. If you're being stubborn, you can probably hold out until exactly 1 PM, when an archway opens right in front of you and pulls you in.
Today the Central Node is eerily quiet and empty. There are a few blankets laid out on the grass for those of you who wish to sit instead of standing the whole time. No refreshments have been provided, but the Residents are already there waiting for you.
As the last person enters the node, an enormous archway suddenly opens. This archway once again leads to an area which is pitch black inside, with white and grey dust falling softly like snow. The chilly air feels even colder than before, and you instinctively know you must not approach it. If you try to push through anyway, something is blocking your way. Smaller tears to the same space open in the air, at the very least. You can see what's happening, even if you can't follow.
Because - once the archway is open, Clarte alone will begin to walk through as though drawn. All you can do now is watch and wait.
no subject
in the empire, each life has a value. if you're not needed, they get rid of you. and it may not be a mindset clarte ever ascribed to when it came to others, but what they believe has never mattered.
and as their heart shatters further, they can feel it—the monster that lurks in the recesses of their vessel. the empire chose to play with fire when they created something like clarte, and clarte has always wondered when the match will be struck. (... hasn't it already been?)
they send another blast of magic the guard's way. please let this be over soon.]
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the fire consumes the graceful guard despite her attempt to get away - she won't scream, though. she chokes down the pain, and stares at clarte as the flames burn her to ash. she watches them, because she knows. they have never been kind, or strong. desperate, inhuman, lonely. she knows it better than anybody else, as she drops, and then she too is color, a tarnished gold.
they continue.
the final guard clenches their fists, watching as they approach. they too, have a helmet, but no weapon, and scarlet crackles at their fingertips. like it's torn from them, like they can't do anything but spit this out:
I don't want to kill you.]
no subject
"i think there might be some things only they could understand... at least, to understand them easily."
a part of them had almost been envious to hear that, as an abnormal existence with no other metric to how they should view or relate to the world. (the closest thing to another model erased before they could even be activated.)
almost, though. in the end, what they needed from people wasn't to be understood. what they've wanted, what they clung to, what gave them a reason to live—it was something else. an emotion that they can't name right now.]
I don't want to kill you either.
[because they don't like taking others' lives. because of something they can't recall.
they smile, pained, even though nothing about this situation warrants it. somehow, something about the gesture feels familiar.
("why are you joking if you don't want to? scared to cry?
you just squint your eyes and make sad noises.
you look like you want to try.")
and yet—]
... But it is what it is.
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but first, they have to get through this. the guard makes an annoyed noise.
Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say.
and they rush clarte, because like hell are they taking this laying down.]
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anyhow.
this time, they don't have to fight on equal ground. (they know they're not a match for him in hand-to-hand combat.) it would be so easy to use what they have at their disposal to fight unfairly. to take to the air and rain magic from above.
but a part of them feels like they at least owe it to him to not make it so impersonal. they'll meet his attack head-on, as an almost formless blade of energy manifests in their hand. they move to counterattack, stabbing it into his chest.]
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for a moment, the guard looks up at clarte, gasping. he pulls the helmet from his head, throwing it to the side. he looks clarte in the eye, and for a moment, it looks like he might say something. might lean close, might press their foreheads together.
instead, he spits blood in their face. and then he dissolves, a sludge of muddied red that drips off the edge of clarte's sword.
all that is left is the girl.]
no subject
("i don't care if you're sad."
"i know, and i'm glad for that.")
for a moment, they lift a hand up, as to wipe the blood off. but then, they leave it be, letting it drip down their face. this much is what they deserve.
("i didn't know how to help you.
... i'm not a good friend. that's why."
they think they're probably a far worse friend.)
they take in a shuddering breath, before they let it out. slowly, they walk over to the girl, the sound of their own heart loud in their ears.]
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melina cannot escape. and you know, clarte, that she is your final target. this is the final stanza. it is your job to strike her down.]
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softly,]
... Don't make me do this.
[what god is there to pray to, when they effectively are the deity—and how useless they are, that they cannot create a miracle here? and yet, still, they beg to the air. perhaps, half-recognizing her and half-not, they aren't even sure of why this is the breaking point for them—why this goes every instinct of their soul.
