Fai_Ryy
RMH
Game Changer & Make Some Noise
if i look back, i am lost
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titsay
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
hello vonnie
cherry valley forever
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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ojovivo
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Origami Around
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Today's Document
KIROKAZE
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@stolen-feather-and-time
Aamon's Masterpost
GREETINGS! This is a rp blog for my character Aamon! He's @/waylay-managment-2 's Manager's sorta adopted son who was betrayed and sent to a shadow prison. LONG STORY SHORT he's back and angry!
if your looking for any of my other characters try looking at @/rp-sideblog-incorporated (I mostly use Emcee over there) or @/therawandbloodiedheart who is Alice Walker!
Links to finished threads under the cut
*Aamon shouldn't be seen when he was hiding even the manager couldn't see him like this and he was within their domain. Unfortunately for him though not a lot escaped Jackson's gaze.*
*though looking at Aamon was like looking at a static 2d image with an after image whenever he moved. He seemed to be hovering nearby, contemplating whether he should come out or just... Watch.*
*he doesn't realize that he can be seen*
:) @stolen-feather-and-time
*I watch him for now, slowly picking at my burger and fries. I can't read his expression, if he's deciding to simply watch or planning on how to best follow up on his promise of slaughter.*
*it's another little while passes before Aamon decides to finally choose to show himself. Stepping into the visible light with a tap of a cane*
You are... Jackson, correct?
*nothing in my vision really changes, if anything he becomes more solid.*
That's what my mama called me when I came into the world. Aamon, if I recall?
*he looks like shit.*
*there are horrendous bags under his eyes, his knuckles are wrapped but the bandages are clearly stained with old blood, his hair looks uncombed.*
*despite his worse for wear appearance, he hazards a wavering smile.*
Yes, that is the name I grew into with time.
Daisy pointed me in your direction, to talk to you about something.
...Sure you don't want a nap first, or something to eat? *I push my plate towards the empty seat next to me.*
*If Daisy sent him to me... then what's the bigger picture?*
I...
*he contemplated the plate, but then shakes his head and pushes it back towards Jackson as he sits down in the chair.*
I'm good.
I can... eat later.
Shame, I like sharing meals.
What'd daisy direct ya to me for?
Me and...
*dad*
The Manager, had a disagreement. Very long story short, I no longer want to stay here. Daisy mentioned she had a sister but that she always in your universe, thus if need your help getting there.
...Well.
*That is... a lot of baggage at once.*
So, you want to leave, and Daisy suggested my home. Her sister's name is Amber. She uh... Daisy says she likes me, I know I'm how they were able to reunite... but I also think she'll dance on my grave because her fiance hates me.
She's a priestess of Cthugha, basically the only god who can lay my dad out. She's also engaged with my universe's Lillith, who for a fact hates me. I believe her own cult is close to it, but Miss May lives in a compound in Arizona.
My only worry is Nyarlethnotep.
*Aamon furrowed his brow*
I assume... that you aren't speaking of the manager... but which Nyarlathotep? Why is this one a worry if Cthugha can easily handle a being such as them?
My worlds Lillith hates her father with a passion. she almost killed me over it, Cthuga also wasn't too pleased about it. When our paths crossed they could tell I knew the manager. You're my brother, his kid. theyre gonna be able to tell.
*he frowns at that, thinking.*
I... will have to cross that bridge when I get there.
Though if they do manager to kill me and keep it that way, I can't say if be able to complain.
They couldn't kill me. Amber said her flames "only burn the guilty". I just think they're broken though.
*he furrows his brow*
Guilty of... what though? That's vague.
I think she just meant lying about her sister being here in the waylay.
Well I don't plan on lying about anything...
*Aamon shouldn't be seen when he was hiding even the manager couldn't see him like this and he was within their domain. Unfortunately for him though not a lot escaped Jackson's gaze.*
*though looking at Aamon was like looking at a static 2d image with an after image whenever he moved. He seemed to be hovering nearby, contemplating whether he should come out or just... Watch.*
*he doesn't realize that he can be seen*
:) @stolen-feather-and-time
*I watch him for now, slowly picking at my burger and fries. I can't read his expression, if he's deciding to simply watch or planning on how to best follow up on his promise of slaughter.*
*it's another little while passes before Aamon decides to finally choose to show himself. Stepping into the visible light with a tap of a cane*
You are... Jackson, correct?
*nothing in my vision really changes, if anything he becomes more solid.*
That's what my mama called me when I came into the world. Aamon, if I recall?
*he looks like shit.*
*there are horrendous bags under his eyes, his knuckles are wrapped but the bandages are clearly stained with old blood, his hair looks uncombed.*
*despite his worse for wear appearance, he hazards a wavering smile.*
Yes, that is the name I grew into with time.
Daisy pointed me in your direction, to talk to you about something.
...Sure you don't want a nap first, or something to eat? *I push my plate towards the empty seat next to me.*
*If Daisy sent him to me... then what's the bigger picture?*
I...
*he contemplated the plate, but then shakes his head and pushes it back towards Jackson as he sits down in the chair.*
I'm good.
I can... eat later.
Shame, I like sharing meals.
What'd daisy direct ya to me for?
Me and...
*dad*
The Manager, had a disagreement. Very long story short, I no longer want to stay here. Daisy mentioned she had a sister but that she always in your universe, thus if need your help getting there.
...Well.
*That is... a lot of baggage at once.*
So, you want to leave, and Daisy suggested my home. Her sister's name is Amber. She uh... Daisy says she likes me, I know I'm how they were able to reunite... but I also think she'll dance on my grave because her fiance hates me.
She's a priestess of Cthugha, basically the only god who can lay my dad out. She's also engaged with my universe's Lillith, who for a fact hates me. I believe her own cult is close to it, but Miss May lives in a compound in Arizona.
My only worry is Nyarlethnotep.
*Aamon furrowed his brow*
I assume... that you aren't speaking of the manager... but which Nyarlathotep? Why is this one a worry if Cthugha can easily handle a being such as them?
My worlds Lillith hates her father with a passion. she almost killed me over it, Cthuga also wasn't too pleased about it. When our paths crossed they could tell I knew the manager. You're my brother, his kid. theyre gonna be able to tell.
*he frowns at that, thinking.*
I... will have to cross that bridge when I get there.
Though if they do manager to kill me and keep it that way, I can't say if be able to complain.
They couldn't kill me. Amber said her flames "only burn the guilty". I just think they're broken though.
*he furrows his brow*
Guilty of... what though? That's vague.
*Aamon shouldn't be seen when he was hiding even the manager couldn't see him like this and he was within their domain. Unfortunately for him though not a lot escaped Jackson's gaze.*
*though looking at Aamon was like looking at a static 2d image with an after image whenever he moved. He seemed to be hovering nearby, contemplating whether he should come out or just... Watch.*
*he doesn't realize that he can be seen*
:) @stolen-feather-and-time
*I watch him for now, slowly picking at my burger and fries. I can't read his expression, if he's deciding to simply watch or planning on how to best follow up on his promise of slaughter.*
*it's another little while passes before Aamon decides to finally choose to show himself. Stepping into the visible light with a tap of a cane*
You are... Jackson, correct?
*nothing in my vision really changes, if anything he becomes more solid.*
That's what my mama called me when I came into the world. Aamon, if I recall?
*he looks like shit.*
*there are horrendous bags under his eyes, his knuckles are wrapped but the bandages are clearly stained with old blood, his hair looks uncombed.*
*despite his worse for wear appearance, he hazards a wavering smile.*
Yes, that is the name I grew into with time.
Daisy pointed me in your direction, to talk to you about something.
...Sure you don't want a nap first, or something to eat? *I push my plate towards the empty seat next to me.*
*If Daisy sent him to me... then what's the bigger picture?*
I...
*he contemplated the plate, but then shakes his head and pushes it back towards Jackson as he sits down in the chair.*
I'm good.
I can... eat later.
Shame, I like sharing meals.
What'd daisy direct ya to me for?
Me and...
*dad*
The Manager, had a disagreement. Very long story short, I no longer want to stay here. Daisy mentioned she had a sister but that she always in your universe, thus if need your help getting there.
...Well.
*That is... a lot of baggage at once.*
So, you want to leave, and Daisy suggested my home. Her sister's name is Amber. She uh... Daisy says she likes me, I know I'm how they were able to reunite... but I also think she'll dance on my grave because her fiance hates me.
She's a priestess of Cthugha, basically the only god who can lay my dad out. She's also engaged with my universe's Lillith, who for a fact hates me. I believe her own cult is close to it, but Miss May lives in a compound in Arizona.
My only worry is Nyarlethnotep.
*Aamon furrowed his brow*
I assume... that you aren't speaking of the manager... but which Nyarlathotep? Why is this one a worry if Cthugha can easily handle a being such as them?
My worlds Lillith hates her father with a passion. she almost killed me over it, Cthuga also wasn't too pleased about it. When our paths crossed they could tell I knew the manager. You're my brother, his kid. theyre gonna be able to tell.
*he frowns at that, thinking.*
I... will have to cross that bridge when I get there.
Though if they do manager to kill me and keep it that way, I can't say if be able to complain.
*Aamon shouldn't be seen when he was hiding even the manager couldn't see him like this and he was within their domain. Unfortunately for him though not a lot escaped Jackson's gaze.*
*though looking at Aamon was like looking at a static 2d image with an after image whenever he moved. He seemed to be hovering nearby, contemplating whether he should come out or just... Watch.*
*he doesn't realize that he can be seen*
:) @stolen-feather-and-time
*I watch him for now, slowly picking at my burger and fries. I can't read his expression, if he's deciding to simply watch or planning on how to best follow up on his promise of slaughter.*
*it's another little while passes before Aamon decides to finally choose to show himself. Stepping into the visible light with a tap of a cane*
You are... Jackson, correct?
*nothing in my vision really changes, if anything he becomes more solid.*
That's what my mama called me when I came into the world. Aamon, if I recall?
*he looks like shit.*
*there are horrendous bags under his eyes, his knuckles are wrapped but the bandages are clearly stained with old blood, his hair looks uncombed.*
*despite his worse for wear appearance, he hazards a wavering smile.*
Yes, that is the name I grew into with time.
Daisy pointed me in your direction, to talk to you about something.
...Sure you don't want a nap first, or something to eat? *I push my plate towards the empty seat next to me.*
*If Daisy sent him to me... then what's the bigger picture?*
I...
*he contemplated the plate, but then shakes his head and pushes it back towards Jackson as he sits down in the chair.*
I'm good.
I can... eat later.
Shame, I like sharing meals.
What'd daisy direct ya to me for?
Me and...
*dad*
The Manager, had a disagreement. Very long story short, I no longer want to stay here. Daisy mentioned she had a sister but that she always in your universe, thus if need your help getting there.
...Well.
*That is... a lot of baggage at once.*
So, you want to leave, and Daisy suggested my home. Her sister's name is Amber. She uh... Daisy says she likes me, I know I'm how they were able to reunite... but I also think she'll dance on my grave because her fiance hates me.
She's a priestess of Cthugha, basically the only god who can lay my dad out. She's also engaged with my universe's Lillith, who for a fact hates me. I believe her own cult is close to it, but Miss May lives in a compound in Arizona.
My only worry is Nyarlethnotep.
*Aamon furrowed his brow*
I assume... that you aren't speaking of the manager... but which Nyarlathotep? Why is this one a worry if Cthugha can easily handle a being such as them?
*Aamon shouldn't be seen when he was hiding even the manager couldn't see him like this and he was within their domain. Unfortunately for him though not a lot escaped Jackson's gaze.*
*though looking at Aamon was like looking at a static 2d image with an after image whenever he moved. He seemed to be hovering nearby, contemplating whether he should come out or just... Watch.*
*he doesn't realize that he can be seen*
:) @stolen-feather-and-time
*I watch him for now, slowly picking at my burger and fries. I can't read his expression, if he's deciding to simply watch or planning on how to best follow up on his promise of slaughter.*
*it's another little while passes before Aamon decides to finally choose to show himself. Stepping into the visible light with a tap of a cane*
You are... Jackson, correct?
*nothing in my vision really changes, if anything he becomes more solid.*
That's what my mama called me when I came into the world. Aamon, if I recall?
*he looks like shit.*
*there are horrendous bags under his eyes, his knuckles are wrapped but the bandages are clearly stained with old blood, his hair looks uncombed.*
*despite his worse for wear appearance, he hazards a wavering smile.*
Yes, that is the name I grew into with time.
Daisy pointed me in your direction, to talk to you about something.
...Sure you don't want a nap first, or something to eat? *I push my plate towards the empty seat next to me.*
*If Daisy sent him to me... then what's the bigger picture?*
I...
*he contemplated the plate, but then shakes his head and pushes it back towards Jackson as he sits down in the chair.*
I'm good.
I can... eat later.
Shame, I like sharing meals.
What'd daisy direct ya to me for?
Me and...
*dad*
The Manager, had a disagreement. Very long story short, I no longer want to stay here. Daisy mentioned she had a sister but that she always in your universe, thus if need your help getting there.
*Aamon shouldn't be seen when he was hiding even the manager couldn't see him like this and he was within their domain. Unfortunately for him though not a lot escaped Jackson's gaze.*
*though looking at Aamon was like looking at a static 2d image with an after image whenever he moved. He seemed to be hovering nearby, contemplating whether he should come out or just... Watch.*
*he doesn't realize that he can be seen*
:) @stolen-feather-and-time
*I watch him for now, slowly picking at my burger and fries. I can't read his expression, if he's deciding to simply watch or planning on how to best follow up on his promise of slaughter.*
*it's another little while passes before Aamon decides to finally choose to show himself. Stepping into the visible light with a tap of a cane*
You are... Jackson, correct?
*nothing in my vision really changes, if anything he becomes more solid.*
That's what my mama called me when I came into the world. Aamon, if I recall?
*he looks like shit.*
*there are horrendous bags under his eyes, his knuckles are wrapped but the bandages are clearly stained with old blood, his hair looks uncombed.*
*despite his worse for wear appearance, he hazards a wavering smile.*
Yes, that is the name I grew into with time.
Daisy pointed me in your direction, to talk to you about something.
...Sure you don't want a nap first, or something to eat? *I push my plate towards the empty seat next to me.*
*If Daisy sent him to me... then what's the bigger picture?*
I...
*he contemplated the plate, but then shakes his head and pushes it back towards Jackson as he sits down in the chair.*
I'm good.
I can... eat later.
*Aamon shouldn't be seen when he was hiding even the manager couldn't see him like this and he was within their domain. Unfortunately for him though not a lot escaped Jackson's gaze.*
*though looking at Aamon was like looking at a static 2d image with an after image whenever he moved. He seemed to be hovering nearby, contemplating whether he should come out or just... Watch.*
*he doesn't realize that he can be seen*
:) @stolen-feather-and-time
*I watch him for now, slowly picking at my burger and fries. I can't read his expression, if he's deciding to simply watch or planning on how to best follow up on his promise of slaughter.*
*it's another little while passes before Aamon decides to finally choose to show himself. Stepping into the visible light with a tap of a cane*
You are... Jackson, correct?
*Aamon did not meet Wil for training at the usual time. He wasn't around lingering in his usual spots in the waylay.*
*his room was left slightly ajar, though empty, left a concerning sight*
*his desk chair was toppled over, ink spilled across the normally tidy desk. There was a dent in the wall, and below it a journal now laying awkwardly half open. Several holes punched in the walls, he must have injured his hands doing so because there was blood on the walls and dripped on the floor *
@stolen-feather-and-time
*Wilhelm padded through carefully, observing everything. The blood on the damaged walls was an uncomfortably visceral sight for it. So it turned its attention to the journal. It picked it up, turned it over, and began reading.*
[There are no secrets to the (Waylay).]
*poetry, short stories, daily thoughts, starting only a few days after he woke up from the coma. Some were sadder than others, agonized ramblings about death. Memories of Lillith written in detail, the occasional sketch. Many of them were lonely and clearly showed how scattered he had been*
*some of the happier ones that came later seemed to do with Wil or Daisy. Conversations he has with her, and questions he has about medical things she does or advice from her about how to handle his seizures. There are notes on sword techniques and his idle thoughts on Wil's progress and form, things he wants to teach it, things it did he thought were funny or interesting.*
*the writing got neater and more organized the further into the book it read, some of his personal thoughts even seemed to become just a tad lighter as he mused on things like birds and science*
*that is until the more recent pagest, dotted with dried blood and smeared tear stained ink*
*in a new ink though, is a response from The Manager.*
*that page is soaked in tears and blood, partially torn at the end and wrinkled from when it presumably hit the wall after being thrown. There are no more entries after that*
*This was confusing. Wil understood his frustration, sure. But fear?*
*Wil had echoed these same sentiments itself to and about others. It never meant to inspire fear from them. The Waylay loved them. The Manager loved him. If someone was afraid in this situation, surely it must be some kind of mistake.*
*A [(mis)understanding]. That's clearly all it was. Wil would find one. Or the other. Or both. They would talk through this and get to the bottom of it.*
*It scanned the room. Was there anything else useful Aamon left behind? Or to indicate where he was now?*
*there was a torn note scribbled on a lose piece of paper on the desk, nearly unreadable due to spilled ink and the fact that it was partially scratched out and ripped. Putting it together though was a short list of places he seemed to be contemplating in hiding.*
Daisy?
