lieutenantantichrist | [17] [Text/Action for Mahogany] - "Whenever You Get Involved, Someone Gets Hurt."

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[17] [Text/Action for Mahogany] - "Whenever You Get Involved, Someone Gets Hurt."

[ACTION]

[In a low-rent corner of Mahogany, there's a real gym. No mazes, no boss trying to fight you in exchange for something they call a badge, no lackeys, just weight machines and a floor covered with rubber mats, the way it should be. Open twenty-four hours, and this late there's no human in this room but Blake. He's in a sweatsuit, gray in contrast to the brown of the Hitmonlee holding pads for him in its upraised paws. The only sound is his harsh breaths and the thump of his fists on the canvas. His shoulders are hunched like a boxer's. His eyes look straight ahead. Judging from the sweat darkening the back of his shirt, he's been here a while.

On the other side of the room, a Snubbull is sitting on the floor, looking at a Gear that's resting on the mats. A Musharna floats beside her. Fifteen minutes of frustration proved that claws are no good for texting with, but she wants to talk to someone. She really wants to.

She snubs softly, so as not to make her trainer angry. The Musharna's eyes show no reaction, but the buttons on the Gear depress. The text that Steve watches appear seems to be accurate, more or less. The transcription might come strange through the dreaming creature. It's close enough for what she needs.]

[TEXT]

Hello lo low hello

Please talk to me.
I want to talk.
I will tell you my favorite story.
He told it to me when I couldn't sleep. His eyes were closed for some of it but I shook his knee and got to hear the end. Without the end it isn't a story.

Once
upon a time there was a girl. She was poor and alone because her parents were dead, and child services didn't exist then, so she had to go to live with her wicked stepmother and do work for her. Hard work, the kind that nearly killed her, but in time she got used to it.

Then one day she heard the prince was giving a big ball. She asked to go, but her stepmother wouldn't let her. So she tried to run off and get a ride to the castle from a knight, but her wicked stepmother had tailled her, and she found her and dragged her off the horse. While she was going, the wicked stepmother threw the knight a gold coin. He held onto it, and he kept looking at it all the time. He kept thinking about the girl.
He wanted to help her, but he couldn't.

The knight went to the ball, and he was going to kill the prince, but there were too many guards around watching him, so he ran away.

Then the knight went to find the girl and save her. The wicked stepmother grazed him in the neck with an evil spell, but he killed her and all the other guys too, even though he got hurt bad. At first the girl was scared, but then she was free and she was okay. She got to go back home to her real parents. The knight was a hero. All the papers said so.

And everyone lived happily ever after.

..........
..........
..........

Tell me your favorite story.
Voice or video if you can.
The words alone are lonely.

Tell me please.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He could've made some noise, after he was cleared. Pressed charges. But he never did. Hell, I never saw him in person or said a word to him, afterwards.

[Blake had been all prepared to defend himself, and then the fight never came.]

He's not fuckin' hypothetical. The kid's dad is dead for real. The kid told me himself.

Whatever me it's because of, that doesn't change the fact that it's because of me.

...That's like saying that if a mobile suit malfunctions due to specific circumstances, every single unit of that model and the template itself are defective. Would you blame yourself if another you had chosen to become a bank robber at twenty instead?

[Some people would, he knows. But he thinks they shouldn't.]

Would it help if he had pressed charges, or even just left complaints on the precinct's website?

[Blake's voice rises.] I know how fucking close it was!

[The order to fire was right there in his mouth, he can still taste it.]

If I hadn't hesitated for that one goddamn second...

[he trails off and his eyes fall to the mats.

He grunts humorlessly.] If he'd done that I'd still be an asshole, just an asshole out of a job.

Edited 2014-07-18 10:55 (UTC)

But you did.

[Which is the most important part, in his opinion.]

And you can tell the kid why you hesitated, and maybe someday he'll even think to ask someone why the other you didn't.

[Isn't that the first question people ask themselves in this situation? Why?]

...It's not like you get to do your job right now, anyway.

[Blake turns away from the screen, and is now pacing in a tight, rapid circuit. His hands are fists by his sides.]

If that damn lady hadn't been there, if he'd so much as fuckin' twitched...

[He stops suddenly. He stares straight at the phone, whites rimming his eyes.]

He'd be dead. He is dead.

[The cold sickness that he's been trying to drive away solidifies in his gut.]

It's one of those stories where there's a hero and a monster. Sometimes the monster wins.

...But the monster had reasons to believe that the hero was another monster, right? It's not like the monster just decided to act like that for the fun of it. Both had perceived shades of grey, at the very least. Clear cut stories of black and white, of good and evil, don't happen in real life.

[He means for it to come out rationally; if anything, it comes out sadly.]

There's supposed to be, damn it! The good guys do whatever it takes to fight the bad guys! It's supposed to be fuckin' simple!

[His face crumples. Instead of accusatory, it comes out plaintive.]

How would you know?

