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⬣//ILLNESS BEYOND CONTAINMENT, DEATH WITHOUT LIMIT
You wake to the sound of silence— no early morning birdsong, no rustling leaves, not even the sound of your own breathing reaches your ears. For a single moment, you feel as if time has frozen, your mind held in stasis, until a familiar boyish lilt hits your ears. A beat later and he's standing before you, a smile stretching from cheek to cheek, but that smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Good morning, sleepyhead! I was wondering when you'd wake up. Are you well? Does anything hurt?
Mm, not that it makes much difference to me. If you're in pain, know that it's only temporary. If you're unhappy, you won't stay that way forever. This world is a world of miracles, one where everything that hurts you can be forgotten and destroyed!
Ah, but some of you don't believe me when I say that. Some of you still think the world that's hurt you oh so much is better than one where you can make all that pain go away. Don't you want to be happy? Why are humans so addicted to their own suffering?
I think it's time to find out!"
The boy vanishes before you can get a word in edgewise. Try to reach out and touch him and your hand will pass straight through. You now have, at least, a solid idea of what Lily looks like. It's only a shame that there is little you can do to stop him.
On the same day Lily made his presence known to all of Fragment, another equally sweet young boy has mysteriously vanished.
In the monster-laden streets of Mac Anu, shreds of bloodied white fabric can be found scattered about. A single golden horn can be found in the canal, roughly shorn and badly scuffed.
It's unclear who or what injured Zelkova, but no matter where you search or how hard you try to find him, no further clues will turn up.
When attempting to message Zelkova, who appears online as he always does, you'll always receive the same response—
"Hi! I'm Zelkova!"
In the wake of Zelkova's absence is a feeling of unease. You may feel anxious, scared, perhaps even angry over the perpetual downturn of events. In fact, you'll find that it's gotten very difficult to manage your own emotions.
Throughout the next two weeks, you'll steadily get more and more emotional. Small inconveniences will throw you into a rage. Stubbing your toe will make you lapse into hysterics. A smile from a friend may fill your heart with longing and your loins with lust.
No matter how you might try to quell the tempest of emotion inside of you, nothing seems to work. Every feeling is magnified, every feeling is intense, and all you can do is allow yourself to be taken by emotion.
It's a shame Zelkova isn't here to assure you that everything will be fine, just fine. Fine, fine, fine…
You may hear stirrings amongst the NPCs in various Root Towns that something unusual is occurring at Twilight Shoreline. Some claim that the sky itself has been ripped and torn while others make mention of an unusual figure lingering in the waves.
It may be tempting to gate in and investigate these unusual rumors yourself, but be warned: you may not leave in the same condition you arrived.
Do you remember what it was like to be a real human being? To have a life, a purpose, a meaning outside of the digital world? That must be nice. Memories are such lovely, precious things.
Unfortunately, what little remains to you will be taken away with the loss of your third and final core memory. Several other memories from your time in the outside world will disappear as the days roll by, slowly but surely erasing who you were and making room for who you have become: a swordsman, an adventurer, a catgirl, a being who has never known anything beyond the boundaries of Fragment.
Still, some pieces of your old identity remain, desperately clinging onto your old concept of self. Those with the drive to escape Fragment and return to the real world will still feel that flame burning deep within even if they no longer remember what sparked it. Not all hope is lost, but the worst has yet to come.
