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eudio memory share #2 @ event #3
cw suicidal ideation, death, injury, kidnapping, drugs, etc.
also warnings for: spoilers and too much exposition.
Continuation/completion of this plot thread, with permission granted from the involved players.
Benson Park is usually a pretty and peaceful place to be. Today, though.
Utter bedlam.
Kavinsky is running, slipping, stumbling on the stony beach. He glances backward. Across the lake, a handful of trees are on fire. Ronan's grey BMW sits skewed right out on the grass with the driver's side door hanging open. His own white Mitsubishi rests at a crazy angle practically right on the wooden pier. Eponine's small, skinny figure is hiding behind the Mitsu, one hand clutching the spoiler. She's screaming something at him at the top of her lungs, but he can't hear her.
It's hard to hear anything, with two dragons fighting in the sky.
One creature is blue, all scales and lithe muscle, leathery wings raking the air; steam spurts from its open jaws. The other is the monster that was hailed on the network, a horrifying mass of smoke and burning firelight— this dragon is a bomb within a body that isn't a body, an unending explosion, consuming itself. Even with one vaporous foot severed and its face mangled, it's dangerous, twisting, lashing out, leaving another burn scored across the blue dragon's belly. But when it lunges in for a bite, a flare of frost cuts over its shoulder, freezes its muzzle brittle and white for an instant. That would be Jack Frost. Who can apparently fly.
Kavinsky would be impressed, if he weren't on the verge of getting sick. His feet are numb and stupid-- he scrambles to a stop. His shoes squelch into the lake. He realizes: if anybody else dies today, if anyone else died, he's dead anyway. It's a selfish thought, moored in nothing more than the panicky urge to survive and familiarity of death, petty and fragile. Human. He knows he should shout for Alanis again, but his throat is raw, jaws locked so tight they hurt.
She hasn't come to save him, and suddenly he realizes she won't.
Raw, earsplitting roars rip down from the sky. Kavinsky looks up again. The fire monster is pouring down. Wings folded, its churning body looks like a column of toxic waste reversing its way down a factory smokestack. He takes out his gun. Takes aim, unthinkingly. Squeezes off three shots. The rounds blossom pointless puffs into the dragon's face and chest, which loom bigger by the instant. Its eyes shine like hideous stars. Heat blows down, and it snaps out its smoky wings, blotting out the spring-time sun. Frost and water blaze a bright white over the creature's flank— Jack and his friend in pursuit. But it's too late.
To be honest, Kavinsky gets it. He made the fire dragon by himself, and an accidental deathwish is just that. Kavinsky knows himself well, and he knows this part of himself best, the expulsion of death from his own subconscious. On the network, he had told Eudio that the thing was trying to kill him and everything else that he had ever touched, everything he hated. This is almost true. Mostly, though--
The fire monster just wants to die.
Like father, like son.
The wind is too hot. Kavinsky's eyes start to water, but he doesn't look away.
And to be honest, Kavinsky gets why Alanis won't come for him. He'd asked Ronan to put the best part of himself into her soul. What he'd wanted was the part of Ronan that had screamed for him to save himself, even after he had taken Matthew, terrorized him, put him in the trunk of his car. He'd needed that principle, the belief that all people, no matter how wicked, deserved to live. He'd needed that second chance. But that was the problem, of course. He had blackmailed Ronan into forging Alanis' heart, used Adam to do it. Lied. Blew through his second chance, his third. His fourth. You run out of chances, eventually. And not even the best part of Ronan Lynch will spare him now, given the choice. And Alanis chooses.
Kavinsky gets it. Fuck it. He stops squeezing the trigger. He's been here before. This time, the sky is blue, but not all that much has changed. You got Eponine, Ronan, and white powder falling from the sky. Sex, fast cars, and drugs. That's it. This is it. He drops his pistol and thinks about closing his eyes.
