Songerein IC Inbox

[itstillhurt]

Do not waste my time. It is more valuable to me than you are.

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For Zuko/@rediscovering, as plotted OOC

[itstillhurt]

(Continued from here.)

[Cautious. When did he become so cautious? He was so much easier to deal with as a reckless fool. Well. He was still a fool.

Fine. Since he insists on playing defensively, she'll just have to test him. She dives into a flurry of attacks, once again focusing on rapid strikes. She's seen those flame whips in action before- flexible, versatile, with the advantage of reach and capable of moving as fast as their namesakes, but they're certainly no friend to rapid changes in direction, and the flurry of attacks from variable angles succeeds in driving him back through the 'labyrinth' that was, more and more, their garden.

And yet, he didn't seem to be tiring, or waning, or even losing his patience. For all that he was giving ground, it almost seemed like he was willing to do so, as if he was counting on her wearing herself out.

Like she had at the Agni Kai. Again, she's struck by the strange feeling that he's not the Zuko she last seen-

'Let me help you! I want to help you!'

Why could the intrusive memories never give her a moment's peace? She snarls in a renewed fit of aggression, but- No. No, she can't afford to get sloppy, not now, not she can't let him- not again-

And then she has it.

He's new. And that means she has access to something he's never seen. Something she only just recently mastered.

It was like destiny.

Her eyes suddenly light up with a wild excitement. Yes. She can win. She lunges suddenly, overextending to strike at him with a flame dagger, and he easily dodges it, his own instinctive attack knocking the mask from her face and setting it alight- but she drops the bending, and a black mist flows from her hand over his wrist. By the time they've regained their footing, the mist has coalesced into a heavy steel manacle around his wrist, and a long, long chain leading into her hands.]

Dreams have their own magic. You really should have listened to the tapirs, Zu-zu.

[Before he has a chance to react or try to escape the sudden snare, she grasps the chain and hauls him toward the kick she launches at his gut, kicking him back toward the gazebo.]

[rediscovering]

[ Zuko, indeed, is operating a lot more like an extension of their Agni Kai in his moves, what he seems to be expecting of Azula — and it certainly doesn't occur to him that the Azula before him might be Azula dreaming from another point in their lives... If his operating theory, young as it is, is that he's here because his mind just broke after their Agni Kai — then in that case, Azula could definitely be here... But once again, like in their Agni Kai but this time completely unlike their Agni Kai, something's off. She seems different somehow, but he can't put his finger on how.

He doesn't have the time, before she's got him in her grips. After he dodges the stab of her dagger-like flames, he feels for a second, once he sees her mask come undone, maybe he can get the upper hand. But even from the first look in her eyes, both of them unmasked now, he's rushed with this cold chill in his gut, that not only is he not about to get the upper hand, but that something's more than off — something's wrong... And in a flash, he sees that spark of ingenuity light up in her eyes — a familiar moment, but certainly more emotive than she normally is, barring their last encounter. Something just took a turn. Before he can even register, he fees the handcuff materialize around his wrist only once he's being viciously tugged forward by its chain into a powerful gut kick.

The force launches him backwards, colliding with the railing of the gazebo a way's off; the dreamotion chain allows him to travel as far as the blow will take him, but it's still keeping him very much tied to Azula. He didn't expect that move. It's brutal even for her. But by the time he gains his bearings and tries to rise to his feet again, she's already upon him at the gazebo for the next blow. ]

1/3

[itstillhurt]

[She's following him even as he moves backward, already preparing her next move- getting the advantage like this awakens the instincts, the need to drive him down until he's done, the need to win. To press the advantage until he's done.

There's a moment when the she sees how hard, how brutally, he hits the rail, how he's struggling to even find his footing, where she almost- almost- thinks she's proven her point, that perhaps she can leave him to his defeat. But-

-He's weak, struggling, barely moving on the deck of the ship, and she's going to finish it. He brought this on himself. She gathers energy and releases it... only to feel a vice grip around her fingers as Uncle steals the lightning and channels it harmlessly away. She barely has time to react before he pulls her off-balance, and then his foot connects with her midsection and sends her back into the water-
-They're cutting the line, but she sees the other gondola coming. Their way out. She feels a cold satisfaction as she sarcastically bids him goodbye- he's finished, and he brought this on himself. She and Ty Lee escape to the gondola, and then it's over- but then Zuko and his allies start to move again, and she sees the impossible- Mai, betraying her-
-He's sprawled in the courtyard. She's already won. All that's left now is to clean up the worthless peasant. She's making an entertaining diversion of it at least, making Azula hunt her down, but she can't possibly fail, not now, not with the power of the comet tipping the odds so heavily in her favor. He's already dying. He's finished. He brought this on himself. She's about to finish her off, inches away from victory, and then she's suddenly ensnared in a rush of ice from below, too careless, too sloppy, and she can't be beaten like this. It's not possible. It's not acceptable-

No. No, she's not done yet. She's on top again. Winning. Like she always did. Like she was always supposed to. And this time, nobody is going to save him.]

