Fear of Falling
| Fear of Falling | |
|---|---|
| Date of Scene: | 09 February 2016 |
| Location: | Nephrite's Spooky Mansion |
| Synopsis: | Zoisite pays a call on Nephrite. Nephrite is understandably not entirely pleased with this, since the last time he saw his least favorite brother involved the smallest general apparently murdering Jadeite. But both of them are running short on options... |
| Cast of Characters: | Nephrite, Zoisite |
Zoisite has posed:
It was inevitable, really.
All Nephrite had to do was be a stable point. Display a little patience. And sooner or later, the less patient - the least patient - of the Shitennou would fall at least temporarily into his orbit. Not that Zoisite ever lets his behavior become too predictable, but there are always patterns.
It was even possible to control the time and the circumstances, to an extent. Nephrite's sanctum is sealed. None of his brothers can enter, unless it's with him. So whenever Zoisite appeared, it had to be at a time Nephrite was doing something other than communing with the stars.
There is, of course, a down side to this.
"Keeping a safe distance?" asks a familiar light, sweet voice just as Nephrite is lifting his glass. Its source is off to Nephrite's right, behind and above him, and they've played this game often enough that Nephrite doesn't have to look to place his uninvited and perhaps dubiously welcome guest. Zoisite would be perched midair just there, seated neatly and casually on nothing, placed between Nephrite and one of the windows - the reflection of the sky in the many panes a perfect frame for the vain little General.
"Not a bad idea," Zoisite continues. "You're the one She's least angry with." A hint of laughter enters into his tone. "If you keep your head down long enough, She might even forget."
Nephrite has posed:
Nephrite cautiously looks over the blond general, as if he could find the answers to his questions just by looking. But Zoisite, unlike the stars, rarely projects a clear message. He is, at least, doing him the courtesy of announcing himself, but he was also fighting side-by-side with Jadeite before... whatever happened. Friendliness could always just be one more trap.
But he is also certain that was no act back in Beryl's throne room, when he cowered behind Nephrite. He smiles humorlessly up at the floating general. "You know me. I've never been overly fond of the decor there."
Zoisite has posed:
Zoisite, indeed, looks much like Zoisite always does. Any damage that the ice did him is either healed or concealed under his immaculate uniform. And he wouldn't have come if he weren't as self-possessed as he always is in public - or at least able to feign it.
But the long tail of his hair is a little shorter than it was.
"Hmph." There's an amused note to the sound, and it's echoed in the little toss of his head. "And it always just keeps getting worse, doesn't it?"
Usually that's a ritualized complaint, all form and no function. This time Zoisite's smile fades after, transforms itself into the equally familiar hinted shadow of a frown. "Or at least they're not getting better."
Nephrite has posed:
Nephrite sees that hint of a frown, and he wonders. Wonders whether Zoisite is troubled, and whether they are troubled by the same things. It hardly seems enough reason to put his absolute trust in Zoisite again.
He sets his glass on the little table, ice cubes clinking, and leans back to regard the floating blond properly. "Should I have any reason to believe," he says evenly, "that you are not here to kill me?"
Zoisite has posed:
That question is enough to make Zoisite turn his head and look directly at Nephrite, green eyes clear though not untroubled, and arch a brow. Lashes are batted. Twice. "Are you in fact on fire right now?" he asks brightly. "Because if not, well. I didn't have to go to the effort of letting you know I was here. Did I?"
He slides off the nothing that he's perched on, landing neatly on his feet on the terrace, and takes the necessary steps to come up to the side of Nephrite's chair. As distinct from beside it. He's keeping enough distance that any attempt to do unto Nephrite as he did unto Jadeite would be unsuccessful ... and perhaps more importantly from Zoisite's point of view, enough distance that he might have a chance to flit out of the way if Nephrite came for him. If there were any fight - if Nephrite got his hands on the smaller general once, it would be over.
