dreamcrystals | dream recording 🔶 life flashing before your eyes

Entry tags:

dream recording 🔶 life flashing before your eyes

Warnings: blood, death, past suicidal ideation, decapitation

—You have to go, angel, your mother urges you as she holds back tears, your father doing what he can to lift a fallen, crackling beam for you to go past, his glasses askew. The smoke is already horrible, the heat alone suffocating enough. Your right arm stings and throbs, blood dripping from your useless hand, but you can't afford to pay attention to it. Vision blurring—

I love you, you sob.

You barely remember stumbling through the fiery hallways. Something lands on your back at one point. You notice that the knob of the front door has burned your hand before you collapse.

You'd almost thought that was the end. Maybe it would have been easier if it had been. You still aren't sure how long you were unconscious at the hospital.

—The horrific, twisted whale fall pulses, choking you even through the breathing charms with its dark sickness. You're infected, you know, the plague taking advantage of your Fae nature, and you can already feel it crawling through your veins to get to the rest of you. You wait as the magical bomb is activated, even after the dragon calls for all of you to flee. A young woman with white hair takes you by the arm.

Now's not the time to throw your life away, she cries. Your argument doesn't last long, the explosion blinding you with blue light and breaking your fragile wings against your back as you try to protect your friend with your body, at least.

That wasn't it. The dragon caught you as you were all launched out of the ocean, and the medical witches cured you before the infection was irreversible. What would have happened if you died in another world, you wonder?

—Your best friend isn't with them, you notice. Curious, you turn your eyes about to find him, however bad a decision that might normally be when you're fighting the rest of the group—but it's not like they want to attack you, anyway. When you finally spot him, you see he's unnaturally obscured in shadow, aiming at the back of your guardian, the man who took everything from you and then became your family.

You use your new magic to teleport in the way, ignoring the strain of it. Nobody says anything to you before you're struck by the bolt shot by your best friend and your guardian's blade. Your vision goes white with pain and you collapse in the murderer's arms.

You survived then, too. He healed you, for all the good it did.

—I know you wouldn't want to hurt anyone like this.

A redheaded prince in a devilish costume torn by the same kind of gem shards your hands and legs have become stands in front of you, hesitating. You've sunk to your knees, head hung and waiting in your hopelessness, dark pools growing around you and threatening to create more monsters from your nightmares. You don't care. You don't care about anything, knowing there's no point. He will end it, finally.

He lifts his sword and lets it drop fully on the back of your neck, slicing through—cutting off your awareness of the rest of you, but you have just long enough to realize you no longer have a throat to scream—

NO, PLEASE

Ferran wakes in a panic.

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[That's very sweet of Susato to say, even if it's really just a basic thing to hope for somebody. Maybe it's just nice to hear it.]

Thank you.

[To say there's a deeper problem would be an understatement, he feels. He steadies his hands around the cup he's holding, focusing on the warmth for a moment.]

The problem... it isn't here to be solved. I'm just trying to live in spite of it, as much as I can.

[ Nice, maybe. Doesn't feel particularly helpful though, but that 'Thank you' feels genuine at least, and warm. She'll have to hold onto that. ]

I suppose.

[ She'll take some more sips of her tea while she tries to decide what to say next. Why does she feel so oddly unsatisfied? ]

At least you deserve to rest in a place that is not so damaged or crumbling. [ Or... gosh, she doesn't know. What if he just needs a night away from this house? ]

[He turns his gaze to the poor cracked walls, some of the glass of the windows practically ruined. While it's obvious he's done no dream magic to improve on or expand the structure, it's been decorated with care, in the interest of comfort. He thinks of the place fondly, and he's not going to leave it broken if he can help it.]

... yeah.

[There are a lot of things Ferran might argue he doesn't deserve, but he'd really like for some of the simple pleasures like a house that's in one piece. It's still decently cold outside, and a broken window isn't going to do him any favors.]

I'll have to get help to fix it...

[ . . . She follows his gaze. Perhaps the damage is even worse than she thought, at first glance, being masked the fake sky of stars. She grips her teacup a little tighter, considering options. ]

We can find you some help tomorrow, when it's light. [ Even if she has to ask for it herself. ] For tonight... well, we do have a guestroom.

If you are not opposed to it.

[The idea that he might damage her home as well as his is the only reason to refuse that he considers more than a brief moment, but he hesitates even so. The thought of repaying her kindness with that kind of destruction is almost unbearable.

But she said they'd grown those nightmare-repelling flowers, so he assumes there must be more where she is. ... and he still has more of those golden talismans tucked away in his journal, if it comes down to it; he lowers his gaze to said notebook as he answers. Well, he's not about to ask anybody to sleep here right now.]

... If it's not too much trouble.

[Bringing an obvious disaster like him into a house in the middle of the night will probably invite questions, among other things. But he knows he'd be more comforted even by the presence of strangers than by staying here, alone, and he's fragile enough as is.]

