rage / RUIN

fate is not satisfied with inflicting one calamity. scorned by gray.

[nearcataclysm]

( JESÚS CASTRO, CIS MAN, HE/HIM ) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that DAVID ROJAS is a THIRTY year old DOOMSDAYER that has been in Chicago for ONE YEAR. According to government files, they’re a MUTANT on LEVEL ONE with the power of OMEN EMBODIMENT & DEATHSENSE. That must be why they’re PROTECTIVE and SCATTERED. If you ask me, they remind me of A THOUSAND ALL-SEEING EYES, THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF, AND THE QUIET DESPAIR OF A DYING MAN. They are affiliated with NOBODY.

background.

( tw: familial death, death in general, self-harm ( graphic! ), neglect, etc. )

david was born shrieking and inconsolable. for the first many weeks of his life ( among various specialist visits ) the only break from his incessant panic was when he had finally exhausted himself to sleep. it improved little as he grew older, even with the thousands of appointments in the search for answers that he attended. his first word was a recognition of a relative, but was quickly followed by one he should not have known—dead. an entire fleet of behavioral psychologists still wouldn’t have understood why.

the first thoughts he ever expressed were equally dark, nonsense coupled with the disturbing, twisted visions of demise. specifically, his parents’. growing older, it took a more meaningful shape, but never changed in results. you’re going to die. you’re going to leave me alone. you’ll go away in your car and never come back. never in a million years would they thought it anything more than the most bizarre, persistent anxiety anyone had ever seen. they reassured him every day when they left that they would be home. and almost every day, that was true... until he ended up being right.

david had been eight. he had begged them, more fervently ever before, not to head off in their car for their date night. even the babysitter, a close family friend, couldn’t console him once they had left. and certainly, nobody was able to console him once the calls came in about a massive crash they had been burned alive in. he was moved in with his grandmother after that, a widow that lived nearby. the story was the same—he would demand to check up on her after every nap, demand holding her hand while she walked up the stairs—and ended in the same way as before. he came home from school, already resigned to the fact that he would stumble across his grandmother, now dead.

puberty took a turn for the worst, and not only for himself. his horrible visions began to extend beyond a personal reach, winding their way out into the world—into the past, present, future—and snaking back into him. he grew feathers cut from stone, becoming more than just a frightened boy, but an omen of the very same wolf that he cried. death. even with his changing appearance, he tried to warn people of what he had seen. you die playing football. don’t play. they play. their head gushes red out onto the pavement. over and over and over again. don’t smoke. heart attack. it happens in the middle of class, frightening his fellow students. over and over and over again.

it all came to a head in high school. the further his reach grew, the most desperate he became. he tore his eyes out rather than be subjected to the visions he was cursed with, crushing them in his hands in the hopes that he would never see again. two others, hard and cold and glowing, broke down not only his hopes, but also his spirit. now, the sight of him alone was enough to evoke fear, even when he tore out the feathers. he was forced to quit school long before graduating. 

fear had been his first sensation, but now it turned to ash and mud in his head. he refused to go out, preferring instead to rot in the basement of what had once been his grandmother’s home, left to him. he carved every death he could ever experience into the dirt and stone below it, even as his nails bled for it. going out meant facing a world that would continue to die around him... unwilling, unable, to heed his message. that was before the universe itself broke around his mind, every soul of every time evaporated in the confines of his skull. it was now not a message of urgency, but of defeat. give up.

quick facts.

fluent in english and spanish! although technically david has heard every other language that has and will exist, that doesn’t mean he understands them. 

was originally raised catholic, but was never much into the belief of it all. it’s too optimistic to him to think that anything is out there beyond the reach of death.

has really tough, almost stone-like skin. this man has never suffered a bug bite, ever.

bi... :)

does not drive. or take cars in general. it’s walking or nothing.

possible connections.

fellow group homers. where the unwanted peeps at... this guy sees absolutely no point in keeping relationships of any kind, so they probably haven’t talked in a while.

people looking for answers. they don’t have to care about his end-of-the-universe-is-inevitable schtick. maybe someone they were close to kicked the bucket and they want to know how. or maybe they’re morbidly curious to know their own fate?

anything else! literally anything!