Which is when Ronan slams into him from behind. There's a subwoofer whumpf of impact Kavinsky hears reverberating through his own inner-ear, the vertebrates in his back grinding together, Ronan's grasp shut like a steel trap around his chest. No ground or water under his feet. Kavinsky gets a brief, surreal impression of sunlight, dazzling—
--and then they hit water, bubbling. It goes straight up his nose. Submerged, everything is suddenly quiet. His knee scrapes the bottom, surprisingly painful. Kavinsky's eyes are open, and he can see Ronan's arm around his sternum, and some small brown fish swimming away. Um, he thinks, idiotically, but then Ronan is hoisting him out. The clarity of underwater becomes the blurry mess of water dripping in his eyes, and Kavinsky realizes the fire monster is on the beach, five yards out, face broken, foot severed, further misshapen by blasted frost and water. The DREAM KILLER pistol sits beyond its tail. If Ronan thinks the creature is scared of water, the Irish fucktard has another thing coming. Kavinsky means to tell him, but he's shaking like a particularly neurotic chihuahua, so all that comes out is:
"Gghhgf'ck."
Ronan's voice sounds hard with a certainty that Kavinsky isn't sure he's ever experienced in his entire life. Ronan says: "Alanis."
Foam bursts open behind them like The Little Mermaid, water wrapping sleek, runny reflections around their knees. Benson lake surges toward the monster on the shore, mindful to leave the two boys enough air to breathe.
Afterward, Eponine kneels on the rocks beside him and wraps her brittle little arms around his neck. She tells him that she can drive the Mitsu back to his place, not knowing the hospital is gonna want to see all of them. Favoring her side a little, Jack's blue dragon is nosing the lake's placid surface, which sort of noses at her in answer. The little god is swinging his crook in one hand, talking to someone on the phone; they sound alive, whoever they are. It's probably a good thing. Kavinsky isn't sure he could survive a solid freezing, at this point.
"Hey, shitlord," Ronan says, looking down at him. There's blood running down from his elbow. "Don't do that again."
"I pissed myself," Kavinsky replies. Unsurprisingly, Eponine doesn't move away. Ambulance sirens wail in the distance.
Ronan rolls his eyes. "Don't do that again either," he says. "K, you gotta get your shit together."
also warnings for: spoilers and too much exposition.
Continuation/completion of this plot thread, with permission granted from the involved players.
Benson Park is usually a pretty and peaceful place to be. Today, though.
Utter bedlam.
Kavinsky is running, slipping, stumbling on the stony beach. He glances backward. Across the lake, a handful of trees are on fire. Ronan's grey BMW sits skewed right out on the grass with the driver's side door hanging open. His own white Mitsubishi rests at a crazy angle practically right on the wooden pier. Eponine's small, skinny figure is hiding behind the Mitsu, one hand clutching the spoiler. She's screaming something at him at the top of her lungs, but he can't hear her.
It's hard to hear anything, with two dragons fighting in the sky.
One creature is blue, all scales and lithe muscle, leathery wings raking the air; steam spurts from its open jaws. The other is the monster that was hailed on the network, a horrifying mass of smoke and burning firelight— this dragon is a bomb within a body that isn't a body, an unending explosion, consuming itself. Even with one vaporous foot severed and its face mangled, it's dangerous, twisting, lashing out, leaving another burn scored across the blue dragon's belly. But when it lunges in for a bite, a flare of frost cuts over its shoulder, freezes its muzzle brittle and white for an instant. That would be Jack Frost. Who can apparently fly.
Kavinsky would be impressed, if he weren't on the verge of getting sick. His feet are numb and stupid-- he scrambles to a stop. His shoes squelch into the lake. He realizes: if anybody else dies today, if anyone else died, he's dead anyway. It's a selfish thought, moored in nothing more than the panicky urge to survive and familiarity of death, petty and fragile. Human. He knows he should shout for Alanis again, but his throat is raw, jaws locked so tight they hurt.
She hasn't come to save him, and suddenly he realizes she won't.
