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dreamcrystals2022-09-02 03:24 pm
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Entry tags:
XX3 Entry - [A Dream within a Dream] - Early September
Sender: Beatrix
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive Dream Recording
Warnings: Likely potentially upsetting content. Implications of genocide. Iâm going to try to explore this as gently, respectfully, and carefully as I can, but I do emphasise to proceed with caution.
Notes: A dream depicting Beatrix reflecting on some of the war crimes she committed in her home world. It is longer than I expected it to be.
Have some sounds of rain for ambiance.
It is not uncommon for Beatrix to patrol at night, usually following her dreams. It is safe to assume that post this dream, thatâs precisely what she does. Feel free to encounter her in person (out on patrol, at her residence) or via journals, though with the latter, it is unlikely she will respond immediately. Assume journal responses are after an applicable amount of time, depending on circumstance.
Her dreams most oft are accompanied intimately by rain. Sometimes, it is the blistering sound of wind. Occasionally, the consistent roar of airship engines and the turning of gears. And every once in a while, it is the sound of wood splitting and cracking, followed by a flash of light and the deafening explosion that trails after in its wake.
Tonight, it is rain. A sky looms overhead, blanketed by dark clouds and the occasional tendril of lightning. The blue-grey cobblestone pathways are soaked, so much so that in places where the footpaths dip after years of wear and tear, they are filled with reflective and rippling puddles of water. The front entrance stone archway is intricately detailed and has been standing for too many years to count, established likely earlier than some native to the world may think.
Welcome to Burmecia, the Realm of Eternal Rain.
It holds nothing precious, except life. Life that Beatrix, general of Alexandria, has been tasked with taking.
This is something that has already happened. Beatrix simply replays it near nightly, and the dreams rarely seem to change. Her boots echo softly on the ground in a momentary eerie silence and behind her where she has already been, the environment simply turns to stone. A broken down cart knocked over, its wares splattered on the pathway and up against the wall of a nearby multilevel home, once in muted colour now sits in permanent disarray in chilling sculpture.
There are figures slumped. On the grounds. Draped over stairways and metal bannisters. Burmeciansâa race of ratlike people, tall in stature, tailed, with pointed ears and pointed noses.
For years, Alexandria and Burmecia have waged wars upon one another. Pitted against each other, the concept of war is not so foreign, though perhaps disappointing when the continent at large believed to be ushering in an era of peace. What has happened here, however, is not war at all. It is only conquest. Only eradication of the Burmecian people. A simple little test conducted by Queen Brahne of Alexandria, utilising constructed black mage dolls with no will of their own and only the orders pounding in their doll heads. The leader of this charge, this show of overwhelming power and influence, is none other than Beatrix, compelled by order and the lust in her veins for something she cannot quite understand, a realisation that she will not come to learn for a great deal of time following.
The Beatrix of today, the one stepping through this replay of a chapter of her life that she has kept hidden and closely held to her heart, is not identical. Not different, but only a part of the woman who carried this out in so impeccably a fashion.
As she steps, there are voices, many words that are garbled and incomprehensible, blending in with the sounds of the pitter-patter of the rain as it strikes. If one listens closely, an occasional scream, a memory left over from an otherwise desolate and ruined city-state, disrespected and torn asunder by invasion. Some lines of memory highlight the tense air in voices that are not Beatrixâs as she continues this reunion with this intimate knowledge of her past.
âThatâs Beatrix? The cold-blooded knight who knows no mercy. BeatrixâŚâ
In the square of the city-state, the homes in the vicinity are worn down, most of them only partially standing. A curving bridge pathway leads to the towering, ominous, and impressive figure of Burmeciaâs castle, stretching tall towards the sky as lightning flashes about it.
â...Beatrix of Alexandria, in particular. They say her swordsmanship is the best in the land.â
As she moves along, Save the Queen in the grip of her right hand, a chain that binds her to obligation and her role, there are but glimpses, moving images for just moments that betray the chaos that ensued upon her initial charge. The movement of feet and the blur of bodies before theyâre cut down or subjected to the magicks of the black mages. As she takes to the bridge and its connecting path, the commotion freezes, transposing image and concept to stone and reality, like macabre decor in a courtyard.
Before the entrance, itâs her own voice that echoes in a stunning clarity. An embittered laugh, hand-in-hand with chilled tone. Unfeeling. Uncaring. So professional and emotionally detached that one would think Beatrix feels nothing at all in this exchange, except an irritation. In what, one can only theorise.
