abraxaslogs | [open] pay my respects to grace and virtue

[Unlike the first time he had beheld Jasper in this dreamscape, Hendrik is able to take note of the ... wrongs in the other man's appearance. Even with their discussion after that first dive, Hendrik finds it unsettling to note the paleness of Jasper's hair and the practically glowing quality to his reddened eyes. Strange. So strange.]

I was. Or, more specifically, your place here.

[That said... He averts his gaze to the bridge and the darkness beyond it that seems even deeper than anything he had seen in Heliodor.]

I thought, perhaps I should see what you have created here, as you have seen for me.

[He follows Hendrik's gaze - his friend noting his hair and eyes - and wrinkles his nose. He suspects the other man considers how wrong he looks beneath this dark sky. His issues with his appearance are more personal; driven by a need for perfection that had fallen short.

The worries fall silent when Hendrik peers over the railings and stares into the abyss. Below him, a darkness deeper than anything he had seen. He turns his gaze to the same blackness. Nothing quite so impenetrable for him, when it had become all he could see for years. He had come to cherish it.

Consider it beautiful, even.

He clenches his jaw. Sharing those thoughts with Hendrik would probably be inadvisable.]

Well, now you have. Interests satisfied, I should think.

[With his eyes turned to the abyss, Hendrik has to focus on Jasper's voice to acknowledge him, and what he hears is distance. A clipped tone.

It takes a moment to wrench his attention away from the dark, blinking as the world grows a little bigger (and yet not big at all, considering the size of the bridge).]

In a moment? No, not at all.

[Questions start roiling in his mind, half-formed and jumbled in their number as he tries to be tactful.]

...Is this a real place?

[The sadness of the question makes him look back and frown, and he approaches at a gentle pace. By the time Hendrik acknowledges him, he is standing on his left side, a small presence overshadowed by a giant. His crimson eyes dart amongst the darkness below, hands supporting his weight as he hunches over the railing.

He freezes after a moment; black nails clawing into obsidian stone.]

Yes. Do you not remember?

[They have certainly come a long way since coming here. Hendrik still recalls how Jasper had been when they encountered each other -- how uncharacteristically emotional and evasive he had been. Here, in this domain of his, Hendrik sees something much closer to the man who had served Heliodor with one hand and bowed to the Lord of Shadows with the other.

Not that they were different at heart. But the facades were.

He frowns at the question, distant and still filled with some sort of expectation. It takes him a moment to shake his head.]

I have never been here before. Surely I would remember if I had.

I had thought Fate played a cruel trick to bring you to me; without memories of meeting me over time.

[Without memories of meeting each other in battle. He narrows his eyes and bows his chin against his chest. Had Hendrik those memories would they be standing together like this? Talking without recrimination? Fingers grip onto the railing, wrapping around the obsidian as though they long to wrap around himself - or this man standing close by.

He lifts his right arm but returns his hand to its place.]

Now I think it was Destiny being kind.

Speaking of Fate sounds rather unlike you.

[Not that he has any right to claim closeness after what he's seen of Jasper, but the man he remembers was proactive about his place in life. The thought of Jasper resigned and downtrodden just left a bad taste in his mouth.

The lifted arm certainly catches his attention, along with the aborted motion. But what it really does is make him take notice that there's something clutched in his hand.]

...What is that?

[That curious inkling leaves him breathless with his back against the wall. Nowhere to turn, no place to hide. His fingers curl tight around the metal object clutched within; a sentimental keepsake protected by the soft wool of his gloves.

Keep your heart close, indeed.

He begins pulling his arm back towards the railing - but he turns over his hand and releases his fingers. Inside? His gold pendant.]

[The sight of the pendant with the painfully familiar symbol of the two-headed eagle leaves Hendrik momentarily stunned into silence. Having gone so long without the familiar weight around his neck and reluctantly accepting that the pendant was just like his other belongings and had not made the trip to Abraxas, he doesn't know how to process the sight of it.]

How...?

[The question lingers in the air even as he churns through what it may mean. He has to remind himself that they are in the Horizon, and even something like the pendant is created by them.

Or him. Jasper.]

Is that yours?

Indeed.

[Jasper looks upon his pendant - a troublesome keepsake of youth - and struggles to connect it with the direction of his life. He thins his lips at the knowledge it had not crossed the divide. Not between this world or the next, nor from the living to the dead.

Why is it here? What had he done?]

I kept it by my side though it never made the journey.

[Jasper's willingness to explain does nothing to calm the questions on Hendrik's mind, and so he says nothing for a long moment and simply looks at the pendant.]

I did not put it together. Did not think of the significance.

[His voice is thoughtful as he murmurs, the topic of the pendant making it so much easier to ignore their ominous surroundings.]

With the witch, that is. That, even back then, you must have had your pendant to show to her. You continued to hold on to it.

[No words come. Jasper remembers showing his token to the witch, of course. Identifying himself and his comrade, sharing their significant bond and ending it with his simple request in exchange for her freedom. He closes his fingers around it and debates throwing it over the bridge. No point, he realises, for his old friend seems to realise why he wore it around his neck.

He looks thoughtful as he grasps two points along its chain. The pendant is released gently to hang in the air - he seems to consider wearing it but collects it into his fist.]

It was the last thing that made me feel like a human, I must admit.

[Was. Past tense. Is he prepared to answer questions? Perhaps.]