[nearcataclysm]

𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞.

ameline nodded once, a single and solitary stone. was it worth it to be so close to God ? would it be worth it to be so far away ? his devotion, his faith, got him through each worrisome day. his home, that piece of his soul he could not be with as it stood, provided warm shelter. but he would not need to get through worrisome days if it were not for how he had been fashioned ; he would not need to hide away in the warm shelter if he could walk among mortal men, safe and accepted. was it a blessing ? was it a curse ? even 700 years later, he could not tell. it had brought him the best parts of his life, and it had brought him the worst parts of his life. there was so much to be grateful for, and there was so much to mourn. but ameline was wise enough to know one thing for certain: david, in his despondense, had been punished – not for anything he had done, not for anything he would do, but because he had been the byproduct of ameline’s greatest sin. their first tryst ? the child had died. it was a kind fate compared to what david got, ameline saw it as a warning for what may come if they were to continue such indiscretions as they matured. their second ? there had been no child, there never could be. and, even if there could be, they did not believe the child would have suffered any terrible fate. they could be wrong, that much they knew, but… would He have allowed such warmth, such radiance ? pure joy. but the third ? they should have known better. they did not feel warm, they did not feel radiance, but they accepted a night of mock love. and, for that, their descendants were to pay the price. they had been warned, after all. that much they knew. ameline nodded, slow and subdued. were there worse ways to go, even in the modern age ? probably. but were the better ways ? probably. “ if i may ask… how old ? ”

         “you can ask,” he starts, even as his face twists with a frown; “but i don’t have an answer that will satisfy you.” not unless later is good enough. he doesn’t have a good sense for time within his visions—the way people record it doesn’t necessarily reflect how it actually behaves. and a lot of different peoples recorded things very, very differently. unless they’re dying next to something marking the occasion, he has little in the way to differentiate. the only thing he knows is that the more distant from him the death, the more it taxes him to see it. but that isn’t always constant, either. everything about life is too subjective for that.

         still, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his own ideas. “a while from now. years. decades, maybe. i’ll never know the exact time.” the string of life seems to extend for too long before him. and yet, too short. much, much too short. the inevitability of it all creeps in from the darkness around his vision, but david manages to shove it aside. this isn’t the time for his own existential dread—or rather, it’s too perfect of a time. he doesn’t have the strength to handle it all at once like this.

         “you outlive me, if that’s what you wanted to know.” ameline outlives a lot of people. but the people he dies before are still many, many more than those that would not. “i have a feeling for distance, even if i can’t see the date.”

[nearcataclysm]

𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲.

“Huh. Have you just thought of looking at a rock? Focusing on one thing when you’re alone?” January isn’t the best to talk about mental powers, but she understands that focus can help. Telepathy isn’t her strong suit, or premonitions at all, but she thinks that it works the same way to his unfortunate mutation. A curse, but every curse has its use—David simply needs to figure out what it is. January walks him to the elevator where they wait, the steady clack clack clack as she waits for it ringing through a private hall.

“But you haven’t come for unwanted advice from me,” she says, patting his hand. “I believe that dinner would help, enough to get you less focused on death than usual, at least. Interesting people deserve a nice night out once in a while, wouldn’t you say?”

         “unfortunately, it’s not that simple. something has died on that rock, or under it, or near it...” he trails off, shrugging a shoulder. “there’s just no one spot in the world,” or any world, for that matter; “that’s free from death. if it hasn’t happened yet, it will.” and leaving himself alone with a spot on the wall to focus on ( which has also seen death. how many spiders do people smash against the drywall? ) only makes it easier for the song to creep in. as far as david has been able to figure, there’s just no winning!

         unwanted or not, it’s more of an honest conversation about it than he has with most, aside from carina. and... maybe ameline. but he tries not to think on that too much. “it won’t hurt, at least,” he agrees, albeit not without a hint of hesitation. january is clearly a force to be reckoned with, and he doesn’t exactly know what he’s getting into by spending time with her. it can’t be any worse than what he’s seen already, right? “i just hope i won’t drag you down with me.”