Outside
Walls?
*The last bullet point is covered in ink and unreadable*
*Outside felt unlikely. Wil was just there for training. Unless it somehow missed him?*
*Daisy obviously wasn't the right option. The walls... weren't impossible. But Wil badly did not want to trust the Autopilot to not catch it inside itself again.*
*What secret other choice was there? The infirnary, the fields, the walls...*
*Wil would soon find out. It followed the blood trail, as far as it would go.*
*the blood trail ended at a wall. Which at first seemed normal until it was touched, revealing an illusion that there was actually a door behind it. There wasn't a handle on it though.*
*Wil glanced back and forth. It was in an otherwise empty hallway. Great. So if the Autopilot did grab it, there was no one to hear it scream.*
*Could it really leave Aamon in there, though?*
*Its hands smoothed down its dress. Righted the ribbon on its collarbone. Taking a deep breath, Wil only barely didn't close its eyes and stepped through the wall.*
*and then promptly smacked face first into a very physical very closed wooden door.*
*the blank wall is an illusion to hide a regular door that is missing its handle. The door is closed. The door is real, the illusion is not.*
Gah!
*Wil stumbled back, rubbing its nose. It smacked the door out of reflexive frustration.*
Asshole!
*at least now the illusion seemed to fade more to allow the door to be seen more clearly*
*smacking it seemed to have jostled something because there was a click and it opened inward a crack.*
*That made Wil pause. It was surprised it didn't even have to get its tools out. Cautiously, it pushed the door farther open and peered inside.*
*the illusion and lock on the door was shotty work, though Aamon was only hiding from one specific person. He wasn't expecting anybody else to come looking for him.*
*The room was dark, though with the light of outside filtering in illuminated a mess. Aamon was on the floor shaking, something clutched in his bloodied hands. His knuckles were bleeding, no doubt from punching the walls earlier. His hair had come undone and was splayed around him.*
*he was shaking and crying, not acknowledging Wil's presence at all as he worsened the wounds across his hands by scratching at the cuts and raw skin. Pulling the flesh apart further and digging long nails into it*
*One, two, click.*
*The warmth of the lighter flickered across Wil's face, though it was lost on Aamon's dark hair and blood. Wil didn't dare take a step closer until it talked to him first.*
Aamon, I'm here now. I didn't mean to intrude. But I thought you might be in trouble. Are you going to attack me if I come to you?
*his glossy eyes reflected the dim flame. He didn't verbally respond, but he did shake his head, shifting to look away from Wil*
*he didn't want it to see him like this, but his head hurt too bad to move any more than rollinh over. Still scratching his hands bloody. Nothing mattered in life if there wasn't death to eventually follow, right?*
*his mind wandered and spiralled and distracted him once more, thought disorganized and scattered despite his best attempts to control the train of thought.*
*Wilhelm kneeled next to him. It folded its hands in its lap. Messenger bag slumped to the ground against its side.*
I really liked training with you. I was disappointed to not see you out today. A little warning might have been nice, but... clearly the situation has changed.
*It felt awkward. But this had to be said.*
I really hope I get to train with you sometime again. And you hope that...?
*Wil left the prompt open for him.*
I...
Yes.
I just-
*he stopped, looking at his bleeding hands.*
Life feels meaningless without death. I do not want to have to go insane before I'm allowed to finally rest.
*Wil nodded in concurrence. It scooted closer, feeling safer now.*
That is entirely fair. I want the same for you. So... am I really so selfish that I also want you to be able to stay?
Yes.
*he looks over to glare, but then he actually sees Wil and falters*
But you have yet to know me. The Manager has known me millenia.
I... I don't mean to hurt you. I don't think they do, either. We love you a lot, and I'd like the chance to get to know you for many millennia more.
*Wil paused.*
That said, it was you who told me to worry about being my own person. Try being a kid. It would be just as wrong and unnatural to keep you here, as you are, while I grow up and get to change, wouldn't it?
Oh child born if death, you do not understand. It's okay.
*he was about to reach forward to touch Wil's hair, but then noticed his gored hands and decided to keep them to himself.*
just know that you have to be okay with letting go.
They hold onto me even though it chokes me.
*he winces as a strip of skin peeled back from his knuckles. Turning away once more, he scratches at his hands angrily*
I want to understand. That's all I ever try and do!
*Wil voice hitched with frustration. It brought it back down. It wasn't truly mad at him.*
And this... wouldn't help? Showing them that you are destroying yourself just to feel something, just to stay in the present moment, before you go insane? I-I wouldn't want that for you.
They'll just say I can get better. They'd rather me go MAD. THAN DIE!
*he rolls over to get up, standing on shaky legs*
I simply ask for the chance, ONE DAY! But no, they'd rather me lose my MIND THAN DIE PEACEFULLY!
*Wil eyed him up and down from their neat little position on the ground.*
I talk to them. We're very alike. If I could come around to see reason, surely they can.
Yeah sure, they'll see reason when I'm FUCKING DEAD!
I'M-
*in that moment he collapsed, leaning against the wall as his mind was taken over by another siezing memory.*
*but only moments later he growled, the moment he could move from the spell he whipped around and punched the wall*
TIRED OF THIS!
Aamon...
*Wil got up, pushing to its feet using its cane, and reached out to touch him on the elbow lightly.*
I will find a way. More than just a brother, you are my patron. It's my responsibility.
Dont.
*he pulls away.*
*he looked down at it... and only saw a mirror of himself. Young, naive, looking to be everything they should be. Always looking up, forgetting to look down at the scars on their own two bleeding hands. Trying to know more, be better, get stronger.*
*he snapped*
That virtue will get you killed. Just like mine did me.
I had responsibility, I had people to take care of, I was the overseer! I was a priest betrayed by my OWN GOD!
You are a CHILD! Don't make the same mistakes I did and devote yourself to one thing. Responsibility? Patrons? I am neither.
Do not treat me as such. I want nothing to do with the SCRAPS of the god Pharaoh once was made into this patchwork SHITSHOW!
*Wil held his gaze.*
But you're not dead yet. That's the problem. For you, anyway. It might just work out in my favor.
*If he didn't want to be comforted, then Wil would turn around. Pace about. Start thinking.*
They've done something like this before. It was with a patron named Yves. Hm... but no. The issue with that is we could technically retrieve him from the Dark World at any time. This is different, a permanent solution. What could possibly convince them to go with that...?
*he stared at it. Then with a frustrated scream turned and merged back in with the shadows, form dissipating.*
*he wasn't gone perse, but he was no longer there to be seen.*
*Wil snapped its head up at him. It balled its fists up and stomped over.*
Well what do you want! I'm trying to help you! Dad might not understand that you want to die, but I do. Figure it out yourself, by all means, since that went so well last time! Just... Gah!!
*It kicked the shadowy wall, in a way he taught it. Wil hoped it hurt.*
leave me be. If you want to help by talking? Then talk to them.
I'm in no position to argue.
*he sounded miserable, watching it punch the wall with a frown *
I will.
*Wil put its back to the wall and slid to the ground. Drew its knees up to its chest.*
[Blinded (by an ending). I want to make sure you are alright (first).]
*there's a long silence, minutes pass that feel like hours before Aamon quietly pipes up again*
You worry me because you remind me of myself you know.
The same mistakes being made.
*Wil shakes its head a little.*
What's so wrong with what I'm trying to do? You need help, Aamon. I'm the only one who can do it. And if I don't, then...
[You stay.]
[Forever.]
Just...
...
Treat me as your brother. Not your patron.
Okay?
[...]
*Wil shook its head again.*
I can't.
*It got up on shaky legs. Paced between the wall and the exit.*
Don't you get it? I can only help you if you are one of my patrons. I can do anything for them. I understand that doing the hard thing, the necessary thing, is vital for my function as the Waylay. I have a job to do.
*Wil brushed a hand back through its hair. Again. Then again. Its face was turning red.*
But I don't want to let my family go. I'm just the same as dad. If I were only Wil, able to treat you as my brother, th-then—I'm sorry!
*It burst into tears. A horrible choking sob. Hand clasped over its mouth and crimson eyes wide.*
The cage you're in is one you built yourself.
I do not want to be your patron. If you can't help me then, so be it. I am your brother, and mentor I suppose.
I am sorry. I won't allow it.
*Wil came to its knees before his wall. It wiped tears back with its hands, struggling to talk through the cries.*
I-If it's so easy for y-you to j-j-just do the right thing, why d-don't you come out of the shadows and P-PUNISH ME FOR MY WEAKNESS!
*It couldn't control its shout.*
[Sparks inside its wiring.]
*there was a sigh*
*with a click of his cane he did step out of the shadows, hazy form materializing from inky black*
*though instead of hitting it or walking away, he crouched down, and very deliberately picked it up off the ground.*
Because it's not easy, and you aren't weak, and I'm tired.
*Somehow, seeing its brother's remitting face only made Wil wail louder. It was embarrassed. But it couldn't see to find the strength to stop. It could only push its hands against its wet, reddened cheeks, over and over again to quell the tears.*
I-I'm sorry. I love you t-too much. I c-c-can't do this if you're my family. I want to help you, I-I want...
[I want you (to be happy)]
I know, I know.
*He walks across the room to pull up a chair, still holding Wil close as he sits down. His knees would thank him later*
There's no shame in not being able to do everything. There are others I can go to, loopholes to find. But as your older brother, I am not your responsibility.
Though do not fret, you haven't failed. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge what little light you've given me to look forward to. You're one of few reasons I want to stay any longer than I have so far.
*Wil curled up in his lap, whining and sniffling.*
I cast the darkness from your body, and I-I've already learned so m-much from you. There a-are still so many things I w-want to do. I'm sorry. I'm tr-trying to close my heart.
*It turned its face into his chest. Hot tears soaked through the shirt.*
no, no. Don't do that.
Heart is good, even when it's misguided or aches to put it away means to put away the good too.
You're doing plenty fine. You have plenty of time to figure things out, this isn't something that should be on your plate though.
*Wil nodded, vainly trying to clean it's face again.*
O-Okay.
... It's going to really hurt when you finally go.
*It made a noise, pained but likely meant to be a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle.*
I bet you weren't like me in this way when you were my age. You're too powerful for that.
What makes you say that?
*he rests his chin on its head, smiling idly*
I cried plenty when I was your age, I'd find a wounded bird or step on a butterfly and burst into tears if I couldn't help it.
I cried earlier.
Though clearly if I'm still seen as powerful I'm doing something right.
[Your chin is pointy.]
[I suppose I do (not) mind.]
*Wil released a fluttering sigh. Leaned closer to Aamon's chest. His heart was still beating, for now.*
Perhaps there is hope for me after all. If you can be powerful... then I might be, too.
[...]
This is how I'll remember you after you go.
I like that.
I can teach you my mysterious ways, then I'll never truly be gone even when I am.
*he chuckles at his own wording the vibration of his laugh warm in his chest*
It'll be alright. I think I can promise that.
Mhm. It'll be alright.
*If they could just breathe like this, prolong his true death even a little longer...*
*No. Wil promised to respect his wishes. It may not be able to help the way he wants. But neither would it stand in his way.*
It might be a bit before I can properly add more to your training, I have to figure a few things out.
That doesn't mean you can slack though, alright?
*he felt... a little lighter than he did before. At least enough to change the topic and tease Wil*
I won't. I promise.
*Serious as ever.*
So... you are staying for a little while longer? Until you can "figure things out"?
yes. Plus I need to... Talk to Daisy about my hands.
It will be a long while before death takes me, I think I can be sure of that too
Hmph. So what I'm hearing is that you had me in hysterics over nothing.
*Tears dried on its face, Wil pushed off to stand again. It took a deep breath.*
There will be plenty of time to prepare, then. We'll complete my training. We'll give you a proper send off. And then... we'll say goodbye.
of course.
*he also stands up, lightly ruffling its hair*
Though I'm sure I have plenty of chances to send you into hysterics.
*Wilhelmina glared upwards at the mussed up hair, immediately smoothing it back down.*
Please don't. It's unbecoming of me.
How terrible of me
*he smirks*
Now get on outta here, I'm going to talk to Daisy, aight?
Alright.
*It gathered its things. Then turned back once.*
And don't think I'll waste any time we have left by not being a petulant, overzealous student. Or as you called me, a brat. You're going to work for your death, to finish training me, big brother.
Oh I'm sure of it. I'll make sure to kick your ass plenty.
*Wil walked through the door. Followed the blood trails back out.*
I'll see you.
of course.
*he closed the door behind it, listening as Will walked further away. He would talk to Daisy in a bit. For now?...*
*he pressed his back up against the wall and slides down it, hugging himself*
*for now he could just cry, quietly in choked sobs and shuddering breaths*
Of course
*Aamon did not meet Wil for training at the usual time. He wasn't around lingering in his usual spots in the waylay.*
*his room was left slightly ajar, though empty, left a concerning sight*
*his desk chair was toppled over, ink spilled across the normally tidy desk. There was a dent in the wall, and below it a journal now laying awkwardly half open. Several holes punched in the walls, he must have injured his hands doing so because there was blood on the walls and dripped on the floor *
@stolen-feather-and-time
*Wilhelm padded through carefully, observing everything. The blood on the damaged walls was an uncomfortably visceral sight for it. So it turned its attention to the journal. It picked it up, turned it over, and began reading.*
[There are no secrets to the (Waylay).]
*poetry, short stories, daily thoughts, starting only a few days after he woke up from the coma. Some were sadder than others, agonized ramblings about death. Memories of Lillith written in detail, the occasional sketch. Many of them were lonely and clearly showed how scattered he had been*
*some of the happier ones that came later seemed to do with Wil or Daisy. Conversations he has with her, and questions he has about medical things she does or advice from her about how to handle his seizures. There are notes on sword techniques and his idle thoughts on Wil's progress and form, things he wants to teach it, things it did he thought were funny or interesting.*
*the writing got neater and more organized the further into the book it read, some of his personal thoughts even seemed to become just a tad lighter as he mused on things like birds and science*
*that is until the more recent pagest, dotted with dried blood and smeared tear stained ink*
*in a new ink though, is a response from The Manager.*
*that page is soaked in tears and blood, partially torn at the end and wrinkled from when it presumably hit the wall after being thrown. There are no more entries after that*
*This was confusing. Wil understood his frustration, sure. But fear?*
*Wil had echoed these same sentiments itself to and about others. It never meant to inspire fear from them. The Waylay loved them. The Manager loved him. If someone was afraid in this situation, surely it must be some kind of mistake.*
*A [(mis)understanding]. That's clearly all it was. Wil would find one. Or the other. Or both. They would talk through this and get to the bottom of it.*
*It scanned the room. Was there anything else useful Aamon left behind? Or to indicate where he was now?*
*there was a torn note scribbled on a lose piece of paper on the desk, nearly unreadable due to spilled ink and the fact that it was partially scratched out and ripped. Putting it together though was a short list of places he seemed to be contemplating in hiding.*
Daisy?
Outside
Walls?
*The last bullet point is covered in ink and unreadable*
*Outside felt unlikely. Wil was just there for training. Unless it somehow missed him?*
*Daisy obviously wasn't the right option. The walls... weren't impossible. But Wil badly did not want to trust the Autopilot to not catch it inside itself again.*
*What secret other choice was there? The infirnary, the fields, the walls...*
*Wil would soon find out. It followed the blood trail, as far as it would go.*
*the blood trail ended at a wall. Which at first seemed normal until it was touched, revealing an illusion that there was actually a door behind it. There wasn't a handle on it though.*
*Wil glanced back and forth. It was in an otherwise empty hallway. Great. So if the Autopilot did grab it, there was no one to hear it scream.*
*Could it really leave Aamon in there, though?*
*Its hands smoothed down its dress. Righted the ribbon on its collarbone. Taking a deep breath, Wil only barely didn't close its eyes and stepped through the wall.*
*and then promptly smacked face first into a very physical very closed wooden door.*
*the blank wall is an illusion to hide a regular door that is missing its handle. The door is closed. The door is real, the illusion is not.*
Gah!
*Wil stumbled back, rubbing its nose. It smacked the door out of reflexive frustration.*
Asshole!
*at least now the illusion seemed to fade more to allow the door to be seen more clearly*
*smacking it seemed to have jostled something because there was a click and it opened inward a crack.*
*That made Wil pause. It was surprised it didn't even have to get its tools out. Cautiously, it pushed the door farther open and peered inside.*
*the illusion and lock on the door was shotty work, though Aamon was only hiding from one specific person. He wasn't expecting anybody else to come looking for him.*
*The room was dark, though with the light of outside filtering in illuminated a mess. Aamon was on the floor shaking, something clutched in his bloodied hands. His knuckles were bleeding, no doubt from punching the walls earlier. His hair had come undone and was splayed around him.*
*he was shaking and crying, not acknowledging Wil's presence at all as he worsened the wounds across his hands by scratching at the cuts and raw skin. Pulling the flesh apart further and digging long nails into it*
*One, two, click.*
*The warmth of the lighter flickered across Wil's face, though it was lost on Aamon's dark hair and blood. Wil didn't dare take a step closer until it talked to him first.*
Aamon, I'm here now. I didn't mean to intrude. But I thought you might be in trouble. Are you going to attack me if I come to you?