2/3

[itstillhurt]

[The follow-up is astonishingly uncontrolled, all the aggression she was holding back during the fight, all the frustration, all the rage.]

There's nothing left for you to take, Zuko! There's nobody here for you to turn against me!

[She doesn't let him find his feet, raining down blows- not even using firebending anymore, just hammering him relentlessly with kicks, knees, elbows- though even now, she has the presence of mind to quickly loop the chain back around the gazebo and pull, hauling his arm roughly behind him to immobilize him. Finally. Finally. She wrenches the chain roughly, tightly, pinning his back against the railing, and then she calls the fire dagger again.]

3/3

[itstillhurt]

Goodbye, Zuko.

[The words ring familiar in her head, but this time, they're not delivered with a calm confidence, but snarled out, shaking with the effort it takes to constrain the rage. She keeps the chain taut in her off-hand as she rears back with the knife, her eyes meeting his in a moment of triumphant satisfaction-

-She feels him lifting her off the floor of the cell, her body leaden and limp from the chi-blocking, and as he settles her into the chair there's something almost gentle in his touch-

She hesitates for a moment.

-The moth-wasps are overwhelming them, and she could drive them away easily, but she's trapped in the ice. He won't see reason. She tries another approach- the appeal to family. To trust. Something in his eyes softens. The sentimental fool frees her-

No.

-She doesn't even think about the blanket that's covering her as she awakens, her mind too preoccupied with the intrusive visions of her mother... a blanket that wasn't there when she slept, that could only have been placed there by- but then she realizes the letter is gone-
-She barely even remembers what she was speaking of in her madness, but it doesn't matter, her impairment allowed him to best her and he has her over the cliff, all he has to do is let her go and gravity will do the rest, but he doesn't- the rage slips away from his eyes again, and he gently sets her back on her feet-

Stop it. Stop it, Azula.

-"But one fact never changes. No matter what, you're still my sister."-
-She doesn't know where she's going, nothing makes sense, she just needs to run, but the useless, sentimental fool won't stop chasing her down, asking her- begging her- to come back.-
-"Let me help you. I want to help you."

Her lip trembles. Ignore it. Why is her vision blurring, why was she so- ignore it. Finish it, Azula. Now.

The flame dagger vanishes, and the chain slips from her trembling hand.]

[rediscovering]

[ Zuko is too tight in her grasp, held close by the chain, to keep himself from becoming a human punching bag. It's not his sister's usual style. It's far more aggressive and unhinged — and if he's operating under the right theory, that this place was conjured because the dreamers' mental states are in such throes in their waking lives that it thrust them into a deeper dimension of the psyche, into the Spirit Realm, or something like this... then that would make sense, given the last time he saw her before they both went their separate ways to rest after their battle, that Azula would be this far gone in her dreams. She's more unhinged now than she was in their Agni Kai, beating up on him outright, unrestrained. Watching her wailing, chained to the grate... breathing blue fire, sobbing in anguish...

Being that he's presently being pummeled, his mind isn't quite so cogent and clear as all that, but in the back of his mind, later, in hindsight, when he's resting from this battle even in his dreams, all those dots will connect for him. For now, he has far less sympathy or concern for the woman pinning him down, whipping out a flaming dagger to possibly end him, once and for all... Would he die in real life if he dies in their dreams? Basic human instinct is to stay alive, all philosophical quandaries aside. He's about to muster all his force to free himself, as he sees her raise the dagger, but then she stops — she looks as if she's about to cry — and releases him. It gives him pause, confusion coming into his eyes, a new look of fear and ire on his surely battered face. She's still unhinged — feeling fragile. It's unlike Azula. Unlike Azula to show mercy. Unlike Azula to hesitate...