"everything delicious about you has been wrung out by someone else. an empty vessel indeed." but ultimately, even they have things they can't bear to lose.
and again, more desperately,]
Don't make me do this!
[even so, against their will, they raise the sword.]
cw: suicide
they raise the sword. and they bring it down.
and she lets out a little cry, as the sword sinks into her. tears, involuntary, slide down her cheeks, and her hands instinctively come to hold onto the sword, blood dripping from where the metal slices into her palms. she chokes, never looking away - and then horrifyingly, slowly, she dissolves into a mix of colors bright at first, and then rot. just like the others.
an empty vessel, indeed.
there's silence, for a long moment, as the color seeps into the dirt. and then, a whisper.
Look what you've done. This is all your fault. I never knew that you could be so selfish. the color breathes against their ear. You cannot be allowed to do this again.
Kill yourself. Now. That's an order.]
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"selfish is all that i am, garou."
"i didn't realize you were capable of loving so deeply either."
in a way, this order comes at a good time. had it not, clarte might've ended up screaming in pain, in anguish. but even now, a part of them reminds themself of why they cannot afford that luxury.
(this hurt is their punishment, for a crime—for a multitude of them, really—that they can't recall right now.)
but because this voice speaks, clarte trembles once more; this time, however, for very different reasons. whether this is teyul schnaud's voice or another's, they don't know, but it doesn't matter.
everyone here wanted to see them yell so badly? they're getting it now.]
Silence!
[and with that comes all of their rare fury, their hatred.]
You're lucky I can't kill you here and now.
[for putting them in this position, for giving them orders they never wanted to follow when clarte does have their own will and this was never it at all. for getting others involved, because clarte can accept their own suffering, take it and make it something stronger, but how dare they harm everyone else for it. their grip tightens, as if they wished they could strike out at any other enemy. in the end, though, robbed of their true power—their defiance is pointless.
their hands adjust their position to hold onto the blade, slashing open their palms once more, so that they can point the sword at themself. and then—
they plunge the sword into their heart.]
no subject
Y'know, you're still an idiot. a gold voice says, annoyed, as flowers start to bloom around their feet. I wasn't mad just 'cuz we're losing what you could do for us. I'm mad 'cuz we're losing you.
they struggle, though. there are orders they must carry out. another voice chimes in, just as annoyed - purple, jagged at the edges, pushing them away from their weapon.
I know there's things you want, and I know you're not a total doormat, so why do you gotta act like it all the time? Even when you're going to die.
they want to die, they've been waiting all this time. they've been told to die, it's necessary, they're supposed to. they've hurt so many people, but... they can't bring themselves to do it. the flowers at their feet burst into a vibrant bloom, an echo of green coming off each one like snow.
... To me, you're not some grand being, or an angel, or some invincible being. You're just you. And you're wonderful for it. the green murmurs, and another burst of purple twines around their shoulders. You can keep your heart where it is. You'll still feel as much as we do, in the end. and then amber, shining bright: You matter, even if you do not think you do.
the flowers curl up and up, winding around their feet, their legs, soothing the wounds they've received. the holes in their wings mend, the marks along their arms turn to faded scars.
I love you, Clarity... you've always been a light for others. a soft yellow voice whispers, taking their hands. they pull those hands away from clarte, and for a moment, their hands are warm, like the sun shining through a window. a royal blue voice chimes in, agreeing: People care for you, Clarte. Many.
but maybe they were starting to realize that, weren't they? they feel - forgiveness, perhaps. love. and as they stand there, trembling, the colors swirl brightly and press close, like a hug. the kind you give a person, with a soul, and a purpose past simply to serve others.
well, until a wave of scarlet frees itself from the swirl. clarte will feel the sensation of being punched in the chest.
You're so stupid! Everyone's life is important, dumbass. Vessel, clone or what the fuck ever. Quit making me say dumb afterschool special shit!
and then - the color gently pushes them towards the archway. go. to your friends. to people who love you, and people who believe in you, and people who are better off with you in their lives.
clarte is alive.
the question echoes in their head even as they move: This is not about what I want. What do you want?]
no subject
cool! well, clarte will unpack this later, because as they rush out their gaze is just desperately scanning the rest of the crowd in case someone is about to turn into a monster right now BECAUSE WHAT THEY WANT IS FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO NOT DIE RIGHT NOW aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah]