Voices from Heaven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thespaceopera) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-10-20 11:18 am
thespaceopera) wrote in driftfleet2015-10-20 11:18 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- ahsoka tano,
- coil lenn,
- margaret "peggy" carter,
- nami,
- natasha romanoff,
- nelkeila tarid,
- nyssa al ghul,
- octavia blake,
- one,
- phèdre nó delaunay de montrève,
- r. daneel olivaw,
- rapunzel,
- remy lebeau,
- riku,
- robin redbreast,
- rogue,
- santanico pandemonium,
- shawn hunter,
- sokka,
- stefan salvatore,
- steve rogers (ou),
- steven quartz universe,
- stiles stilinski,
- syeira,
- tadashi hamada,
- tekhetsio,
- the vision,
- vash the stampede,
- vima sunrider,
- wanda maximoff,
- wrath,
- yamanaka ino
...And also these.
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probably better to pick the keyblade nearest to her! there's bound to be one. ]
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What even happens if a warrior of light grabs a blade balanced between two. Time to find out. ]
1/2 (memory)
At least you can fly.
Well, glide. It’s not really flying, you muse—you right yourself and catch a flicker of silver out of the corner of your eye. Once you see him, you head over, coming to a stop before the boiling volcano. Everything’s too dark—but you can vaguely tell his shape. This is the same unknown boy you’ve been seeing all over the place, causing trouble in the dream worlds.
“You waiting for me?” you call, shoulders back. You need to be imposing. The volcano makes you a little nervous (islanders know above all how dangerous volcanoes can be) but you mask it as best as you can.
He’s prompt to answer, at least. “Yes. The boy chosen by the Keyblade--Riku.”
Startled, you flinch slightly. “What?”
Even if he doesn’t smirk, it’s like his voice does, all smugness and pride, like a taunt. “It was yours first, wasn't it? But you succumbed to the darkness you could not control, and your prize--the Keyblade--passed onto Sora instead.”
You grit your teeth, shoulders hunching and hands fisting at your sides. You can’t help it—you stare at your feet, guilt and self-hatred boiling in your chest and stomach like bile. Like lava.
“Your mistakes always end up being other people's problems.” He says, and you might as well hear Xehanort’s Heartless’s laughter as he possesses you all over again.
You can’t let that overcome you. You’re quick, you stamp out your feelings, and you peer back up at him with a stern smile and a victory forced into your eyes. “Maybe so. But I'm here to change all of that.”
It’s a bold claim, to be sure—and you’re not sure if you’re saying it to intimidate him, or if you’re trying to remind yourself of what you’re trying to do to complete this exam. The title of “Master” means nothing to you, after all. Being worthy of the Keyblade, worthy of sharing responsibility with Sora—that’s the true prize.
He almost sighs. “Once again you performed predictably, although on a grander scale than I imagined.”
There’s some anger that festers in your chest, so you tip your chin up. “If you're feeling so chatty, let's skip to where you reveal what this is all about.”
A tense silence falls between both of you. Neither of you wants to back down, but eventually, the unknown boy does.
“I don't know how you did it,” he starts, his voice resigned—but also somewhat impressed. “but you really have found a way to trap darkness inside your heart. And a boy who's immune to darkness is of no use to us.”
You tilt your head. “Well, there's some good news.”
“Your abyss awaits.” The volcano erupts, and you start—smoke and ash pour outward, and the boy disappears. From the black smoke emerges a demon, huge and powerful, and you hunch your shoulders as you ready to fight.
2/2
Re: 2/2
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[ Her second thought was to knock him out, the third to try and throw this enemy down a deep hole.
--> Attempting a cross-classed cure? ]
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I'm glad that worked, too. Uh--oh [ is that a cure? ] th-thanks. For... all of that.
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I told you, I would not abandon you.
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then, he looks down, embarrassed. ]
I was... I mean, I just... [ he leafs a hand through his hair. ] Everyone else does, I just figured...
[ he tries to get to his feet, wincing as he does so, but he gives a formal bow to her. ] I owe you, Miss Ohsi.
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You owe me nothing, for it was not your fault that drove this battle. You were... Very obvious in your unwillingness.
[ It's not the first time a battle has opened with, well, a certain reluctance on the part of her enemy, but he certainly knew better than to challenge her of his own will... ]
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Well, you might not think so--but I don't leave debts unpaid.
[ in the end, he closes his eyes, and disappears from sight. in the end, a pendent drops around her neck, with three small star charms. it seems innocent enough, like a medal for a job well done--and the door opens, if she would like entry. ]
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[ when you step through the door, it's almost as if you haven't gone anywhere at all. the air is still stagnant and the room itself is still dim, save for a light shining from above that shouldn't be there. the riku that you saw previously is gone, however, and the room is much more closed off—it actually looks like a large, expansive library in a mansion, but everything looks like it's covered in dust and grime. maybe it hasn't been kept up with over the years…
it's hard to miss a few silver platforms, though. they're just like the ones the keyblades floated upon—no, they are the same. yet, they're empty… for now, probably.
there is only one desk that has anything on it; there are numerous books on top of each other, dog-eared and bookmarked in several places. scattered documents litter the rest of the desk, along with pens and markers. most pages have handwritten notes—what's notable is that one is smooth and cursive and another is jagged and curt, like the writer was in a hurry. Neither look anything alike. a new sketchbook sits on the very edge of the desk with a new pack of crayons, on top of that being a small white plastic bag with filled with snacks and three bars of ice cream in white wrappers.
in a comfy armchair with linens and a pillow lies riku. he looks a little older and thinner than in the previous room. decked out in black leather, he lies on his back with a blindfold knotted behind his head. His face looks flushed and feverish, and his black coat is open to expose a black tank top underneath. Nearby there's a thermometer along with varying medicines, an empty bowl of soup, and a few feverish scribbles. he doesn't seem to be fully conscious here either, though at least it doesn't look like anything can come to haunt you. ]
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Can you hear me?
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C-cold. [ he whispers. he's burning up--it's a pretty high temperature. ]
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Who's-- [ his voice is weak, and he reaches one hand up to pull her hand away from his coat. ]
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[ A problem. She does not allow him to pull her hand away easily, gripping the coat tight. ]
I wish to treat your wounds.
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Why?
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Fine.
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[ And true to her blunt warning, she immediately attempts to peel it off him; propping his back up carefully to get it. ] ]
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Ugh. This is so em--embarrassing...
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Yet it shall be less trying than any wound infected. Who did this?