*his glossy eyes reflected the dim flame. He didn't verbally respond, but he did shake his head, shifting to look away from Wil*
*he didn't want it to see him like this, but his head hurt too bad to move any more than rollinh over. Still scratching his hands bloody. Nothing mattered in life if there wasn't death to eventually follow, right?*
*his mind wandered and spiralled and distracted him once more, thought disorganized and scattered despite his best attempts to control the train of thought.*
*Wilhelm kneeled next to him. It folded its hands in its lap. Messenger bag slumped to the ground against its side.*
I really liked training with you. I was disappointed to not see you out today. A little warning might have been nice, but... clearly the situation has changed.
*It felt awkward. But this had to be said.*
I really hope I get to train with you sometime again. And you hope that...?
*Wil left the prompt open for him.*
I...
Yes.
I just-
*he stopped, looking at his bleeding hands.*
Life feels meaningless without death. I do not want to have to go insane before I'm allowed to finally rest.
*Wil nodded in concurrence. It scooted closer, feeling safer now.*
That is entirely fair. I want the same for you. So... am I really so selfish that I also want you to be able to stay?
Yes.
*he looks over to glare, but then he actually sees Wil and falters*
But you have yet to know me. The Manager has known me millenia.
I... I don't mean to hurt you. I don't think they do, either. We love you a lot, and I'd like the chance to get to know you for many millennia more.
*Wil paused.*
That said, it was you who told me to worry about being my own person. Try being a kid. It would be just as wrong and unnatural to keep you here, as you are, while I grow up and get to change, wouldn't it?
Oh child born if death, you do not understand. It's okay.
*he was about to reach forward to touch Wil's hair, but then noticed his gored hands and decided to keep them to himself.*
just know that you have to be okay with letting go.
They hold onto me even though it chokes me.
*he winces as a strip of skin peeled back from his knuckles. Turning away once more, he scratches at his hands angrily*
I want to understand. That's all I ever try and do!
*Wil voice hitched with frustration. It brought it back down. It wasn't truly mad at him.*
And this... wouldn't help? Showing them that you are destroying yourself just to feel something, just to stay in the present moment, before you go insane? I-I wouldn't want that for you.
They'll just say I can get better. They'd rather me go MAD. THAN DIE!
*he rolls over to get up, standing on shaky legs*
I simply ask for the chance, ONE DAY! But no, they'd rather me lose my MIND THAN DIE PEACEFULLY!
*Wil eyed him up and down from their neat little position on the ground.*
I talk to them. We're very alike. If I could come around to see reason, surely they can.
Yeah sure, they'll see reason when I'm FUCKING DEAD!
I'M-
*in that moment he collapsed, leaning against the wall as his mind was taken over by another siezing memory.*
*but only moments later he growled, the moment he could move from the spell he whipped around and punched the wall*
TIRED OF THIS!
Aamon...
*Wil got up, pushing to its feet using its cane, and reached out to touch him on the elbow lightly.*
I will find a way. More than just a brother, you are my patron. It's my responsibility.
Dont.
*he pulls away.*
*he looked down at it... and only saw a mirror of himself. Young, naive, looking to be everything they should be. Always looking up, forgetting to look down at the scars on their own two bleeding hands. Trying to know more, be better, get stronger.*
*he snapped*
That virtue will get you killed. Just like mine did me.
I had responsibility, I had people to take care of, I was the overseer! I was a priest betrayed by my OWN GOD!
You are a CHILD! Don't make the same mistakes I did and devote yourself to one thing. Responsibility? Patrons? I am neither.
Do not treat me as such. I want nothing to do with the SCRAPS of the god Pharaoh once was made into this patchwork SHITSHOW!
*Wil held his gaze.*
But you're not dead yet. That's the problem. For you, anyway. It might just work out in my favor.
*If he didn't want to be comforted, then Wil would turn around. Pace about. Start thinking.*
They've done something like this before. It was with a patron named Yves. Hm... but no. The issue with that is we could technically retrieve him from the Dark World at any time. This is different, a permanent solution. What could possibly convince them to go with that...?
*he stared at it. Then with a frustrated scream turned and merged back in with the shadows, form dissipating.*
*he wasn't gone perse, but he was no longer there to be seen.*
*Wil snapped its head up at him. It balled its fists up and stomped over.*
Well what do you want! I'm trying to help you! Dad might not understand that you want to die, but I do. Figure it out yourself, by all means, since that went so well last time! Just... Gah!!
*It kicked the shadowy wall, in a way he taught it. Wil hoped it hurt.*
leave me be. If you want to help by talking? Then talk to them.
I'm in no position to argue.
*he sounded miserable, watching it punch the wall with a frown *
I will.
*Wil put its back to the wall and slid to the ground. Drew its knees up to its chest.*
[Blinded (by an ending). I want to make sure you are alright (first).]
*there's a long silence, minutes pass that feel like hours before Aamon quietly pipes up again*
You worry me because you remind me of myself you know.
The same mistakes being made.
*Wil shakes its head a little.*
What's so wrong with what I'm trying to do? You need help, Aamon. I'm the only one who can do it. And if I don't, then...
[You stay.]
[Forever.]
Just...
...
Treat me as your brother. Not your patron.
Okay?
[...]
*Wil shook its head again.*
I can't.
*It got up on shaky legs. Paced between the wall and the exit.*
Don't you get it? I can only help you if you are one of my patrons. I can do anything for them. I understand that doing the hard thing, the necessary thing, is vital for my function as the Waylay. I have a job to do.
*Wil brushed a hand back through its hair. Again. Then again. Its face was turning red.*
But I don't want to let my family go. I'm just the same as dad. If I were only Wil, able to treat you as my brother, th-then—I'm sorry!
*It burst into tears. A horrible choking sob. Hand clasped over its mouth and crimson eyes wide.*
The cage you're in is one you built yourself.
I do not want to be your patron. If you can't help me then, so be it. I am your brother, and mentor I suppose.
I am sorry. I won't allow it.
*Wil came to its knees before his wall. It wiped tears back with its hands, struggling to talk through the cries.*
I-If it's so easy for y-you to j-j-just do the right thing, why d-don't you come out of the shadows and P-PUNISH ME FOR MY WEAKNESS!
*It couldn't control its shout.*
[Sparks inside its wiring.]
*there was a sigh*
*with a click of his cane he did step out of the shadows, hazy form materializing from inky black*
*though instead of hitting it or walking away, he crouched down, and very deliberately picked it up off the ground.*
Because it's not easy, and you aren't weak, and I'm tired.
*Somehow, seeing its brother's remitting face only made Wil wail louder. It was embarrassed. But it couldn't see to find the strength to stop. It could only push its hands against its wet, reddened cheeks, over and over again to quell the tears.*
I-I'm sorry. I love you t-too much. I c-c-can't do this if you're my family. I want to help you, I-I want...
[I want you (to be happy)]
I know, I know.
*He walks across the room to pull up a chair, still holding Wil close as he sits down. His knees would thank him later*
There's no shame in not being able to do everything. There are others I can go to, loopholes to find. But as your older brother, I am not your responsibility.
Though do not fret, you haven't failed. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge what little light you've given me to look forward to. You're one of few reasons I want to stay any longer than I have so far.
*Wil curled up in his lap, whining and sniffling.*
I cast the darkness from your body, and I-I've already learned so m-much from you. There a-are still so many things I w-want to do. I'm sorry. I'm tr-trying to close my heart.
*It turned its face into his chest. Hot tears soaked through the shirt.*
no, no. Don't do that.
Heart is good, even when it's misguided or aches to put it away means to put away the good too.
You're doing plenty fine. You have plenty of time to figure things out, this isn't something that should be on your plate though.
*Wil nodded, vainly trying to clean it's face again.*
O-Okay.
... It's going to really hurt when you finally go.
*It made a noise, pained but likely meant to be a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle.*
I bet you weren't like me in this way when you were my age. You're too powerful for that.
What makes you say that?
*he rests his chin on its head, smiling idly*
I cried plenty when I was your age, I'd find a wounded bird or step on a butterfly and burst into tears if I couldn't help it.
I cried earlier.
Though clearly if I'm still seen as powerful I'm doing something right.
[Your chin is pointy.]
[I suppose I do (not) mind.]
*Wil released a fluttering sigh. Leaned closer to Aamon's chest. His heart was still beating, for now.*
Perhaps there is hope for me after all. If you can be powerful... then I might be, too.
[...]
This is how I'll remember you after you go.
I like that.
I can teach you my mysterious ways, then I'll never truly be gone even when I am.
*he chuckles at his own wording the vibration of his laugh warm in his chest*
It'll be alright. I think I can promise that.
Mhm. It'll be alright.
*If they could just breathe like this, prolong his true death even a little longer...*
*No. Wil promised to respect his wishes. It may not be able to help the way he wants. But neither would it stand in his way.*
It might be a bit before I can properly add more to your training, I have to figure a few things out.
That doesn't mean you can slack though, alright?
*he felt... a little lighter than he did before. At least enough to change the topic and tease Wil*
I won't. I promise.
*Serious as ever.*
So... you are staying for a little while longer? Until you can "figure things out"?
yes. Plus I need to... Talk to Daisy about my hands.
It will be a long while before death takes me, I think I can be sure of that too
Hmph. So what I'm hearing is that you had me in hysterics over nothing.
*Tears dried on its face, Wil pushed off to stand again. It took a deep breath.*
There will be plenty of time to prepare, then. We'll complete my training. We'll give you a proper send off. And then... we'll say goodbye.
of course.
*he also stands up, lightly ruffling its hair*
Though I'm sure I have plenty of chances to send you into hysterics.
*Wilhelmina glared upwards at the mussed up hair, immediately smoothing it back down.*
Please don't. It's unbecoming of me.
How terrible of me
*he smirks*
Now get on outta here, I'm going to talk to Daisy, aight?
Alright.
*It gathered its things. Then turned back once.*
And don't think I'll waste any time we have left by not being a petulant, overzealous student. Or as you called me, a brat. You're going to work for your death, to finish training me, big brother.
Oh I'm sure of it. I'll make sure to kick your ass plenty.
*Aamon did not meet Wil for training at the usual time. He wasn't around lingering in his usual spots in the waylay.*
*his room was left slightly ajar, though empty, left a concerning sight*
*his desk chair was toppled over, ink spilled across the normally tidy desk. There was a dent in the wall, and below it a journal now laying awkwardly half open. Several holes punched in the walls, he must have injured his hands doing so because there was blood on the walls and dripped on the floor *
@stolen-feather-and-time
*Wilhelm padded through carefully, observing everything. The blood on the damaged walls was an uncomfortably visceral sight for it. So it turned its attention to the journal. It picked it up, turned it over, and began reading.*
[There are no secrets to the (Waylay).]
*poetry, short stories, daily thoughts, starting only a few days after he woke up from the coma. Some were sadder than others, agonized ramblings about death. Memories of Lillith written in detail, the occasional sketch. Many of them were lonely and clearly showed how scattered he had been*
*some of the happier ones that came later seemed to do with Wil or Daisy. Conversations he has with her, and questions he has about medical things she does or advice from her about how to handle his seizures. There are notes on sword techniques and his idle thoughts on Wil's progress and form, things he wants to teach it, things it did he thought were funny or interesting.*
*the writing got neater and more organized the further into the book it read, some of his personal thoughts even seemed to become just a tad lighter as he mused on things like birds and science*
*that is until the more recent pagest, dotted with dried blood and smeared tear stained ink*
*in a new ink though, is a response from The Manager.*
*that page is soaked in tears and blood, partially torn at the end and wrinkled from when it presumably hit the wall after being thrown. There are no more entries after that*
*This was confusing. Wil understood his frustration, sure. But fear?*
*Wil had echoed these same sentiments itself to and about others. It never meant to inspire fear from them. The Waylay loved them. The Manager loved him. If someone was afraid in this situation, surely it must be some kind of mistake.*
*A [(mis)understanding]. That's clearly all it was. Wil would find one. Or the other. Or both. They would talk through this and get to the bottom of it.*
*It scanned the room. Was there anything else useful Aamon left behind? Or to indicate where he was now?*
*there was a torn note scribbled on a lose piece of paper on the desk, nearly unreadable due to spilled ink and the fact that it was partially scratched out and ripped. Putting it together though was a short list of places he seemed to be contemplating in hiding.*
Daisy?
Outside
Walls?
*The last bullet point is covered in ink and unreadable*
*Outside felt unlikely. Wil was just there for training. Unless it somehow missed him?*
*Daisy obviously wasn't the right option. The walls... weren't impossible. But Wil badly did not want to trust the Autopilot to not catch it inside itself again.*
*What secret other choice was there? The infirnary, the fields, the walls...*
*Wil would soon find out. It followed the blood trail, as far as it would go.*
*the blood trail ended at a wall. Which at first seemed normal until it was touched, revealing an illusion that there was actually a door behind it. There wasn't a handle on it though.*
*Wil glanced back and forth. It was in an otherwise empty hallway. Great. So if the Autopilot did grab it, there was no one to hear it scream.*
*Could it really leave Aamon in there, though?*
*Its hands smoothed down its dress. Righted the ribbon on its collarbone. Taking a deep breath, Wil only barely didn't close its eyes and stepped through the wall.*
*and then promptly smacked face first into a very physical very closed wooden door.*
*the blank wall is an illusion to hide a regular door that is missing its handle. The door is closed. The door is real, the illusion is not.*
Gah!
*Wil stumbled back, rubbing its nose. It smacked the door out of reflexive frustration.*
Asshole!
*at least now the illusion seemed to fade more to allow the door to be seen more clearly*
*smacking it seemed to have jostled something because there was a click and it opened inward a crack.*
*That made Wil pause. It was surprised it didn't even have to get its tools out. Cautiously, it pushed the door farther open and peered inside.*
*the illusion and lock on the door was shotty work, though Aamon was only hiding from one specific person. He wasn't expecting anybody else to come looking for him.*
*The room was dark, though with the light of outside filtering in illuminated a mess. Aamon was on the floor shaking, something clutched in his bloodied hands. His knuckles were bleeding, no doubt from punching the walls earlier. His hair had come undone and was splayed around him.*
*he was shaking and crying, not acknowledging Wil's presence at all as he worsened the wounds across his hands by scratching at the cuts and raw skin. Pulling the flesh apart further and digging long nails into it*
*One, two, click.*
*The warmth of the lighter flickered across Wil's face, though it was lost on Aamon's dark hair and blood. Wil didn't dare take a step closer until it talked to him first.*
Aamon, I'm here now. I didn't mean to intrude. But I thought you might be in trouble. Are you going to attack me if I come to you?
*his glossy eyes reflected the dim flame. He didn't verbally respond, but he did shake his head, shifting to look away from Wil*
*he didn't want it to see him like this, but his head hurt too bad to move any more than rollinh over. Still scratching his hands bloody. Nothing mattered in life if there wasn't death to eventually follow, right?*
*his mind wandered and spiralled and distracted him once more, thought disorganized and scattered despite his best attempts to control the train of thought.*
*Wilhelm kneeled next to him. It folded its hands in its lap. Messenger bag slumped to the ground against its side.*
I really liked training with you. I was disappointed to not see you out today. A little warning might have been nice, but... clearly the situation has changed.
*It felt awkward. But this had to be said.*
I really hope I get to train with you sometime again. And you hope that...?
*Wil left the prompt open for him.*
I...
Yes.
I just-
*he stopped, looking at his bleeding hands.*
Life feels meaningless without death. I do not want to have to go insane before I'm allowed to finally rest.
*Wil nodded in concurrence. It scooted closer, feeling safer now.*
That is entirely fair. I want the same for you. So... am I really so selfish that I also want you to be able to stay?
Yes.
*he looks over to glare, but then he actually sees Wil and falters*
But you have yet to know me. The Manager has known me millenia.
I... I don't mean to hurt you. I don't think they do, either. We love you a lot, and I'd like the chance to get to know you for many millennia more.
*Wil paused.*
That said, it was you who told me to worry about being my own person. Try being a kid. It would be just as wrong and unnatural to keep you here, as you are, while I grow up and get to change, wouldn't it?
Oh child born if death, you do not understand. It's okay.
*he was about to reach forward to touch Wil's hair, but then noticed his gored hands and decided to keep them to himself.*
just know that you have to be okay with letting go.
They hold onto me even though it chokes me.
*he winces as a strip of skin peeled back from his knuckles. Turning away once more, he scratches at his hands angrily*
I want to understand. That's all I ever try and do!
*Wil voice hitched with frustration. It brought it back down. It wasn't truly mad at him.*
And this... wouldn't help? Showing them that you are destroying yourself just to feel something, just to stay in the present moment, before you go insane? I-I wouldn't want that for you.
They'll just say I can get better. They'd rather me go MAD. THAN DIE!
*he rolls over to get up, standing on shaky legs*
I simply ask for the chance, ONE DAY! But no, they'd rather me lose my MIND THAN DIE PEACEFULLY!
*Wil eyed him up and down from their neat little position on the ground.*
I talk to them. We're very alike. If I could come around to see reason, surely they can.
Yeah sure, they'll see reason when I'm FUCKING DEAD!
