I haven't. That's only because Yamato acted faster. [Had he been closer, had he not been holding that barrier, they would not be having this conversation.] If I had, I have no doubts now that Ginger would have likely tried to kill me, and then either I would have died, or I would have resorted to defending myself and both of you would have perished.
Thankfully? That's not what happened.
[Another step forward.]
Then figure out where to start rather than blaming yourself.
Have you asked him what he needs? Does he want help, or are you choosing on his behalf out of fear of what you don't know?
( If there's one good thing about this, it's that Solomon mentioning a move to kill Mika would set Ginger off again, and that is the most glaring flaw with Mika's plan to eliminate all potential motivations to act out.
But that just makes him feel helpless - he has to be able to do something. He can't just accept there's nothing he can do.
However.
While Solomon's questions are fair - important, even, given the toxic spiral Mika seeks out and completes, there's something more important here, something that cuts his voice cold and sharp as he pushes from the wall. )
Don't you ever lay a hand on Ginger. I don't care why. If he comes after you, get out, or just lay down and die.
[Mika goes ice cold, and yet Solomon remains eerily calm.]
I'm afraid I can't do that, Mika. Just like I would kill you if you were to be a danger and could not be controlled, I would do the same with Ginger. I do not make exceptions.
( One thing Solomon has as advantage over Mika is experience Mika cannot even begin to hope to match. Mika's expression is cool - anxiety and fear drained away in the face of brutal necessity.
But what Solomon is probably guess - might be familiar to him, in context and tone - that this is the look of someone weighing a means to kill him. )
How is removing someone willing to kill him at the drop of a hat not going to help him? I don't care if everyone hates me after. I'd do whatever it takes for him to be okay.
And what do you think he would say of what you asked me to do to you? If he killed me to stop that, and it meant that you had no one willing to stop you without more bloodshed?
Would you think that was helpful? Would that make him happy?
( Heels dug into the floor and thumb pressed against his rapier's hilt, Mika knows he isn't in a state to fight - not with someone who has proper control of their magic when he doesn't right now (and he doesn't, not as acutely as Solomon, Mika's own heart a little too decayed to make for clear casting), and not with someone whose magic innately skews toward offense. He doesn't know Solomon's full battery of abilities, either. He'd just have to be fast, and that would have to be enough. He and Khun aren't totally different in the end.
But they are distinguished in this way: when Solomon mentions Ginger's happiness, Mika pauses. His sole concern is Ginger's longevity and joy. He is not above making cruel choices for Ginger for his own good, even if Ginger protests.
But Mika is cautious, and he weighs his options first. He will not make that choice unless he's confident in its truth, and right now he isn't fully sure. )
... As long as he's alive, he can find a way to be happy again.
( But he doesn't necessarily argue what Solomon says. )
And if I'm the one who makes him unhappy, I'd remove myself, too.
( Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice... )
cw: suicidal ideation talk to be safe until they're done with this topic
But his wavering is human - human, because his decayed heart tells him it doesn't matter. Let Ginger be upset, just for the moment - it will pass, he will alive, and he will be fine.
And he will be alive because Mika will have removed every threat to Ginger's life prior. )
... If I can do right by him, then I will. I've done it for Yuu-chan, and I'd do it for Ginger. My life isn't worth much, but it is worth that.
( But even now, in the faint stirrings of his heart, he remembers what Ginger had said: that he wouldn't set Mika's weight down. That maybe Ginger wouldn't just get over him - that Mika's memory might be a weight too heavy to carry.
[Carefully, carefully, his hand slips for his wand. His pulse still moves, a tip to the caution as well as the fear, prey with their ears up and their attention forward.]
How is that doing right by him?
How is that doing right by anything other than your own fear, Mika? You can find ways to work with him, but this isn't it.
This isn't about Ginger. This has not been about Ginger. I am worried about you right now.
( Solomon's tension feeds into his own as if theirs was a heartbeat shared, and he doesn't miss the slight movement toward his wand, his eyesight perfect in the dark.