âI have never been so humiliated in my life.â
The castle stands above her and she finds in its centre, a couple of grandiose statues, some of the only things remaining that have yet to be broken down and destroyed. There is the lingering memory of Queen Brahne in search of Burmeciaâs king, only to find by way of a charming and sinister man, the one who has provided her so much power to begin with, that the king has fled to the tree protected by the windâCleyra.
There are other things to note. A coupleâBurmecian woman standing alongside a tailed statue that some may recognise as Zidane, the cunning and charismatic companion to many. They possess no movement. Only presence in colour doused in greys. And she hears herself again, the same chill wrapping her in tight embrace.
âI once killed a hundred knights single-handedly⌠To me, you two are nothing more than insects.â
Approaching them each, one after the other, Beatrix lifts a hand and she settles it to the forearm of the Burmecian she will one day come to know as Freya and it takes only touch for her to join her statued brethren. There is a momentâs pause as she examines a Zidane that once was part of her past. In Reverein, he may not have forgiven her, but he never seemed to hold her actions against her and Beatrix, to this moment, to this very breath, still cannot understand why. The only clue she has ever had is that the Beatrix of his future is different than the one who was the head of this calamity.
Settling hand to his shoulder, she puts him to rest, and lifts her chin to hear her voice once more. A woman who is only a part of her, but perhaps one she has yet to embrace. To this moment, she has only ever admonished and condemned herself, placing distance between her person and others, knowing that she would rather be hated than pitied, rather hated than forgiven.
âHow ridiculously weak⌠Is there not anyone who is worthy of facing me?â
For the moments that follow, she simply stands in the rain, drenched, sword dropped low at her side, and she stares at the muted sombre sky, foreboding and dreadful. The words that follow are her own.
âThe only thing I have granted to the Burmecian people is a grand tomb, forever frozen in time, place, and circumstance.â
They are the last and only words she manages to say before she too, turns to stone like those around her. This moment has no end. An interior part of her that refuses to weather and is only subjected to an infinite rain, marking the abrupt end to a dream that Beatrix never forces herself to finish.
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive Dream Recording
Warnings: Likely potentially upsetting content. Implications of genocide. Iâm going to try to explore this as gently, respectfully, and carefully as I can, but I do emphasise to proceed with caution.
Notes: A dream depicting Beatrix reflecting on some of the war crimes she committed in her home world. It is longer than I expected it to be.
It is not uncommon for Beatrix to patrol at night, usually following her dreams. It is safe to assume that post this dream, thatâs precisely what she does. Feel free to encounter her in person (out on patrol, at her residence) or via journals, though with the latter, it is unlikely she will respond immediately. Assume journal responses are after an applicable amount of time, depending on circumstance.
Her dreams most oft are accompanied intimately by rain. Sometimes, it is the blistering sound of wind. Occasionally, the consistent roar of airship engines and the turning of gears. And every once in a while, it is the sound of wood splitting and cracking, followed by a flash of light and the deafening explosion that trails after in its wake.
Tonight, it is rain. A sky looms overhead, blanketed by dark clouds and the occasional tendril of lightning. The blue-grey cobblestone pathways are soaked, so much so that in places where the footpaths dip after years of wear and tear, they are filled with reflective and rippling puddles of water. The front entrance stone archway is intricately detailed and has been standing for too many years to count, established likely earlier than some native to the world may think.
Welcome to Burmecia, the Realm of Eternal Rain.
It holds nothing precious, except life. Life that Beatrix, general of Alexandria, has been tasked with taking.
This is something that has already happened. Beatrix simply replays it near nightly, and the dreams rarely seem to change. Her boots echo softly on the ground in a momentary eerie silence and behind her where she has already been, the environment simply turns to stone. A broken down cart knocked over, its wares splattered on the pathway and up against the wall of a nearby multilevel home, once in muted colour now sits in permanent disarray in chilling sculpture.
There are figures slumped. On the grounds. Draped over stairways and metal bannisters. Burmeciansâa race of ratlike people, tall in stature, tailed, with pointed ears and pointed noses.