[nearcataclysm]

𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞.

ameline’s experience with their own mutation had been a mixed bag. it had stunted their social growth, it had introduced them to many a… humbling man, it hadn’t allowed any room for wandering, it had gotten them ‘killed’ more than once. it was a lovely surprise, almost as if given as a ‘thank you’ ( but ameline knew better than to think they were that special in His eyes ), that they had managed to find love ( it had only taken somewhere over 150 years ! ). but, for all its faults and follies, it had given them a purpose. in the end, it had brought them closer to God.  what they had longed for was control. they were not always entirely stone, they were not always entirely flesh ( well, never entirely flesh ). they knew better than to think their wings and stone horns would ever fall back, they knew better than to think the glow so strong they could not see their pupils would ever dim, but they thought: maybe i can live in the flesh of man. maybe i can choose that. ( it was hardly desirable flesh, especially back then, but they would rather have faced just one obstacle. ) and that very want, selfish of them in the end to reject how God had created them, had trapped them in the confines of the city, lest they put the cathedral in more danger. all to say… they had had centuries to make peace with their mutation, unlike david, and they remained uncertain. they had learned the lesson of dealing with what they were given long ago, centuries ago, within what would have been a ‘normal’ lifespan… but that didn’t mean they had learned how. “ i am here because i am uncertain. ” they wished they were. there was so much to it that was a blessing, but they still wondered… what would life have been like had they been granted the normalcy everyone else was? “ we were given what we were given for a reason, i know this as fact, but… ” – but what was the purpose to seeing death everywhere someone went ? they wondered, perhaps, if that would be better or worse in the eyes of someone like leonarda than immortality with no explicit purpose… everyone had been given their mutation for one reason or another, He did not make mistakes, but it was difficult to understand the purpose of death… any purpose outside of suffering for the sins of the father. “ prithee. how do you die ? ”

         “uncertain?” he prompts, even as he shouldn’t. he doesn’t know what ameline’s mutation truly is, or what he’s experienced through out his long life. david has bits and pieces, stolen from glimpses of others’ deaths, but nothing that tethers itself in any meaningful way to them. death itself can be a fragmented kaleidoscope when it comes to trying and piece it all together, but life? there’s something that’s even more complicated. if he would have to hazard a guess, david would assume it was a matter of familiarity—if not a mutant, who would they be? a completely different, long dead, human. that can be a harrowing thought even for those that live less than one lifetime, let alone many more. they’ve had a much longer time to not only work through their mutation, but to entrench themselves within it.

         but... this time, he doesn’t prompt for more. doesn’t need to, even if he isn’t sure he agrees. what purpose could there be in something like this? in any mutation? the ones they’re given work in ways that go against the nature of every living thing on earth. nothing suddenly sprouts wings, over one generation, and takes flight in that same life. nothing finds itself tormented by visions of the long past or the endlessly distant future. the aberration that has become of humankind is beyond any sight david knows of, but it still eats at him with the same unanswerable question humanity has always had ( a step toward, not away, from them. irony in its finest ) —why are they here?

         “illness.” it’s not bloody or ravaged or violent like so many other deaths throughout all time, but no less unpleasant. david has only seen the end result, but it’s a scene that’s played in his head for longer than any other. a tormented death. “it’s never changed.” some fates, usually due to his own information, can shift the circumstances—but it’s impossible to fool death for long. just as quickly as one passes by, another can be conjured from the void.

[nearcataclysm]

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚.