[ Actually, it's quite possible they have more than one guestroomS now. Maybe another had always been there. Who's to say how many they had to begin with? Is the house expanding as they need it...?

Who's to say. But she clearly seems pleased that he agreed. He definitely needs to get out of here. ]

Of course not.

[ Thank God Kazuma and Sholmes have already fixed their entrance, otherwise she would have had some explaining to do herself. ]

The change of scenery would be good for you, but there's no need to rush. [ At the very least, she's definitely going to be finishing her tea first, and insist he do the same. ]

[Dreams are strange and mysterious that way, aren't they.

Well, honestly, seeing the broken door would probably put him... at ease? At least in the sense that he isn't the worst disaster to grace their entrance in recent times. Either way, he is learning to accept help when he needs it... in most instances.

He nods his agreement that rushing wouldn't be a good idea.]

Probably better to make sure I can walk without tripping on my face...

[And in the interest of finishing his own tea, since Susato was nice enough to make it, he will in fact start to take decent sips. His stomach, at least, is feeling less unsteady.]

Oh... don't worry. I won't let that happen.

[ How would he feel about pink, Japanese-style door curtains, is the real question.

She looks at him with some concern though as he gently sips from his cup, seeming ready to react, whatever may happen. Sure, she had tossed him the first time they met, and maybe he deserved that, but now she's going to do... the opposite?

...Is that a thing? It's apparently a thing. (Who knew?) ]

Thanks.

[Adorable. Certified Ferran stamp of approval. Bit drafty, maybe.

Thankfully, there's not much for her to react to at the moment. While he doesn't look good by any stretch—pale and drawn are more apt, even ignoring the dark cracks—he's better, and he's stopped shaking quite so much. But it's probably a sign of just how out of it he is mentally for how long it takes for him to notice and meet Susato's gaze. It might have taken longer than the two or three sips of tea if he wasn't actively trying to stay out of his own head, though. So that's something.]

Hm?

. . . Huh?

[ She visibly startles when he notices. All she can do is hurriedly avert her eyes, and maybe pretend like she hasn't been staring for so long, though she's never really been convincing as an actress, outside of the courtroom. ]

No, it, it's nothing. Take your time.

[ She certainly is. Though after a while of relaxing in the relative comfort of his company, she finds her cup empty. ]

[There's too much mess in his brain to try to guess at what might be going on in hers, as disappointing as that is for his nosy personality. He'll have to leave it for later, when he has more energy to get past the fog...

When he sets down his own empty cup a minute later and pulls a nearby blanket around himself as if as a makeshift cloak, he's at least managed to come up with something to say.]

You live with your dad?

[ At some point she'd set down her cup, too. He seems as comfortable as he can be, considering the situation; at the very least, he seems to be trying, judging by the blanket-cloak, so she will continue to not rush him. ]

I do.

[ She is not ashamed of the fact, given she's still pretty young, though maybe some cultures would find that strange. She doesn't know. She just knows there isn't a good reason to not live with him. ]

He will not mind, truly. He likes keeping younger company around, I think.

[ Overcompensating dad is overcompensating. ]

[It's more the fact that Yujin is even here to live with her that's remarkable to him, and the reason he brings it up; he's fairly sure he's never met anyone from his home in the other world, and he definitely hasn't here. What would that be like? He doesn't really know if it's something he really wants to think about.]

Or maybe he's trying to make you comfortable.

[So she and her friends don't have to feel weird spending time there. ... he does wonder, though, if Susato brings home a lot of strays. And he doesn't just mean dogs.]

Do you have a lot of people over?

[ Most people their age would probably be ecstatic to get away from their parents. Susato, on the other hand, has spent too many years without him, so, childish though it may be, she is definitely glad he's here. She doesn't know how she would have dealt with half of what she did in Reverein without him.

(Kazuma, probably. He did say he would have looked out for her--and speaking of that:) ]

Mostly family and close friends from home. Although, we did welcome a number of people the day he decided to put forth the idea about forming a council. Our greenhouse is rather eye-catching, I think.

[Well. Susato should have plenty of evidence for why Ferran wouldn't feel that way about staying with one's parents, at this point.

More people she already knew, she says, and he almost stops listening at that point for how the idea strikes him. There's a pang of something in his chest as he considers it, and no—he guesses he doesn't want to think about that. His eyes turn downward, his voice quieter.]

... It's always just been me. In these places.

[ He can probably see the moment Susato trails off, maybe not quite making it to the end of that sentence once she realizes he's tuned out. She's obviously not offended, though, just... guilty. The foot-in-mouth syndrome is strong with this one.

He and Kazuma had that in common, it seemed. At least until a few months ago. ]

I'm... I'm sorry. [ She'll shut up, but not actually-- ] What of your girlfriends?