For years, Alexandria and Burmecia have waged wars upon one another. Pitted against each other, the concept of war is not so foreign, though perhaps disappointing when the continent at large believed to be ushering in an era of peace. What has happened here, however, is not war at all. It is only conquest. Only eradication of the Burmecian people. A simple little test conducted by Queen Brahne of Alexandria, utilising constructed black mage dolls with no will of their own and only the orders pounding in their doll heads. The leader of this charge, this show of overwhelming power and influence, is none other than Beatrix, compelled by order and the lust in her veins for something she cannot quite understand, a realisation that she will not come to learn for a great deal of time following.
The Beatrix of today, the one stepping through this replay of a chapter of her life that she has kept hidden and closely held to her heart, is not identical. Not different, but only a part of the woman who carried this out in so impeccably a fashion.
As she steps, there are voices, many words that are garbled and incomprehensible, blending in with the sounds of the pitter-patter of the rain as it strikes. If one listens closely, an occasional scream, a memory left over from an otherwise desolate and ruined city-state, disrespected and torn asunder by invasion. Some lines of memory highlight the tense air in voices that are not Beatrixâs as she continues this reunion with this intimate knowledge of her past.
âThatâs Beatrix? The cold-blooded knight who knows no mercy. BeatrixâŚâ
In the square of the city-state, the homes in the vicinity are worn down, most of them only partially standing. A curving bridge pathway leads to the towering, ominous, and impressive figure of Burmeciaâs castle, stretching tall towards the sky as lightning flashes about it.
â...Beatrix of Alexandria, in particular. They say her swordsmanship is the best in the land.â
As she moves along, Save the Queen in the grip of her right hand, a chain that binds her to obligation and her role, there are but glimpses, moving images for just moments that betray the chaos that ensued upon her initial charge. The movement of feet and the blur of bodies before theyâre cut down or subjected to the magicks of the black mages. As she takes to the bridge and its connecting path, the commotion freezes, transposing image and concept to stone and reality, like macabre decor in a courtyard.
Before the entrance, itâs her own voice that echoes in a stunning clarity. An embittered laugh, hand-in-hand with chilled tone. Unfeeling. Uncaring. So professional and emotionally detached that one would think Beatrix feels nothing at all in this exchange, except an irritation. In what, one can only theorise.
âI have never been so humiliated in my life.â
The castle stands above her and she finds in its centre, a couple of grandiose statues, some of the only things remaining that have yet to be broken down and destroyed. There is the lingering memory of Queen Brahne in search of Burmeciaâs king, only to find by way of a charming and sinister man, the one who has provided her so much power to begin with, that the king has fled to the tree protected by the windâCleyra.
There are other things to note. A coupleâBurmecian woman standing alongside a tailed statue that some may recognise as Zidane, the cunning and charismatic companion to many. They possess no movement. Only presence in colour doused in greys. And she hears herself again, the same chill wrapping her in tight embrace.
âI once killed a hundred knights single-handedly⌠To me, you two are nothing more than insects.â
Approaching them each, one after the other, Beatrix lifts a hand and she settles it to the forearm of the Burmecian she will one day come to know as Freya and it takes only touch for her to join her statued brethren. There is a momentâs pause as she examines a Zidane that once was part of her past. In Reverein, he may not have forgiven her, but he never seemed to hold her actions against her and Beatrix, to this moment, to this very breath, still cannot understand why. The only clue she has ever had is that the Beatrix of his future is different than the one who was the head of this calamity.
Settling hand to his shoulder, she puts him to rest, and lifts her chin to hear her voice once more. A woman who is only a part of her, but perhaps one she has yet to embrace. To this moment, she has only ever admonished and condemned herself, placing distance between her person and others, knowing that she would rather be hated than pitied, rather hated than forgiven.
âHow ridiculously weak⌠Is there not anyone who is worthy of facing me?â
For the moments that follow, she simply stands in the rain, drenched, sword dropped low at her side, and she stares at the muted sombre sky, foreboding and dreadful. The words that follow are her own.
âThe only thing I have granted to the Burmecian people is a grand tomb, forever frozen in time, place, and circumstance.â
They are the last and only words she manages to say before she too, turns to stone like those around her. This moment has no end. An interior part of her that refuses to weather and is only subjected to an infinite rain, marking the abrupt end to a dream that Beatrix never forces herself to finish.
the following afternoon
But one of those evenings, she watches as her Dream Lantern glows and she closes her eyes, wondering whose dream it's going to be this time. There's a part of her, perhaps, that is anticipating that it might be one among those who were spurred into action to save Eustace and Tifa. After all, it wouldn't be surprising if any of them were made to have such strong dreams after everything...
