Izunia Lucis Caelum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
founderinglight) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
phantasmalrift2018-04-06 03:57 pm
founderinglight) wrote in phantasmalrift2018-04-06 03:57 pm
one day the light of love, though it may seem far away
Who: Grandpa Sleepy and you!
What: Izunia has some projects catchall!
When: Late march and a couple days into April
Where: vvvvvarious
Warnings: None YET
March 28-April 3, daylight; space between the station and the lighthouse
[Sticking out in his black coat against the outline of the roof, here's Izunia -
And then he suddenly isn't, with an impressive throw of a greatsword that's nearly his own height spinning through the air. It embeds in the ground, kicking up sand, and he follows in a flash of blue before it vanishes. And then again, straight up into the air - and back down with an explosion of sand.
Or perhaps you catch him with a series of... cards? floating in an array around him, before he suddenly sets one to spinning and conjures a burst of water or ice from the ground. Or, rapier in hand, setting fire to the blade in a... mostly controlled manner. Ignore the singed grass.
Either way, it's clear that he's practicing - putting his abilities on full display for probably the first time, aside from that fateful seagull fight. And perhaps a sparring buddy wouldn't be out of the question...?]
April 4th, east laundry, afternoon
[Well, it's not a total mess. But a keen eye will spot Izunia at one of the sinks - for once, sans scarf. In fact, sans shirt entirely. The reason why is clear in what he's bent over - a bit of dark metallic blue dye and a teeshirt that used to be entirely white. Clearly, he didn't want to risk the rest of his clothes getting stained.
And, well, he was right to be worried, considering that there's a streak of the blue dye running up his forearm to the elbow from where he mistakenly leaned it against the edge of the sink as he works. Also, there's that tattoo on his chest - a flock of crows, indeed, an entire murder, flying away from a series of cracks directly over his heart.]
I suppose I should have done a test run, first...
April 4-5th, late evening/early night
[And once the shirt is finished and hung up to dry securely in his room (and a towel streaked with the dye that mostly came off his arm), Izunia settles himself back in the kitchen again. There's the smell of something in the oven - cheese? garlic? - and while he waits for it to finish, he sets with a notebook at one of the bench-style tables. There's an array of sketches (mostly, now, people around the station), a deck of what seems to be metal playing cards, an empty fountain pen, and directly in front of him, a journal written in neat handwriting...
...Completely in what someone from Earth would recognize as Latin. And unlike the majority of writing around the station, this doesn't seem to want to translate if you sneak a peek.
Good luck sneaking up on Izunia, though, because chances are he hears you and closes the notebook when you approach. There's that usual smile in place, but it seems a bit emptier than usual.]
Good evening.
And also the usual places at the usual times
[If those projects don't interest you, perhaps you've caught him somewhere having a nap, or out on the viewing deck some sunrise or sunset? Strange as he is, even he has a routine.]
What: Izunia has some projects catchall!
When: Late march and a couple days into April
Where: vvvvvarious
Warnings: None YET
March 28-April 3, daylight; space between the station and the lighthouse
[Sticking out in his black coat against the outline of the roof, here's Izunia -
And then he suddenly isn't, with an impressive throw of a greatsword that's nearly his own height spinning through the air. It embeds in the ground, kicking up sand, and he follows in a flash of blue before it vanishes. And then again, straight up into the air - and back down with an explosion of sand.
Or perhaps you catch him with a series of... cards? floating in an array around him, before he suddenly sets one to spinning and conjures a burst of water or ice from the ground. Or, rapier in hand, setting fire to the blade in a... mostly controlled manner. Ignore the singed grass.
Either way, it's clear that he's practicing - putting his abilities on full display for probably the first time, aside from that fateful seagull fight. And perhaps a sparring buddy wouldn't be out of the question...?]
April 4th, east laundry, afternoon
[Well, it's not a total mess. But a keen eye will spot Izunia at one of the sinks - for once, sans scarf. In fact, sans shirt entirely. The reason why is clear in what he's bent over - a bit of dark metallic blue dye and a teeshirt that used to be entirely white. Clearly, he didn't want to risk the rest of his clothes getting stained.
And, well, he was right to be worried, considering that there's a streak of the blue dye running up his forearm to the elbow from where he mistakenly leaned it against the edge of the sink as he works. Also, there's that tattoo on his chest - a flock of crows, indeed, an entire murder, flying away from a series of cracks directly over his heart.]
I suppose I should have done a test run, first...
April 4-5th, late evening/early night
[And once the shirt is finished and hung up to dry securely in his room (and a towel streaked with the dye that mostly came off his arm), Izunia settles himself back in the kitchen again. There's the smell of something in the oven - cheese? garlic? - and while he waits for it to finish, he sets with a notebook at one of the bench-style tables. There's an array of sketches (mostly, now, people around the station), a deck of what seems to be metal playing cards, an empty fountain pen, and directly in front of him, a journal written in neat handwriting...
...Completely in what someone from Earth would recognize as Latin. And unlike the majority of writing around the station, this doesn't seem to want to translate if you sneak a peek.
Good luck sneaking up on Izunia, though, because chances are he hears you and closes the notebook when you approach. There's that usual smile in place, but it seems a bit emptier than usual.]
Good evening.