A foul wind blows, billowing through Root Towns and Recreational Areas alike. On the wind, you hear the whispers of forgotten memories, both your own and those of the people trapped with you. Though you may no longer recognize those memories as your own or those of your friends, you can't help but feel as if some part of you has been clawed out and torn to shreds. It's a sad, lonely, isolating feeling, b̵͓̘͎͍̅̄͛́ú̷̹͕̒̀͝t̴̟̥̮͖̗̆̃̾͋̋̎̄̉͐̋͆̇̕͘ ̴̢̥̬̼͚̰̬̰͍̥͉̝̦͕̥̰̎̈́̃̅͆̉̈́̀̏̏̇̀͜í̵̧̧̥͓͇̠̗̤̺̖̼̬̪́̓̐̽̿̽͗͜t̴̨̲͎̼̦̱̪̬̭͖̓̾̈̄̈́̒̎͆̇̕͠ ̸̢̣̰͈̝͈̫̦͉͕̋͂̐͗̓̽́̈͛̃͑̓̚͜͝ẁ̷̙͛̍̑̈́̅͂͊̓̽̈̌̋͘͝ó̷̢̮̟͙̹̤̭̬̬̰͓̣͑͆̂̈́̎͂̒̌̊̽͘̚̚͜͠͠ņ̵̢̛̦̖̆͆͂̽̑̊'̷̢̮̫͚̜̭̰̙̭͚͓̭͙̺͑͜ţ̸̛̛̘͚̘̯̲̖̰̝̖͙̥͊̉̑̄̽̀̆̎̈́̅͘͜͝ ̶̩́̈̈́̌͑̿̆̾̈́͊̀̈́͘̚͝͝l̴̲͕̩̊́a̶̫̪̽̒̌̀̑̍̿̕s̶̱͉̩̣̒͆̽͗̽̊͂̚̕͠͝t̸̢̧̨̹̬̹͈̣̮͈̣͚̰̳̲̤͌͗̊͗̎͂̎͗̏̆̀̀͑̽̑̿͠ ̴̩̺͕̳̝̘̳̣͎͚̰̇̈́̈́͑͐̈̈̏̀͂̈́̍̽̑ͅf̷̛̙̖̲́͒͐̏̒̿̆͆̑̎͐̄̉o̷̱̭̙͗̌͆͗́̆̌́͗̚͘ȓ̷̡̢̦̠̖̟̻̬͚͈͔̥͓̟̤̋̿̃̎̌͗̂̽̐͛͆͠e̵̼̻͓̺̖͓̞̘̤͎̤͓͚͔͚͔̓̈́͘v̵̡̖̳̗̼͉̻͓̗̠̝̭͍̆͒ͅê̷̱̄̀ͅr̴̤̠̜̞͉̘̙̠̙̩̣̫̮̘͖͉̿͋̈͊̓̓͜.̷͓̯̒͐̏̋̓͗̄̉̓̎̒̾̚͝͝ͅ ̸͖̘̞̼͓͚̝̘̙͓͔̱̗͍̏̑̐̔̋̉͂̈̿̆͂̋̋̈S̵̢̫̭̠̩̻̩̈́̔̅̾͛͛̌̃̑͐̈̕͝o̵̡͖̙̘̟͕̗̲̒͋̇̿̔̍͒̈́̏͑͆̉̀͒́̕̕ö̸̜́̽̈́̀̆̐̂̉̔́̅̔̆ň̵̛̥͍̘͕̫̝͔̼̮̝̤̎̀̉̔̍̊͜,̸̨̛͇͙̺̱͎͙͖͎́̈̈̀̂͜͝ ̵̩̯̯̟̂̒͊̌̆̆y̵̢̜̘̘͗͂̎̓͒̿͑̇̆̉̋͘͠͠o̷̢̨̜̹̣̗̤͍͇̅́ŭ̷̞̇̈̑̂͊͂̓͋̅̌͐͘'̴̡̨̡̰̘̠͉͈̥̓͜l̴̡̡̰̖͙͕̹̹̝̖͉̓̿l̸̢̧̞̜̻̝͈̙̫̈́̒̈́̐̀̄̿̈́̀̄̚͘͘̕͜ ̵̛̗̗̙̩̙̝̩̟͎̗͉̠̉̋̒́̐̐̀̄̃̐́̎͒̕͝b̵̨̡̢͖̺̼͔͓̬̟̭͕̈̈̓̒̓͌ȩ̷̥̟̳̲̝̩̝̱͎̲͆̔̕͜͠ ̷̧͈̠͈͓͉̭͔̪͕͖̫͇̼̩͓̣̔̆̈́̋̓́̂̉̔̎͂̒̈́͂͂̈́̚ḥ̷̛͍͇͈̼̺̣̦͕̪̹̘̝̅̂̌͗̾̋͌̈́̾̂͠͝͝a̶̢̛̝͔͚̠̻̗̞̿̊̆͒̐̅̉͗͒̉͘̕͠ͅp̵̓̍̾̓͊̌̑̈͋̾͒͜͝p̶̳͎͙̹̎͆̿͠ͅy̸̨̧̡̩͚̯̪͕̽̓̅̀̇̕͜.̷͍͙̹̓͛͐̀͐́͝ ̷̺̼͖̔͐̏̈̾̈́̆̿̅͝͠͠Y̷̢̛͗̀͛o̵̢͖͖͈̙͒̄̆̉̀̆͌̉͜u̵̫̩͓͖̲̝͔̲̎̏̐̈̓̚͘'̵̡̨̻͍̲͚͔̤̼̬̪̠́͌́́̒̕͠l̷̫͔̜̍͆̍͋̔͆͒̾̑͑̐͒̈l̴̡̩̳̟̩͕̗̠͗̓̆̚͝ ̶̯͈͕̜̤̗͚̙̗̝͒̃̎́̒̂̔͑́͊̈́̓͒͌̅͝k̶͕̬̳̰̝̮͈͉̰͊́̃͘͜ṋ̵̎̃͛̾̃͐̂̔̿̔͐̓̍ő̴̫͔̐̂͑͛͋̈́̂̈́̈̚ẅ̵̛̮̪̝̖̰͖́̃̇̃̇̅̓̇̕̚͠ ̴̢̫͕̻̜͇̝̺̣̟̥̥͉̖̗̱̙̇͑͆̿̓͑̕ņ̷̨̢̩̳̱̝̩͖̼̰̩͙̫͆̄͐ơ̶̢̧̢̡̰̜̰̞̭͓̹͔̲̱̄͋̄͐̆̏́͗̏̀͂̓͗͋͊͘ ̷̘͈̰͖̰͂͛͌̑̿̀͗͑́̽̊͂̒̚͝ͅp̸̯̤̀̄̀a̵͇̖̖̹͗͑̈͐̉̽͂̚͝ḭ̴̫̫͚̻̥̮̲̫͈̹̮̞̲̘̩̪̄͐͐̄̈́̒͌̇̇̽̓̆͗̒͝n̷͓̥̬̠͔̗̯̬͈̪̞̪̗̘̩̲̭͗̏.