sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ BLUE (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
firstroar) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2014-01-21 09:06 pm
firstroar) wrote in exsiliumlogs2014-01-21 09:06 pm
this is the way of it [OPEN]
Date & Time: 1/18 -> end of Jan
Location: near and around a bed
Characters: Soldier Blue, tbd
Summary: a psychic dying tends to dreamhop or suck nearby people into his own dreams.
Warnings: dying, references to such, any bad memories lying about in any given headspace
The way of it was unprecedented in his world: If any Mu before him had lived a life to its full extent, it was done so hidden away from notice. All others suffered and inevitably died far, far too young. Too many children.
Soldier Blue found his eyes wouldn't open, his body barely stir, disobeying every command just the way it had at the start of his fifteen-year sleep. He'd been so much more resigned to that, back then. Secure as he could be in the faith he had in his successor, his comrades. Here, though? Here, he wasn't so sure.
Throughout the days that passed, he found the strength to exert, push his mind away from the prison of his body, if only for a moment. But he'd lose himself in doing that, lose the purpose, drift and find himself straying into dreams or the passing presence of more focused, willful minds, some more familiar than others. It all twisted into pasts distant and near, making for disorienting journeys that often ended in the darkness that he constantly tried to shake himself from, harder and harder each time.
He chased the specks of light he perceived in the place of those thoughts and dreams, feeling weight bearing down upon his body the further he reached. Warmth on his cheek, the gentle breathy voice of his goddess...or some other? Everything blended together so seamlessly that the tears reality caused were frightening.
His reach shrank and lights grew distant like stars, became stars, a canopy of a hundred-years old vigil in an entirely different world.
Ataraxion? Exsilium? He couldn't say, not without someone to tell him the right of it. Whether they were ghosts or truly present, though...
Location: near and around a bed
Characters: Soldier Blue, tbd
Summary: a psychic dying tends to dreamhop or suck nearby people into his own dreams.
Warnings: dying, references to such, any bad memories lying about in any given headspace
The way of it was unprecedented in his world: If any Mu before him had lived a life to its full extent, it was done so hidden away from notice. All others suffered and inevitably died far, far too young. Too many children.
Soldier Blue found his eyes wouldn't open, his body barely stir, disobeying every command just the way it had at the start of his fifteen-year sleep. He'd been so much more resigned to that, back then. Secure as he could be in the faith he had in his successor, his comrades. Here, though? Here, he wasn't so sure.
Throughout the days that passed, he found the strength to exert, push his mind away from the prison of his body, if only for a moment. But he'd lose himself in doing that, lose the purpose, drift and find himself straying into dreams or the passing presence of more focused, willful minds, some more familiar than others. It all twisted into pasts distant and near, making for disorienting journeys that often ended in the darkness that he constantly tried to shake himself from, harder and harder each time.
He chased the specks of light he perceived in the place of those thoughts and dreams, feeling weight bearing down upon his body the further he reached. Warmth on his cheek, the gentle breathy voice of his goddess...or some other? Everything blended together so seamlessly that the tears reality caused were frightening.
His reach shrank and lights grew distant like stars, became stars, a canopy of a hundred-years old vigil in an entirely different world.
Ataraxion? Exsilium? He couldn't say, not without someone to tell him the right of it. Whether they were ghosts or truly present, though...
no subject
As gentle as Blue was in drawing him into an hug, that really wasn't the way Jaime did it, and his returning embrace was a tight one. His family always hugged like they meant it, and Jaime was no exception to this rule. "We'll make things okay here, after you're gone," he said. He knew that things could never be right here again, and he wasn't even sure if they could manage good, but making things okay? That was doable.
"I promise we will. We'll try. You don't have to worry about that."
no subject
Blue clung tighter, tighter against the encroaching fear of losing those voices and the thoughts that came with them. The need to be known, recognized, and remembered was strong in most anybody, but Blue's nature craved it even more. If any trace of him was left, be in in thought or deed, it meant he'd mattered, didn't it? Just the tiniest handprint on someone else's heart meant he'd done right to some degree.
He'd told himself and many others over his life that there was no telling what the right thing was until it was over; even then, he wasn't certain of what he'd done, of whether it was right or not. Maybe that meant it really wasn't over, or...or perhaps he just wasn't wise enough to see the proof of his life wholly.
The warmth of the embrace and the memory that dream was encased in slipped – rather, Blue did, leaving the echo of himself and what he could offer as gratitude. Grateful to matter, to have encountered such good, hoping it could sustain him.
Thank you.