And also the usual places at the usual times
[If those projects don't interest you, perhaps you've caught him somewhere having a nap, or out on the viewing deck some sunrise or sunset? Strange as he is, even he has a routine.]
April 4, Laundry
Going for a new look?
[In his arms he has a bundle of civilian clothes. After wearing them for long enough to get them dirty, he's been putting off washing them since.]
no subject
[He bends into the sink again, and then pulls up the piece of paper he was using as a stencil. The holes in it read
NOT ARDYN
WE'RE TWINS]
no subject
[He tilts his head, curious and a smidge confused.]
Why’s.. [He glances at the shirt to get the name.] Ardyn so stab-worthy?
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[His cheerful demeanor falls almost immediately.]
Honestly, it's a better question what he hasn't done... Being the vessel of an apocalyptic magical plague doesn't exactly do good things for your morals.
[He says it casually, but it still falls flat.]
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[He piles the laundry on the side, to be dealt with at a later time.]
You were a King, right? Does that mean your brother was, too...like that. [He sounds a little uneasy- not so much in approaching the subject but in the very concept of it.] What happened there?
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[Should have been king as far as Izunia is concerned, anyway. Clearly, Bahamut had very different intentions.]
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[Not that what happened to Ardyn was good by any means, but Izunia seems like he’d be a good enough ruler- at least to Astolfo.]
How did something like that happen to him, though?
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[Truthfully - one of the thoughts he can barely admit to himself, barely allow to bubble to the surface, a thought that he won't be giving voice to any time soon - is that his meticulous nature and relative contentedness to deal with logistical nightmares day in and day out probably makes him better suited for day-to-day ruling than Ardyn was, even if his brother was the more compelling figure.
But he drowns that thought.]
The... short of it is that an ability we thought was healing was simply transferral. He healed people and took the infection into himself, where it eventually became something worse.
no subject
[So that, in his opinion, is very much doing something right.
With his brief explanation, Astolfo finds himself with a familiar pain in his heart. Just how many people duty-bound to help others will suffer for doing so? He looks to Izunia with only one question in his mind:]
Did he regret it?
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[His hands tighten into fists, and he looks down.]
I just know that it's something, and that's enough. Enough to know that I was horribly, horribly wrong.
no subject
He tentatively reaches out to touch his arm, should he allow him to.]
If he wanted to help those people, and doing that saved them- at least there's that.
[Perhaps the smallest of victories, but one nonetheless.]
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After a deeply hesitating breath, he wraps that arm around Astolfo's shoulders.]
He was such a self-sacrificing idiot. I'm sure - there's no way he couldn't have known long before I did, and I'm sure he said to himself, as long as I'm saving others from suffering, because that's who he was. That wonderful fool.
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Believe me, I'm familiar with the type. [Despite the gravity of the situation, he allows a small laugh to escape him.] What's important is that those sacrifices- those decisions- aren't made in vain.
[He pauses for a moment, the wistfulness gone from his face now.]
What happened once he started to take the Starscourge in?
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[Deep breath. He needs that support, really.]
He couldn't die. The Scourge regenerated any harm done to him, and his aging froze him about as you see me now, save that his eyes turned yellow. I imagine he was also pained by sunlight, as most daemons are simply destroyed by it, but the immortality was the most prominent and worst symptom.
What it did to his mental state... I can't know for sure, but I can't imagine it was anything good.
no subject
He couldn't die...Did people try to... [He doesn't need to specify, he feels that Izunia already knows.] Because of what he started to do?
no subject
Believing him a daemon, I tried to destroy him myself. ...Thirty six times.
[His arm drops away, because he wouldn't blame Astolfo for just... leaving, after that admission. There's a lot packed into the concept of thirty-six presumably-violent fratricides.]
When that didn't work, we locked him away where he could do less damage. By the time he managed to escape, 'The Accursed' was already a figure of myth, the world at least somewhat warned, though even that would be mostly forgotten by the time the actual Chosen King, who would give his life to destroy the Starscourge, was born.
no subject
His speechlessness is owed not to any sudden disgust at Izunia, but rather, the image of someone who loved his brother so dearly being driven to do the unimaginable. Not even once, but thirty-six times.
He notices Izunia's arm leave him, but he doesn't move. He stands, still close to him, feet firmly planted on the floor.]
You just wanted to protect others, didn't you? [His voice, quiet and soft.] Like you were both...trying to do before.
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Perhaps after, but... I can't claim my primary motivation was something so noble. I wanted revenge, I wanted to hurt the thing that took my brother away from me, however I could.
[He was a king, but he was also just a person, as prone to getting caught up in his emotions as anyone.]
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He reaches back for his arm, moreso out of wanting to get him to look back towards him again than anything else.]
You humans, and your emotions... [He says this with a fondness.] However could you be blamed for such a thing?
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[He doesn't move away from the touch.]
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[He goes ahead and just, keeps his hand on his arm. Stable, steady.]
Regardless, dwelling on the past is no good for anyone. At some point, you have to leave it behind, or you can't live in the present. [A reassuring smile.] Trust the hypocrisy of a living relic.
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[It's light and teasing, an upward shift in the mood - if nothing else, Astolfo knows how to make him feel better.]
...I'm trying. But sometimes it's too heavy a burden to ignore.
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That's why you've got friends, now. To help lighten the load.
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Mmm. It's still very new, sometimes.
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