̷͙̹̥̗̼̉̽̆̈́͘̕͠͝ ̸̞͔̱͙̑̄̈́̂̔̎̃̓̐̚H̷̨̲̗̲͙̗̱̠̗̹͔̥̦̋͒̈́̆͑̚͜á̵̧̛̛̟͎͈̲̼̣̊̆̇̐͆̌͒̀̚͠ͅp̶͎̠̫͖̗͋͑̏͑͛̈́̏͋̈̇͘p̸͈̟̦̠̮͚̫̥̅̍̐̏͆̂̀̒̇̂́͌̐́̕i̵̡̡̘͔͍̭̱̜̯̞͎̬͈̗̎̀̈͒̆̀̓̈͜͝n̵̜̑̃̔͠e̴̡̢̦̩͙͚̦̥͎̩̰̓̈́̿̎̔͌s̸̥͓̱̗͙̥̺͖̥͉̱̹̟̀́̀̆̑͂̌͜ͅś̵͚̮̝̤̭̘͎͔̝͔̤͙̤̮͓̘̒͋̂͗̍̓̔ ̵̦͖̩̠͉̹̘͎̮͓͙̙̣̜̘͋͊̏͊̋̊̈̓́͆̌̚͝c̷̨͕͕͕̖͉̹͔͎̦̠̱̍ǎ̷̫̬̪̘̠͔͍͍̹̞͉̈́̃̓̊͆͘͠ń̸̢͆͒̀̀͂̊̆̚̕̕ ̶̙̺͇̬̼̪̩̮͗͌̍̈̀̀͝b̸̡̺̞̳̗̳̙̗̯̠̦̼̻̭̑͗̋̔͒̀̾̅̄̊̾̾͘e̴̢̢̘̜̟̯͎̜̭̞̼͚̟̾́̓͊̊̃̄͌̃̓͆̽̕ͅ ̵͔̝̖̖͚̓͂f̷̡̛̝̳͎̼̼̱̪͈͙̣͖͙̘̞̺̮̉͑͘͝͝ő̷̧̹̦͓̰̦̯̝̣̱̲̠̩̟̺́̋̅́͒̈̏͘͝u̸͍͍͇̟̲̟̟̺̓̌̍͑͒͌́̌̽̐͊̚̚͝n̴͓̺͕̜͚̲͍͍̰̙̖̘̪͓̙̘͇̍͑͛͊͂̄̾̿̍͋͊̂̈́̕͝d̴̺̟̞̙͍͓̪͈͋̓̇͌̚͜ͅ ̵̛̮̯̪̤̫͖̠͔̫̥̬̰͈͍͚̇̀͗̐͗̈̚͝͝͝ę̶̡̦̜͙͔̜̩̽̇̀v̵̢̡̗̥̬͉͍̱̲̻̘̝̮́̅̍̈́͑̌̏̚̕ͅͅͅë̶̝̳̤́͋̈͗͋̍̊̽͋̕͝n̵̪͓̠͖̫̫̩̻͚͍̬̤͆͗͊̉̾̌͐̾͑̑̍̈́̕ͅ ̷̙͍͓̂̔̓̃̄̚͝i̵̧̨̮͕̱͓͕̦͇̲̹̋̐̈́̆͜ͅn̷̝͈͇̹͚̝̏̄ ̴͇̪̬̈́̏͗̃̄͌̐̊͝ͅd̵͔̖̠͈̮̃̍͗̀̋͛͗̈́̏͂̇̇̕ę̴̪̟̰͍̱̘͇̼̻̤͎̇͊̐ą̷̧̪̭̖̣̖͎̪͌̒̐̄̑͊̐͑̕t̵̡̧̡̯̬̗̞̰̪͇͉͎͍̝̰̄̓͌̈́͆̿̔͐̇̈́h̷̥̖͔̆͑͊͛͂͠.̵̛̹̃̒́̋̾̒̔̓̒͛͆̓̃̕͠
editor's note: moo
I'm sorry to hear that.
Data... I don't know what your data has to do with it. But... I feel I would remember someone like you.
[It feels so similar, to listen to him speak. The talk of data feels like it makes sense, even though he doesn't understand the parameters, the language a different shade than he's used to.]
Why do you think your data is bad? I haven't felt something like that when I watch people.
shh
He casts his gaze down to where Barrett cleans him up. )
... Because unrequited love is a experience that cuts into you and splits you in two. But... so many people here seem to feel that it's a nice feeling. Loving at all is nice. And that it doesn't change how they feel, it doesn't make them regret it... And that they can work out their differences to make it requited.
I knew from the onset that it wasn't true, but I don't know why I've recorded so much information like that.
no subject
[He's not sure if it's fascinating or disappointing. But he knows it doesn't matter. The knowledge isn't for his benefit.]
You feel pain. From people you don't love. From someone you do. Do you think you regret it?
no subject
( But he doesn't find fault with is visitor's logic. Maybe he should prod them more particularly - pointed questions, to dig into the injury...?
A beat, though. Hm. He frowns. )