“For you, I’m sure I can find some.” Or she could stay in bed with him, then get coffee on the way to the aquarium… No! No. She needs to be a good mother and put Lottie before her sex drive. Making her wait in a queue at Starbucks when she’s excited to see the fish would be cruel. After pressing a couple of kisses to Davey’s neck, she finds the strength to drag herself out of bed. “Or I can make you tea, if you want?” she asks, glancing back at him over her shoulder as she puts on his shirt. There’s nobody else inside the apartment, but being completely naked in front of Sebby while she’s giving him his breakfast feels wrong. 

         david takes a deep breath, letting ( making? ) himself focus on the feeling of carina’s lips on his neck... instead of the looming horrors. it’s not easy to shut that song out, but it is much more enjoyable to exist whenever he manages it. “whatever is easiest,” he answers noncommittally, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. his focus begins to crack, letting death seep in. squeezing his eyes shut tight, he presses his palms to his eyelids and tries to rein himself back in. it doesn’t quite work, but he’s able to get himself up. “do you want help?”

[nearcataclysm]

𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲.

“So you see… the inevitable heat death of everything?” January whistles lowly, though the sound is barely heard over the low din of the patrons but it’s impressive. Death is constant and cyclical and everything, though she would be loath to say it in front of anyone; visions of immortality is something that she can afford to gain. A glamour of invincibility. The people part, but there’s still a ways to go as they gaze out onto the crowd of people, though she takes his expressions seriously. If he were to break down in the middle of the club, it would be… less than ideal. For a guest, of course.

The steady clack of her heels against the floor rings in her ears, a simple metronome to keep herself grounded. Rhythm was something she was attuned to, rhythm was something that she could get grounded on. “I have to say, if I haven’t offered my condolences yet—I do now. What makes it manageable, at least? Can I ask?”

         “yes,” he confirms shortly, offering a nod. “everything.” anything that has lived, is living, or will live has death to face—and he is there to witness all of it. every. single. one. the human ( or near-human ) brain isn’t equipped to deal with that much information, particularly not in short succession, but instead of offering him relief, that only solidifies his torment. the song of death rings in his ears at all moments of the day, from waking to deep slumber. is it any wonder he’d tried to tear his own eyes from his skull? if only that had worked! “but it’s difficult for me to make sense of it unless i’m focusing on something specific.”

         january’s condolences are accepted with another nod, but he doesn’t know how to truly take it. sympathy is nice, but it gets him nothing. “you can ask, but i’m afraid i don’t have an answer to give you. if something exists, i haven’t found it.”

[nearcataclysm]

𝐢𝐳𝐞.

   ‘  if i tell you yes, would you be frightened ?  ’  they’ve heard of david’s work & had a few questions of their own.  ‘  SAUR. you see how everyone dies, do ya’ ? gotta a short list of just 3 names that m’ DYIN’ to know the end results to. AAANNDD. 1 or 2 of my own, i wanna ask !  ’ waltzing up, they hand over the sheet of paper.  ‘  family, am i right ? tell me it’s horrific & that I’M the reason for it.  ’ 

         “frightened that you’re looking for me?” what a peculiar question! when david does finally turn to spare the stranger a glance, that question is a little more understandable... only a little. there’s death there ( their own included! ) but he’s never actually feared that grip. he knows that this stranger won’t kill him. his imprisonment in life stretches longer than that. “no, i wouldn’t be.” he doesn’t elaborate, but also doesn’t see the need. no is a complete sentence! “if you have plans to be the reason behind their deaths,” he continues, reaching out for the scrap of paper in ize’s hands; “why come to me at all?”

[nearcataclysm]

          starter for @okieize​ !!

         sometimes, most times, people come to him at the times most inconvenient to him. this time, he’s actually getting ready to leave the alleyway... a very rare occurrence. he’s had more reason to, in recent times. sighing, david doesn’t turn to face the visitor, hastily scrawling more symbols into the side of the brick wall. “were you looking for me?”