When she realizes what she is seeing, however, she feels sorry that her suspicions were correct. And she knows that although she may not be fully recovered, she also knows that she needs to see her friend.
And so the following afternoon Oriphi waits, sitting beneath a tree with a basket full of healing potions where she knows Beatrix will pass by during one of her patrols. ]
no subject
She tries to live her life as normal. Itâs the only thing she can do, whilst facing whatever consequences will come up. If they havenât already, she can only brace herself for an impact, assuming itâll come. Itâs a very difficult way to life, she supposes, but somehow fitting for someone like her.
Better to never have said anything at all. Not⌠that she technically said anything to anyone. That will probably come to haunt her, she supposes. Too late to do anything about it now and Beatrix is not a woman who gives empty apologies. Or⌠apologies in general.
Oriphi is a face that is both welcome and one that causes a touch of apprehension in her. The hardest part about this is knowing how to react. But maybe itâs better to act as though nothing has happened at all. That she is, as she ever has been, untouchable by the things going on around her. And thatâs precisely what she aims to do.
As she pauses by Ori, she rests her wrist atop where her sword sits. Same. Typical. Beatrix.]
Do you need help taking those somewhere?
[She means the healing potions, of course.]
no subject
If the woman gave herself even a sliver of a moment to allow herself to think about it all. But Ori has formed the impression, in the months that she's been getting to know Beatrix, that this will not be the case. That Beatrix will simply march on, soldier-like to her very bones. That she will think and think and think without allowing her thoughts to see the light of day, to give them the outlet they might need. Just like Diluc.
Ori remembers what that nearly did to him. And now she and Beatrix have both seen firsthand what it truly does to a person. Ori doesn't want that to happen to Beatrix.
But Ori knows that she must go about this carefully. Beatrix might need space, although she might also need... Some healing potions! As such, she shakes her head at the general as she moves to get up to her feet, taking the basket up in her hands. ]
No. They're right where they need to be - these are for you, Beatrix.
no subject
[It sounds remarkably stupid when she questions it, because obviously theyâre for her. Oriphi just said they were. Maybe she repeats it just to solidify that statement. Itâs not as though Beatrix bothered to share that she can heal herself or anyone else for that matter. Aerith had been capable of handling most of that on her own and Beatrix has always preferred acting like nothing and no one can touch her.
After a momentâs hesitance, she accepts the basket and she rifles through its contents gently.]
You did not need to do such a thing for me. I do not have any wounds from that whole⌠debacle that are lasting. I assume you provided Eustace and Tifa with like things. I think they need these far more than I do, all things considered.
no subject
Thankfully, Beatrix accepts the basket, and Ori rests her hands on her hips as she responds, plainly, ]
Iâm making enough for everyone. So please take them.
[
Or else.]Besides that, I— [ She frowns. ] I watched Eustace strike you down, Beatrix. And I couldnât do a thing. Healing spells may have been enough to take care of the physical injuries, but thatâs not the only reason Iâm here to see you.
no subject
She supposes she's in a strange position. Vulnerable in more ways than just the physical sort. At Ori's input, she pointedly takes her gaze aside. It's not a thing she wants people discussing. Not that there are many things she's keen to discuss.]
I appreciate the concern. It sounds like you have likely been paying visit to everyone involved. A noble pursuit, really.
[Can't she just turn this back onto Oriphi?]
no subject
[ But she's not here to talk about herself, is she?
Beatrix's discomfort is clear, at least. Ori may not be as insightful as her friends, who can easily tell when someone is lying or being deceitful - but she is insightful when it comes to feelings. She'd like to think that she can tell when someone is upset or hurting. What good would she be as a healer if she couldn't tell that much?
And to her, Beatrix surely looks like she is hurting, one way or another. She has to be, after everything that's happened between their encounter with Eustace's noctaere form and now with her dream. As much as Beatrix may want to deny it... She is only human. And a person can only take so much.
At length, she tilts her head, leaning over to try and catch Beatrix's eye. ]
Do you want to sit in the rose gardens with me for a moment?
no subject
If Oriphi ever looked at her with disappointment, she's not sure she could endure it. Even if she's certain she deserves that and little else.
Her gaze very deliberately moves onto the basket of healing potions Oriphi has supplied her with and she shuffles through it purely as a means to stall for time.]