Raw, earsplitting roars rip down from the sky. Kavinsky looks up again. The fire monster is pouring down. Wings folded, its churning body looks like a column of toxic waste reversing its way down a factory smokestack. He takes out his gun. Takes aim, unthinkingly. Squeezes off three shots. The rounds blossom pointless puffs into the dragon's face and chest, which loom bigger by the instant. Its eyes shine like hideous stars. Heat blows down, and it snaps out its smoky wings, blotting out the spring-time sun. Frost and water blaze a bright white over the creature's flank— Jack and his friend in pursuit. But it's too late.
To be honest, Kavinsky gets it. He made the fire dragon by himself, and an accidental deathwish is just that. Kavinsky knows himself well, and he knows this part of himself best, the expulsion of death from his own subconscious. On the network, he had told Eudio that the thing was trying to kill him and everything else that he had ever touched, everything he hated. This is almost true. Mostly, though--
The fire monster just wants to die.
Like father, like son.
The wind is too hot. Kavinsky's eyes start to water, but he doesn't look away.
And to be honest, Kavinsky gets why Alanis won't come for him. He'd asked Ronan to put the best part of himself into her soul. What he'd wanted was the part of Ronan that had screamed for him to save himself, even after he had taken Matthew, terrorized him, put him in the trunk of his car. He'd needed that principle, the belief that all people, no matter how wicked, deserved to live. He'd needed that second chance. But that was the problem, of course. He had blackmailed Ronan into forging Alanis' heart, used Adam to do it. Lied. Blew through his second chance, his third. His fourth. You run out of chances, eventually. And not even the best part of Ronan Lynch will spare him now, given the choice. And Alanis chooses.
Kavinsky gets it. Fuck it. He stops squeezing the trigger. He's been here before. This time, the sky is blue, but not all that much has changed. You got Eponine, Ronan, and white powder falling from the sky. Sex, fast cars, and drugs. That's it. This is it. He drops his pistol and thinks about closing his eyes.
Which is when Ronan slams into him from behind. There's a subwoofer whumpf of impact Kavinsky hears reverberating through his own inner-ear, the vertebrates in his back grinding together, Ronan's grasp shut like a steel trap around his chest. No ground or water under his feet. Kavinsky gets a brief, surreal impression of sunlight, dazzling—
--and then they hit water, bubbling. It goes straight up his nose. Submerged, everything is suddenly quiet. His knee scrapes the bottom, surprisingly painful. Kavinsky's eyes are open, and he can see Ronan's arm around his sternum, and some small brown fish swimming away. Um, he thinks, idiotically, but then Ronan is hoisting him out. The clarity of underwater becomes the blurry mess of water dripping in his eyes, and Kavinsky realizes the fire monster is on the beach, five yards out, face broken, foot severed, further misshapen by blasted frost and water. The DREAM KILLER pistol sits beyond its tail. If Ronan thinks the creature is scared of water, the Irish fucktard has another thing coming. Kavinsky means to tell him, but he's shaking like a particularly neurotic chihuahua, so all that comes out is:
"Gghhgf'ck."
Ronan's voice sounds hard with a certainty that Kavinsky isn't sure he's ever experienced in his entire life. Ronan says: "Alanis."
Foam bursts open behind them like The Little Mermaid, water wrapping sleek, runny reflections around their knees. Benson lake surges toward the monster on the shore, mindful to leave the two boys enough air to breathe.
Afterward, Eponine kneels on the rocks beside him and wraps her brittle little arms around his neck. She tells him that she can drive the Mitsu back to his place, not knowing the hospital is gonna want to see all of them. Favoring her side a little, Jack's blue dragon is nosing the lake's placid surface, which sort of noses at her in answer. The little god is swinging his crook in one hand, talking to someone on the phone; they sound alive, whoever they are. It's probably a good thing. Kavinsky isn't sure he could survive a solid freezing, at this point.
"Hey, shitlord," Ronan says, looking down at him. There's blood running down from his elbow. "Don't do that again."
"I pissed myself," Kavinsky replies. Unsurprisingly, Eponine doesn't move away. Ambulance sirens wail in the distance.
Ronan rolls his eyes. "Don't do that again either," he says. "K, you gotta get your shit together."