I'm not going to allow you to hurt me, and I'm not going to allow you to leave this room if you cannot get a hold of yourself. But I would be a monster if I let you hurt yourself.
[The part of him that sees the human, the part of him that is watching it wither and wondering what is merciful.]
If there's anything that makes him falter - more than even his uncertainty over which path is best for Ginger, by his own bloody hands - it's this word, which, when from the lips of another, lands like a stake to the heart.
( While it's hard to say if it makes Mika any less agitated, it reroutes his anxieties a different way - one that seems to, for the time being, deprive him of his hostility - hobbled by a different sort of torment.
... )
... I can't do anything.
( A final, frustrated confession - not a threat, not a cool word from a fanged maw. Just hurt. Being alive hurts.
If there is anything that being a vampire allows you, it is a desperation for the death you were forever denied. )
He doesn't let his grip go on his wand at first. He keeps himself steady, stable, bracing.
As Mika's emotions crumple into themselves in fragile cracks and crevices, his heartbeat finally starts to slow. Intentional breaths.
...
He keeps his steps cautious. But he will carefully close the distance, letting his wand go back into hiding, letting his hand rest, very gently, on the top of Mika's head.
Being alive truly, truly hurts. There's nothing he can do to take that away, for Mika or for himself.]
I believe you can. [It's quiet.]
Just don't lose yourself before you see what you can do.
He doesn't accept the touch, because he doesn't deserve it, but he doesn't reject it, either, even if Solomon is someone uncertain. He's just... feeling a lot, and so the gesture lands without the usual chilliness Mika might use as a divider, a defense. )
( Krul had pet his head like this before - he hadn't been sure how to take it then, either. But... he's exhausted, too, and in this moment, it doesn't feel terrible, despite everything.
But in some way, understanding can hurt, when you're so certain you don't deserve it. )
... Okay.
( Mika will pull away and trail toward the couch recessed into a wooden frame. It could serve as a bed, and only these past few nights has he somewhat used it like one (to curl up in, not to sleep) - there's a set of abandoned blankets he pushes aside as he climbs onto it.
The small table with two chairs seems a more natural choice for guests, but Mika simply ignores it. )
[He doesn't mind - Ibuki preferred the bed, too. Comfort wasn't something he would deny. Not right now.
He settles himself, and starts to weave a tale.
--
Once upon a time, a long time ago, there lived a king.
This king was visited by a strange old man. The man had only half of everything. Half of a head, half of a body, half of his arms and legs.
"Who are you?" asked the king.
"I am death's messenger", said the half-man, "and I have come to take your soul."
The king was frightened. "It's far too soon!" he answered. "I beg you to give me seven years' grace so that I can prepare myself!"
The half-man fell quiet for a moment, and then said: "So be it. I will pardon you. But I am the only one who can choose the moment you must go. Know that you will see me again, between tomorrow and the end of the seventh year. You will not know when. You will not know how."
He went on his way, and the king wept.
The king ordered a solid fort to be built for him, surrounded by seven deep trenches, and a rampart defending its inner walls. A leaded iron door blocked the entrance, to where he had a small palace meant only for him, with only one small window as an opening to the outside, out which he never looked. There, he thought, he could protect himself from the threat of death.
He said to his porters and chamberlains, his servants and soldiers, "Don't let anyone in to see me! I mean no one!"
After one year had passed, his wife tried to come to see him. She couldn't get past the iron doors, and was turned away despite her weeping.
In the third year of his captivity, his daughter who he loved very much also came. She was also not allowed admission, no matter how she begged.
In the fourth, it was his son, in whom he held immense pride, who received the same treatment.
One day, during the seventh year, the half-man suddenly reappeared in front of the king, to his agony. "How did you get here?" the king demanded. "Who let you in???"
The half-man answered, "I go where I choose, and when I choose."
The king, enraged, called his porters and chamberlains, his servants and soldiers. "Why have you allowed this man in? Were you not instructed to not let anyone in?"