I'M-
*in that moment he collapsed, leaning against the wall as his mind was taken over by another siezing memory.*
*but only moments later he growled, the moment he could move from the spell he whipped around and punched the wall*
TIRED OF THIS!
Aamon...
*Wil got up, pushing to its feet using its cane, and reached out to touch him on the elbow lightly.*
I will find a way. More than just a brother, you are my patron. It's my responsibility.
Dont.
*he pulls away.*
*he looked down at it... and only saw a mirror of himself. Young, naive, looking to be everything they should be. Always looking up, forgetting to look down at the scars on their own two bleeding hands. Trying to know more, be better, get stronger.*
*he snapped*
That virtue will get you killed. Just like mine did me.
I had responsibility, I had people to take care of, I was the overseer! I was a priest betrayed by my OWN GOD!
You are a CHILD! Don't make the same mistakes I did and devote yourself to one thing. Responsibility? Patrons? I am neither.
Do not treat me as such. I want nothing to do with the SCRAPS of the god Pharaoh once was made into this patchwork SHITSHOW!
*Wil held his gaze.*
But you're not dead yet. That's the problem. For you, anyway. It might just work out in my favor.
*If he didn't want to be comforted, then Wil would turn around. Pace about. Start thinking.*
They've done something like this before. It was with a patron named Yves. Hm... but no. The issue with that is we could technically retrieve him from the Dark World at any time. This is different, a permanent solution. What could possibly convince them to go with that...?
*he stared at it. Then with a frustrated scream turned and merged back in with the shadows, form dissipating.*
*he wasn't gone perse, but he was no longer there to be seen.*
*Wil snapped its head up at him. It balled its fists up and stomped over.*
Well what do you want! I'm trying to help you! Dad might not understand that you want to die, but I do. Figure it out yourself, by all means, since that went so well last time! Just... Gah!!
*It kicked the shadowy wall, in a way he taught it. Wil hoped it hurt.*
leave me be. If you want to help by talking? Then talk to them.
I'm in no position to argue.
*he sounded miserable, watching it punch the wall with a frown *
I will.
*Wil put its back to the wall and slid to the ground. Drew its knees up to its chest.*
[Blinded (by an ending). I want to make sure you are alright (first).]
*there's a long silence, minutes pass that feel like hours before Aamon quietly pipes up again*
You worry me because you remind me of myself you know.
The same mistakes being made.
*Wil shakes its head a little.*
What's so wrong with what I'm trying to do? You need help, Aamon. I'm the only one who can do it. And if I don't, then...
[You stay.]
[Forever.]
Just...
...
Treat me as your brother. Not your patron.
Okay?
[...]
*Wil shook its head again.*
I can't.
*It got up on shaky legs. Paced between the wall and the exit.*
Don't you get it? I can only help you if you are one of my patrons. I can do anything for them. I understand that doing the hard thing, the necessary thing, is vital for my function as the Waylay. I have a job to do.
*Wil brushed a hand back through its hair. Again. Then again. Its face was turning red.*
But I don't want to let my family go. I'm just the same as dad. If I were only Wil, able to treat you as my brother, th-then—I'm sorry!
*It burst into tears. A horrible choking sob. Hand clasped over its mouth and crimson eyes wide.*
The cage you're in is one you built yourself.
I do not want to be your patron. If you can't help me then, so be it. I am your brother, and mentor I suppose.
I am sorry. I won't allow it.
*Wil came to its knees before his wall. It wiped tears back with its hands, struggling to talk through the cries.*
I-If it's so easy for y-you to j-j-just do the right thing, why d-don't you come out of the shadows and P-PUNISH ME FOR MY WEAKNESS!
*It couldn't control its shout.*
[Sparks inside its wiring.]
*there was a sigh*
*with a click of his cane he did step out of the shadows, hazy form materializing from inky black*
*though instead of hitting it or walking away, he crouched down, and very deliberately picked it up off the ground.*
Because it's not easy, and you aren't weak, and I'm tired.
*Somehow, seeing its brother's remitting face only made Wil wail louder. It was embarrassed. But it couldn't see to find the strength to stop. It could only push its hands against its wet, reddened cheeks, over and over again to quell the tears.*
I-I'm sorry. I love you t-too much. I c-c-can't do this if you're my family. I want to help you, I-I want...
[I want you (to be happy)]
I know, I know.
*He walks across the room to pull up a chair, still holding Wil close as he sits down. His knees would thank him later*
There's no shame in not being able to do everything. There are others I can go to, loopholes to find. But as your older brother, I am not your responsibility.
Though do not fret, you haven't failed. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge what little light you've given me to look forward to. You're one of few reasons I want to stay any longer than I have so far.
*Wil curled up in his lap, whining and sniffling.*
I cast the darkness from your body, and I-I've already learned so m-much from you. There a-are still so many things I w-want to do. I'm sorry. I'm tr-trying to close my heart.
*It turned its face into his chest. Hot tears soaked through the shirt.*
no, no. Don't do that.
Heart is good, even when it's misguided or aches to put it away means to put away the good too.
You're doing plenty fine. You have plenty of time to figure things out, this isn't something that should be on your plate though.
*Wil nodded, vainly trying to clean it's face again.*
O-Okay.
... It's going to really hurt when you finally go.
*It made a noise, pained but likely meant to be a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle.*
I bet you weren't like me in this way when you were my age. You're too powerful for that.
What makes you say that?
*he rests his chin on its head, smiling idly*
I cried plenty when I was your age, I'd find a wounded bird or step on a butterfly and burst into tears if I couldn't help it.
I cried earlier.
Though clearly if I'm still seen as powerful I'm doing something right.
[Your chin is pointy.]
[I suppose I do (not) mind.]
*Wil released a fluttering sigh. Leaned closer to Aamon's chest. His heart was still beating, for now.*
Perhaps there is hope for me after all. If you can be powerful... then I might be, too.
[...]
This is how I'll remember you after you go.
I like that.
I can teach you my mysterious ways, then I'll never truly be gone even when I am.
*he chuckles at his own wording the vibration of his laugh warm in his chest*
It'll be alright. I think I can promise that.
Mhm. It'll be alright.
*If they could just breathe like this, prolong his true death even a little longer...*
*No. Wil promised to respect his wishes. It may not be able to help the way he wants. But neither would it stand in his way.*
It might be a bit before I can properly add more to your training, I have to figure a few things out.
That doesn't mean you can slack though, alright?
*he felt... a little lighter than he did before. At least enough to change the topic and tease Wil*
I won't. I promise.
*Serious as ever.*
So... you are staying for a little while longer? Until you can "figure things out"?
yes. Plus I need to... Talk to Daisy about my hands.
It will be a long while before death takes me, I think I can be sure of that too
Hmph. So what I'm hearing is that you had me in hysterics over nothing.
*Tears dried on its face, Wil pushed off to stand again. It took a deep breath.*
There will be plenty of time to prepare, then. We'll complete my training. We'll give you a proper send off. And then... we'll say goodbye.
of course.
*he also stands up, lightly ruffling its hair*
Though I'm sure I have plenty of chances to send you into hysterics.
*Wilhelmina glared upwards at the mussed up hair, immediately smoothing it back down.*
Please don't. It's unbecoming of me.
How terrible of me
*he smirks*
Now get on outta here, I'm going to talk to Daisy, aight?
*Aamon did not meet Wil for training at the usual time. He wasn't around lingering in his usual spots in the waylay.*
*his room was left slightly ajar, though empty, left a concerning sight*
*his desk chair was toppled over, ink spilled across the normally tidy desk. There was a dent in the wall, and below it a journal now laying awkwardly half open. Several holes punched in the walls, he must have injured his hands doing so because there was blood on the walls and dripped on the floor *
@stolen-feather-and-time
*Wilhelm padded through carefully, observing everything. The blood on the damaged walls was an uncomfortably visceral sight for it. So it turned its attention to the journal. It picked it up, turned it over, and began reading.*
[There are no secrets to the (Waylay).]
*poetry, short stories, daily thoughts, starting only a few days after he woke up from the coma. Some were sadder than others, agonized ramblings about death. Memories of Lillith written in detail, the occasional sketch. Many of them were lonely and clearly showed how scattered he had been*
*some of the happier ones that came later seemed to do with Wil or Daisy. Conversations he has with her, and questions he has about medical things she does or advice from her about how to handle his seizures. There are notes on sword techniques and his idle thoughts on Wil's progress and form, things he wants to teach it, things it did he thought were funny or interesting.*
*the writing got neater and more organized the further into the book it read, some of his personal thoughts even seemed to become just a tad lighter as he mused on things like birds and science*
*that is until the more recent pagest, dotted with dried blood and smeared tear stained ink*
*in a new ink though, is a response from The Manager.*
*that page is soaked in tears and blood, partially torn at the end and wrinkled from when it presumably hit the wall after being thrown. There are no more entries after that*
*This was confusing. Wil understood his frustration, sure. But fear?*
*Wil had echoed these same sentiments itself to and about others. It never meant to inspire fear from them. The Waylay loved them. The Manager loved him. If someone was afraid in this situation, surely it must be some kind of mistake.*
*A [(mis)understanding]. That's clearly all it was. Wil would find one. Or the other. Or both. They would talk through this and get to the bottom of it.*
*It scanned the room. Was there anything else useful Aamon left behind? Or to indicate where he was now?*
*there was a torn note scribbled on a lose piece of paper on the desk, nearly unreadable due to spilled ink and the fact that it was partially scratched out and ripped. Putting it together though was a short list of places he seemed to be contemplating in hiding.*
Daisy?
Outside
Walls?
*The last bullet point is covered in ink and unreadable*
*Outside felt unlikely. Wil was just there for training. Unless it somehow missed him?*
*Daisy obviously wasn't the right option. The walls... weren't impossible. But Wil badly did not want to trust the Autopilot to not catch it inside itself again.*
*What secret other choice was there? The infirnary, the fields, the walls...*
*Wil would soon find out. It followed the blood trail, as far as it would go.*
*the blood trail ended at a wall. Which at first seemed normal until it was touched, revealing an illusion that there was actually a door behind it. There wasn't a handle on it though.*
*Wil glanced back and forth. It was in an otherwise empty hallway. Great. So if the Autopilot did grab it, there was no one to hear it scream.*
*Could it really leave Aamon in there, though?*
*Its hands smoothed down its dress. Righted the ribbon on its collarbone. Taking a deep breath, Wil only barely didn't close its eyes and stepped through the wall.*
*and then promptly smacked face first into a very physical very closed wooden door.*
*the blank wall is an illusion to hide a regular door that is missing its handle. The door is closed. The door is real, the illusion is not.*
Gah!
*Wil stumbled back, rubbing its nose. It smacked the door out of reflexive frustration.*
Asshole!
*at least now the illusion seemed to fade more to allow the door to be seen more clearly*
*smacking it seemed to have jostled something because there was a click and it opened inward a crack.*
*That made Wil pause. It was surprised it didn't even have to get its tools out. Cautiously, it pushed the door farther open and peered inside.*
*the illusion and lock on the door was shotty work, though Aamon was only hiding from one specific person. He wasn't expecting anybody else to come looking for him.*
*The room was dark, though with the light of outside filtering in illuminated a mess. Aamon was on the floor shaking, something clutched in his bloodied hands. His knuckles were bleeding, no doubt from punching the walls earlier. His hair had come undone and was splayed around him.*
*he was shaking and crying, not acknowledging Wil's presence at all as he worsened the wounds across his hands by scratching at the cuts and raw skin. Pulling the flesh apart further and digging long nails into it*
*One, two, click.*
*The warmth of the lighter flickered across Wil's face, though it was lost on Aamon's dark hair and blood. Wil didn't dare take a step closer until it talked to him first.*
Aamon, I'm here now. I didn't mean to intrude. But I thought you might be in trouble. Are you going to attack me if I come to you?
*his glossy eyes reflected the dim flame. He didn't verbally respond, but he did shake his head, shifting to look away from Wil*
*he didn't want it to see him like this, but his head hurt too bad to move any more than rollinh over. Still scratching his hands bloody. Nothing mattered in life if there wasn't death to eventually follow, right?*
*his mind wandered and spiralled and distracted him once more, thought disorganized and scattered despite his best attempts to control the train of thought.*
*Wilhelm kneeled next to him. It folded its hands in its lap. Messenger bag slumped to the ground against its side.*
I really liked training with you. I was disappointed to not see you out today. A little warning might have been nice, but... clearly the situation has changed.
*It felt awkward. But this had to be said.*
I really hope I get to train with you sometime again. And you hope that...?
*Wil left the prompt open for him.*
I...
Yes.
I just-
*he stopped, looking at his bleeding hands.*
Life feels meaningless without death. I do not want to have to go insane before I'm allowed to finally rest.
*Wil nodded in concurrence. It scooted closer, feeling safer now.*
That is entirely fair. I want the same for you. So... am I really so selfish that I also want you to be able to stay?
Yes.
*he looks over to glare, but then he actually sees Wil and falters*
But you have yet to know me. The Manager has known me millenia.
I... I don't mean to hurt you. I don't think they do, either. We love you a lot, and I'd like the chance to get to know you for many millennia more.
*Wil paused.*
That said, it was you who told me to worry about being my own person. Try being a kid. It would be just as wrong and unnatural to keep you here, as you are, while I grow up and get to change, wouldn't it?
Oh child born if death, you do not understand. It's okay.
*he was about to reach forward to touch Wil's hair, but then noticed his gored hands and decided to keep them to himself.*
just know that you have to be okay with letting go.
They hold onto me even though it chokes me.
*he winces as a strip of skin peeled back from his knuckles. Turning away once more, he scratches at his hands angrily*
I want to understand. That's all I ever try and do!
*Wil voice hitched with frustration. It brought it back down. It wasn't truly mad at him.*
And this... wouldn't help? Showing them that you are destroying yourself just to feel something, just to stay in the present moment, before you go insane? I-I wouldn't want that for you.
They'll just say I can get better. They'd rather me go MAD. THAN DIE!
*he rolls over to get up, standing on shaky legs*
I simply ask for the chance, ONE DAY! But no, they'd rather me lose my MIND THAN DIE PEACEFULLY!
*Wil eyed him up and down from their neat little position on the ground.*
I talk to them. We're very alike. If I could come around to see reason, surely they can.
Yeah sure, they'll see reason when I'm FUCKING DEAD!
I'M-
*in that moment he collapsed, leaning against the wall as his mind was taken over by another siezing memory.*
*but only moments later he growled, the moment he could move from the spell he whipped around and punched the wall*
TIRED OF THIS!
Aamon...
*Wil got up, pushing to its feet using its cane, and reached out to touch him on the elbow lightly.*
I will find a way. More than just a brother, you are my patron. It's my responsibility.
Dont.
*he pulls away.*
*he looked down at it... and only saw a mirror of himself. Young, naive, looking to be everything they should be. Always looking up, forgetting to look down at the scars on their own two bleeding hands. Trying to know more, be better, get stronger.*
*he snapped*
That virtue will get you killed. Just like mine did me.
I had responsibility, I had people to take care of, I was the overseer! I was a priest betrayed by my OWN GOD!
You are a CHILD! Don't make the same mistakes I did and devote yourself to one thing. Responsibility? Patrons? I am neither.
Do not treat me as such. I want nothing to do with the SCRAPS of the god Pharaoh once was made into this patchwork SHITSHOW!
*Wil held his gaze.*
But you're not dead yet. That's the problem. For you, anyway. It might just work out in my favor.
*If he didn't want to be comforted, then Wil would turn around. Pace about. Start thinking.*
They've done something like this before. It was with a patron named Yves. Hm... but no. The issue with that is we could technically retrieve him from the Dark World at any time. This is different, a permanent solution. What could possibly convince them to go with that...?
*he stared at it. Then with a frustrated scream turned and merged back in with the shadows, form dissipating.*
*he wasn't gone perse, but he was no longer there to be seen.*
*Wil snapped its head up at him. It balled its fists up and stomped over.*
Well what do you want! I'm trying to help you! Dad might not understand that you want to die, but I do. Figure it out yourself, by all means, since that went so well last time! Just... Gah!!
*It kicked the shadowy wall, in a way he taught it. Wil hoped it hurt.*
leave me be. If you want to help by talking? Then talk to them.
I'm in no position to argue.
*he sounded miserable, watching it punch the wall with a frown *
I will.
*Wil put its back to the wall and slid to the ground. Drew its knees up to its chest.*
[Blinded (by an ending). I want to make sure you are alright (first).]
*there's a long silence, minutes pass that feel like hours before Aamon quietly pipes up again*
You worry me because you remind me of myself you know.
The same mistakes being made.
*Wil shakes its head a little.*
What's so wrong with what I'm trying to do? You need help, Aamon. I'm the only one who can do it. And if I don't, then...
[You stay.]
[Forever.]
Just...
...
Treat me as your brother. Not your patron.
Okay?
[...]
*Wil shook its head again.*
I can't.
*It got up on shaky legs. Paced between the wall and the exit.*
Don't you get it? I can only help you if you are one of my patrons. I can do anything for them. I understand that doing the hard thing, the necessary thing, is vital for my function as the Waylay. I have a job to do.
*Wil brushed a hand back through its hair. Again. Then again. Its face was turning red.*
But I don't want to let my family go. I'm just the same as dad. If I were only Wil, able to treat you as my brother, th-then—I'm sorry!