I suppose I did not have other things to do. I can spend some time with you, if that is what you want.
[Obviously. That's what Oriphi wants. Or else she wouldn't have asked.]
no subject
It is what I want. I think you and I deserve to spend some time together that doesnât involveâŚ
[ Well, that doesnât involve either one of them getting the ever-loving shit beat out of them. And yes, she would use those words out loud exactly.
She clears her throat before she offers an arm at Beatrix. ]
Come on, letâs go.
no subject
She supposes she has Oriphi to thank for getting involved in her personal life. If she was feeling more like herself, perhaps she'd be a touch more annoyed for not being left to her own devices. Everyone else means the best, however, and Beatrix knows that, no matter how much she very much has only wanted her own space.
Even more so now, she supposes. She spends some moments simply eyeing Ori's arm and after she looses a sigh, she reluctantly curls an arm about the tiefling's.]
Seems you are not inclined to let this go.
no subject
But, after seeing what had happened to Diluc after he tried to keep everything to himself - after that secrecy and those lies and his fighting against noctaere on his own nearly brought the worst to bear - and after their encounter with Eustace⌠She couldnât bring herself to let Beatrix be alone. At least, not in the immediate aftermath.
The general at least earns a grateful look from the tiefling as they link arms and begin to make their way to the rose gardens. She knows that sheâs been asking a lot of Beatrix, lately, and she knows that itâs uncomfortable and ugly and vulnerable. But⌠The most worthwhile things often are. ]
I am most certainly notâŚ! Iâm not letting you go, Beatrix.
[ In many ways. ]
I wonât say anything more until weâre sitting on our favorite bench in the gardens, but⌠Iâm here for you, okay? Donât forget that.
no subject
She isn't sure why, but just hearing it hurts. A part of her doesn't want to acknowledge it at all. A part of her wants to simply pretend she's never heard it. But she wasn't so different when it came to Dohalim's feelings. She suspects she's beginning to understand why she has this approach, however.
She is afraid that her disappointing those around her is inevitable. She will, at some point, let them down. Hasn't she done that already? She certainly didn't think to shield Trahearne and Oriphi from Eustace. And she couldn't even protect the others. Grand General Beatrix, so easily throttled.
Humiliating, really.
Beatrix frowns for several long moments and when Oriphi speaks up again, she pointedly looks aside, lifting her arm to dust fingertips over her cheek.]
You should not say such things. You should not extend such courtesies.
[But she can't control that, can she. And she shouldn't say things like that. It shouldn't even be any of her business. What does it matter what Oriphi does or doesn't do? For all she wants to be emotionally detached, she can't be. In one way or another, those here in this world have found their ways into Beatrix's ever icy heart.
Once, she felt so certain of herself. And now, she is nothing except uncertain.]
no subject
But some of them, too, are lost.
A pang of pain lances at Oriphiâs heart at Beatrixâs words. If only she knew what the other woman was thinking, she might know what to say. She would tell the general that sheâs sorry, too, or not being able to stay strong enough to protect her as she faced Eustace. That she wanted, so badly, to be able to hold her own so that Beatrix could focus on protecting the most vulnerable of them. But thatâs not what happened. Instead, they each received a grim reminder that for all the wonder that this realm can bring, for all its light and love and the unlikely connections itâs created between people who would otherwise never meet, there is a dangerous, dark current that runs beneath. Where the light is greater, so too is the shadow that is cast. This is what Ori has been thinking about, lately. ]
I think I should.
[ She draws in a deep breath, releasing it in a slow exhale. ]
We have to look out for one another, after all. We have to stick together. No matter what. Not any one of us can go through any of this by ourselves.
[ At last, they enter the rose gardens, and itâs not long before Ori leads them to sit where they have sat before while tending to the roses. ]
no subject
[Even objectively, Beatrix agrees, though she doesn't want to say as much. She's always handled things herself. That's why it's still very hard for her to cooperate with others. She doesn't trust others. She tries to, but can't. Wants to, but can't. Acts sometimes that she does, but understands to an extent she is living a lie.
But how is that different from anything else she's ever done? It is possible, that this fostering of friendships with those in this world, this ever slow discovery of her relationship with Dohalim, these things may be among the first things she's ever really done for herself. That she's even begun to examine truth of things.
She doesn't bother to weigh in with anything more. At least not right away.