To the side of Nephrite's chair does not mean looking at him. Zoisite's looked away again, down the length of the terrace. Hands at his sides. There's so little talking with them right now - a sign of the real mood under the feigned ones, or just a legacy of Mercury's ice, or perhaps something else altogether. "Besides, you aren't in the condition Jadeite was in, are you? Or didn't you have time to notice?"
Nephrite has posed:
"You also didn't have to go to the effort of fighting by Jadeite's side through the entire battle, and yet..." he gestures flippantly with his glass.
The deliberate distance that Zoisite places between them does not go unnoticed. Nephrite remains where he is, back towards the wall, deliberately casual in the way that he continues to recline. But he is like a bear, hunkered down defensively in his chair, ready to take a swipe if needed.
He pauses at that last statement. "Notice what? What condition?"
Zoisite has posed:
"Didn't I?" Zoisite's turn to glance back over his shoulder; the fetching, coy smile is fully in place. "How else was I to be certain? Gossip is never a reliable source. Lies, half-truths, distortions, misinterpretations. Not the court I'd want to be tried in. And even gossip only gave me suspicions. Didn't he deserve the chance to prove himself first?"
The smile notches down in intensity a moment after; green eyes harden to glass before he folds his arms and turns back away. "But he couldn't. Did you see any of it? The way his emotions betrayed him? The way he couldn't control his own ice? How he was missing magics that our Queen gave him, and trusted Sailor Moon's powers near him more than mine?"
That last, under the circumstances, might not be the most convincing note to end on. He releases his hold in himself and turns, pulling the tail of his hair forward over his shoulder as he does, tugging at it as if he thought he could draw it out into its usual length. His voice goes softer, still sweet, but lower now. "He was afraid of falling, Nephrite. Which of us is afraid of that?"
Nephrite has posed:
Nephrite's brow crinkles. He was focused on the familiars, and the literal weaponized skyscrapers, more than the actions of his comrades. They were doing their jobs, they didn't appear to be dying, what else would he have reason to watch for? But now that he thought of it...
His dark eyes are hard as slate as he studies Zoisite, searching for some sign of deception. "Just what," he says carefully, "are you implying?"
Zoisite has posed:
"Oh, Nephrite. I promise, using your brain to think with won't give you split ends." The roll of Zoisite's eyes is perfectly characteristic; he lets his breath out in an exaggerated, theatrical sigh, before finally straightening into seriousness. Making report.
"Kunzite sent Jadeite to try to track down the Senshi's human contacts, maybe even the names they hide under. I think they found him first. When he was alone, already -" One small hand lifts in front of Zoisite's chest, gestures in a little circle. "You know the way he gets. Unstable." The void between the stars calling the kettle black; except that Zoisite's flavor of instability and Jadeite's were never anything alike.
And a distant flame of anger lights itself behind those cat-bright eyes. "I think they did something to him," Zoisite says softly. "Something that changed him. I don't think there was enough of him left for even our Queen to put back together, this time." He doesn't shudder as he says that, but he tightens in on himself, making himself smaller - visceral memory of their Queen's method of expressing her own opinion on the subject. "Everything he knew, there's a chance they had time to get it out of him. And that's aside from whatever Mercury was planning for him to do to us. There must have been something. She wouldn't have been watching him so closely for no reason."
Nephrite has posed:
Nephrite's drink clatters onto the table. He is on his feet now. Not advancing on Zoisite yet, not quite ready to force that altercation, but positioned as if ready for a fight. "And you thought the solution was to kill him? This is Jadeite we're talking about! He isn't just--" Nephrite catches himself, corrects the statement, "he wasn't just some youma to be disposed of."
And he cannot articulate why. He cannot recall a single specific time when he and Jadeite had any particularly special interaction. He had not even considered why he did not get a chance to see Jadeite before Walpurgisnacht. Nephrite had just assumed that he was out on a job, or locked away with his clay, just like he always was.
