FOR THEY CANNOT DIE ANYMORE, BECAUSE THEY ARE EQUAL TO ANGELS.

[cccorp]

Today, the canals of Mac Anu flow as gentle as they always do, gondolas drifting lazy through the paths of sunlight cut bright across the water. Shops and vendors line the stonework streets along the waterways, a general murmur of NPCs circulating through their preprogrammed business keeping Mac Anu, as always, feeling maybe a little more alive than a real city.

There is one particular bridge that nearly every player's taken at least once, because it connects to a great many other places of interest, and it's wide enough for easy travel. Besides, with the professions update, they've put a fishing spot on the other side of it. NPCs with fishing rods litter the spot in alternating shifts, their laughter mingling with the calls of shopkeeps advertising cheap prices for some simple plants to get started crafting with, and the clink of forks and plates at a restaurant nearby, its customers singing the chef praises.

Below the bridge, a gondolier passes, humming, his gondola drifting along its circuit through the canals, his tune in rhythm with the passing conversation. As he comes out from under it and sails further away, he glances up at the bridge, as if he were expecting something, and he seems to see it. His gaze remains fixed there until, eventually, the water takes him out of sight again.

Today, you might notice that at the base of this bridge, just before your feet, is a red sort of smear.

A little further down the bridge, about a fourth of the way along it, is a person collapsed on the ground. The red trails to him, fallen forward.

You see upon approaching his hand grasping at his throat at the singularly cut sliced deep into his neck. His one good eye wide and unblinking, he is—among all the laughter and conversation on either side of the bridge; in the shadow of the clock tower, which stands a silent witness, the sun at its back—no longer breathing, his body cool to the touch.

Perhaps this could be considered a kindness: for one who failed, time and time and again, to grasp the desire to live, maybe he found some suggestion of it in his last moments, his hand at his throat, his palm smeared with dried blood, a curious anomaly in the deathless Mac Anu. Fragment had, after all, taught him a great many things. Should he not be grateful for one more, no matter how permanent the lesson?

Mithrun is dead.

Comments

[gluttoning]

...

[In contrast, Misteaks lowers himself to the ground. He can't see the body well. He can't touch it. He doesn't really want to. But it's the closest to a coffin Mithrun is getting right now until ]

I know you're not going to keep him there forever. And I have to be out of state later today. For a game.

...I just want to make sure I can say goodbye. I don't... [A pause. A swallow, tight, as his voice goes quiet.] It doesn't feel right to leave him like this.

...

[A glance goes up to Hien, and then back to the body.]

You don't need to stand. I'm not going to do anything.

[selfconcept]

[ Hien is already standing, but when he looks at Misteaks, he can't help but to let him. He's young and he just lost a friend. Hien may not be the most socially adjusted (very far from it, tbh), but even he knows that having the chance to say goodbye in a quiet environment could help people. ]

... Alright, as long as you stay where you are.

[ Where Misteaks has already lowered himself to the ground. If that agreement is reached, Hien will take several steps away so that Misteaks can do his thing. ]

[gluttoning]

[He nods shallowly at the rule given to him, keeping his arms crossed against his stomach as Hien backs away. It's just him and Morgan now.

No moving. No touching. Look at the body in the coffin. Unbreathing, unmoving. A plastered, powdered perfection trying to masquerade as what they used to be in life.

At least this isn't perfect. At least it isn't pretty. At least it gives answers... just in a language that he can't read.

But...

To look Morgan over this closely makes him feel sick. He wonders how much pain he felt. He wonders if it had been quick, if it had been expected. He wishes he could close those eyes that stay unblinking to the sky, or that his hands could be put to rest away from his neck.

He wishes that someone had been here to help. He wonders if it should have been him. He should have known from the first text that went unanswered. He should have done something.

So he sits, in silence, guilt and sorrow keeping his throat too tight to speak for a long moment. Letting himself be with him. Letting the empty hole burn raw so he could maybe, maybe remember the shape of it.

...

When he finally speaks, it's a brittle and low voice.]

I wonder if you knew what was happening. Maybe... it was better, if you didn't.

...

My teammates said the movie was good. The one we were going to see on Sunday. [He couldn't look at the tickets. At least someone used them.] I didn't think you would want spoilers. So I didn't ask for much.

...

I... u-um...

[Another pause. A swallow, a clearing of his throat, as he presses a palm to one of his eyes.]

I'm sorry. That I wasn't here. That I can't be here. I... I really hate this. That I get to keep going when you can't.

[Again and again and again.]

I meant what I said. I... wanted to know you got to grow old and do all the things you thought you couldn't. That he thought you couldn't. I thought you might see it someday...

[He wouldn't even be able to do the one thing he truly actually wanted, in the end. Even if that had been something Barrett had never understood fully, never prodded about.]

...

If... wherever you are. If they're kind. If you get to rest now. I...

I hope you get to feel whole again, Morgan. I hope someone gave you that much.

...

I'm so sorry. I-I'm so sorry.

[He'll stay like this for a while, eyes reddening with tears that he doesn't let travel his face. The quiet is fine. The quiet was always fine.

It's the guilt - and the loss - that he could do without.]

[selfconcept]

[ ...

This isn't the first time Hien as seen someone mourn for somebody, but it's quiet this time. No blames. No yelling. No accusations. All silent. He closes his eyes for a a moment and after some time passes after Misteaks speaks the last words, Hien quietly walks up to his side and holds a hand out to help him stand.

He knows he's not good with words, so he won't even try. ]

[gluttoning]

[It takes Misteaks a moment to notice, eyes numbly locked on the body in front of him. But there's a subtle movement, of his head, of his eyes, a deflation in his posture at the sight of the hand.

He doesn't want to.

But his hand lifts anyway, taking Hien's and slowly lifting himself back to his feet. He can't meet his eyes, swallowing hard. A very shaky attempt at composure.]

...Thank you.

[selfconcept]

[ He looks at Misteaks for a while before squeezing his hand a little. ]

... You should go log out. Go hug someone. Drink some good tea. I recommend chamomile. Better with lavender in it. Go out for a walk with someone if it's good weather outside.

I hope that this too, will pass... for you.

[gluttoning]

[...]

I'll try. Have to, uh... have to finish packing and get out to the bus in a couple hours. Flying out for the weekend. Away game. So I'll be offline for a few days.

[Not much downtime. His loved ones won't be there, and he's stuck far away. But at least he'll be with his team.]

I... I know, NDA and all, but... I hope the company finds something to say about it.

His family isn't going to look for him in real life if he doesn't come back.

[selfconcept]

... Yeah, I understand.

[ Especially that last line. ]

I'll also hope for that too. Take care, Mr. Misteaks.

[gluttoning]

...Mn.

[There's humanity in some of these moments with Hien that make Misteaks feel almost regretful for his annoyances with the man. An uncooperative and cold pawn for a company that didn't care... but a pawn, nonetheless.]

Get some rest, Hien.

[selfconcept]

[ sometimes life be like that ]

You too. Play well.