In time they find the rose gardens and it's only at the bench that she unwinds her arm from Oriphi's, if only to take the time to remove her sword belt and set it down before she seats herself. Crossing one leg over the other, she leaves her hands upon her lap.
Oriphi sounds... like Ira. How many of them does Beatrix have to hurt before they get it? She's just been a fool all along. How is it that none of them see that. Just put themselves in her way. As if they don't think she'll simply cut them down.
...Would she? If she had to...?]
I cannot imagine you have brought me all the way here to say that.
no subject
[ Itâs merely the preface to what she really wants to say. Thereâs a lot she wants to say. She does want to apologize for what she feels is a failure on her part to keep the team up. If taking blows and holding the front line is Beatrixâs strength, her role, then making sure she is fit to do so, that everyone is fit to play their parts - thatâs Oriâs job. She wants to talk to Beatrix about her dream. She wants to tell her, just as sheâd told Diluc, that she is so much more than what her past has made her.
Ori has so much she wants to say. She can only hope that Beatrix will let her, and listen. Similarly, her hands rest in her lap, fingers gathering and curling around the fabric of her skirts. She doesnât quite look at Beatrix, either, her gaze instead falling on the roses around them as she musters the strength to begin this inevitably difficult conversation in earnest. ]
I think⌠It would be foolish of me to ask if youâre alright. None of us are alright, after everything⌠But first, I want you to know that Iâm sorry. I let you down that night, in a way.
[ She feels that Beatrix might protest. Might argue that sheâs the one who let her down. ]
I think all of us are blaming ourselves for things that happened that night. I know that I am. Things like wishing I had been stronger, or faster⌠But weâre all feeling that, and you shouldnât try and bear all that on your own. Thatâs how we get to these kinds of incidents in the first placeâŚ
But I feel that I let you down, because you told me beforeâŚ
[ âYou cannot protect anyone if something happens to you. Remember that your safety is as paramount as those you seek the companionship of.â ]
That I have to protect myself, too, or else I canât protect anyone else. I didnât do a very good job of that. If I had, I could have done something while you fought Eustace. But instead all I could do was watch, while I couldnât move or do a thingâŚ
no subject
She understands why Oriphi feels the way she does. Of course. They likely all have their own reflections of similarity. Feeling as if they aren't fully themselves. Or the best version of themselves. The truth is, and Beatrix knows there, it wouldn't have mattered how strong she was. That version of Eustace. She never could have prevailed. That's just the way it is. She was always doomed to fail. Most likely.
Power in the hands of one capable to take something like that down... No one should have that kind of capability. Not even Beatrix.]
You do not owe me any apologies. What happened has happened, correct? There is no point in lingering on it now. We said and did the things we had to do. We cannot go back and undo them. It is what it is. We do not need to be discussing this.
[In a way, they're the right things to say. In a way, she even believes them. When they apply to anyone except herself. And in a way, she simply doesn't want to discuss it. Because that's how she is. She avoids the things she doesn't want to face. Evades. Runs in that proverbial way.]
no subject
And despite what they all saw that night, despite what Beatrix was made to see in her nightmare⌠Oriphi refuses to believe that the dear woman beside her whom sheâs proud to call a friend could be completely heartless.
After all, if she were, she would not have faced off against Eustace the way that she had, blade shining with brilliance in the otherwise dark and cold cavern - the only light Oriphi could remember after she herself was taken down. ]
Thatâs true, but⌠All of us are going to keep wishing things could have gone differently. Because we careâŚ
[ About one another, that is. ]
I just want you to know that despite what happened that night, I want you to feel like you can still depend on me. Gods forbid that something like this happens again to somebody, but⌠We can never be sure, with the way this place is.
[ A deep breath, and then she keeps going. ]
And before you say anything, I think youâre worthy, Beatrix. No matter what your past and your memories and your nightmares are telling you, too.
no subject
All of this is her problem. Her burden. Her weight. She can't let anyone else hold it.
"I think you're worthy, Beatrix. No matter what your past and your memories and your nightmares are telling you, too."
No. I am not.
It's distressing to hear it. She doesn't want that kindness, that understanding. Why can't people just leave her alone and let her drown in this? Why can't people just say nothing at all.]
Please...
[She begins, though just starting to say anything makes her feel faint. Her tone betrays her, she's certain, the subtle little waver it holds before she forces herself to restrain. Discipline.]
Please do not say things like that to me. I cannot bear it when you do.