[His eyes fixated on a spot on the floorboards, Ferran tries to hold on to the comfort he's brought by the fact that he can even remember them. There must be so much he's still missing, but... he can imagine their smiles, and that's something.]

Rikku, and Yona... they were from other worlds, too. [He brings a hand over his necklace, fingers curling around the silver pendant almost as if to make sure it's still there.]

The only thing I ever saw from home... was the sword of the person who ruined my life.

[ She doesn't know which is worse: ask more about Rikku and Yona, at the risk of further reminding him that they're not here, or ask about the sword, belonging to this terrible person.

Ultimately, she remembers how Ferran's dream ended, and the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. There is a slight pressure there, just enough to feel uncomfortable. She reaches up to scratch at it idly, her curiosity getting the best of her. ]

A sword... Was that...?

[ Was it the one that came down so cruelly on the back of his neck? Was it that red-headed devil who ruined his life? At the very least, he seemed to end it. But who knows, in a dream.

She understands so little about it. She opens her mouth though, think she should at least finish her question, but she winds up closing it again. ]

[Ferran has no way of knowing just how much Susato saw, when she could have stopped watching at any point; and even now, the memory of what the dream displayed is beginning to lose its clarity. Probably for the best, but...]

... the second-to-last, just after the explosion... with the cape and black hair.

[He hadn't seen the sword at that moment, but he knows it well; he'd taken that black blade and locked it away for the entirety of his time in Geardagas. The sword Hans wielded in the last memory of the dream shone silver, meanwhile.]

It wasn't even any good, when I had it. The magic was gone. It was just a miserable reminder...

Edited (leftover word from previous sentence draft.......... and a more different thing) 2022-03-29 05:21 (UTC)

O- Oh. [ After the explosion... She thinks backm though it is terribly difficult without playback. After the explosion, she remembers a man in the shadows, though she can't quite remember if that was a cape behind him or maybe something else entirely caught in the ruin. A trick of the light, perhaps? ]

Then, it would probably be cruel of me to ask who he was.

[ You just did, in a way, Susato. ]

If the magic disappeared when the sword was in your care, I would guess it is because it was tied to him. [ That could be why it wouldn't respond? She wonders if Karuma is loyal to Kazuma in the same way. ]

[He answers it, anyway. It's not like he hasn't had time to make "peace" with that part of his situation. He spent a year in Aefenglom dealing with the idea.]

My guardian. [It was a mess of a dream, to be sure; about as scattered as his usual thoughts are. She probably has so many questions he's not capable of answering right now.] If that world hadn't removed my magic, too... I might have thought so.

[He pauses, thoughts nowhere near his usual inclination towards the logic of what happened. But maybe part of the problem is that he so rarely talks about his feelings.]

I guess... better the sword than him. [He only sounds half-convinced.]

[ Guardian is an interesting choice of words. If it is his father, why wouldn't he just say so? Susato can't say she noticed any resemblance based on that brief flash, nor has Ferran ever talked about a father. Only his mother.

. . . Who had also been featured, if she's not mistaken.

He's right. There is plenty more she could press him on, but it's not like she has a case to solve or motivate her. She wants to help him, but she's still trying to figure out what that looks like. She relents to give him a break, rather than pestering him with more questions. ]

So that world removes magic, yet Reverein seems to add it, in the form of dreamotion. I am starting to understand how you might prefer this place. [ Despite the fact that he seems to be lonelier... ]

[While the situation is more complex than that—it had removed his magic and supplanted it with something else, worse—her remark makes him realize something. The preference he'd stated when they first met still remains true, and even with horrible nightmares that force him and his friends to suffer through the experience of death...]

Magic or no magic, here... it's better.

[He looks down, turning his palm up to stare at the dark markings on his wrist. Despite them, he's still in control of himself. In the same way, there are no Fae scales to be seen, and no twin moons to twist his body and mind into something else.]

I'm not a monster, or a maniac... I can just be me.

[ She watches the way he turns over his palm. There's something on his wrist; he's definitely looking at something, but in the poor light of the fake stars, she can't exactly tell what it is.

Something about his expression, the words he chose. "Monster." She's seen it somewhere before. ]

Of course you're not a monster. [ Or a maniac. ] Why... Why would you think that?

[He draws his hand back, pulling the blanket he'd retrieved closer, like a shield to protect himself from the misery of those memories.]

Because... I was one.

[And there was no denying it. As much as people tried not to use the word with any malice, the fact of the matter was that he was classified as a monster. No amount of kind words would change that, nor erase how he felt about it.]

Did I... tell you what happened in Geardagas? [She recalled the name earlier, faintly. He thinks he mentioned monsters briefly at that point, but hadn't gotten into it, with how messy a subject it was for him.] About people transforming. It wasn't... temporary. Or curable.

[Unlike his moment as a noctaere, which ended so violently. Despite the terror of that moment, he still considers his time as a Fae worse.]

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