[Hendrik silently watches as Jasper handles the pendant, waiting in that silence for him to speak. He doesn't know what to expect, but the fact that there is any talking going on must mean they have reached some point of mutual acceptance -- of their situation, of their past, of ... whatever they were doing now.]

Made you feel like a human.

[Though he misses the initial past tense usage, he still recalls what he had asked so long ago now about something happening before Jasper had appeared in this world.]

You turned into a monster.

[It isn't a question. The proof is already in front of him, as hurtful as it is to acknowledge.]

Yet ... you kept this. In this darkness.

[That slow reasoning is met with patience - the kind he rarely offered in better days. He looks at pale hands, shielded in their gloves, too human for the monster in his mind. The demon nine feet tall that dwarves even this man.

Eyes close and lips thin. His expression becomes quiet and thoughtful.]

Yes. It made it simple to hate you.

I see.

[Hate. Not simply pushing through any troubles and insults of the past, but active hate. The desire to reap violence in a state of feeling wronged.

Perhaps he has felt that at some level. But never to the level that Jasper had. He is thankful for it.]

It followed you here, with this space. In your thoughts.

[Even for him, something as specific and significant as his pendant or armor did not appear in his domain.]

Why are you still thinking of this?

[Jasper squeezes his pendant, securing it within his grasp. His gold medallion is the brightest thing in this depressing and dark place; its delicate chain pressed between thumb and finger. Fingers open and it drops through the air - suspended on its chain a second later.

He holds it aloft and stares curiously.]

Why would I not? This is all that remains of me.

[The man he was or the monster?]

That is a ... pessimistic way of thinking.

[Hendrik frowns at Jasper's answer, unable to glean any of the logic behind it. He shifts from foot to foot for just a moment, thinking on if he should expand on that comment.]

You are not what you were in a single moment.

[His eyes wander to the darkness of the bridge around them, still wondering about its significance. Why is it a bridge? It is clearly part of a much bigger place, but why are Jasper's thoughts constricted to a bridge like this?]

What remains are all the moments you left with others.

[Seconds pass. Jasper barely imagines anything else as lips press together into a thin line, struggling to identify those memorable moments. Certainly, wistful memories of childhood are easy to remember, but does he look upon them with the same fondness as his old friend?

He grimaces and represses a sigh, fingers clenching into fists while that same friend observes the world built around those thoughts.]

If all that remains are those moments then what I have left is nothing.

[He stops holding himself back. The troubled look on his face turns to anger; his expression losing its tight control. Frustration influences his movements; his right arm trembling as he fights the urge to launch his pendant over the side. He cannot rid himself of it, it seems.]

You know that is not true.

[Hendrik's voice grows firmer as he sees the tension in Jasper's body rising to the surface, taking hold of the arm that clutches the pendant in hand. It's a distraction, or perhaps an invitation to lash out in his direction rather than focus his strife internally.]

The real question is if you can accept what those moments are.

[He doesn't want to get into it, but if Jasper is going to dig into denial, he should say more.]

The conflict you created. The mixed feelings. The admiration, respect, and fear.

Accept? I am hardly in denial, Hendrik!

[Is he? Standing apart from his decisions and refusing to accept the consequences; nothing about that resembles the man he is. He feels his eyes crack in the corners and subdues himself into silence. It is enough that any normal man might cry - but he is man no longer. That makes it possible for him to share human emotion.

He only speaks after a moment.]

I fear those moments no longer matter.

Why would they not matter?

[It's an honest question, considering how he sees it affects Jasper. He frowns, giving the man's arm a squeeze as if to snap him out of his own thoughts.]

You are what you put out unto the world, Jasper. I do not know what you think you have put out into the world, but there are still people wondering where you are and hoping you are alive.

[That may be because he and the king had kept the truth from them, but the fact remained that soldiers and townsfolk alike still viewed him with respect.]

[Jasper stands alone beside the railing, three steps away from his oldest friend. He clenches his fingers and closes his eyes, wincing as the other man grounds him with a squeeze. Fears and feelings are too busy to offer him thought. If he listens and puts his emotions aside, well...

There remains no future for them, surely?

Destiny would see him return to his grave and suffer his friend a life alone. What future is that? He rolls his shoulder and shakes himself loose.]

Better they accept I am not. No matter what I offered unto the world.

[His hand is shaken away, but Hendrik continues staring after Jasper, frowning. He greatly dislikes this side of Jasper that continuously pushes away -- as if pushing away has ever actually helped him over the years.]

Eventually. That is how it always is, at least. If you never show up again, you are presumed dead.

[There were people in Zwaardsrust and Dundrasil that were never accounted for. Even the princess, Lord Robert, and the Luminary were thought dead. It was the same idea as that.]

[The words by themselves are less a lecture, more thoughts spoken aloud. Uncomfortable thoughts slosh back and forth, a burden of emotions threatening to overspill. He spends a moment nursing his ego with the knowledge these feelings, too, will fade.

The strong are remembered. The forgotten are left to rot. It is a lesson he wishes he had learned.]

Better they accept the truth than waste twenty years on a lie.

You keep saying that. "Better they accept." Maybe it is better. Maybe not. A person no longer has a say once they have disappeared from people's lives.

[Does he need to get personal? Maybe he does.]

You and I were both orphaned. You should know better than most what you carry with you once someone is gone.

[open] pay my respects to grace and virtue

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)