[Pointedly, Beatrix's gaze drops and she can feel her hands tighten on the bench beneath her. The roses behind them touched by Beatrix's disposition drop a petal or two, wither minutely, shudder, and expose the thorns that grow along stems.]
no subject
The woman who once told her not to speak of herself like she were âlittle more than an implement to be used and discarded.â
Shouldnât the true be the same of the general?
After all, Beatrix is, above all, a woman who protects, in Oriphiâs eyes. Whether she is protecting the princess of a land Ori will never know, or protecting her friends in this dream, it makes little difference to the tiefling. She is intimately acquainted by now of what happens when someone protects and gives and holds steadfast for those who cannot, when they stand alone and build walls to protect themselves. But the wall keeps them in the darkness and keeps others out, too⌠So what happens when they are drowning, alone, within those walls?
The protectors need protecting, too, donât they?
Beatrixâs voice falters ever so slightly as she speak, and it breaks Oriâs heart. She cannot even fathom how the general must be feeling at this moment, but she knows that of all things, the general does not have to— must not be made to feel alone in her pain. ]
I know itâs painful to hear it, but please listen to me, Beatrix.
[ Tentatively, her hand reaches for the other womanâs, her touch warm and kind and if she is so allowed, flowers would begin to bloom where their hands are joined. ]
Iâm not from Alexandria, and I canât pretend to understand even a little bit what happened. But I know that itâs tearing you apart, what that nightmare showed you. And what Eustaceâs waking nightmare showed all of us, too. But you are more than what you were made to do. Even when what youâre made to do is horrible, and ugly, and cruel⌠When it eats away at you the way that it does⌠Itâs because youâre a person and you have a heart. If you didnât, you would never care enough to look back on that cruelty.
And you would never care enough to answer your friendâs call when they need you the most. But you do both of those. You always show up. Because you have a heart. And I, or Dohalim, or Tifa and everyone - we will not let you forget that.
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To be fair, Oriphi has deserved better from the very beginning. Beatrix has been little more than a letdown, really. Maybe she just needs time to recover from it all. She isn't sure what she needs and she isn't sure that whatever that things is, is even available. The way she is, it is possible that those around her cannot help and she will simply continue to masquerade around for the sake of survival.
Oriphi takes her hand and though Beatrix's immediate reaction is to tense, just as she always does, always has, she doesn't rebuke her. At least not in a way that is so obvious or pointed. If anything, it is all inward. Right where it belongs. She's still listening, however. Of course she is. Hanging onto words that she's clinging fiercely to, though she doesn't realise that's what she's doing at all.
There's truth objectively in some of what she says, but things that Zelda has said are also quite true. She isn't a good general. She couldn't properly counsel her queen. Couldn't stop her. Couldn't save her. So she's failed not only once, but twice. Likely more than that, if she's taking Garnet into consideration as well. Finally she looks over to Oriphi and she forces out a laugh.
She has to. How else can she proceed unless she forces herself to.]
I must look something terrible for you to say such things to me. [She shakes her head thoughtfully.] I can no more change your thoughts than you can change mine.
[After a breath, she pats Oriphi's hand gently.]
I appreciate the thoughts all the same. Try to stay out of my affairs. It is fine for me to burdened by these things. It is not fine for you to be.
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[ Oriphi is so rarely insistent on anything. But healing is one of the few things she will stand her ground on - and that includes healing of wounds that arenât the sort to bleed. ]
I care about you, Beatrix. You canât keep on living like youâre all alone in the world and that you have to shoulder everything by yourself. Because you arenât, and you donât have to, not anymore. I donât—
[ She squeezes Beatrixâs hand as she feels her eyes begin to sting with tears. ]
I donât want to watch someone I care about crumble under the weight of their own emotions⌠And here, more than anywhere else, it can be dire when that happens⌠I donât want to see you or anyone else turn noctaere anymore, so, please— Please, rely on us a little bit more. Donât say that itâs not fine for me to be burdened by these things.
The General of Alexandria isnât here anymore. I just want my friend, Beatrix, to be okay.
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That's just it, isn't it. She's spent so much time alone. She's spent so much time keeping herself isolated from others that now that she has this very precious gift in her trembling hands, she doesn't know what to do with it. She is only afraid of dropping it. Of breaking it into a thousand pieces because of how brutal she is. Because beautiful things in her midst only perish.