...Oh, well. That emotional pause of his own is over, before Zuko abruptly launches himself to his feet again, moving quickly and defensively to make distance between them. In his conflicted confusion, though, he stays — he stands and faces her still. He silently stares her down with resentment and hyper-caution in his eyes, his gaze somehow both searing hot and icy cold, as if watching for the slightest twitch of her muscles. At the ready. He knows he can't predict Azula's next move — not that he ever really can, but especially not now, apparently... ]

[itstillhurt]

[Why? Why? Why was she-

Was it mother? Was she still in her head, after all this time, compromising her thoughts and weakening her mind with madness? Why did-

As soon as the chain loosens, as soon as he leaps to his feet and backs away, some part of her mind screams in alarm. Stop him. You can still finish this. Stop him.

But she doesn't. She can't. She can barely even move for several moments- not long, but more than enough time for him to take advantage of her distraction- but he doesn't. He moves away, gets space. Wise. What is wrong with her? She's letting him run-

...but he doesn't do that either. He just gets enough distance to escape her and waits, glaring at her with that familiar loathing. What- what does he want from her? And why can't she finish him off?

"I want to help you!"

Lies. All of it. That look on his face, the hate, the fear, that's the truth. She knows it. And she prefers it to pity anyway.

She holds her defensive posture for a few moments, hands shaking- another humiliating display of weakness, just like the tears she can't stop from gathering in her eyes, just like the shaky breathing that she can't seem to contain.

Weak.

It occurs to her that she could reclaim the advantage still. Catch him off-guard. Grab the chain again. Somehow, the thought just makes her tired.]

Well? What are you waiting for?

[Her voice can't quite muster the mocking tone or even the bite of challenge that she wants. It comes out shaky, uneven, emotional. It comes out pathetic. She finally averts her gaze, if only to hide her expression, her unacceptable loss of self-control.]

[rediscovering]

[ He stares her down a moment longer, his harsh gaze softening with concern, confusion, caution— no, confusion— no, concern... His ribs hurt, his face hurts, he's surely bruised and bloodied, still holding his own defensive posture — and yet... he finds himself worried about Azula. How is that? He can take a beating like no one's business and he knows it; she knows it. But even if he's certain his life was about to flash before him, knew that Azula seriously had weighed the option of killing him in that moment and erred on that side — it wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, probably, that she'd threatened to kill him... and then didn't. It doesn't even necessarily register as her "changing her mind," usually, what's more — for all the times they've fought, almost killed each other, tried to kill each other, they never did, and that was almost... concrete. That was their normal, by this point. That's how they play now. "What? No lightning today? Afraid I'll redirect it?" "I'm about to celebrate becoming an only child!" Bickering — like brother and sister. Bantering in battle.

But this, this was different. She clearly changed her mind. She wasn't playing. This was the first time Azula had threatened to kill him, almost did, could have, spared him, and then... cried. Or something like it. She's shaking. Her voice is wavering. She won't even meet his eye. His own breathing is shaky for the pain he's in, but he keeps his breaths steady, and his eyes on Azula. He keeps his stance rooted, his wits about him, but he lets up on his defensive pose, standing tall with shoulders squared instead. He doesn't run. Nor does he attack her. He takes half a step forward — of course still staying at a considerable distance, but all the same, half a step toward her. ]

...We don't need to keep doing this, Azula. It's over.

[ The war, he means. The revolution. Their fight. From his standpoint, that must be abundantly clear — plainly assuming they're from the same moment in time, as one would... But still, there's something slightly less than familiar about her — something different, changed, but "older" isn't where his mind goes. Something's wrong with his sister. That's all he knows for sure. And that alone is enough to justify not running, not fighting back, nor surrendering. ]

For Shealtiel/@lemoncandy Night of the 25th

[itstillhurt]

[She's immediately cognizant that she's in a dream, but by now that's not unusual for her. An old reflex, ingrained by months of lucid dreaming training so that she could practice her dreamotion. Not that she's using it now, of course, but the training remains.

This time, it's no strange esoteric nightmare- no horrible birds, no hideous tree men, not even any of her own memories from home, for better or for worse. Just her, alone, walking the beach of Ember Island. The place is, as is often the case in her dreams, entirely empty and isolated.

At first, she doesn't even notice when the newcomer arrives behind her.]

[lemoncandy]

( It still feels strange to dreamwalk in general, but there’s almost a comfort in Azula’s dreamscapes by now. Why? A connection even when it seemed impossible, maybe? Closed distance?