*It burst into tears. A horrible choking sob. Hand clasped over its mouth and crimson eyes wide.*
The cage you're in is one you built yourself.
I do not want to be your patron. If you can't help me then, so be it. I am your brother, and mentor I suppose.
I am sorry. I won't allow it.
*Wil came to its knees before his wall. It wiped tears back with its hands, struggling to talk through the cries.*
I-If it's so easy for y-you to j-j-just do the right thing, why d-don't you come out of the shadows and P-PUNISH ME FOR MY WEAKNESS!
*It couldn't control its shout.*
[Sparks inside its wiring.]
*there was a sigh*
*with a click of his cane he did step out of the shadows, hazy form materializing from inky black*
*though instead of hitting it or walking away, he crouched down, and very deliberately picked it up off the ground.*
Because it's not easy, and you aren't weak, and I'm tired.
*Somehow, seeing its brother's remitting face only made Wil wail louder. It was embarrassed. But it couldn't see to find the strength to stop. It could only push its hands against its wet, reddened cheeks, over and over again to quell the tears.*
I-I'm sorry. I love you t-too much. I c-c-can't do this if you're my family. I want to help you, I-I want...
[I want you (to be happy)]
I know, I know.
*He walks across the room to pull up a chair, still holding Wil close as he sits down. His knees would thank him later*
There's no shame in not being able to do everything. There are others I can go to, loopholes to find. But as your older brother, I am not your responsibility.
Though do not fret, you haven't failed. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge what little light you've given me to look forward to. You're one of few reasons I want to stay any longer than I have so far.
*Wil curled up in his lap, whining and sniffling.*
I cast the darkness from your body, and I-I've already learned so m-much from you. There a-are still so many things I w-want to do. I'm sorry. I'm tr-trying to close my heart.
*It turned its face into his chest. Hot tears soaked through the shirt.*
no, no. Don't do that.
Heart is good, even when it's misguided or aches to put it away means to put away the good too.
You're doing plenty fine. You have plenty of time to figure things out, this isn't something that should be on your plate though.
*Wil nodded, vainly trying to clean it's face again.*
O-Okay.
... It's going to really hurt when you finally go.
*It made a noise, pained but likely meant to be a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle.*
I bet you weren't like me in this way when you were my age. You're too powerful for that.
What makes you say that?
*he rests his chin on its head, smiling idly*
I cried plenty when I was your age, I'd find a wounded bird or step on a butterfly and burst into tears if I couldn't help it.
I cried earlier.
Though clearly if I'm still seen as powerful I'm doing something right.
[Your chin is pointy.]
[I suppose I do (not) mind.]
*Wil released a fluttering sigh. Leaned closer to Aamon's chest. His heart was still beating, for now.*
Perhaps there is hope for me after all. If you can be powerful... then I might be, too.
[...]
This is how I'll remember you after you go.
I like that.
I can teach you my mysterious ways, then I'll never truly be gone even when I am.
*he chuckles at his own wording the vibration of his laugh warm in his chest*
It'll be alright. I think I can promise that.
Mhm. It'll be alright.
*If they could just breathe like this, prolong his true death even a little longer...*
*No. Wil promised to respect his wishes. It may not be able to help the way he wants. But neither would it stand in his way.*
It might be a bit before I can properly add more to your training, I have to figure a few things out.
That doesn't mean you can slack though, alright?
*he felt... a little lighter than he did before. At least enough to change the topic and tease Wil*
I won't. I promise.
*Serious as ever.*
So... you are staying for a little while longer? Until you can "figure things out"?
yes. Plus I need to... Talk to Daisy about my hands.
It will be a long while before death takes me, I think I can be sure of that too
Hmph. So what I'm hearing is that you had me in hysterics over nothing.
*Tears dried on its face, Wil pushed off to stand again. It took a deep breath.*
There will be plenty of time to prepare, then. We'll complete my training. We'll give you a proper send off. And then... we'll say goodbye.
of course.
*he also stands up, lightly ruffling its hair*
Though I'm sure I have plenty of chances to send you into hysterics.
*Aamon did not meet Wil for training at the usual time. He wasn't around lingering in his usual spots in the waylay.*
*his room was left slightly ajar, though empty, left a concerning sight*
*his desk chair was toppled over, ink spilled across the normally tidy desk. There was a dent in the wall, and below it a journal now laying awkwardly half open. Several holes punched in the walls, he must have injured his hands doing so because there was blood on the walls and dripped on the floor *
@stolen-feather-and-time
*Wilhelm padded through carefully, observing everything. The blood on the damaged walls was an uncomfortably visceral sight for it. So it turned its attention to the journal. It picked it up, turned it over, and began reading.*
[There are no secrets to the (Waylay).]
*poetry, short stories, daily thoughts, starting only a few days after he woke up from the coma. Some were sadder than others, agonized ramblings about death. Memories of Lillith written in detail, the occasional sketch. Many of them were lonely and clearly showed how scattered he had been*
*some of the happier ones that came later seemed to do with Wil or Daisy. Conversations he has with her, and questions he has about medical things she does or advice from her about how to handle his seizures. There are notes on sword techniques and his idle thoughts on Wil's progress and form, things he wants to teach it, things it did he thought were funny or interesting.*
*the writing got neater and more organized the further into the book it read, some of his personal thoughts even seemed to become just a tad lighter as he mused on things like birds and science*
*that is until the more recent pagest, dotted with dried blood and smeared tear stained ink*
*in a new ink though, is a response from The Manager.*
*that page is soaked in tears and blood, partially torn at the end and wrinkled from when it presumably hit the wall after being thrown. There are no more entries after that*
*This was confusing. Wil understood his frustration, sure. But fear?*
*Wil had echoed these same sentiments itself to and about others. It never meant to inspire fear from them. The Waylay loved them. The Manager loved him. If someone was afraid in this situation, surely it must be some kind of mistake.*
*A [(mis)understanding]. That's clearly all it was. Wil would find one. Or the other. Or both. They would talk through this and get to the bottom of it.*
*It scanned the room. Was there anything else useful Aamon left behind? Or to indicate where he was now?*
*there was a torn note scribbled on a lose piece of paper on the desk, nearly unreadable due to spilled ink and the fact that it was partially scratched out and ripped. Putting it together though was a short list of places he seemed to be contemplating in hiding.*
Daisy?
Outside
Walls?
*The last bullet point is covered in ink and unreadable*
*Outside felt unlikely. Wil was just there for training. Unless it somehow missed him?*
*Daisy obviously wasn't the right option. The walls... weren't impossible. But Wil badly did not want to trust the Autopilot to not catch it inside itself again.*
*What secret other choice was there? The infirnary, the fields, the walls...*
*Wil would soon find out. It followed the blood trail, as far as it would go.*
*the blood trail ended at a wall. Which at first seemed normal until it was touched, revealing an illusion that there was actually a door behind it. There wasn't a handle on it though.*
*Wil glanced back and forth. It was in an otherwise empty hallway. Great. So if the Autopilot did grab it, there was no one to hear it scream.*
*Could it really leave Aamon in there, though?*
*Its hands smoothed down its dress. Righted the ribbon on its collarbone. Taking a deep breath, Wil only barely didn't close its eyes and stepped through the wall.*
*and then promptly smacked face first into a very physical very closed wooden door.*
*the blank wall is an illusion to hide a regular door that is missing its handle. The door is closed. The door is real, the illusion is not.*
Gah!
*Wil stumbled back, rubbing its nose. It smacked the door out of reflexive frustration.*
Asshole!
*at least now the illusion seemed to fade more to allow the door to be seen more clearly*
*smacking it seemed to have jostled something because there was a click and it opened inward a crack.*
*That made Wil pause. It was surprised it didn't even have to get its tools out. Cautiously, it pushed the door farther open and peered inside.*
*the illusion and lock on the door was shotty work, though Aamon was only hiding from one specific person. He wasn't expecting anybody else to come looking for him.*
*The room was dark, though with the light of outside filtering in illuminated a mess. Aamon was on the floor shaking, something clutched in his bloodied hands. His knuckles were bleeding, no doubt from punching the walls earlier. His hair had come undone and was splayed around him.*
*he was shaking and crying, not acknowledging Wil's presence at all as he worsened the wounds across his hands by scratching at the cuts and raw skin. Pulling the flesh apart further and digging long nails into it*
*One, two, click.*
*The warmth of the lighter flickered across Wil's face, though it was lost on Aamon's dark hair and blood. Wil didn't dare take a step closer until it talked to him first.*
Aamon, I'm here now. I didn't mean to intrude. But I thought you might be in trouble. Are you going to attack me if I come to you?
*his glossy eyes reflected the dim flame. He didn't verbally respond, but he did shake his head, shifting to look away from Wil*
*he didn't want it to see him like this, but his head hurt too bad to move any more than rollinh over. Still scratching his hands bloody. Nothing mattered in life if there wasn't death to eventually follow, right?*
*his mind wandered and spiralled and distracted him once more, thought disorganized and scattered despite his best attempts to control the train of thought.*
*Wilhelm kneeled next to him. It folded its hands in its lap. Messenger bag slumped to the ground against its side.*
I really liked training with you. I was disappointed to not see you out today. A little warning might have been nice, but... clearly the situation has changed.
*It felt awkward. But this had to be said.*
I really hope I get to train with you sometime again. And you hope that...?
*Wil left the prompt open for him.*
I...
Yes.
I just-
*he stopped, looking at his bleeding hands.*
Life feels meaningless without death. I do not want to have to go insane before I'm allowed to finally rest.
*Wil nodded in concurrence. It scooted closer, feeling safer now.*
That is entirely fair. I want the same for you. So... am I really so selfish that I also want you to be able to stay?
Yes.
*he looks over to glare, but then he actually sees Wil and falters*
But you have yet to know me. The Manager has known me millenia.
I... I don't mean to hurt you. I don't think they do, either. We love you a lot, and I'd like the chance to get to know you for many millennia more.
*Wil paused.*
That said, it was you who told me to worry about being my own person. Try being a kid. It would be just as wrong and unnatural to keep you here, as you are, while I grow up and get to change, wouldn't it?
Oh child born if death, you do not understand. It's okay.
*he was about to reach forward to touch Wil's hair, but then noticed his gored hands and decided to keep them to himself.*
just know that you have to be okay with letting go.
They hold onto me even though it chokes me.
*he winces as a strip of skin peeled back from his knuckles. Turning away once more, he scratches at his hands angrily*
I want to understand. That's all I ever try and do!
*Wil voice hitched with frustration. It brought it back down. It wasn't truly mad at him.*
And this... wouldn't help? Showing them that you are destroying yourself just to feel something, just to stay in the present moment, before you go insane? I-I wouldn't want that for you.
They'll just say I can get better. They'd rather me go MAD. THAN DIE!
*he rolls over to get up, standing on shaky legs*
I simply ask for the chance, ONE DAY! But no, they'd rather me lose my MIND THAN DIE PEACEFULLY!
*Wil eyed him up and down from their neat little position on the ground.*
I talk to them. We're very alike. If I could come around to see reason, surely they can.
Yeah sure, they'll see reason when I'm FUCKING DEAD!
I'M-
*in that moment he collapsed, leaning against the wall as his mind was taken over by another siezing memory.*
*but only moments later he growled, the moment he could move from the spell he whipped around and punched the wall*
TIRED OF THIS!
Aamon...
*Wil got up, pushing to its feet using its cane, and reached out to touch him on the elbow lightly.*
I will find a way. More than just a brother, you are my patron. It's my responsibility.
Dont.
*he pulls away.*
*he looked down at it... and only saw a mirror of himself. Young, naive, looking to be everything they should be. Always looking up, forgetting to look down at the scars on their own two bleeding hands. Trying to know more, be better, get stronger.*
*he snapped*
That virtue will get you killed. Just like mine did me.
I had responsibility, I had people to take care of, I was the overseer! I was a priest betrayed by my OWN GOD!
You are a CHILD! Don't make the same mistakes I did and devote yourself to one thing. Responsibility? Patrons? I am neither.
Do not treat me as such. I want nothing to do with the SCRAPS of the god Pharaoh once was made into this patchwork SHITSHOW!
*Wil held his gaze.*
But you're not dead yet. That's the problem. For you, anyway. It might just work out in my favor.
*If he didn't want to be comforted, then Wil would turn around. Pace about. Start thinking.*
They've done something like this before. It was with a patron named Yves. Hm... but no. The issue with that is we could technically retrieve him from the Dark World at any time. This is different, a permanent solution. What could possibly convince them to go with that...?
*he stared at it. Then with a frustrated scream turned and merged back in with the shadows, form dissipating.*
*he wasn't gone perse, but he was no longer there to be seen.*
*Wil snapped its head up at him. It balled its fists up and stomped over.*
Well what do you want! I'm trying to help you! Dad might not understand that you want to die, but I do. Figure it out yourself, by all means, since that went so well last time! Just... Gah!!
*It kicked the shadowy wall, in a way he taught it. Wil hoped it hurt.*
leave me be. If you want to help by talking? Then talk to them.
I'm in no position to argue.
*he sounded miserable, watching it punch the wall with a frown *
I will.
*Wil put its back to the wall and slid to the ground. Drew its knees up to its chest.*
[Blinded (by an ending). I want to make sure you are alright (first).]
*there's a long silence, minutes pass that feel like hours before Aamon quietly pipes up again*
You worry me because you remind me of myself you know.
The same mistakes being made.
*Wil shakes its head a little.*
What's so wrong with what I'm trying to do? You need help, Aamon. I'm the only one who can do it. And if I don't, then...
[You stay.]
[Forever.]
Just...
...
Treat me as your brother. Not your patron.
Okay?
[...]
*Wil shook its head again.*
I can't.
*It got up on shaky legs. Paced between the wall and the exit.*
Don't you get it? I can only help you if you are one of my patrons. I can do anything for them. I understand that doing the hard thing, the necessary thing, is vital for my function as the Waylay. I have a job to do.
*Wil brushed a hand back through its hair. Again. Then again. Its face was turning red.*
But I don't want to let my family go. I'm just the same as dad. If I were only Wil, able to treat you as my brother, th-then—I'm sorry!
*It burst into tears. A horrible choking sob. Hand clasped over its mouth and crimson eyes wide.*
The cage you're in is one you built yourself.
I do not want to be your patron. If you can't help me then, so be it. I am your brother, and mentor I suppose.
I am sorry. I won't allow it.
*Wil came to its knees before his wall. It wiped tears back with its hands, struggling to talk through the cries.*
I-If it's so easy for y-you to j-j-just do the right thing, why d-don't you come out of the shadows and P-PUNISH ME FOR MY WEAKNESS!
*It couldn't control its shout.*
[Sparks inside its wiring.]
*there was a sigh*
*with a click of his cane he did step out of the shadows, hazy form materializing from inky black*
*though instead of hitting it or walking away, he crouched down, and very deliberately picked it up off the ground.*
Because it's not easy, and you aren't weak, and I'm tired.
*Somehow, seeing its brother's remitting face only made Wil wail louder. It was embarrassed. But it couldn't see to find the strength to stop. It could only push its hands against its wet, reddened cheeks, over and over again to quell the tears.*
I-I'm sorry. I love you t-too much. I c-c-can't do this if you're my family. I want to help you, I-I want...
[I want you (to be happy)]
I know, I know.
*He walks across the room to pull up a chair, still holding Wil close as he sits down. His knees would thank him later*
There's no shame in not being able to do everything. There are others I can go to, loopholes to find. But as your older brother, I am not your responsibility.
Though do not fret, you haven't failed. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge what little light you've given me to look forward to. You're one of few reasons I want to stay any longer than I have so far.
*Wil curled up in his lap, whining and sniffling.*
I cast the darkness from your body, and I-I've already learned so m-much from you. There a-are still so many things I w-want to do. I'm sorry. I'm tr-trying to close my heart.
*It turned its face into his chest. Hot tears soaked through the shirt.*
no, no. Don't do that.
Heart is good, even when it's misguided or aches to put it away means to put away the good too.
You're doing plenty fine. You have plenty of time to figure things out, this isn't something that should be on your plate though.
*Wil nodded, vainly trying to clean it's face again.*
O-Okay.
... It's going to really hurt when you finally go.
*It made a noise, pained but likely meant to be a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle.*
I bet you weren't like me in this way when you were my age. You're too powerful for that.
What makes you say that?
*he rests his chin on its head, smiling idly*
I cried plenty when I was your age, I'd find a wounded bird or step on a butterfly and burst into tears if I couldn't help it.
I cried earlier.
Though clearly if I'm still seen as powerful I'm doing something right.
[Your chin is pointy.]
[I suppose I do (not) mind.]
*Wil released a fluttering sigh. Leaned closer to Aamon's chest. His heart was still beating, for now.*
Perhaps there is hope for me after all. If you can be powerful... then I might be, too.
[...]
This is how I'll remember you after you go.
I like that.
I can teach you my mysterious ways, then I'll never truly be gone even when I am.
*he chuckles at his own wording the vibration of his laugh warm in his chest*
It'll be alright. I think I can promise that.
Mhm. It'll be alright.
*If they could just breathe like this, prolong his true death even a little longer...*
*No. Wil promised to respect his wishes. It may not be able to help the way he wants. But neither would it stand in his way.*
It might be a bit before I can properly add more to your training, I have to figure a few things out.