Those under his care swore they had never admitted such a man. "But, sire", they said, "Truth be told, these seven years we have seen your wife who wept for you, your much-loved daughter who pleaded, and your son in whom you are very proud. But we have kept your gates seals, and their locks guarded."
And so, the half-man said to the king, "A wall is nothing to me. Neither battlements, nor ramparts, nor ditches."
"What do you want?" asked the king. "To take your soul," said the man. "Is it necessary?" asked the king. "Yes," said the man. "But where will I be when you take my soul?" asked the king.
"Nowhere," said the man, "Except in the tomb you have created."
The king protested. "I never built any tomb! I built a mighty rampart with seven trenches! I built an iron door and a palace for myself!"
The half-man looked, with his single eye that saw all, and at last replied, "This palace is your tomb. This bed you lie on is one that you have made for yourself to lie in these last seven years. In fleeing me so, you have not escaped death. You have only wasted life."
The king looked at the half-man. He thought of his wife who had wept for him. He thought of his much-loved daughter. He thought of his son, in whom he still was so very proud.
He looked to the window for the first time in seven years. He saw a mountain, topped with snow, that he'd never seen before. He'd never touched snow. His heart yearned for it, beyond his fear. But he could not take it back.
So he laid down, and wept for his loss as his breath left his body, in the tomb of his own making.]
I think it's a possibility, just like anything else.
[He leans against his knees, his hands gently folded in front of him as his head tilts to look at Mika.]
Fear makes us into a lot of different things. It's a hungry wolf that demands we feed it. It tells us "never". It tells us "only". It tells us "always". And we feed it our time, our dreams, our decisions, because the fear feels so much larger if we don't.
I don't think it's wrong to be frightened. It's the heart's way of saying "I want to live." But you cannot let fear devour so much that your entire life, however long it lasts, becomes a tomb instead of a treasure.
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( Not necessarily an accusation— but he clearly doesn't understand why, when he knows he was a risk. )
I'm not God, I can't control— things. But I can't just accept there's nothing I can do to help him.
( No matter how badly that runs him down. )
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Thankfully? That's not what happened.
[Another step forward.]
Then figure out where to start rather than blaming yourself.
Have you asked him what he needs? Does he want help, or are you choosing on his behalf out of fear of what you don't know?
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But that just makes him feel helpless - he has to be able to do something. He can't just accept there's nothing he can do.
However.
While Solomon's questions are fair - important, even, given the toxic spiral Mika seeks out and completes, there's something more important here, something that cuts his voice cold and sharp as he pushes from the wall. )
Don't you ever lay a hand on Ginger. I don't care why. If he comes after you, get out, or just lay down and die.
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I'm afraid I can't do that, Mika. Just like I would kill you if you were to be a danger and could not be controlled, I would do the same with Ginger. I do not make exceptions.
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But what Solomon is probably guess - might be familiar to him, in context and tone - that this is the look of someone weighing a means to kill him. )
... Even at the risk of your own life?
( A very immediate risk. )
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[Firm.]
Do not threaten me, Mika. This is not going to help either of you. You know that.
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How is removing someone willing to kill him at the drop of a hat not going to help him? I don't care if everyone hates me after. I'd do whatever it takes for him to be okay.
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Would you think that was helpful? Would that make him happy?
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But they are distinguished in this way: when Solomon mentions Ginger's happiness, Mika pauses. His sole concern is Ginger's longevity and joy. He is not above making cruel choices for Ginger for his own good, even if Ginger protests.
But Mika is cautious, and he weighs his options first. He will not make that choice unless he's confident in its truth, and right now he isn't fully sure. )
... As long as he's alive, he can find a way to be happy again.
( But he doesn't necessarily argue what Solomon says. )
And if I'm the one who makes him unhappy, I'd remove myself, too.
( Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice... )
cw: suicidal ideation talk to be safe until they're done with this topic
That is what gets Solomon's pulse to finally quicken.]