"He was a general of the Dark Kingdom," Nephrite settles on, at last, drawing on rank when no sufficient word exists to explain the emotional attachment. "He deserved better."
Zoisite has posed:
That's something that people do. When someone close or even close-enough dies, when a facet of their lives is gone, the present tense turns up - half unnoticed, or more than half. Particularly when speaking about something habitual, something constant. Nephrite just now. Zoisite a moment before. It means nothing. It'd be stranger if it didn't happen. Wouldn't it?
Zoisite takes a quick, half-startled step back as Nephrite rises - takes that ground and holds it, not backing any further away. His left hand curls into a small fist; his right tightens, but not quite as much.
"Of course he deserved better," that tiny figure breathes, chin lifted in defense and defiance. "But what exactly did you want me to do, Nephrite? What do you think would have happened to him if he came back?"
Nephrite has posed:
The statement strikes him almost physically. Nephrite flinches, thinking of Kunzite's newfound singleminded focus. Of the empty shell that once held a boy named Endymion. To see Jadeite reduced to that...
But is this really better? Losing him to the control of the sailor senshi? But it's too late, Nephrite realizes. Whatever punishment might have been awaiting Jadeite would be infinitely worse for him if he were to be brought back now. Nephrite peers into Zoisite's face, seeking, as he carefully says, "then I guess we should be grateful, at least, that his death was quick."
Zoisite has posed:
This time the smile is all eyelashes and false modesty; but it comes with a little relaxing of the tension, and when Zoisite ducks his head to look up to Nephrite (not that he's been doing anything else since Nephrite stood), his opened left hand finally drifts up to the vicinity of his chin. "I do try to do good work."
The boy pauses for a breath before he adds, "Please don't think I'm going to do that twice, though. If they get you, it's your own problem. I don't like you enough to go through a warning like that one again." The delicate shudder is meant to be a playful thing; it almost makes it.
That's always the trouble with trying to suss out the truth with the boy's reactions. Affectation and slyness are threaded so thoroughly through his normal behavior, it makes it difficult to tell when they're actually covering something with any meaning.
But that shudder ought to be coupled with a glance away.
It isn't. Zoisite's head turns, but those bright eyes stay on Nephrite. Seeking something in turn. Wary. Probably frightened. Those things are his natural state. But searching; and he came here.
Nephrite has posed:
Zoisite always has been a puzzle. He does more than mix his signals. He sends out a jumble of emotions, flickering rapidly like a Christmas light, too many to tell whether any, or all of them, or none of them, are real. Nephrite finds himself just as uncertain as before about whether Zoisite knows that Jadeite is alive. Does that even matter, really? It matters if Zoisite thought killing one of them in cold blood is the best possible alternative. If he absolutely believes his own story.
But perhaps the answer to that does not matter. Not when they can agree that it would be best for everyone if Jadeite, for all intents and purposes, remains dead. Wherever he is now, he cannot be reached. And it would be best if he were not.
But though the smallest general remains otherwise elusive, he does catch Zoisite's shudder. And he remembers, again, the horror of Beryl's throne room. Zoisite had not been the only frightened one there, but perhaps the things that frightened Nephrite were not the same. His expression darkens; he has never traded in hiding his emotions the way that Zoisite or Kunzite have. "No," he says lowly. "I don't imagine you would."
He is the first to turn away, to fumble for his drink. Clutching at faint comforts. He downs the rest of the whisky in one gulp, leaving his voice rough on the edges. "And I don't imagine the next time it will be a warning."
Zoisite has posed:
If he absolutely believes his own story.
In cold blood.
The blood spattered on Zoisite and his uniform did not fade, dissipate, vanish. Did not behave as one of Jadeite's illusions ought to have. And yet the stars told Nephrite that Jadeite was never in danger. Where, then, did the blood come from?
Is its source still bleeding now?
Who is the story meant for?