[Ash laughs. It is not a happy laugh.]

I've seen the monsters attacking my hometown worrying for the orphans in their own neighborhoods. I've seen the heroes protecting my hometown claim they'd destroy enemy civilians if they could. Believe me, the ones calling themselves monsters or heroes are the greyest of all.

[Blake gets a sober look on his face as he's pulled a little out of himself, remembering previous conversations with Ash.] Yeah, you're from the middle of a fuckin' war, aren't you.

If you can't trust being on the right side, how do you know what the hell you are?

[Something desperate comes into his eyes.]

I was a good cop. Everybody said so.

[Except Jayden, but he was just an asshole who couldn't stomach doing what needed to be done, now wasn't he?]

If you can't trust being on the right side, you carve out your own and make that what you are. It's not easy and it upsets people, but that's worth it if you can sleep peacefully at night.

[Ash can't, not always, but that's something else entirely.]

...I'm sure you were. Otherwise, you wouldn't have had the opportunity to decide if a man was to live or die.

[He snorts to himself.] Haven't slept right in a while now. Too quiet.

Too much damn time to think.

[He shakes his head.] It happens all the time, whether or not you're goddamn qualified to go making that decision. Sometimes it happens with dumb kids who don't even have a uniform that fits right yet.

[Ash opens his mouth to mention the music, but stops himself. He can't recall the last time those background sounds registered consciously in his mind.]

...Well, it shouldn't. If even the veterans can make mistakes that cost lives, I don't want to imagine what the dumb kids can do when given that kind of power or responsibility.

[Not that he needs to; he remembers Romary, shielding the enemy commander (keeping their best friend safe) from his gun against all common sense. He remembers himself, charging into battle without a plan, over and over until someone finally-]

[Blake hasn't noticed that in ages. It's part of the sound of the world to him now, like the hum of traffic used to be.

He lets out a low, dry hah to himself.] Yeah. Shit gets messy when you're still learning when and how to shoot first.

Hesitating gets people killed.

[A shadow comes over his eyes.]

Somebody told me that a long time ago.

A very smart someone, who knew what they were talking about.

[How many deaths could have been avoided on both sides, had two kids not hesitated to kill each other? ...Too many, and yet he does not care a single bit about them.]

But someone who never, ever hesitates at all... would probably be more terrifying than the accidents any newbie can cause.

[Blake's face twists into a feral snarl] He was a stupid, lying son of a bitch.

[He jerks his head away from the screen. Yanks himself back to approximate something sane. Seething instead of raging outright.]

Yeah. I thought he was right and it turns out he thought the same thing, no matter how fucking crazy he got.

[Okay, that. That wasn't the reaction he was expecting at all, especially over a discussion that apparently took place a long time ago.]

...How fucking crazy are we talking about, exactly? Since he's apparently also a liar?

[Blake's hands ball into hard fists, and sweat burns his abraded knuckles anew. His voice is raw.]

Crazy enough to murder eight little kids.

...Fucking hell.

[The anger he feels at the moment is usually kept for people murdering his loved ones right before his eyes, but he has no trouble bringing it out now.]

Should he ever show up here, and should I somehow get my mobile suit back, do you want me to unhesitatingly step on him? I can even do it eight times, for good measure.

[Carter knows that kind of anger. It's right there on his own face, and time's done nothing to cool it down.]

The son of a bitch is already dead, and he fucking got off easy.

That means nothing. I met a little girl here who remembered her own death, what's stopping him from showing up too?

[The thought worries him, even with the local 'no death' policy. So many children are traveling by themselves, easy prey for any crazy adult...]

[The look in Blake's eyes could burn a hole through the floor.]

If he does, he'll pay.

[Nothing focuses the mind like remembering the one who really deserves the full force of his hatred.]

It was all him. All of this shit was his fault. Never would have even been on that fucking rooftop if it weren't for him.

Because he was stupid enough to grab the kid of a man ready to do anything to get him back?

[Let it not be said that Ash is bad at putting two and two together.]

At least there weren't nine deaths.

Turns out that was what he was after all along. Eight little kids drowned for his fucking daddy issues.

Then when somebody finally passes his fucking game, I...not me, but some other guy who's me...

[His eyes squeeze shut.]

I fuck up the happy ending.

......Seriously? What, was punching and yelling at his old man too much work, and the kids happened to be easier targets?

[The whole situation is pushing more buttons than he'd normally admit, but he's too angry to care.]

No wonder you thought the other guy could be dangerous. Anyone faced with that sort of monster would get angry enough to radiate murder intent. I hope he 'passed the game' in both worlds with some nice, slow, painful homebrewed justice.

[Blake growls through his teeth.] Who the fuck knows.

I was so fucking sure I knew who it was. It had to be the father.

It couldn't have been him. I never would have gotten him, not in a million fucking years. Would've just kept on killing kids right under my god damn nose.

[17] [Text/Action for Mahogany] - "Whenever You Get Involved, Someone Gets Hurt."

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