Mika. You're not thinking rationally. If you care about him, think very, very carefully about what you're saying. Think about how he reacted.
I know you're very, very scared. But this isn't a solution.
cw: suicidal ideation jic
So now you care about him?
( He nearly hisses, the sound almost bestial.
But his wavering is human - human, because his decayed heart tells him it doesn't matter. Let Ginger be upset, just for the moment - it will pass, he will alive, and he will be fine.
And he will be alive because Mika will have removed every threat to Ginger's life prior. )
... If I can do right by him, then I will. I've done it for Yuu-chan, and I'd do it for Ginger. My life isn't worth much, but it is worth that.
( But even now, in the faint stirrings of his heart, he remembers what Ginger had said: that he wouldn't set Mika's weight down. That maybe Ginger wouldn't just get over him - that Mika's memory might be a weight too heavy to carry.
But if not this, what else could he do? )
cw: suicidal ideation jic
How is that doing right by him?
How is that doing right by anything other than your own fear, Mika? You can find ways to work with him, but this isn't it.
This isn't about Ginger. This has not been about Ginger. I am worried about you right now.
cw: suicidal ideation jic
He narrows his eyes, quiet - the air taut. )
... Then what are you getting your wand for?
( His own hand on his rapier, gaze still. )
cw: suicidal ideation jic
I'm not going to allow you to hurt me, and I'm not going to allow you to leave this room if you cannot get a hold of yourself. But I would be a monster if I let you hurt yourself.
[The part of him that sees the human, the part of him that is watching it wither and wondering what is merciful.]
So I need you to calm down. Okay?
/2 cw: suicidal ideation jic
If there's anything that makes him falter - more than even his uncertainty over which path is best for Ginger, by his own bloody hands - it's this word, which, when from the lips of another, lands like a stake to the heart.
Ah... )
cw: suicidal ideation
... )
... I can't do anything.
( A final, frustrated confession - not a threat, not a cool word from a fanged maw. Just hurt. Being alive hurts.
If there is anything that being a vampire allows you, it is a desperation for the death you were forever denied. )
... I just... want to save someone, for once.
no subject
He doesn't let his grip go on his wand at first. He keeps himself steady, stable, bracing.
As Mika's emotions crumple into themselves in fragile cracks and crevices, his heartbeat finally starts to slow. Intentional breaths.
...
He keeps his steps cautious. But he will carefully close the distance, letting his wand go back into hiding, letting his hand rest, very gently, on the top of Mika's head.
Being alive truly, truly hurts. There's nothing he can do to take that away, for Mika or for himself.]
I believe you can. [It's quiet.]
Just don't lose yourself before you see what you can do.
no subject
He doesn't accept the touch, because he doesn't deserve it, but he doesn't reject it, either, even if Solomon is someone uncertain. He's just... feeling a lot, and so the gesture lands without the usual chilliness Mika might use as a divider, a defense. )
... I don't know if I have that much time.
( His limit, whenever that comes. )
no subject
My statement still stands.
[His thumb strokes gently. An acknowledgement of the overwhelmed boy, not of the monster.]
Here. Sit with me for a moment. I have a story to tell you.
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But in some way, understanding can hurt, when you're so certain you don't deserve it. )
... Okay.
( Mika will pull away and trail toward the couch recessed into a wooden frame. It could serve as a bed, and only these past few nights has he somewhat used it like one (to curl up in, not to sleep) - there's a set of abandoned blankets he pushes aside as he climbs onto it.
The small table with two chairs seems a more natural choice for guests, but Mika simply ignores it. )
no subject
He settles himself, and starts to weave a tale.
--
Once upon a time, a long time ago, there lived a king.
This king was visited by a strange old man. The man had only half of everything. Half of a head, half of a body, half of his arms and legs.
"Who are you?" asked the king.
"I am death's messenger", said the half-man, "and I have come to take your soul."