He wonders briefly if he shouldn’t intrude so often without invitation or warning, but he shows up all the same, feet brushing through the sand behind her. He hasn’t bothered with beach attire at all, but he at least wanted to have his feet in the sand properly, so there’s no shoes to speak of. )

Is this the same beach as the last time?

( He announces his presence and stops in his tracks, folding his arms behind his back. )

[itstillhurt]

[Ah. Him. She shouldn't be surprised, though being reminded that he'd seen that dream is...

frustrating.]

It's called Ember Island. We used to visit in the summer as children.

[And later, but that wasn't as pleasant.]

It's normally more lively than this.

[lemoncandy]

Your... family, and stuff?

( He's not the smoothest at clarifying, but he's curious how much that "we" entails. Her and one other? More? Well, it's probably none of his business. Staying in his place, he gently nudges one of his feet into the sand, playing with the feeling of it.

It's nice, the beach. No matter where. )

I'd probably like it better like this than lively. ( Honestly... ) But I don't like crowds in general. Does it feel empty, like this?

[itstillhurt]

[She's not addressing the family question. Not just yet. Though her eyes do, briefly, drift do the end of the beach, to the summer house.

"I thought I'd find you here."

She forces her gaze back down to the beach.]

You'd probably be right. The crowds certainly don't improve the place much.

[She's been here when there were few or even no other beachgoers before, of course- Indeed, sometimes the royal family would clear an entire portion of the beach and have it all to themselves. No, this wasn't actually uncomfortable or alien. They'd been all but alone down here when-

"I'm angry at myself!"

Once again, her eyes flicker down to the beach, to the circle where they'd built the bonfire-

"You're pathetic."

Rrgh. Stop it.]

I liked it more when I was a child. Now, it's just...

["Depressing."

She'd been speaking of the house, but now the entire place just felt washed in it. This dark pall over everything, this hazy feeling that it was all so artificial, like a story she was telling herself, You always told stories, liar, lying to Zu-zu, lying to mother, lying to Shealtiel, is it any wonder that you would lie to-

...she turns to face him and her face is all casual, comfortable smiles.]

I could give you a proper tour, if you like. It only seems fair to return the favor.

[lemoncandy]

A tour?

( For me?. The thought is warming, somehow, and Shealtiel's smile shows it after a moment of surprise. Despite that, something is thickening the air like a storm is about to brew, and Shealtiel, picking up on it, tosses a glance behind himself before shaking it off and moving properly beside Azula. )

Sure. You should tell me what you got up to, here. I don't really know what it's like to go places as a kid. Did you make, uh... What're they called, sand condos?

hiii here with a dream with cw child abuse references

[lemoncandy]

( It's a night like any other, but Shealtiel's nightmares have never given him peace.

As always with these, he's unaware that he's dreaming when he steps along the halls of the giant, empty church. Everything looks so much bigger, like it had when he was younger— but he's his own adult self, dressed in the same robes he would have been before. Gloves and long robes can cover the scars on the left side of his body, and his wings... His wings are out, but the left side weighs heavily on his back. Fake wings cover his pathetic, wrinkled, raggedy black demon wings— they're heavy, he has to be cautious not to move his wings to reveal how he can't on that side, and—

Suddenly it isn't a hallway. It's the main building of the church, each and every one of the seats filled with people of all ages staring at him, whispering about his status as an angel. His body aches in the memory of it, and he takes a hesitant step back, but there are already hundreds of hands surrounding him. )

Stop...

( He'd gotten over his hesitance to be touched, hadn't he? So why this, why now— The hands that reach out to grab at his wings all sting painfully. They ache, and burn, like the knives that had been used against him this whole time, and when he tries to back up again, he realizes he's completely surrounded by bodies on all side. Hands, reaching, grabbing, touching. )

It hurts... ( He can't make his voice as loud as he wants to, and he reaches his hands up to his face, trying to shield his face, to prevent his eyes from coming out. )

Don't touch me...!

( But no one is listening. )

Zounds and heavens

[itstillhurt]

[She doesn't recognize the church exactly, but she knows enough about him to guess where this is. The thought is... nagging. Unpleasant. And the clenching displeasure in her gut only gets more intense as she sees the people whispering at him, and then approaching him.

And then, very quickly, their hands are on him, despite his protests, and she can only barely hear him. 'It hurts...'