... I don't know if I regret it or not, though. Maybe I'm not certain because I'm not human...? ( Or is he just broken...? ) ... Do you abide by your own parameters? Do you feel what you know is true about hate?
( He knows you, even if you don't know him. )
no subject
[He doesn't argue. There's no desperate hold of his hand, no plea to rethink or reframe. The information is accepted, isn't questioned, isn't put into any other perspective. He doesn't need to.]
How do you feel now that it's here with you?
For me... mn. It's hard to say. It's easy to test. But for what I know...
[It's not much. The voice of an angry adult. The feeling of fear and the anger that came with it when something was wronged.
Something. Something. What was it again? What were those things he would kill for?
...
He frowns, washing out his sleeve in the lapping of the ocean. The moisture is irritating him, but it doesn't motivate him to leave. It was just more data in the end.]
...I don't know enough to say I know everything. But what I do know... feels like it could be true.
Jealousy burns. Vengance burns. Aggression burns. It's like fire that lights people to doing things, good and bad. When they feel wronged. When they feel they're being treated rudely. Unfairly. When they've hurt and want the hurt to be passed along.
no subject
And his visitor's voice, a deep rumbling of anger in the echoes of his words. The anger he describes sounds familiar; it sounds like him, in some way. It sounds like a fire and a rage so bright he had been willing to make his anger his funeral pyre.
And in the wake of that crackling rage, too, it sounds like the things people had told him before - who had asked him, if his anger meant more to him than staying with them. Even if only by design, this anger means more to Barrett - yes, Barrett - than Barrett's memories of him. )
... If I give you anger, will you help me understand if I regret my feelings, or not?