The king was frightened. "It's far too soon!" he answered. "I beg you to give me seven years' grace so that I can prepare myself!"
The half-man fell quiet for a moment, and then said: "So be it. I will pardon you. But I am the only one who can choose the moment you must go. Know that you will see me again, between tomorrow and the end of the seventh year. You will not know when. You will not know how."
He went on his way, and the king wept.
The king ordered a solid fort to be built for him, surrounded by seven deep trenches, and a rampart defending its inner walls. A leaded iron door blocked the entrance, to where he had a small palace meant only for him, with only one small window as an opening to the outside, out which he never looked. There, he thought, he could protect himself from the threat of death.
He said to his porters and chamberlains, his servants and soldiers, "Don't let anyone in to see me! I mean no one!"
After one year had passed, his wife tried to come to see him. She couldn't get past the iron doors, and was turned away despite her weeping.
In the third year of his captivity, his daughter who he loved very much also came. She was also not allowed admission, no matter how she begged.
In the fourth, it was his son, in whom he held immense pride, who received the same treatment.
One day, during the seventh year, the half-man suddenly reappeared in front of the king, to his agony. "How did you get here?" the king demanded. "Who let you in???"
The half-man answered, "I go where I choose, and when I choose."
The king, enraged, called his porters and chamberlains, his servants and soldiers. "Why have you allowed this man in? Were you not instructed to not let anyone in?"
Those under his care swore they had never admitted such a man. "But, sire", they said, "Truth be told, these seven years we have seen your wife who wept for you, your much-loved daughter who pleaded, and your son in whom you are very proud. But we have kept your gates seals, and their locks guarded."
And so, the half-man said to the king, "A wall is nothing to me. Neither battlements, nor ramparts, nor ditches."
"What do you want?" asked the king.
"To take your soul," said the man.
"Is it necessary?" asked the king.
"Yes," said the man.
"But where will I be when you take my soul?" asked the king.
"Nowhere," said the man, "Except in the tomb you have created."
The king protested. "I never built any tomb! I built a mighty rampart with seven trenches! I built an iron door and a palace for myself!"
The half-man looked, with his single eye that saw all, and at last replied, "This palace is your tomb. This bed you lie on is one that you have made for yourself to lie in these last seven years. In fleeing me so, you have not escaped death. You have only wasted life."
The king looked at the half-man. He thought of his wife who had wept for him. He thought of his much-loved daughter. He thought of his son, in whom he still was so very proud.
He looked to the window for the first time in seven years. He saw a mountain, topped with snow, that he'd never seen before. He'd never touched snow. His heart yearned for it, beyond his fear. But he could not take it back.
So he laid down, and wept for his loss as his breath left his body, in the tomb of his own making.]
no subject
When the tale is done, he is quiet for a time, before he eventually asks: )
... Do you think I'm the king, then, in this story? Hiding away from the inevitable?
no subject
[He leans against his knees, his hands gently folded in front of him as his head tilts to look at Mika.]
Fear makes us into a lot of different things. It's a hungry wolf that demands we feed it. It tells us "never". It tells us "only". It tells us "always". And we feed it our time, our dreams, our decisions, because the fear feels so much larger if we don't.
I don't think it's wrong to be frightened. It's the heart's way of saying "I want to live." But you cannot let fear devour so much that your entire life, however long it lasts, becomes a tomb instead of a treasure.
no subject
... But it's not my life at stake. It's always someone else's. Every time I fail to think ahead, they're the ones put in danger.
( Mika closes his eyes... )
... I don't mind becoming a tomb for them. I just... want to be the one to pay the price for once, for my carelessness.
( And in some adjacent way, what he really says here is this: I want to be punished. )
no subject
No price you pay will bring any peace for how low you place yourself.
It doesn't take a keen eye to see that you're miserable, Mika. You've already had enough taken. And you're looking death in the face every moment.
Isn't this punishment enough?
[Why does he think he could possibly need more?]
cw: effectively fantasizing about flagellation
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