The child-Shealtiel doubles over in pain, blood staining his robes, too many eyes clenched shut against the agony- 'It hurts,' he gasps quietly. 'Stop, it hurts! I'm not a monster!'

'Don't touch me!' The very adult Shealtiel's voice snaps her out of it, and her eyes narrow, her teeth clenching with rage.

She takes a breath to center herself. It doesn't work. No, better to channel it. She doesn't say anything- doesn't even make a sound. She just keeps her teeth bared as she suddenly begins swiping her arms. Focused, cutting lashes of blue flame begin slicing away at the crowd, at anybody- everybody- clustered around Shealtiel heedless of the harm she's doing. The only care that she takes is ensuring that the fire never touches him.]

[lemoncandy]

( It's only at the sight of fire that the crowd begins to part. Screams mix in with the sound of shuffling feet, and as Shealtiel stumbles back, finally away from all of the hands, his fake feathers fall away from the battered black wings on his back. The crowds begin to shout about demons, plural, and Shealtiel's panic increases.

As it does, the walls of the church begin to crumble around them, and Shealtiel brings his hands to his head, trying to brace himself through the sound. )

I'm not—!

( I'm not a demon!

But he can't bring himself to say it. His throat hurts, his stomach hurts, his body hurts, his wings hurt. )

[itstillhurt]

[The crowd dispersing is all she needed. As soon as there's a path to Shealtiel, Azula is already rushing toward him, absolutely heedless of the accusations of the crowd. By the time the church begins to crumble and Shealtiel raises his hands to his head, she reaches out and grabs his wrists firmly in each hand.]

Shealtiel! Focus!

[Her eyes are firmly on him- harsh and demanding as ever- but she's still aware of the crowd, ready to move against them if they become hostile again.]

[lemoncandy]

Azula?

( As soon as recognition hits him, their surroundings go completely black. Like they're in a void of darkness, with no clear barrier of what's floor, what's wall, what's ceiling.

Behind him, his manager appears, speaking in a cold, serious tone.

"Don't ever take your wings out."

Shealtiel whips around, but his hand reaches back as if to search for Azula again, wanting to keep her close. He doesn't know what's happening, he's struggling to recognize what's real, what's a dream, what's happening. )

M-mister manager supervisor sir?

( He can't put them away, no matter what he tries, right now. )

[itstillhurt]

[The other angel's appearance is barely acknowledged- she's only seen glimpses of his image in previous dreams, so his effect on Shealtiel is her only concern.

She shakes his wrists urgently to get his attention, snapping harshly when she speaks again.]

Ignore him. He's not real. We need to leave, now.

For Aang/@all_the_aangles (Post-Song)

[itstillhurt]

(Continued from here to avoid captcha)

Isn't it obvious?

His perspective is skewed. He clearly can't be objective regarding me, so his willingness to trust me doesn't make it a good idea.

[Wait.]

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

[all_the_aangles]

Hypothetically speaking.

You are a goldfish. Hang with me on this, I promise it goes somewhere. Presume with me, for a moment.

A very clever, self-aware goldfish.

[itstillhurt]

I can't believe I'm humoring this, but fine. I'll hear you out.

Suppose I'm a goldfish.

I'm sorta doing Plato's Cave but with fish, aren't I?

[all_the_aangles]

You have lived your entire life in a pond. You know every inch of it, everything about it. You are the only goldfish in it. You live, you eat, you grow, and this is your entire world.

You know everything about it. You are convinced that is the fullness of reality, because there is nothing beyond your pond, and your knowledge of it.

But one day, there is a storm. Bigger than before. And in the storm, another goldfish is washed into your pond. And THIS goldfish speaks of a different pond, and everything they describe to you is wrong.

But they also see YOUR pond differently from you. A rock you like, they don't. The way your fin shines, oh well you've never liked it - but they think it's nice.

Neither fish is wrong, but accepting that reality is bigger and more complicated when all we have ever perceived is our own pond? That's hard.

Plato's Bowl. Though, I'd say this is more Blind Men and the Elephant. (Blind Fish and the Bowl?)

[itstillhurt]

Yes, yes, I understand that there's a different perspective at work.

My point is that his perspective is based on a limited understanding of what's... in my bowl, as you would put it.

[Ugh, why is she participating in this ridiculousness?]

Surely you, of all people, have seen firsthand that I pose a threat. You've seen secondhand that this threat applies even to those I value. That's not simply a difference of perspective.