That doesn't mean you can slack though, alright?
*he felt... a little lighter than he did before. At least enough to change the topic and tease Wil*
I won't. I promise.
*Serious as ever.*
So... you are staying for a little while longer? Until you can "figure things out"?
yes. Plus I need to... Talk to Daisy about my hands.
It will be a long while before death takes me, I think I can be sure of that too
*Aamon did not meet Wil for training at the usual time. He wasn't around lingering in his usual spots in the waylay.*
*his room was left slightly ajar, though empty, left a concerning sight*
*his desk chair was toppled over, ink spilled across the normally tidy desk. There was a dent in the wall, and below it a journal now laying awkwardly half open. Several holes punched in the walls, he must have injured his hands doing so because there was blood on the walls and dripped on the floor *
@stolen-feather-and-time
*Wilhelm padded through carefully, observing everything. The blood on the damaged walls was an uncomfortably visceral sight for it. So it turned its attention to the journal. It picked it up, turned it over, and began reading.*
[There are no secrets to the (Waylay).]
*poetry, short stories, daily thoughts, starting only a few days after he woke up from the coma. Some were sadder than others, agonized ramblings about death. Memories of Lillith written in detail, the occasional sketch. Many of them were lonely and clearly showed how scattered he had been*
*some of the happier ones that came later seemed to do with Wil or Daisy. Conversations he has with her, and questions he has about medical things she does or advice from her about how to handle his seizures. There are notes on sword techniques and his idle thoughts on Wil's progress and form, things he wants to teach it, things it did he thought were funny or interesting.*
*the writing got neater and more organized the further into the book it read, some of his personal thoughts even seemed to become just a tad lighter as he mused on things like birds and science*
*that is until the more recent pagest, dotted with dried blood and smeared tear stained ink*
*in a new ink though, is a response from The Manager.*
*that page is soaked in tears and blood, partially torn at the end and wrinkled from when it presumably hit the wall after being thrown. There are no more entries after that*
*This was confusing. Wil understood his frustration, sure. But fear?*
*Wil had echoed these same sentiments itself to and about others. It never meant to inspire fear from them. The Waylay loved them. The Manager loved him. If someone was afraid in this situation, surely it must be some kind of mistake.*
*A [(mis)understanding]. That's clearly all it was. Wil would find one. Or the other. Or both. They would talk through this and get to the bottom of it.*
*It scanned the room. Was there anything else useful Aamon left behind? Or to indicate where he was now?*
*there was a torn note scribbled on a lose piece of paper on the desk, nearly unreadable due to spilled ink and the fact that it was partially scratched out and ripped. Putting it together though was a short list of places he seemed to be contemplating in hiding.*
Daisy?
Outside
Walls?
*The last bullet point is covered in ink and unreadable*
*Outside felt unlikely. Wil was just there for training. Unless it somehow missed him?*
*Daisy obviously wasn't the right option. The walls... weren't impossible. But Wil badly did not want to trust the Autopilot to not catch it inside itself again.*
*What secret other choice was there? The infirnary, the fields, the walls...*
*Wil would soon find out. It followed the blood trail, as far as it would go.*
*the blood trail ended at a wall. Which at first seemed normal until it was touched, revealing an illusion that there was actually a door behind it. There wasn't a handle on it though.*
*Wil glanced back and forth. It was in an otherwise empty hallway. Great. So if the Autopilot did grab it, there was no one to hear it scream.*
*Could it really leave Aamon in there, though?*
*Its hands smoothed down its dress. Righted the ribbon on its collarbone. Taking a deep breath, Wil only barely didn't close its eyes and stepped through the wall.*
*and then promptly smacked face first into a very physical very closed wooden door.*
*the blank wall is an illusion to hide a regular door that is missing its handle. The door is closed. The door is real, the illusion is not.*
Gah!
*Wil stumbled back, rubbing its nose. It smacked the door out of reflexive frustration.*
Asshole!
*at least now the illusion seemed to fade more to allow the door to be seen more clearly*
*smacking it seemed to have jostled something because there was a click and it opened inward a crack.*
*That made Wil pause. It was surprised it didn't even have to get its tools out. Cautiously, it pushed the door farther open and peered inside.*
*the illusion and lock on the door was shotty work, though Aamon was only hiding from one specific person. He wasn't expecting anybody else to come looking for him.*
*The room was dark, though with the light of outside filtering in illuminated a mess. Aamon was on the floor shaking, something clutched in his bloodied hands. His knuckles were bleeding, no doubt from punching the walls earlier. His hair had come undone and was splayed around him.*
*he was shaking and crying, not acknowledging Wil's presence at all as he worsened the wounds across his hands by scratching at the cuts and raw skin. Pulling the flesh apart further and digging long nails into it*
*One, two, click.*
*The warmth of the lighter flickered across Wil's face, though it was lost on Aamon's dark hair and blood. Wil didn't dare take a step closer until it talked to him first.*
Aamon, I'm here now. I didn't mean to intrude. But I thought you might be in trouble. Are you going to attack me if I come to you?
*his glossy eyes reflected the dim flame. He didn't verbally respond, but he did shake his head, shifting to look away from Wil*
*he didn't want it to see him like this, but his head hurt too bad to move any more than rollinh over. Still scratching his hands bloody. Nothing mattered in life if there wasn't death to eventually follow, right?*
*his mind wandered and spiralled and distracted him once more, thought disorganized and scattered despite his best attempts to control the train of thought.*
*Wilhelm kneeled next to him. It folded its hands in its lap. Messenger bag slumped to the ground against its side.*
I really liked training with you. I was disappointed to not see you out today. A little warning might have been nice, but... clearly the situation has changed.
*It felt awkward. But this had to be said.*
I really hope I get to train with you sometime again. And you hope that...?
*Wil left the prompt open for him.*
I...
Yes.
I just-
*he stopped, looking at his bleeding hands.*
Life feels meaningless without death. I do not want to have to go insane before I'm allowed to finally rest.
*Wil nodded in concurrence. It scooted closer, feeling safer now.*
That is entirely fair. I want the same for you. So... am I really so selfish that I also want you to be able to stay?
Yes.
*he looks over to glare, but then he actually sees Wil and falters*
But you have yet to know me. The Manager has known me millenia.
I... I don't mean to hurt you. I don't think they do, either. We love you a lot, and I'd like the chance to get to know you for many millennia more.
*Wil paused.*
That said, it was you who told me to worry about being my own person. Try being a kid. It would be just as wrong and unnatural to keep you here, as you are, while I grow up and get to change, wouldn't it?
Oh child born if death, you do not understand. It's okay.
*he was about to reach forward to touch Wil's hair, but then noticed his gored hands and decided to keep them to himself.*
just know that you have to be okay with letting go.
They hold onto me even though it chokes me.
*he winces as a strip of skin peeled back from his knuckles. Turning away once more, he scratches at his hands angrily*
I want to understand. That's all I ever try and do!
*Wil voice hitched with frustration. It brought it back down. It wasn't truly mad at him.*
And this... wouldn't help? Showing them that you are destroying yourself just to feel something, just to stay in the present moment, before you go insane? I-I wouldn't want that for you.
They'll just say I can get better. They'd rather me go MAD. THAN DIE!
*he rolls over to get up, standing on shaky legs*
I simply ask for the chance, ONE DAY! But no, they'd rather me lose my MIND THAN DIE PEACEFULLY!
*Wil eyed him up and down from their neat little position on the ground.*
I talk to them. We're very alike. If I could come around to see reason, surely they can.
Yeah sure, they'll see reason when I'm FUCKING DEAD!
I'M-
*in that moment he collapsed, leaning against the wall as his mind was taken over by another siezing memory.*
*but only moments later he growled, the moment he could move from the spell he whipped around and punched the wall*
TIRED OF THIS!
Aamon...
*Wil got up, pushing to its feet using its cane, and reached out to touch him on the elbow lightly.*
I will find a way. More than just a brother, you are my patron. It's my responsibility.
Dont.
*he pulls away.*
*he looked down at it... and only saw a mirror of himself. Young, naive, looking to be everything they should be. Always looking up, forgetting to look down at the scars on their own two bleeding hands. Trying to know more, be better, get stronger.*
*he snapped*
That virtue will get you killed. Just like mine did me.
I had responsibility, I had people to take care of, I was the overseer! I was a priest betrayed by my OWN GOD!
You are a CHILD! Don't make the same mistakes I did and devote yourself to one thing. Responsibility? Patrons? I am neither.
Do not treat me as such. I want nothing to do with the SCRAPS of the god Pharaoh once was made into this patchwork SHITSHOW!
*Wil held his gaze.*
But you're not dead yet. That's the problem. For you, anyway. It might just work out in my favor.
*If he didn't want to be comforted, then Wil would turn around. Pace about. Start thinking.*
They've done something like this before. It was with a patron named Yves. Hm... but no. The issue with that is we could technically retrieve him from the Dark World at any time. This is different, a permanent solution. What could possibly convince them to go with that...?
*he stared at it. Then with a frustrated scream turned and merged back in with the shadows, form dissipating.*
*he wasn't gone perse, but he was no longer there to be seen.*
*Wil snapped its head up at him. It balled its fists up and stomped over.*
Well what do you want! I'm trying to help you! Dad might not understand that you want to die, but I do. Figure it out yourself, by all means, since that went so well last time! Just... Gah!!
*It kicked the shadowy wall, in a way he taught it. Wil hoped it hurt.*
leave me be. If you want to help by talking? Then talk to them.
I'm in no position to argue.
*he sounded miserable, watching it punch the wall with a frown *
I will.
*Wil put its back to the wall and slid to the ground. Drew its knees up to its chest.*
[Blinded (by an ending). I want to make sure you are alright (first).]
*there's a long silence, minutes pass that feel like hours before Aamon quietly pipes up again*
You worry me because you remind me of myself you know.
The same mistakes being made.
*Wil shakes its head a little.*
What's so wrong with what I'm trying to do? You need help, Aamon. I'm the only one who can do it. And if I don't, then...
[You stay.]
[Forever.]
Just...
...
Treat me as your brother. Not your patron.
Okay?
[...]
*Wil shook its head again.*
I can't.
*It got up on shaky legs. Paced between the wall and the exit.*
Don't you get it? I can only help you if you are one of my patrons. I can do anything for them. I understand that doing the hard thing, the necessary thing, is vital for my function as the Waylay. I have a job to do.
*Wil brushed a hand back through its hair. Again. Then again. Its face was turning red.*
But I don't want to let my family go. I'm just the same as dad. If I were only Wil, able to treat you as my brother, th-then—I'm sorry!
*It burst into tears. A horrible choking sob. Hand clasped over its mouth and crimson eyes wide.*
The cage you're in is one you built yourself.
I do not want to be your patron. If you can't help me then, so be it. I am your brother, and mentor I suppose.
I am sorry. I won't allow it.
*Wil came to its knees before his wall. It wiped tears back with its hands, struggling to talk through the cries.*
I-If it's so easy for y-you to j-j-just do the right thing, why d-don't you come out of the shadows and P-PUNISH ME FOR MY WEAKNESS!
*It couldn't control its shout.*
[Sparks inside its wiring.]
*there was a sigh*
*with a click of his cane he did step out of the shadows, hazy form materializing from inky black*
*though instead of hitting it or walking away, he crouched down, and very deliberately picked it up off the ground.*
Because it's not easy, and you aren't weak, and I'm tired.
*Somehow, seeing its brother's remitting face only made Wil wail louder. It was embarrassed. But it couldn't see to find the strength to stop. It could only push its hands against its wet, reddened cheeks, over and over again to quell the tears.*
I-I'm sorry. I love you t-too much. I c-c-can't do this if you're my family. I want to help you, I-I want...
[I want you (to be happy)]
I know, I know.
*He walks across the room to pull up a chair, still holding Wil close as he sits down. His knees would thank him later*
There's no shame in not being able to do everything. There are others I can go to, loopholes to find. But as your older brother, I am not your responsibility.
Though do not fret, you haven't failed. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge what little light you've given me to look forward to. You're one of few reasons I want to stay any longer than I have so far.
*Wil curled up in his lap, whining and sniffling.*
I cast the darkness from your body, and I-I've already learned so m-much from you. There a-are still so many things I w-want to do. I'm sorry. I'm tr-trying to close my heart.
*It turned its face into his chest. Hot tears soaked through the shirt.*
no, no. Don't do that.
Heart is good, even when it's misguided or aches to put it away means to put away the good too.
You're doing plenty fine. You have plenty of time to figure things out, this isn't something that should be on your plate though.
*Wil nodded, vainly trying to clean it's face again.*
O-Okay.
... It's going to really hurt when you finally go.
*It made a noise, pained but likely meant to be a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle.*
I bet you weren't like me in this way when you were my age. You're too powerful for that.
What makes you say that?
*he rests his chin on its head, smiling idly*
I cried plenty when I was your age, I'd find a wounded bird or step on a butterfly and burst into tears if I couldn't help it.
I cried earlier.
Though clearly if I'm still seen as powerful I'm doing something right.
[Your chin is pointy.]
[I suppose I do (not) mind.]
*Wil released a fluttering sigh. Leaned closer to Aamon's chest. His heart was still beating, for now.*
Perhaps there is hope for me after all. If you can be powerful... then I might be, too.
[...]
This is how I'll remember you after you go.
I like that.
I can teach you my mysterious ways, then I'll never truly be gone even when I am.
*he chuckles at his own wording the vibration of his laugh warm in his chest*
It'll be alright. I think I can promise that.
Mhm. It'll be alright.
*If they could just breathe like this, prolong his true death even a little longer...*
*No. Wil promised to respect his wishes. It may not be able to help the way he wants. But neither would it stand in his way.*
It might be a bit before I can properly add more to your training, I have to figure a few things out.
That doesn't mean you can slack though, alright?
*he felt... a little lighter than he did before. At least enough to change the topic and tease Wil*
*Aamon did not meet Wil for training at the usual time. He wasn't around lingering in his usual spots in the waylay.*
*his room was left slightly ajar, though empty, left a concerning sight*
*his desk chair was toppled over, ink spilled across the normally tidy desk. There was a dent in the wall, and below it a journal now laying awkwardly half open. Several holes punched in the walls, he must have injured his hands doing so because there was blood on the walls and dripped on the floor *
@stolen-feather-and-time
*Wilhelm padded through carefully, observing everything. The blood on the damaged walls was an uncomfortably visceral sight for it. So it turned its attention to the journal. It picked it up, turned it over, and began reading.*
[There are no secrets to the (Waylay).]
*poetry, short stories, daily thoughts, starting only a few days after he woke up from the coma. Some were sadder than others, agonized ramblings about death. Memories of Lillith written in detail, the occasional sketch. Many of them were lonely and clearly showed how scattered he had been*
*some of the happier ones that came later seemed to do with Wil or Daisy. Conversations he has with her, and questions he has about medical things she does or advice from her about how to handle his seizures. There are notes on sword techniques and his idle thoughts on Wil's progress and form, things he wants to teach it, things it did he thought were funny or interesting.*
*the writing got neater and more organized the further into the book it read, some of his personal thoughts even seemed to become just a tad lighter as he mused on things like birds and science*
*that is until the more recent pagest, dotted with dried blood and smeared tear stained ink*
*in a new ink though, is a response from The Manager.*
*that page is soaked in tears and blood, partially torn at the end and wrinkled from when it presumably hit the wall after being thrown. There are no more entries after that*
*This was confusing. Wil understood his frustration, sure. But fear?*
*Wil had echoed these same sentiments itself to and about others. It never meant to inspire fear from them. The Waylay loved them. The Manager loved him. If someone was afraid in this situation, surely it must be some kind of mistake.*
*A [(mis)understanding]. That's clearly all it was. Wil would find one. Or the other. Or both. They would talk through this and get to the bottom of it.*
*It scanned the room. Was there anything else useful Aamon left behind? Or to indicate where he was now?*
*there was a torn note scribbled on a lose piece of paper on the desk, nearly unreadable due to spilled ink and the fact that it was partially scratched out and ripped. Putting it together though was a short list of places he seemed to be contemplating in hiding.*
Daisy?
Outside
Walls?
*The last bullet point is covered in ink and unreadable*
*Outside felt unlikely. Wil was just there for training. Unless it somehow missed him?*
*Daisy obviously wasn't the right option. The walls... weren't impossible. But Wil badly did not want to trust the Autopilot to not catch it inside itself again.*
*What secret other choice was there? The infirnary, the fields, the walls...*
*Wil would soon find out. It followed the blood trail, as far as it would go.*
*the blood trail ended at a wall. Which at first seemed normal until it was touched, revealing an illusion that there was actually a door behind it. There wasn't a handle on it though.*
*Wil glanced back and forth. It was in an otherwise empty hallway. Great. So if the Autopilot did grab it, there was no one to hear it scream.*
*Could it really leave Aamon in there, though?*
*Its hands smoothed down its dress. Righted the ribbon on its collarbone. Taking a deep breath, Wil only barely didn't close its eyes and stepped through the wall.*
*and then promptly smacked face first into a very physical very closed wooden door.*
*the blank wall is an illusion to hide a regular door that is missing its handle. The door is closed. The door is real, the illusion is not.*
Gah!