There's no flippant comment ready, nothing to push away Nephrite's shift in mood. The change in tone is caught instead, echoed between them, allowed to set up a resonance. "I'm not sure Kunzite still knows who I am." The words are not permitted to be sick, or stricken, or anything else but small and frozen and there. "I know the boy doesn't. He doesn't think I'm real. You and I - we're the only ones left, aren't we?"
That. That last sentence holds far more of an implicit promise than the iteration before it did. Something perceptible not in itself, but only in the way it emerges from a lifetime's worth of context. Not a promise, per se, but a hidden statement of fact, built out of things Zoisite would rather face Beryl's wrath again than say out loud.
You're safe from me. I don't have anyone else left to talk to. And I couldn't do this on my own.
Nephrite has posed:
The only ones left. That is a reality he did not want to acknowledge. The words grate like sandpaper.
But Nephrite reaches the only natural conclusion too. Not an agreement. Not a partnership. But an understanding. They can only count on each other, now. They have to.
So what now?
He has no plan. No goal. He has no intention of rising up against anybody. He only knows that he has no intention of losing anybody else.
He only knows that he has a safe place that nobody can enter, and nobody can watch. "Sometime," he says with careful casualness, "you should come watch the stars with me. Come learn the answers to some questions."
Zoisite has posed:
One point in common is enough, sometimes. Whether they have more than one remains to be seen. But that one...
Zoisite manages to sigh with his entire body, tipping his head back in mute appeal to the sun. Which is, of course, itself another star. "That's your answer to every question," he complains, no matter that his own answers to every question are generally chosen from the short list of murder, arson, betrayal, vanity, and greed. He glances back Nephrite's way an instant later, though, and there's that flame behind his eyes again. The anger that he feeds his weaknesses into, to make them half his motive force. Something real.
"But it has been a long time, hasn't it?" That fetching smile, just once more. "All right. When may I intrude upon your ever-so-busy schedule, do you think?"
One point in common is enough.
Nephrite has posed:
"And it's usually the right answer," Nephrite replies with a smirk. Trading barbs. That is something they can still manage to do. "Though I realize that for those of us with the attention span of a toddler, it's not the most exciting way to pass the time."
He shrugs. Keep it casual. Nothing suspicious here. Nothing disloyal about exchanging information with a comrade. "In what world have you ever needed an invitation to show up unannounced at my house? If I gave you a time, you wouldn't adhere to it anyway. So..." his dark eyes meet Zoisite's. "come when you have questions."
Zoisite has posed:
The first problem Zoisite encounters with regard to that 'attention span of a toddler' comment is that it's just accurate enough, and touches on their ages just enough, that it actually stings.
The second problem is that the particular petulant glare that the sting prompts in reflex ... makes him look a good few years younger. At best.
The third problem is that that loops right back to the first one, if left unchecked.
Zoisite teeters for a moment in impotent fuming, until Nephrite moves on and lets him halfway off the hook. (Which is, of course, worse; in his ideal world, Zoisite would have been able to slither free and drop a sly couple of words to turn the tables. Once in a while, he can even actually do that to Nephrite, which of course makes every other time worse.)
There's a deep breath on the youngest General's part, and the first couple of pink petals beginning to shimmer into existence around him as he starts to retreat for the moment - Nephrite's phrasing suggested 'not now,' after all. But Nephrite meeting his eyes ... that cuts right through the glare, finds or more likely creates something steadier buried beneath it.
"Careful what you wish for," Zoisite teases lightly. "I might never leave."
As, of course, he's fading.
Nephrite has posed:
The thought of losing even one more comrade, including the one who likes to materialize unannounced over his head just to insult him, still feels like a raw wound when prodded, even in jest. Nephrite's eyes do not waver as Zoisite fades. "You better not," he mutters, even as Zoisite is leaving him now. Whether or not Zoisite hears the words before he fades away completely, he does not know.