But when she sees the shift in Oriphi's expression, she knows that it's because of her. She looks that way because Beatrix has worried her. Pushed her to such a point that she has to live in fear that there may be a repeat of Noctaere Eustace. For not the first time, she wonders what a Noctaere version of herself would be like.
What follows is the shift of her frame as she reaches over to guide Oriphi against her that she might hold her. Maybe she should be the one weeping, but... Beatrix can't remember the last time she did such a thing. When she was a child, perhaps? Although memories of her childhood are fuzzy at best. As if she doesn't know who she was back then, perhaps as much as she doesn't know who she is in these moments.
"The General of Alexandria isn't here anymore."
The General of Alexandria. A woman with no purpose in this world, as Dohalim once reminded her. A woman with no place in this world. A woman who has no choice but to adapt in some way.
As Beatrix buries her face into Oriphi's hair, mindful of the tiefling's horns, she simply settles on the words.
If I should ever turn Noctaere, I can only pray that the rest of you will simply put me down.]
I do not think I have ever been okay. [She admits quietly, opting to simply rest her head against Oriphi's.] But things are as they are, it seems. I would not like to cause you such pain. I will do all that I can to avoid that. For you and for the others.
[It would be easier, however, to accomplish that by minimising that time they share with one another. Fewer opportunities for Beatrix to disappoint.]
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Beatrix doesnât repel what sheâs said entirely. Thank goodness. But Oriphi doesnât want her to avoid giving into nightmare energy because of what the rest of them might face in such an event. ]
Donât forget - for yourself too, Beatrix. We can only help you to the very best that we can if you want to help yourself, tooâŚ
That woman who stood in the rain⌠Sheâs always going to be a part of you. Youâll always carry her around in your heart. Sometimes sheâll feel like a bigger part of you, and sometimes sheâll stay in your past, and thatâs okay. Whatâs important is ⌠She isnât all of you. [ She had told Diluc something very similar, once. ] The Beatrix I know likes chocolate and wine and roses and is a brilliant swordswoman. She has a troubled past, but so many of us do, too, in different ways⌠But the Beatrix that I know is just as important. She deserves to have a chance to live and grow and come to terms with her past.
[ Gods know, there are a great number of things that Ori herself isnât proud of. Things that she did as a mercenary. Things that she and her friends were made to do on their great quest to seemingly save the world. But itâs thanks to those very same friends and the friends sheâs made here that she feels as though she can move forward.
She lifts their joined hands together, stretching them out towards some of the wilted roses around them. ]
Roses may wilt and and fall apart, but we have to take them out so that new buds can grow in their place.
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She touches upon something that Beatrix has given a lot of thought to. Recognition of a person she once was, regardless of the situation. Acknowledgement that the version of her at that time is still a part of her.]
I thought I told you I was not partial to sweet things.
[Although she can't help being a touch amused. She didn't even finish all of the chocolate Oriphi gave to her. In fact, she's sure the remainder of it is somewhere in her kitchen that sees barely any action from her. There's truth in most of that, however. Wine. Roses. Her combat prowess, even if that's been used more for harm than good.
She remains as she is, thinking she's only doing so because of the circumstance. And likely because there aren't other eyes on her. Every once in a while, she can let down her defences. It's a rare happenstance. And Oriphi won't go telling anyone. Probably.
Depends on how much drink someone puts into her, probably.]
Betwixt the two of us, Oriphi, you are more the flower. Let us not make the mistake of thinking I am anything like one. I hear you plainly, regardless.
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Still, the memory of it brings an unbearably fond smile on Oriphiâs face, and she shakes her head with a little chuckle, glad to release some of that tension and emotion into the laughter. ]
Right. You did tell me that. I forgotâŚ!
[ Still, she canât be too upset with herself for forgetting, if only for the touch of amusement in Beatrixâs demeanor. Sheâs always happy to see Beatrix letting her guard down even the slightest bit. Each time is a precious gift, a sign that the other woman trusts and relies on her - which is exactly what sheâs hoping for. The worst case scenario for Beatrix would be that Ori would tell Diluc. Something along the lines of, âI spent time with Beatrix in the rose gardens today. I got her to smile!â But then the secret would die there, likely to be guarded with ferocity by the man who very much reminds her of Beatrix in a lot of ways, too. ]
Why canât we both be flowers? Youâre just like a rose, after all. So elegant, though you have your thorns. But thatâs okay. Despite that, roses are still so belovedâŚ
[ Just like you. ]
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