*Wil stumbled back, rubbing its nose. It smacked the door out of reflexive frustration.*
Asshole!
*at least now the illusion seemed to fade more to allow the door to be seen more clearly*
*smacking it seemed to have jostled something because there was a click and it opened inward a crack.*
*That made Wil pause. It was surprised it didn't even have to get its tools out. Cautiously, it pushed the door farther open and peered inside.*
*the illusion and lock on the door was shotty work, though Aamon was only hiding from one specific person. He wasn't expecting anybody else to come looking for him.*
*The room was dark, though with the light of outside filtering in illuminated a mess. Aamon was on the floor shaking, something clutched in his bloodied hands. His knuckles were bleeding, no doubt from punching the walls earlier. His hair had come undone and was splayed around him.*
*he was shaking and crying, not acknowledging Wil's presence at all as he worsened the wounds across his hands by scratching at the cuts and raw skin. Pulling the flesh apart further and digging long nails into it*
*One, two, click.*
*The warmth of the lighter flickered across Wil's face, though it was lost on Aamon's dark hair and blood. Wil didn't dare take a step closer until it talked to him first.*
Aamon, I'm here now. I didn't mean to intrude. But I thought you might be in trouble. Are you going to attack me if I come to you?
*his glossy eyes reflected the dim flame. He didn't verbally respond, but he did shake his head, shifting to look away from Wil*
*he didn't want it to see him like this, but his head hurt too bad to move any more than rollinh over. Still scratching his hands bloody. Nothing mattered in life if there wasn't death to eventually follow, right?*
*his mind wandered and spiralled and distracted him once more, thought disorganized and scattered despite his best attempts to control the train of thought.*
*Wilhelm kneeled next to him. It folded its hands in its lap. Messenger bag slumped to the ground against its side.*
I really liked training with you. I was disappointed to not see you out today. A little warning might have been nice, but... clearly the situation has changed.
*It felt awkward. But this had to be said.*
I really hope I get to train with you sometime again. And you hope that...?
*Wil left the prompt open for him.*
I...
Yes.
I just-
*he stopped, looking at his bleeding hands.*
Life feels meaningless without death. I do not want to have to go insane before I'm allowed to finally rest.
*Wil nodded in concurrence. It scooted closer, feeling safer now.*
That is entirely fair. I want the same for you. So... am I really so selfish that I also want you to be able to stay?
Yes.
*he looks over to glare, but then he actually sees Wil and falters*
But you have yet to know me. The Manager has known me millenia.
I... I don't mean to hurt you. I don't think they do, either. We love you a lot, and I'd like the chance to get to know you for many millennia more.
*Wil paused.*
That said, it was you who told me to worry about being my own person. Try being a kid. It would be just as wrong and unnatural to keep you here, as you are, while I grow up and get to change, wouldn't it?
Oh child born if death, you do not understand. It's okay.
*he was about to reach forward to touch Wil's hair, but then noticed his gored hands and decided to keep them to himself.*
just know that you have to be okay with letting go.
They hold onto me even though it chokes me.
*he winces as a strip of skin peeled back from his knuckles. Turning away once more, he scratches at his hands angrily*
I want to understand. That's all I ever try and do!
*Wil voice hitched with frustration. It brought it back down. It wasn't truly mad at him.*
And this... wouldn't help? Showing them that you are destroying yourself just to feel something, just to stay in the present moment, before you go insane? I-I wouldn't want that for you.
They'll just say I can get better. They'd rather me go MAD. THAN DIE!
*he rolls over to get up, standing on shaky legs*
I simply ask for the chance, ONE DAY! But no, they'd rather me lose my MIND THAN DIE PEACEFULLY!
*Wil eyed him up and down from their neat little position on the ground.*
I talk to them. We're very alike. If I could come around to see reason, surely they can.
Yeah sure, they'll see reason when I'm FUCKING DEAD!
I'M-
*in that moment he collapsed, leaning against the wall as his mind was taken over by another siezing memory.*
*but only moments later he growled, the moment he could move from the spell he whipped around and punched the wall*
TIRED OF THIS!
Aamon...
*Wil got up, pushing to its feet using its cane, and reached out to touch him on the elbow lightly.*
I will find a way. More than just a brother, you are my patron. It's my responsibility.
Dont.
*he pulls away.*
*he looked down at it... and only saw a mirror of himself. Young, naive, looking to be everything they should be. Always looking up, forgetting to look down at the scars on their own two bleeding hands. Trying to know more, be better, get stronger.*
*he snapped*
That virtue will get you killed. Just like mine did me.
I had responsibility, I had people to take care of, I was the overseer! I was a priest betrayed by my OWN GOD!
You are a CHILD! Don't make the same mistakes I did and devote yourself to one thing. Responsibility? Patrons? I am neither.
Do not treat me as such. I want nothing to do with the SCRAPS of the god Pharaoh once was made into this patchwork SHITSHOW!
*Wil held his gaze.*
But you're not dead yet. That's the problem. For you, anyway. It might just work out in my favor.
*If he didn't want to be comforted, then Wil would turn around. Pace about. Start thinking.*
They've done something like this before. It was with a patron named Yves. Hm... but no. The issue with that is we could technically retrieve him from the Dark World at any time. This is different, a permanent solution. What could possibly convince them to go with that...?
*he stared at it. Then with a frustrated scream turned and merged back in with the shadows, form dissipating.*
*he wasn't gone perse, but he was no longer there to be seen.*
*Wil snapped its head up at him. It balled its fists up and stomped over.*
Well what do you want! I'm trying to help you! Dad might not understand that you want to die, but I do. Figure it out yourself, by all means, since that went so well last time! Just... Gah!!
*It kicked the shadowy wall, in a way he taught it. Wil hoped it hurt.*
leave me be. If you want to help by talking? Then talk to them.
I'm in no position to argue.
*he sounded miserable, watching it punch the wall with a frown *
I will.
*Wil put its back to the wall and slid to the ground. Drew its knees up to its chest.*
[Blinded (by an ending). I want to make sure you are alright (first).]
*there's a long silence, minutes pass that feel like hours before Aamon quietly pipes up again*
You worry me because you remind me of myself you know.
The same mistakes being made.
*Wil shakes its head a little.*
What's so wrong with what I'm trying to do? You need help, Aamon. I'm the only one who can do it. And if I don't, then...
[You stay.]
[Forever.]
Just...
...
Treat me as your brother. Not your patron.
Okay?
[...]
*Wil shook its head again.*
I can't.
*It got up on shaky legs. Paced between the wall and the exit.*
Don't you get it? I can only help you if you are one of my patrons. I can do anything for them. I understand that doing the hard thing, the necessary thing, is vital for my function as the Waylay. I have a job to do.
*Wil brushed a hand back through its hair. Again. Then again. Its face was turning red.*
But I don't want to let my family go. I'm just the same as dad. If I were only Wil, able to treat you as my brother, th-then—I'm sorry!
*It burst into tears. A horrible choking sob. Hand clasped over its mouth and crimson eyes wide.*
The cage you're in is one you built yourself.
I do not want to be your patron. If you can't help me then, so be it. I am your brother, and mentor I suppose.
I am sorry. I won't allow it.
*Wil came to its knees before his wall. It wiped tears back with its hands, struggling to talk through the cries.*
I-If it's so easy for y-you to j-j-just do the right thing, why d-don't you come out of the shadows and P-PUNISH ME FOR MY WEAKNESS!
*It couldn't control its shout.*
[Sparks inside its wiring.]
*there was a sigh*
*with a click of his cane he did step out of the shadows, hazy form materializing from inky black*
*though instead of hitting it or walking away, he crouched down, and very deliberately picked it up off the ground.*
Because it's not easy, and you aren't weak, and I'm tired.
*Somehow, seeing its brother's remitting face only made Wil wail louder. It was embarrassed. But it couldn't see to find the strength to stop. It could only push its hands against its wet, reddened cheeks, over and over again to quell the tears.*
I-I'm sorry. I love you t-too much. I c-c-can't do this if you're my family. I want to help you, I-I want...
[I want you (to be happy)]
I know, I know.
*He walks across the room to pull up a chair, still holding Wil close as he sits down. His knees would thank him later*
There's no shame in not being able to do everything. There are others I can go to, loopholes to find. But as your older brother, I am not your responsibility.
Though do not fret, you haven't failed. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge what little light you've given me to look forward to. You're one of few reasons I want to stay any longer than I have so far.
*Wil curled up in his lap, whining and sniffling.*
I cast the darkness from your body, and I-I've already learned so m-much from you. There a-are still so many things I w-want to do. I'm sorry. I'm tr-trying to close my heart.
*It turned its face into his chest. Hot tears soaked through the shirt.*
no, no. Don't do that.
Heart is good, even when it's misguided or aches to put it away means to put away the good too.
You're doing plenty fine. You have plenty of time to figure things out, this isn't something that should be on your plate though.
*Wil nodded, vainly trying to clean it's face again.*
O-Okay.
... It's going to really hurt when you finally go.
*It made a noise, pained but likely meant to be a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle.*
I bet you weren't like me in this way when you were my age. You're too powerful for that.
What makes you say that?
*he rests his chin on its head, smiling idly*
I cried plenty when I was your age, I'd find a wounded bird or step on a butterfly and burst into tears if I couldn't help it.
I cried earlier.
Though clearly if I'm still seen as powerful I'm doing something right.
[Your chin is pointy.]
[I suppose I do (not) mind.]
*Wil released a fluttering sigh. Leaned closer to Aamon's chest. His heart was still beating, for now.*
Perhaps there is hope for me after all. If you can be powerful... then I might be, too.
[...]
This is how I'll remember you after you go.
I like that.
I can teach you my mysterious ways, then I'll never truly be gone even when I am.
*he chuckles at his own wording the vibration of his laugh warm in his chest*
It'll be alright. I think I can promise that.
*Aamon did not meet Wil for training at the usual time. He wasn't around lingering in his usual spots in the waylay.*
*his room was left slightly ajar, though empty, left a concerning sight*
*his desk chair was toppled over, ink spilled across the normally tidy desk. There was a dent in the wall, and below it a journal now laying awkwardly half open. Several holes punched in the walls, he must have injured his hands doing so because there was blood on the walls and dripped on the floor *
@stolen-feather-and-time
*Wilhelm padded through carefully, observing everything. The blood on the damaged walls was an uncomfortably visceral sight for it. So it turned its attention to the journal. It picked it up, turned it over, and began reading.*
[There are no secrets to the (Waylay).]
*poetry, short stories, daily thoughts, starting only a few days after he woke up from the coma. Some were sadder than others, agonized ramblings about death. Memories of Lillith written in detail, the occasional sketch. Many of them were lonely and clearly showed how scattered he had been*
*some of the happier ones that came later seemed to do with Wil or Daisy. Conversations he has with her, and questions he has about medical things she does or advice from her about how to handle his seizures. There are notes on sword techniques and his idle thoughts on Wil's progress and form, things he wants to teach it, things it did he thought were funny or interesting.*
*the writing got neater and more organized the further into the book it read, some of his personal thoughts even seemed to become just a tad lighter as he mused on things like birds and science*
*that is until the more recent pagest, dotted with dried blood and smeared tear stained ink*
*in a new ink though, is a response from The Manager.*
*that page is soaked in tears and blood, partially torn at the end and wrinkled from when it presumably hit the wall after being thrown. There are no more entries after that*
*This was confusing. Wil understood his frustration, sure. But fear?*
*Wil had echoed these same sentiments itself to and about others. It never meant to inspire fear from them. The Waylay loved them. The Manager loved him. If someone was afraid in this situation, surely it must be some kind of mistake.*
*A [(mis)understanding]. That's clearly all it was. Wil would find one. Or the other. Or both. They would talk through this and get to the bottom of it.*
*It scanned the room. Was there anything else useful Aamon left behind? Or to indicate where he was now?*
*there was a torn note scribbled on a lose piece of paper on the desk, nearly unreadable due to spilled ink and the fact that it was partially scratched out and ripped. Putting it together though was a short list of places he seemed to be contemplating in hiding.*
Daisy?
Outside
Walls?
*The last bullet point is covered in ink and unreadable*
*Outside felt unlikely. Wil was just there for training. Unless it somehow missed him?*
*Daisy obviously wasn't the right option. The walls... weren't impossible. But Wil badly did not want to trust the Autopilot to not catch it inside itself again.*
*What secret other choice was there? The infirnary, the fields, the walls...*
*Wil would soon find out. It followed the blood trail, as far as it would go.*
*the blood trail ended at a wall. Which at first seemed normal until it was touched, revealing an illusion that there was actually a door behind it. There wasn't a handle on it though.*
*Wil glanced back and forth. It was in an otherwise empty hallway. Great. So if the Autopilot did grab it, there was no one to hear it scream.*
*Could it really leave Aamon in there, though?*
*Its hands smoothed down its dress. Righted the ribbon on its collarbone. Taking a deep breath, Wil only barely didn't close its eyes and stepped through the wall.*
*and then promptly smacked face first into a very physical very closed wooden door.*
*the blank wall is an illusion to hide a regular door that is missing its handle. The door is closed. The door is real, the illusion is not.*
Gah!
*Wil stumbled back, rubbing its nose. It smacked the door out of reflexive frustration.*
Asshole!
*at least now the illusion seemed to fade more to allow the door to be seen more clearly*
*smacking it seemed to have jostled something because there was a click and it opened inward a crack.*
*That made Wil pause. It was surprised it didn't even have to get its tools out. Cautiously, it pushed the door farther open and peered inside.*
*the illusion and lock on the door was shotty work, though Aamon was only hiding from one specific person. He wasn't expecting anybody else to come looking for him.*
*The room was dark, though with the light of outside filtering in illuminated a mess. Aamon was on the floor shaking, something clutched in his bloodied hands. His knuckles were bleeding, no doubt from punching the walls earlier. His hair had come undone and was splayed around him.*
*he was shaking and crying, not acknowledging Wil's presence at all as he worsened the wounds across his hands by scratching at the cuts and raw skin. Pulling the flesh apart further and digging long nails into it*
*One, two, click.*
*The warmth of the lighter flickered across Wil's face, though it was lost on Aamon's dark hair and blood. Wil didn't dare take a step closer until it talked to him first.*
Aamon, I'm here now. I didn't mean to intrude. But I thought you might be in trouble. Are you going to attack me if I come to you?
*his glossy eyes reflected the dim flame. He didn't verbally respond, but he did shake his head, shifting to look away from Wil*
*he didn't want it to see him like this, but his head hurt too bad to move any more than rollinh over. Still scratching his hands bloody. Nothing mattered in life if there wasn't death to eventually follow, right?*
*his mind wandered and spiralled and distracted him once more, thought disorganized and scattered despite his best attempts to control the train of thought.*
*Wilhelm kneeled next to him. It folded its hands in its lap. Messenger bag slumped to the ground against its side.*
I really liked training with you. I was disappointed to not see you out today. A little warning might have been nice, but... clearly the situation has changed.
*It felt awkward. But this had to be said.*
I really hope I get to train with you sometime again. And you hope that...?
*Wil left the prompt open for him.*
I...
Yes.
I just-
*he stopped, looking at his bleeding hands.*
Life feels meaningless without death. I do not want to have to go insane before I'm allowed to finally rest.
*Wil nodded in concurrence. It scooted closer, feeling safer now.*
That is entirely fair. I want the same for you. So... am I really so selfish that I also want you to be able to stay?
Yes.
*he looks over to glare, but then he actually sees Wil and falters*
But you have yet to know me. The Manager has known me millenia.
I... I don't mean to hurt you. I don't think they do, either. We love you a lot, and I'd like the chance to get to know you for many millennia more.
*Wil paused.*
That said, it was you who told me to worry about being my own person. Try being a kid. It would be just as wrong and unnatural to keep you here, as you are, while I grow up and get to change, wouldn't it?
Oh child born if death, you do not understand. It's okay.
*he was about to reach forward to touch Wil's hair, but then noticed his gored hands and decided to keep them to himself.*
just know that you have to be okay with letting go.
They hold onto me even though it chokes me.
*he winces as a strip of skin peeled back from his knuckles. Turning away once more, he scratches at his hands angrily*
I want to understand. That's all I ever try and do!
*Wil voice hitched with frustration. It brought it back down. It wasn't truly mad at him.*
And this... wouldn't help? Showing them that you are destroying yourself just to feel something, just to stay in the present moment, before you go insane? I-I wouldn't want that for you.
They'll just say I can get better. They'd rather me go MAD. THAN DIE!
*he rolls over to get up, standing on shaky legs*
I simply ask for the chance, ONE DAY! But no, they'd rather me lose my MIND THAN DIE PEACEFULLY!
*Wil eyed him up and down from their neat little position on the ground.*
I talk to them. We're very alike. If I could come around to see reason, surely they can.
Yeah sure, they'll see reason when I'm FUCKING DEAD!
I'M-
*in that moment he collapsed, leaning against the wall as his mind was taken over by another siezing memory.*
*but only moments later he growled, the moment he could move from the spell he whipped around and punched the wall*
TIRED OF THIS!
Aamon...
*Wil got up, pushing to its feet using its cane, and reached out to touch him on the elbow lightly.*
I will find a way. More than just a brother, you are my patron. It's my responsibility.
Dont.