[nearcataclysm]

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐠𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲.

although monty could have simply pointed to leo in the still, he held a finger up. taking the mobile phone back ( he’d never projected onto the screen of a cellular telephone before, it had always been television – maybe he had to be touching the screen to project correctly ! ), he shut his eyes and ran through the night. it hadn’t been a fun one, but at least it wasn’t traumatizing ! that was more than he could say for most of the images he supposed he could project onto omen’s cellular phone ! he stopped, forced the visuals in his mind’s eye to stay on the moment where it was just himself and leo. and, with it presenting from his perspective, just leo from what omen would see. he handed it back over with a nod. “ her. ”

         now, david could see what monty wanted him to see. the woman in question, one who spanned longer than any other, who only perished—as far as he could see—as a last scream in the magnificent, terrible display that is the heat death of the universe. after that, there is nothing. after that, all is lost. even those who had survived in a disembodied, unconscious state will feel ( or rather, not feel ) the call of the eternal void. but seeing that far, that extensively, is not easy for david—his legs wobble beneath him, eyes opening along every inch of skin they can, rolling and blinking in rapid succession. the back of his shirt bulges, threatening to burst with the wings that spill out of the bottom. he can’t take it anymore. if he doesn’t pull back, he’ll—

         he does crumple, gritting his teeth through the pain of, technically, falling onto a bunch of his eyes. “she doesn’t...” he starts, voice hoarse; “...die... for a long... time...”

[nearcataclysm]

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐠𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲.

monty hadn’t tried to use any of the cellular phones with the google and the electronic mail – it had taken a lot of convincing to just get a flip phone ! – all for the convenience of ‘texting’ ( he still didn’t really get how to respond, but he was able to read texts from annie and tiff and his boss which was… helpful ). nonetheless, these cellular phones with the googles seemed like they might just work. the question was: would he ? it had been at least five years since he’d used it last ( 51 to the average citizen ), but, with no visual aid and no last name that he could remember… this seemed like it would be his best bet ! so he placed all his focus on july 14, 1942 – the first night he spent in wwii, but not yet in the trenches. the uniform, the boots, the pen and paper… and it projected onto the screen. from his point of view, she was clear as day. so he handed the phone back to omen.  “ does this help ? ”

          once the phone is handed back to him, the immediate answer is... no. he doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be focusing on, and thus his mind extends to everyone within the picture. smoke and ash and bombs and wreckage and— an eye opens up on the side of his throat, pounding and rolling in line with his rising heartrate. he squeezes it shut, but it doesn’t stay that way. it wants to see, even if the rest of him doesn’t. “i don’t—” he sucks in a sharp breath, trying to level himself out. trying to get away from the sheer magnitude of death filling his mind. “can you... point out... who i’m supposed to... be looking at?”

[nearcataclysm]

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐲.

monty was the farthest thing from ‘up to date’ when it came to technology ( ironic, considering he could communicate through it ) – that’s what being in 1943 one second and 2021 the next would do to you ! the only things that stayed truly consistent were television and radio ( though, unbeknownst to him, even cable and… well, radio, were starting to go the way of the dodo ) – but that wasn’t much of a way to show omen who he was trying to describe. and, having been yanked to pearl harbor, and then vietnam, and then another apocalyptic countdown ( that, as the countdown to y2k, actually wound up being completely fine – not that he really knew ), he didn’t have much time to take a moment to make out a rough sketch of her ! fast-paced and unpredictable, he’d never thought to.  however, the tragedy was: if he did know about modern tech, he could find one of the many paintings of her ( that wasn’t to say he’d know, without a shadow of a doubt, that they were her, but… geez, there sure was a likeness ! ) with a quick search using his googles ! alas… “ no, i don’t have anything. ” putting his free hand to his chin, he tilted his head to the side in consideration. “ do you have anything with a screen ? one of those cellular phones with the google and the electronic mail ? ”

         “you can describe here, if that—” david cuts off, ignoring monty’s very strange description of a phone to fish through his pockets. he does have a cell phone, albeit he very rarely uses it—carina insisted!—and there are plenty of times where he forgets it in places where he shouldn’t. difficult to be responsible for something when, generally speaking, it’s completely useless to him... but, luckily for monty, he does find it tucked into his back pocket. “yes, i have one.” it’s not locked with any special code, so he just hands it over without applying a fingerprint or facial recognition or whatever other fancy-schmancy things people use to keep their information safe. david doesn’t care about that, though.

         he isn’t sure that monty will find anything useable on it—maybe this person he’s trying to locate has a facebook. or an AIM account. or some sort of memorial website—but since pictures are easier to use than a simple description, he’ll let him try.

