Post by sesquipedalian on Jun 24, 2012 16:05:44 GMT 10
Title: Dreams
Rating: PG and character death sort of
Prompt: 71-Broken Dreams
Summary: There is a method to Gainel's madness.
Sometimes the Dream Lord gives a broken mortal perfect dreams as something to latch on to, to aspire to. A dream so wonderful that they will fix themselves, fix their world to attain it. But this time…
This time, he was helpless.
He could see Daine as he struggled to get out of the monster’s grip, almost suceeding, her expression fierce and determined, eyes scrunching together as she aimed her shot a little past him.
And his eyes must have known what was coming because this all happened in a fraction of a second, and he had all the detail of a lifetime of looking.
She shifted back a little, and his eyes must have known what was coming because all this happened in a fraction of a second before she fell off the cliff.
That was the last time he ever saw Daine, but it didn’t matter anymore, because the stones were coming closer and he accepted his death almost gladly.
He was in the Peaceful Realms, and Daine was there too.
Numair reached out for her hand, and she jolted away, stung.
“You didn’t come after me,” she said tonelessly, but her eyes were all accusation, her stance without forgiveness.
“I’m sorry, Daine, I’m so sorry,” he told her, voice almost too clogged with tears to be audible.
“You watched me die as I tried to save you!” she told him. “Where was that black robe mage then, hmm? Don’t think I don’t know what you are. You’re the monster that isn’t scary enough to stop anyone. You’re the most despicable monster there is: you’re nothing but a big black coward.”
“I’m sorry!” he screamed at her, but he could already feel the impulse, the slow condensing of his body as he cringed.
Daine looked down at him. “I don’t want the apologies of a man who chases butterflies,” she said, and then she turned and walked away.
“But,” she said, pausing. “I suppose it’s only your nature.”
“Daine!” he shouted, reaching out to grab her, to stop her, to explain. But she was gone, he only caught air, and a last glimpse of her back.
“Daine!”
“Numair?”
Her hands were shaking him, her own, calloused hands, one from the bowstring and both from the work, and her hair was brushing his cheek. He opened his eyes to see her standing over him, eyes scrunched together like she was concerned. For him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You look nice again, but you hate me! You hate me because I didn’t save you!” he said with greater conviction.
“Numair,” Daine said slowly, “what do you mean?”
“I—there were Chaos vents—and rocks—and you were standing on the cliff—and you fell, Daine,” he said, reaching out to touch her, to make sure she was really there.
“Yes, I fell,” she said, reaching out to stroke his cheek like a child, “I fell, and you rescued me, remember? You got free and you tracked me down with a focus, and you saved me from spidrens.”
“But you were angry, in the Peaceful Realms,” he said wonderingly. “You were angry because I didn’t save you. You said it was only my nature to be a coward.”
“I’m happy, here, now, love,” Daine told him, “because you did save me, and I’m alive because it’s your nature to be brave.”
Sometimes, it isn't about the absolutes but the almosts, the almost feelings, the almost restraints or almost regrets, the almost realities. Because it is the almosts that grow and grow until they are as strong as an oak, perfect as a dream.
Sometimes, the Dream Lord gives a broken mortal perfect dreams as something to latch on to, to aspire to. But sometimes he gives a mortal broken dreams so they will realize just how far they have come.
Rating: PG and character death sort of
Prompt: 71-Broken Dreams
Summary: There is a method to Gainel's madness.
Sometimes the Dream Lord gives a broken mortal perfect dreams as something to latch on to, to aspire to. A dream so wonderful that they will fix themselves, fix their world to attain it. But this time…
This time, he was helpless.
He could see Daine as he struggled to get out of the monster’s grip, almost suceeding, her expression fierce and determined, eyes scrunching together as she aimed her shot a little past him.
And his eyes must have known what was coming because this all happened in a fraction of a second, and he had all the detail of a lifetime of looking.
She shifted back a little, and his eyes must have known what was coming because all this happened in a fraction of a second before she fell off the cliff.
That was the last time he ever saw Daine, but it didn’t matter anymore, because the stones were coming closer and he accepted his death almost gladly.
He was in the Peaceful Realms, and Daine was there too.
Numair reached out for her hand, and she jolted away, stung.
“You didn’t come after me,” she said tonelessly, but her eyes were all accusation, her stance without forgiveness.
“I’m sorry, Daine, I’m so sorry,” he told her, voice almost too clogged with tears to be audible.
“You watched me die as I tried to save you!” she told him. “Where was that black robe mage then, hmm? Don’t think I don’t know what you are. You’re the monster that isn’t scary enough to stop anyone. You’re the most despicable monster there is: you’re nothing but a big black coward.”
“I’m sorry!” he screamed at her, but he could already feel the impulse, the slow condensing of his body as he cringed.
Daine looked down at him. “I don’t want the apologies of a man who chases butterflies,” she said, and then she turned and walked away.
“But,” she said, pausing. “I suppose it’s only your nature.”
“Daine!” he shouted, reaching out to grab her, to stop her, to explain. But she was gone, he only caught air, and a last glimpse of her back.
“Daine!”
“Numair?”
Her hands were shaking him, her own, calloused hands, one from the bowstring and both from the work, and her hair was brushing his cheek. He opened his eyes to see her standing over him, eyes scrunched together like she was concerned. For him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You look nice again, but you hate me! You hate me because I didn’t save you!” he said with greater conviction.
“Numair,” Daine said slowly, “what do you mean?”
“I—there were Chaos vents—and rocks—and you were standing on the cliff—and you fell, Daine,” he said, reaching out to touch her, to make sure she was really there.
“Yes, I fell,” she said, reaching out to stroke his cheek like a child, “I fell, and you rescued me, remember? You got free and you tracked me down with a focus, and you saved me from spidrens.”
“But you were angry, in the Peaceful Realms,” he said wonderingly. “You were angry because I didn’t save you. You said it was only my nature to be a coward.”
“I’m happy, here, now, love,” Daine told him, “because you did save me, and I’m alive because it’s your nature to be brave.”
Sometimes, it isn't about the absolutes but the almosts, the almost feelings, the almost restraints or almost regrets, the almost realities. Because it is the almosts that grow and grow until they are as strong as an oak, perfect as a dream.
Sometimes, the Dream Lord gives a broken mortal perfect dreams as something to latch on to, to aspire to. But sometimes he gives a mortal broken dreams so they will realize just how far they have come.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!