*he pulls away.*
*he looked down at it... and only saw a mirror of himself. Young, naive, looking to be everything they should be. Always looking up, forgetting to look down at the scars on their own two bleeding hands. Trying to know more, be better, get stronger.*
*he snapped*
That virtue will get you killed. Just like mine did me.
I had responsibility, I had people to take care of, I was the overseer! I was a priest betrayed by my OWN GOD!
You are a CHILD! Don't make the same mistakes I did and devote yourself to one thing. Responsibility? Patrons? I am neither.
Do not treat me as such. I want nothing to do with the SCRAPS of the god Pharaoh once was made into this patchwork SHITSHOW!
*Wil held his gaze.*
But you're not dead yet. That's the problem. For you, anyway. It might just work out in my favor.
*If he didn't want to be comforted, then Wil would turn around. Pace about. Start thinking.*
They've done something like this before. It was with a patron named Yves. Hm... but no. The issue with that is we could technically retrieve him from the Dark World at any time. This is different, a permanent solution. What could possibly convince them to go with that...?
*he stared at it. Then with a frustrated scream turned and merged back in with the shadows, form dissipating.*
*he wasn't gone perse, but he was no longer there to be seen.*
*Wil snapped its head up at him. It balled its fists up and stomped over.*
Well what do you want! I'm trying to help you! Dad might not understand that you want to die, but I do. Figure it out yourself, by all means, since that went so well last time! Just... Gah!!
*It kicked the shadowy wall, in a way he taught it. Wil hoped it hurt.*
leave me be. If you want to help by talking? Then talk to them.
I'm in no position to argue.
*he sounded miserable, watching it punch the wall with a frown *
I will.
*Wil put its back to the wall and slid to the ground. Drew its knees up to its chest.*
[Blinded (by an ending). I want to make sure you are alright (first).]
*there's a long silence, minutes pass that feel like hours before Aamon quietly pipes up again*
You worry me because you remind me of myself you know.
The same mistakes being made.
*Wil shakes its head a little.*
What's so wrong with what I'm trying to do? You need help, Aamon. I'm the only one who can do it. And if I don't, then...
[You stay.]
[Forever.]
Just...
...
Treat me as your brother. Not your patron.
Okay?
[...]
*Wil shook its head again.*
I can't.
*It got up on shaky legs. Paced between the wall and the exit.*
Don't you get it? I can only help you if you are one of my patrons. I can do anything for them. I understand that doing the hard thing, the necessary thing, is vital for my function as the Waylay. I have a job to do.
*Wil brushed a hand back through its hair. Again. Then again. Its face was turning red.*
But I don't want to let my family go. I'm just the same as dad. If I were only Wil, able to treat you as my brother, th-then—I'm sorry!
*It burst into tears. A horrible choking sob. Hand clasped over its mouth and crimson eyes wide.*
The cage you're in is one you built yourself.
I do not want to be your patron. If you can't help me then, so be it. I am your brother, and mentor I suppose.
I am sorry. I won't allow it.
*Wil came to its knees before his wall. It wiped tears back with its hands, struggling to talk through the cries.*
I-If it's so easy for y-you to j-j-just do the right thing, why d-don't you come out of the shadows and P-PUNISH ME FOR MY WEAKNESS!
*It couldn't control its shout.*
[Sparks inside its wiring.]
*there was a sigh*
*with a click of his cane he did step out of the shadows, hazy form materializing from inky black*
*though instead of hitting it or walking away, he crouched down, and very deliberately picked it up off the ground.*
Because it's not easy, and you aren't weak, and I'm tired.
*Somehow, seeing its brother's remitting face only made Wil wail louder. It was embarrassed. But it couldn't see to find the strength to stop. It could only push its hands against its wet, reddened cheeks, over and over again to quell the tears.*
I-I'm sorry. I love you t-too much. I c-c-can't do this if you're my family. I want to help you, I-I want...
[I want you (to be happy)]
I know, I know.
*He walks across the room to pull up a chair, still holding Wil close as he sits down. His knees would thank him later*
There's no shame in not being able to do everything. There are others I can go to, loopholes to find. But as your older brother, I am not your responsibility.
Though do not fret, you haven't failed. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge what little light you've given me to look forward to. You're one of few reasons I want to stay any longer than I have so far.
*Wil curled up in his lap, whining and sniffling.*
I cast the darkness from your body, and I-I've already learned so m-much from you. There a-are still so many things I w-want to do. I'm sorry. I'm tr-trying to close my heart.
*It turned its face into his chest. Hot tears soaked through the shirt.*
no, no. Don't do that.
Heart is good, even when it's misguided or aches to put it away means to put away the good too.
You're doing plenty fine. You have plenty of time to figure things out, this isn't something that should be on your plate though.
*Wil nodded, vainly trying to clean it's face again.*
O-Okay.
... It's going to really hurt when you finally go.
*It made a noise, pained but likely meant to be a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle.*
I bet you weren't like me in this way when you were my age. You're too powerful for that.
What makes you say that?
*he rests his chin on its head, smiling idly*
I cried plenty when I was your age, I'd find a wounded bird or step on a butterfly and burst into tears if I couldn't help it.
I cried earlier.
Though clearly if I'm still seen as powerful I'm doing something right.
*Aamon did not meet Wil for training at the usual time. He wasn't around lingering in his usual spots in the waylay.*
*his room was left slightly ajar, though empty, left a concerning sight*
*his desk chair was toppled over, ink spilled across the normally tidy desk. There was a dent in the wall, and below it a journal now laying awkwardly half open. Several holes punched in the walls, he must have injured his hands doing so because there was blood on the walls and dripped on the floor *
@stolen-feather-and-time
*Wilhelm padded through carefully, observing everything. The blood on the damaged walls was an uncomfortably visceral sight for it. So it turned its attention to the journal. It picked it up, turned it over, and began reading.*
[There are no secrets to the (Waylay).]
*poetry, short stories, daily thoughts, starting only a few days after he woke up from the coma. Some were sadder than others, agonized ramblings about death. Memories of Lillith written in detail, the occasional sketch. Many of them were lonely and clearly showed how scattered he had been*
*some of the happier ones that came later seemed to do with Wil or Daisy. Conversations he has with her, and questions he has about medical things she does or advice from her about how to handle his seizures. There are notes on sword techniques and his idle thoughts on Wil's progress and form, things he wants to teach it, things it did he thought were funny or interesting.*
*the writing got neater and more organized the further into the book it read, some of his personal thoughts even seemed to become just a tad lighter as he mused on things like birds and science*
*that is until the more recent pagest, dotted with dried blood and smeared tear stained ink*
*in a new ink though, is a response from The Manager.*
*that page is soaked in tears and blood, partially torn at the end and wrinkled from when it presumably hit the wall after being thrown. There are no more entries after that*
*This was confusing. Wil understood his frustration, sure. But fear?*
*Wil had echoed these same sentiments itself to and about others. It never meant to inspire fear from them. The Waylay loved them. The Manager loved him. If someone was afraid in this situation, surely it must be some kind of mistake.*
*A [(mis)understanding]. That's clearly all it was. Wil would find one. Or the other. Or both. They would talk through this and get to the bottom of it.*
*It scanned the room. Was there anything else useful Aamon left behind? Or to indicate where he was now?*
*there was a torn note scribbled on a lose piece of paper on the desk, nearly unreadable due to spilled ink and the fact that it was partially scratched out and ripped. Putting it together though was a short list of places he seemed to be contemplating in hiding.*
Daisy?
Outside
Walls?
*The last bullet point is covered in ink and unreadable*
*Outside felt unlikely. Wil was just there for training. Unless it somehow missed him?*
*Daisy obviously wasn't the right option. The walls... weren't impossible. But Wil badly did not want to trust the Autopilot to not catch it inside itself again.*
*What secret other choice was there? The infirnary, the fields, the walls...*
*Wil would soon find out. It followed the blood trail, as far as it would go.*
*the blood trail ended at a wall. Which at first seemed normal until it was touched, revealing an illusion that there was actually a door behind it. There wasn't a handle on it though.*
*Wil glanced back and forth. It was in an otherwise empty hallway. Great. So if the Autopilot did grab it, there was no one to hear it scream.*
*Could it really leave Aamon in there, though?*
*Its hands smoothed down its dress. Righted the ribbon on its collarbone. Taking a deep breath, Wil only barely didn't close its eyes and stepped through the wall.*
*and then promptly smacked face first into a very physical very closed wooden door.*
*the blank wall is an illusion to hide a regular door that is missing its handle. The door is closed. The door is real, the illusion is not.*
Gah!
*Wil stumbled back, rubbing its nose. It smacked the door out of reflexive frustration.*
Asshole!
*at least now the illusion seemed to fade more to allow the door to be seen more clearly*
*smacking it seemed to have jostled something because there was a click and it opened inward a crack.*
*That made Wil pause. It was surprised it didn't even have to get its tools out. Cautiously, it pushed the door farther open and peered inside.*
*the illusion and lock on the door was shotty work, though Aamon was only hiding from one specific person. He wasn't expecting anybody else to come looking for him.*
*The room was dark, though with the light of outside filtering in illuminated a mess. Aamon was on the floor shaking, something clutched in his bloodied hands. His knuckles were bleeding, no doubt from punching the walls earlier. His hair had come undone and was splayed around him.*
*he was shaking and crying, not acknowledging Wil's presence at all as he worsened the wounds across his hands by scratching at the cuts and raw skin. Pulling the flesh apart further and digging long nails into it*
*One, two, click.*
*The warmth of the lighter flickered across Wil's face, though it was lost on Aamon's dark hair and blood. Wil didn't dare take a step closer until it talked to him first.*
Aamon, I'm here now. I didn't mean to intrude. But I thought you might be in trouble. Are you going to attack me if I come to you?
*his glossy eyes reflected the dim flame. He didn't verbally respond, but he did shake his head, shifting to look away from Wil*
*he didn't want it to see him like this, but his head hurt too bad to move any more than rollinh over. Still scratching his hands bloody. Nothing mattered in life if there wasn't death to eventually follow, right?*
*his mind wandered and spiralled and distracted him once more, thought disorganized and scattered despite his best attempts to control the train of thought.*
*Wilhelm kneeled next to him. It folded its hands in its lap. Messenger bag slumped to the ground against its side.*
I really liked training with you. I was disappointed to not see you out today. A little warning might have been nice, but... clearly the situation has changed.
*It felt awkward. But this had to be said.*
I really hope I get to train with you sometime again. And you hope that...?
*Wil left the prompt open for him.*
I...
Yes.
I just-
*he stopped, looking at his bleeding hands.*
Life feels meaningless without death. I do not want to have to go insane before I'm allowed to finally rest.
*Wil nodded in concurrence. It scooted closer, feeling safer now.*
That is entirely fair. I want the same for you. So... am I really so selfish that I also want you to be able to stay?
Yes.
*he looks over to glare, but then he actually sees Wil and falters*
But you have yet to know me. The Manager has known me millenia.
I... I don't mean to hurt you. I don't think they do, either. We love you a lot, and I'd like the chance to get to know you for many millennia more.
*Wil paused.*
That said, it was you who told me to worry about being my own person. Try being a kid. It would be just as wrong and unnatural to keep you here, as you are, while I grow up and get to change, wouldn't it?
Oh child born if death, you do not understand. It's okay.
*he was about to reach forward to touch Wil's hair, but then noticed his gored hands and decided to keep them to himself.*
just know that you have to be okay with letting go.
They hold onto me even though it chokes me.
*he winces as a strip of skin peeled back from his knuckles. Turning away once more, he scratches at his hands angrily*
I want to understand. That's all I ever try and do!
*Wil voice hitched with frustration. It brought it back down. It wasn't truly mad at him.*
And this... wouldn't help? Showing them that you are destroying yourself just to feel something, just to stay in the present moment, before you go insane? I-I wouldn't want that for you.
They'll just say I can get better. They'd rather me go MAD. THAN DIE!
*he rolls over to get up, standing on shaky legs*
I simply ask for the chance, ONE DAY! But no, they'd rather me lose my MIND THAN DIE PEACEFULLY!
*Wil eyed him up and down from their neat little position on the ground.*
I talk to them. We're very alike. If I could come around to see reason, surely they can.
Yeah sure, they'll see reason when I'm FUCKING DEAD!
I'M-
*in that moment he collapsed, leaning against the wall as his mind was taken over by another siezing memory.*
*but only moments later he growled, the moment he could move from the spell he whipped around and punched the wall*
TIRED OF THIS!
Aamon...
*Wil got up, pushing to its feet using its cane, and reached out to touch him on the elbow lightly.*
I will find a way. More than just a brother, you are my patron. It's my responsibility.
Dont.
*he pulls away.*
*he looked down at it... and only saw a mirror of himself. Young, naive, looking to be everything they should be. Always looking up, forgetting to look down at the scars on their own two bleeding hands. Trying to know more, be better, get stronger.*
*he snapped*
That virtue will get you killed. Just like mine did me.
I had responsibility, I had people to take care of, I was the overseer! I was a priest betrayed by my OWN GOD!
You are a CHILD! Don't make the same mistakes I did and devote yourself to one thing. Responsibility? Patrons? I am neither.
Do not treat me as such. I want nothing to do with the SCRAPS of the god Pharaoh once was made into this patchwork SHITSHOW!
*Wil held his gaze.*
But you're not dead yet. That's the problem. For you, anyway. It might just work out in my favor.
*If he didn't want to be comforted, then Wil would turn around. Pace about. Start thinking.*
They've done something like this before. It was with a patron named Yves. Hm... but no. The issue with that is we could technically retrieve him from the Dark World at any time. This is different, a permanent solution. What could possibly convince them to go with that...?
*he stared at it. Then with a frustrated scream turned and merged back in with the shadows, form dissipating.*
*he wasn't gone perse, but he was no longer there to be seen.*
*Wil snapped its head up at him. It balled its fists up and stomped over.*
Well what do you want! I'm trying to help you! Dad might not understand that you want to die, but I do. Figure it out yourself, by all means, since that went so well last time! Just... Gah!!
*It kicked the shadowy wall, in a way he taught it. Wil hoped it hurt.*
leave me be. If you want to help by talking? Then talk to them.
I'm in no position to argue.
*he sounded miserable, watching it punch the wall with a frown *
I will.
*Wil put its back to the wall and slid to the ground. Drew its knees up to its chest.*
[Blinded (by an ending). I want to make sure you are alright (first).]
*there's a long silence, minutes pass that feel like hours before Aamon quietly pipes up again*
You worry me because you remind me of myself you know.
The same mistakes being made.
*Wil shakes its head a little.*
What's so wrong with what I'm trying to do? You need help, Aamon. I'm the only one who can do it. And if I don't, then...
[You stay.]
[Forever.]
Just...
...
Treat me as your brother. Not your patron.
Okay?
[...]
*Wil shook its head again.*
I can't.
*It got up on shaky legs. Paced between the wall and the exit.*
Don't you get it? I can only help you if you are one of my patrons. I can do anything for them. I understand that doing the hard thing, the necessary thing, is vital for my function as the Waylay. I have a job to do.
*Wil brushed a hand back through its hair. Again. Then again. Its face was turning red.*
But I don't want to let my family go. I'm just the same as dad. If I were only Wil, able to treat you as my brother, th-then—I'm sorry!
*It burst into tears. A horrible choking sob. Hand clasped over its mouth and crimson eyes wide.*
The cage you're in is one you built yourself.
I do not want to be your patron. If you can't help me then, so be it. I am your brother, and mentor I suppose.
I am sorry. I won't allow it.
*Wil came to its knees before his wall. It wiped tears back with its hands, struggling to talk through the cries.*
I-If it's so easy for y-you to j-j-just do the right thing, why d-don't you come out of the shadows and P-PUNISH ME FOR MY WEAKNESS!
*It couldn't control its shout.*
[Sparks inside its wiring.]
*there was a sigh*
*with a click of his cane he did step out of the shadows, hazy form materializing from inky black*
*though instead of hitting it or walking away, he crouched down, and very deliberately picked it up off the ground.*
Because it's not easy, and you aren't weak, and I'm tired.
*Somehow, seeing its brother's remitting face only made Wil wail louder. It was embarrassed. But it couldn't see to find the strength to stop. It could only push its hands against its wet, reddened cheeks, over and over again to quell the tears.*
I-I'm sorry. I love you t-too much. I c-c-can't do this if you're my family. I want to help you, I-I want...
[I want you (to be happy)]
I know, I know.
*He walks across the room to pull up a chair, still holding Wil close as he sits down. His knees would thank him later*
There's no shame in not being able to do everything. There are others I can go to, loopholes to find. But as your older brother, I am not your responsibility.
Though do not fret, you haven't failed. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge what little light you've given me to look forward to. You're one of few reasons I want to stay any longer than I have so far.
*Wil curled up in his lap, whining and sniffling.*
I cast the darkness from your body, and I-I've already learned so m-much from you. There a-are still so many things I w-want to do. I'm sorry. I'm tr-trying to close my heart.
*It turned its face into his chest. Hot tears soaked through the shirt.*
no, no. Don't do that.
Heart is good, even when it's misguided or aches to put it away means to put away the good too.
You're doing plenty fine. You have plenty of time to figure things out, this isn't something that should be on your plate though.