[nearcataclysm]

𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞.

if they hadn’t given in, if they hadn’t submitted to temptation when they were far old enough to know better, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. their first child, short as she may have lived, did not appear to have any mutations – nothing visible, at least. and they had a visible mutation, and david… perhaps not visible enough to impact his everyday life ( they hoped not ), but still something ameline was able to make out when they squared in on it. and they had squared in on the features of their daughter. and she was pristine, looked as human as they came ( perhaps a mutation would have developed later in her life, but… ).  had He forgiven them for giving in when they were genuinely young ? when they were still in the decades, not the centuries ? or had death been the punishment for the sin ? – a kinder punishment, ameline believed, than a mutation that presented as more of a curse than a blessing… or even just something that was there – neither a curse nor a blessing, just another part of the whole. centuries spent protecting His home, centuries spent praying for forgiveness, centuries spent in solitude… they should have known better. decades ? youth. still sin, but youth. centuries ? sin, and nothing but. the sins of the father… they wished to tell david that, yes, it was their fault ; yes, they were to blame, but that would be shifting attention. it must be saved for another time. he hadn’t found peace. he didn’t believe in peace. and who would ameline be to think otherwise ? they had found a certain peace within their faith, but… they had had centuries. they did not have the same short lifespan that david would endure, the same short lifespan that may not allow the chance to find – or believe in – peace. but… they could relate to it, yes ? “ you would… rid yourself of it were you given the opportunity, yes ? ”

         ameline’s next question is easy to think, but not easy to say. would he, given the chance, get rid of his mutation? without even a moment’s hesitation. being able to see the death of all life in the universe has stunted him in every facet of his life, and not only socially. he lives in his grandmother’s crumbling house, scratching his visions into the basement ( when not scratching it into this alleyway ) and doesn’t work. he finds himself sick to the stomach when it comes to eating with the vision that even the simplest of dishes ( meat based or not! ) end up giving him. he can’t walk down the street without being bombarded by the worst of what existence has to offer, regardless of whether he sees anyone or not. and he does. it’s chicago. it’s impossible to be truly and completely alone. why would anyone in their right mind choose to keep such a curse?

         but it also feels like a loaded question. like, despite his reassurance otherwise, that ameline is taking his answers hard. that doesn’t surprise him, either. david doesn’t think he would be able to forgive himself if he reproduced at all, but if the child suffered as he did... that would be something worse even than the curse of life. even so, ameline is not his father. not his grandfather. not his great-grandfather. they are very, very far removed from the lineage that has followed them—their child, maybe, david could see as a responsibility. their grandchild, even. but in this day and age? if it hadn’t been him, it would have been someone else. every living thing is related in some form...

          “would you?” he asks, deflecting. he isn’t very good at it, but it does give him a moment longer to consider how to word his answer, at least. “i know i would, but my experience is my own. perhaps... someone else wouldn’t.” david finds it hard to believe, but it’s always possible that someone else would be able to make something positive out of this. someone who isn’t as prone to madness as himself. “but it doesn’t matter. the option doesn’t exist. we have to...” he grimaces, despite himself. “we have to learn to deal with what we’re given.”