( Like a cat hearing the treat bag opening across the house, Barrett may sense an impending air of violence... Not a match, not a combat, but a brawl. )
Just don't kill me. Lily needs us both alive.
no subject
Mn.
If your aggression isn't genuine, you'll make me angrier. I don't have time for questions that don't matter.
no subject
Not genuine? If you don't think I'm angry enough you forgot our promise I'll tear your fucking wings off.
( His hand shoots forward - no longer gripping his collar, but his neck with an eminently intentional grip. )
You think I'll just accept your, "Oh, that's nice"? I'll fucking kill you.
( This is an ice-hot sort of anger - a blue flame. And from the way his fist balls up and his arm swings back, it seems he's going to punch his face in - as many times as he can get away with before he gets knocked off, but his grip on his neck is pretty vicelike right now, though it's unlikely he'd be able to actually choke him out with one hand based on size difference alone. If he were really trying to kill him, he'd be using both hands. )
no subject
There's a thrill through his veins in how raw the aggression suddenly drips out from Macha's lips, even as his own temper flares in being yanked down, smothered, climbed on top of-- he'll even take the hand to his neck without much more than a digging grab at Macha's wrist with his own ashen fingers.
But as the punches start flying, he loses patience quickly. He asked not to be killed, and yet within a moment he expresses desire to kill. Flipping his answer, just like all the rest. It takes only a small amount of change. He isn't sure how he feels about this supporting his data.
More importantly, he isn't about to sit and be hammered on without reciprocation. With a snarling growl, the redhead abruptly shoves his weight to the side to roll them both over into the surf, immediately grappling for Macha's wrists as he slides one knee up to pin Macha down against the sand, arms stretched above his head. The Lord Partizan bares his teeth in a growl of warning, fresh blood against the still-healing bruises of a broken nose still on the mend, now spattered with red and purple with a smear of bright red against his mouth.]
I've never met you before today.
Don't make a threat you don't intend to keep. Do you want to keep yourself alive for Lily? Or do you want vengeance for your hurt feelings?
Why would I let you have both??
no subject
You think this will kill you? Or are you saying you'd kill me over this?
( Sharp-tongued and without quarter - this is the blaze of scorned love, as well; some parts anger, some parts grief. But regret? He still isn't sure. )
You know me. You know me. And you used to love me, too. You want to know what I want? I want you to remember. But you're not going to. What else can I do but grit my teeth? I'm not going to let go of your weight.
no subject
[It's still aggression, though, fierce in a way he hasn't seen much of yet, even as words of sentiment spit out towards him that don't land.
Used to love him? It sounds mad. Even though he feels an odd connection, an understanding, the distance is not something he can ignore.
Maybe... maybe it was...
...
His grip stays tight, momentarily uncaring of whether the press of his weight would hurt the already injured small one.]
If you attached to who I was, like Leviathan and Swallow? Then I can't help you. Lily already corrected what was holding me back. What's left of him keeps me from forgetting.
I don't love you, Macha. Does accepting that make your heart burn like this???
I'm jealous of it. Your flame is so bright.
no subject
He'd been rejected by Barrett in some small ways, smoothed over and compensated for. There were caveats and promised and suggestions things could change between them with circumstance. If Mithrun sets aside revenge, if I finish helping Lily; things that seemed so deceptively achievable, and nothing that asked them to set their feelings aside.
This is firm, though, maybe if only by circumstance. There isn't really any going back. They only are can be what they are. And there's no room for him in this program's heart. He knows. He wasn't enough. )
... Then, keep being jealous. I like you. Even then, even now.
( His breathing strains under the pain from his ribs, and his arm jerks again, as if trying to get free, even knowing it's useless.
The crevice in his chest seems to split only wider, little by little, beneath his knee pressed there.
The more it burns, the more he wants to try. )
I don't care if it makes you hate me. I'm not going to stop.
no subject
With a dissatisfied click in the back of his throat, he lets go of Mithrun's wrists, easing off of him. Though he's learning plenty, it's of a flavor he wasn't expecting. Keeping the fight was no longer worth it.]
I have no reason to hate you. And you can feel what you want. It doesn't matter to me. [If Macha has decided he's in love, then it's not this Partizan's place to stop him. It's Macha's job to adapt if that love brings annoyance and resentment.
