driftfleet | voice;

Who: Okita and you!
Broadcast: Yes
Action: Goldstone
When: October 6th and subsequent days

[Action: Oct. 6th]
[It hadn't been a particularly "heroic" way to go. Certainly, he'd done things as the final ships fled the surface that would warrant being called that, but a dying man could not ask for a seat to safety that could be used by the living. It was simply logical. By the time the last ship failed, he'd already run himself ragged and the demon in his chest was beating against its cage. He couldn't trap those people, already about to lose their home, with a man about to cough blood. So he'd given away his seat to a child and told them he'd find another way home.

Then he'd spent his last moments alive watching the comet come and the last ship flee. The shuttles disappearing through the clouds as the planet hummed in his ears, giving him a sense of peace even as the coughing and the blood racked him. The sight of the massive rock breaking the atmosphere, a blazing streak against the sky, pieces breaking off and slamming into the planet, had been so bright it was almost impossible to watch, but knowing that all of the shuttles had made it away was enough for him. This was a good death.

He only wished he'd been able to say goodbye to people first.

The impact then darkness, a flash of pain and panic, then? Nightmares. It wasn't what he expected from death. Faces he couldn't recognize floating in inky, icy blackness sitting on the edge of familiarity before slipping away again. Paralyzing isolation, screaming, fire that froze instead of burned and then--

Okita shot up in his bed on the Marsiva, hands clutching at his chest as his breath fogged against a medical ventilator. He barely had enough time to guess where he was before he felt reality bend and he was dumped into a hallway on the SS Goldstone, ventilator still strapped to his face, the tube detached from the machine and now trailing uselessly at his side. The jingle and the shower of confetti marked his arrival and then he collapsed in a heap as the fever overtook him.

Welcome...back..?]

[Voice: Later on the 6th]
[He's still so tired by moving around with a fever isn't unfamiliar to him at this point in his life. He bundles himself up the best he can and turns on the communicators, his voice rough and strained, but still managing to sound cheerful despite it all.]

I heard all of the natives made it safely off the planet? Thank you, everyone, for working so hard... I know it wasn't easy, but you saved them. Thank you.

[He takes a moment to catch his breath.]

I also have a confession to make that some of you may already know. It seems silly in comparison to everything that has happened...but I haven't been honest and I apologize. [What good is dying for these people if he can't even trust them with such basic information, right?]

For those who know me as Soujirou, you can continue calling me that if you wish, but my true name is Okita Souji.

[He pauses again because he's already reaching his physical limits, but he doesn't want to end on a downer note.]

So! Does anyone else have a confession to make? It can be silly or serious. It seemed like a good time to start anew.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Anything...? That actually gets his interest and he looks over at Crowley. He makes a good point about Takeshi. Okita died once and while he has noticed his disease hasn't up and killed him already even though it really should have, he can't take the risk of leaving the child again. He's already suffered too much in his life.]

Even death?

I try not to bring people back because that's a messy business- but smaller animals, yeah. And can I say it was absolutely not concerning at all the way you said that.

[He smiles at Crowley, struggling to push himself away from the wall and thus to his feet so he looks a little less like death warmed over.]

Perhaps that was a little dramatic of me to say it like that.

[But the fact remained, he was dying. He was close - as close as the Atroma would let him get at least. Talking about it was still hard, though. It wasn't something he felt comfortable admitting, even to someone who might be able to help him, and he'd been hiding it so long now that it seemed strange to just open up.]

Where I'm from - when I'm from - we don't talk about this. It would only make everyone sad because there is nothing they can do to stop what must happen.

[Which is why he's still smiling even as he says it. He can't be sad too, or they might worry.]

A little?

[Well, this is a depressing conversation, and a little too real for Crowley's liking. He grimaces, standing back, letting Okita get up. ]

And why must it happen, exactly? And if you give me some 'destiny' or 'fate of the world' bullshit I swear I'll kick you out the airlock myself.

[And this is where he isn't certain. He has a feeling that this is his "fate," but Crowley won't like that answer. It seems the demon cares a lot more than he likes to let on, something Okita had parsed awhile ago, but he never thought it would extend to him. Despite the conversation, the revelation makes him smile even as he feels his heart squeeze at the thought of how much it would hurt all of them to know the truth.]

History.

[He's gleaned enough about his life from people and from searching through old stories. He has an inkling of what will happen to him, just as he's had an inkling of what would happen to his friends. He will still fight to change it, but he knows what awaits them in his heart.]

It seems the Atroma have stopped it from getting worse, so that is the best I can hope for. [He leans back for a moment until he knows he's steady and then he pushes away from the wall, leaving his fingertips there just long enough to keep himself on balance.]

But this is incurable in my time and if you were to change that and I were to return home, it would change history.

Meddling in time is generally a bad idea- then again, it could just be part of the grand plan- changing one thing for the better- like that's how it's supposed to go. There's no real way to prove what is the right way for the world to go without talking to whoever it is pulling the strings, and those people never say anything.

[He doesn't buy it, he's also a little bitter at letting things be just because "that's how it's supposed to go". He has issues with that way of thinking. It's why he ended up being a fallen angel in the first place- his endless need to question the status quo. ]

[Perhaps, but... Well, he could ask anyone who has taken a history course how he was supposed to end his life and he had a feeling he knew the answer. Even if someone were pulling the strings, it was more like a noose for him that tightened every moment he was alive.]

If such a thing were allowed to happen, I certainly wouldn't refuse it, but...

[How could he be certain that it wouldn't just come back? Hijikata had tried to treat him for the cough, Matsumoto would likely come soon and do his best as well, but the times were as they were and he had already coughed blood once.

Okita smiled again, shaking his head.]

As long as I can be of use to everyone here, I can bear this. It hasn't gotten worse, so perhaps I'll be alright even without any extra help.

Ugh, can't interfere with the grand plan, huh?

[That is so like Aziraphale's philosophy and it's both endearing and horribly frustrating at the same time. Still, Crowley knows he can argue this all damn week and won't change it.]

I think the Fleet does that. Stops terminal illnesses from getting worse. Seen it happen a couple times.

[He gives Crowley an apologetic smile. He knows more than anyone how being helpless can eat away at a person's soul. There are days when he's sick here that he can't do anything, and he's only human. He can't imagine what it must be for a demon capable of amazing feats of reality-bending to have his hands tied.]

The one thing I can thank the Atroma for, beyond meeting all of you.

[That and bringing him back to life, of course.]

At least like this, I can stay with you all a little longer. [He pauses, glancing down at his hand and the now drying blood still smeared across his palm.]

...I'm sorry, Crowley-san. I know this isn't the answer you were hoping for. It isn't the one I want to give either.

[It's the worst, he hates it. ]

Ugh, now you're just being sappy about it. You know I have allergies to this kind of thing.

[He loves you too, you crazy weirdo :| ]

Yeah, well. What can we do. It is what it is.

And you should know by now that I can't make your life easy.

[He gives a small genuine smile, tired as it may look. He wubs you, too, Crowley. It's why he tortures you.

And so, even while he is alive again, he isn't well and he falters, bracing himself with one hand against the wall. He feels hot and cold at the same time and his bones ache.]

Perhaps I should lie down before you have to carry me.

Of course not, you little fucker.

[It's said very affectionately. Mostly.]

I'd do that if I were you, I've maxed out my decent being actions for the day.Go lie down.

[m o s t l y]

I wouldn't want to overtax your quota. What if you ran out for the rest of the week? What would we all do?

[He gives a half-laugh, half-huff of congeniality and then bows his head. He's fairly certain he can get back to his room from here and so he begins to walk, leaning heavily against the walls as he goes.]

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