[nearcataclysm]

𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞.

although ameline saw their features in david – the stone talons, the light glow of his eyes… inherited, they knew, from their own stone figure and eyes that glowed so strong they could not make out their own pupils in a mirror – david could pass as a human. that was more than ameline had ever been able to say, thus leaving a faint hope that, perhaps, just perhaps, david’s mutation wasn’t… something that truly hurt him. that, perhaps, he just healed people. that, perhaps, he could simply fly. that, perhaps, the stone talons and light glow were considered mutation enough… but what he said found ameline placing the side of their hand against their forehead. he saw death. his first memory was his own death. for a moment, however brief, the same spirit that swelled within them when the cathedral was under attack took over their being. it would be kinder. it would be kinder to end what their sin had caused then and there. but as quickly as it came, it went.  “ i… do you… ” they didn’t know what to say, what to ask. ameline may have not been familiar with the social script, but they were wise enough to know that ‘how do you die?’ wasn’t much of an icebreaker. had david grown used to it ? perhaps. for his own sake, ameline hoped so. but how difficult a mutation to make peace with… even. if it did not affect his body in the way mutation affected theirs, they imagined it had controlled his life as much as theirs controlled their own. “ i am so very sorry that i have… passed that to you. i would not… ” not have done it if they knew ? – that was basically telling david, ‘i wish you didn’t exist.’ “ is your life… how is… have you been able to… make any peace with it ? ”

         clearly, ameline is troubled by what he says—he can’t particularly say that he blames him for that, either. david’s mutation has been deeply painful from the moment he came into the world, long before he ever had a truly conscious thought. it has painted his life for the worst in every possible way he can imagine, even going so far as to force him to tear his own eyes from his skull. there’s nothing positive he can say on the experience. nothing about finding strength through hardship, about finding peace in so much strife. but then... what does he say? there’s never been a moment in his life where he considered finding the exact relative that had, technically speaking, started this curse in his bloodline. david doesn’t find an apology necessary, nor does he put blame on him for their shared burdens, but... that only makes it more complicated. the truth will not bring either of them peace.

        but david isn’t a liar. he’s too honest. it’s why he does what he does. most of his lies are by omission, a refusal to share—not an attempt to soothe. “i don’t blame you,” he starts, an insistence... and an attempt to soothe what comes next. “you didn’t do this to me. nobody did. sometimes things are just... unfair.” putting it mildly, but david isn’t going to dump every negative feeling he has on ameline. or anyone, for that matter. “i haven’t found peace. i don’t believe in peace. but that...” is life? yes. but it shouldn’t be. life shouldn’t be. “it isn’t your responsibility.”

[nearcataclysm]

𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲.

She gestures over to the patriots of the club and telepathically calls for a waiter to fix the table; to seat another baron of something or corporate whoever that might have called for the delights of the night’s pleasures. Standing tall over most people, most men, she’s learned to use her height to her advantage. The easy posture that she gives off, a pageant walk, is all but a facade, all to disorient anyone lesser than her. David, she assumes, is not. Or at least, January thinks he can hold his own.

“Mister Rojas,” she starts, a leisurely pace through the people in the Hellfire Club. She might be abiding by the laws of hospitality, but she does love to watch a man squirm. “Not to be uncouth, but I do imagine that public spaces are inconvenient to a point.” Eyes forward, shoulders back. The crowd parts like the seas to Moses, and if she were being blasphemous—she was better than him, really. “So why not run off into the mountains? Or God forbid, to Kappa?”

         january certainly stands tall over most people, including him, but david is not easily intimidated. his depth of knowledge means knowing the eventual downfalls of everyone he meets—even the strongest people seem weak when it comes time to lay down their lives. while she is exempt from this judgement ( her own fate is ever-changing ) he isn’t as distracted by her... it’s everyone else that is drawing his attention. once they’re out of sight, so long as he has a sufficient distraction, it will be easier to keep himself locked into the present. into the conversation. into anything that isn’t the death of billions upon billions.

         mister rojas. nobody has addressed him so formally, before. he doesn’t quite know how to react. “the mountains are as full of death as the cities,” he answers, after a moment of silence. “my vision isn’t spent only on humanity.” every living thing and its eventual demise is intertwined with his sight. the insects. the plants. the fungi. the particles that make up their reality. all of it has an end. all of those ends are something he can see. “there isn’t anywhere for me to run. i see it whether or not i make contact.” contact, vision, only brings it back into his awareness... eventually, he will see it regardless.