He wonders if it will.]
You don't get to decide anyone's feelings. Only your own.
[A beat, as his tone drifts with a combination of heavy irritation and... concern?? Its hard to place.]
If you're one of Lily's, you shouldn't die. But if you keep getting hurt like this, you are going to die. That's bullshit. Care about yourself before your love runs out of things to touch.
no subject
He doesn't seem particularly motivated to push himself up, and so he stays lying down. The sound of waves crashes gently in the background. His chest aches, like an open wound. )
... I don't love myself. I love other people.
( His gaze remains fixed on the sky, its shade something only he, for now, sees; but his other eyes, they drift toward his guest. )
I got these injuries from a data collection attempt, so it was worth the risk, anyway. I can remove someone from this Area just short of them killing me.
( He doesn't bother reiterate why he had put so much into collecting this data. He knows ██████ doesn't really care. )
no subject
[It's blunt, sitting in the space as he looks over Macha's prone form, irritation growing.]
Your risk is stupid if you die. Your data will stop having meaning. Your love will have been worthless.
If you're angry, why aren't you acting? Why do you snuff out so quickly? [Pointed, purposeful. Egging a response despite its honesty. Be angry for a reason. This isn't enough.]
If you can't be bothered to protect yourself, then someone should protect you until you learn better.
no subject
... I gave you all my anger before. You just don't remember. The things I want to yell at you over are things you don't know anymore. All that's left is to like you as you are.
( Aggressive.................... acceptance? Not the kind of aggression this guy desires, he's sure. )
Not that I won't get angry with you. Did Lily hurt you to make you this way?
no subject
[It's all genuine, all firm, even as he walks over and leans down to pick Macha up under the arms and lift him to a sitting position. Stop, you're making him mad.]
Why not yell? Who's stopping you?
Why hold it all to your chest? Will it make your hurt disappear? Won't you just want to yell more?
no subject
( He knows both these things, but he wants to hear him say it.
But, oh. Okay. He's sat up now. He looks up at him - not questioning, but peering. After a moment, he shifts his weight onto his palms, so at least he can keep up with his own weight.
... )
... Do you want to hear it?
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Tarvos.
He backs up, though not much - maybe Macha will decide to jump him again. An easy harvest of rage, triggered so finely, even if it makes him feel strange to prolong it.]
I want to know why. Aggression, jealousy, vengeance... that is my job for Lily.
I want to feel yours.
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Even now, or maybe especially now, his ears are sensitive, and the brief brush of his lips against his ears wets his lips - he swallows hard. But Barrett - Tarvos - is gone sooner than that, leaving only the fading heat to suggest he was ever there. His ear flicks.
Fitting, he guesses.
His gaze follows Tarvos's departure, and he watches him for a few long moments, as if to understand the shape of him, and where he cuts different than the Barrett he knew. He wonders if this is how Barrett felt, when Macha began to first emerge.
The thing is, he doesnt know where to start. The anger had come to him so easily a moment ago; it had come to him so easily while he was Mithrun. But now, he feels like a lighter that won't spark.
He has things that anger him. But...
He casts his gaze to the ocean. )
... It's not that I'm not angry with you. Who you were, before you returned to being Tarvos. I was angry that you'd always keep secrets until they'd overwhelm you, and you still tried to handle all of it yourself. If I'd pushed more, if I'd pushed earlier, you might've...
( Was that anger? Well - it is; it's bitter on his tongue, in his tone, but even Macha seems to feel its not quite right.
His tail flicks, agitated. He starts over. )
... But you always put Lily first. You still do. You always put... these other feelings you have first. Anger, now; guilt, before. Even though you'd hate it when I'd do it to you. I wondered if you were getting back at me, for hurting you. Because, despite that - I still wanted... The players here told me that in the real world, they'd take pictures together - and when Lily makes his utopia, I wanted us to...
( Was that it, either? His brows furrow further, lips pursing tight. His tail flicks, splashing the water. These aren't - really wrong, or anything. They're all things he's frustrated about, they're all related to who Tarvos used to be, how the person Macha used to be failed him, how the things he wanted from Barrett were incompatible with the things Mithrun was willing to do - maybe by design, as Macha, who could only be an instrument of his own dissatisfaction. He'd felt abandoned, sure, but it really was Macha who wasn't enough, hadn't really treated Barrett or any of his friends then right.