[nearcataclysm]

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐠𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲.

the closest monty had ever come to getting answers to his questions was this man in front of him. and he’d gotten a lot more than he thought he’d ever get out of one person alone ! heck, more than he thought he’d get out of a person in general !  he knew the year it happened. he knew roughly the area of the blasts. he knew what happened to ed. but this was all he had to hold on to. when he could be yanked away at any second, taken somewhere new and terrifying, all he’d always have was the end of the world. and his mission to stop it.  “ that’s okay. ” that was alright ! for now, that was okay ! he had another question, of course, but he thought… maybe it wasn’t as grand scope. maybe it wouldn’t be as stressful. maybe it would be a little bit of reprieve ? “ if you can see it and tell… there was this woman. i saw her when i was in the east, then i saw her again a few years ago… or, i guess, a few decades ago. ” to him, it had only been four years. to the rest of the world, it had been 82. “ her name was leo. she was alive during the second world war and survived the 2287 attacks. through… death ? – geez, through death, do you know anything about her ? ”

         that’s okay. david has heard something similar before, but usually with more disappointment behind the phrase. given his lack of connection throughout life ( bonds are a torment, not a necessity! ) he’s never been the best at picking up on social cues... but even without a proper tone of voice, he can judge by monty’s expression that he’s not put out by what he can offer. all for the better—there’s nothing he can do about disappointment. the information he has is all he has. if it’s not good enough for someone, that’s always been their problem. given this, he doesn’t feel the kneejerk urge that he usually does to offer another apology. sorry i can’t say more. sorry i don’t have more.

         “a woman?” he asks, letting his primary eyes fall shut. easier to think this way. names are, of course, the absolute least helpful thing someone can give him—unless it’s said or thought during someone’s death, it’s rare that he gets enough of a picture to recognize from that. not to mention that all names have been used a thousand times before. “do you have anything else that i can use? something... appearance based?”

[nearcataclysm]

𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞.

ameline understood now.  ameline understood that they had fallen prey to temptation. and ameline understood that they had cursed their bloodline because of it. the sins of the father had trickled down. david bore them. others within their tree bore them. and they could only hope that their bloodline would stay as weak as it was on paper, few descendants left. no one deserved the curse they had caused. no one deserved to suffer for their sins. but they hadn’t the power to stop it. only the hope that it would. only the hope that david would not reproduce, that the few left would not reproduce. only the hope that they would stop the line. end the line.  but please. let it be better for david than it had been for them. “ what is it that… may i ask what it is that you can… do ? ”

         there’s a solemn recognition between them, that the lot they’ve received isn’t necessarily the lot they deserve. even so, david doesn’t blame ameline for falling prey to the life script, the desire for progeny, any more than anyone else. it’s rare that anyone, anything, think outside of it—after all, what is life but the desire to continue on? whether that be by a person or a bloodline is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. but the minds of the living don’t comprehend much beyond their own short stint in existence. that is a burden that only a select few, david included, are cursed to endure.

         “i see death. all death, from all times, from all places. the first memory i have is of my own.” and after that, his immediate family’s. growing older has only given him space for many more individuals. billions upon billions upon billions... whether in this world or others far beyond his own, have all come to rest within his conscience. it’s no wonder that he’s been considered mad.

[nearcataclysm]

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐭.

He doesn’t sound sad about not having many people to tell, so Kinevart will not express any sympathy over it. “Thank you.” she says instead, calm and soft. “You might try being a little less evasive, next time, if you don’t want strangers to be so on their guard.” She tells him with a small smile, standing and stretching, readying herself to leave.

         “you’re probably right about that.” evasive is just always how david has approached conversations that aren’t about death... and sometimes even ones that are. he just doesn’t know how to talk to people about anything, it seems.