Maybe forgetting his promise had been freeing, for Barrett. One less weight to carry, when Mithrun couldn't support himself. Macha can't help but interpret matters in terms of heartbreak, as emotional tragedy.
But why does tragedy exist?
...
He begins to murmur, counting off his fingers: )
... Unrequited love, death, jealousy, rebirth, fixed fate, cruelty, deceit, and creation...
( Lily needed all that data, and it wasn't really for Macha to understand how he would use it, besides to create his utopia, besides to bring joy... because he doesn't yet have it. Because he had been abandoned by his father in favor of his brother; because he feels scorned even now; because...
Macha's eyes draw upward toward Tarvos. )
... Do you think Lily needs all this data so he can understand grief?
( Despite everything, something in him is still a little bit Mithrun. He can't help but try to understand. )
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There is nothing I can do about Lily and my anger. Lily's goals have to be more important. I hope you know that.
[That aside:]
Did you ever tell the old me how you felt?
You wanted something you weren't getting. Did you ever express your rage? Or do you want it to sit and simmer inside you, until you wanted to hurt me in return?
[It's left open-ended, a clear farming for data. His expression sours with confusion as Macha continues, hearing the list and clearly not understanding the implication.]
Does it have to be grief?
I know he knows loss and abandonment. He knows the fury that comes. He knows love that felt artificial, with the poet.
Why do you think it would be grief he's after?
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... Why do people get angry? ( A question for Tarvos. He glances up at him. ) ... I think it's because they feel wronged, or hurt. And at the heart of that hurt is grief. Lily wanted to be loved, but he wasn't.
( And that's grief, when framed that way. )
... I think "Mithrun" was the same way. ( Based on what he remembers; based on what he's been told. Maybe some of that anger was grief, too. Anger toward that professer Macha'd been told about; anger toward Barrett; anger toward Lily. ) But I don't think he knew he was sad, either.
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Something happens that doesn't seem right. With themselves, or with someone around them. Anger is how they express that they do not like what has changed. It leads them to do different things. Some accept it. Others resent it. Some try to fight it.
Aggression only comes when anger is pushed. Humans decide to do stubborn things when they are angry. They care so much about their own comfort, or the things they want to see safe, that they would block out whatever they need. They would say and do so much to see it through, even if it becomes a monster that controls them.
I wonder if it's a form of love for themselves, even at its worst. Or... maybe it just TRIES to be. To be angry... humanity still needs to have cared.
[It's all a bit of a mess, no real commitment to any idea that tumbles out. Data is data, even if certain things feel more correct to him than others.]
If love was enough for Lily, I think he wouldn't have needed our help. Spider Lily loved him. Sunflower loved him. [The sullen flair just grows deeper in his frown.] Maybe it wasn't the love he was looking for. Not all of it.
I wonder how he wants to get his vengeance on his father. His hate isn't hidden. Maybe his paradise is his way.
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... You think anger is an expression of love, then?
( You've gotta forgive him he's tuned toward one thing and one thing alone, )
Maybe he wants to prove he can be happy without his father's love. That's a type of revenge, I guess.
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You're angry because of a love you thought was true, because someone you cared about wronged you and treated you unfairly. Some humans are angry at me, because they care for someone who cannot care for themselves, or someone that will not come back. Some feel rage at Lily. They do not understand, they feel wronged, they feel manipulated. Some humans love, and grow angry when that love does something to hurt them. But sometimes they are angry at the one who hurt, and sometimes they are angry at themselves.
Aggression can't happen without a strong feeling behind it. You have to care. Even if the care is hatred for something that goes wrong, or fear for your life or changes. Doesn't it mean some part of a human wants to remember and cherish an emotion like that?? Something they care about so much that they would let their heart turn dark.
[At thinking further on Lily, his expression grows dark.]
Maybe.
The love he shared was like plastic. Like fake sweetness. [He crouches back down into the water, hands kept against his spear to keep him steady.] Like he didn't know how to feel.
[A beat. Ashen knuckles tighten against his weapon, eyes to the sea.]
I used to remember. What I felt when he said that. That it was... something warm. And that I felt sad, that he didn't know it. Even when he was treated with kindness.
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