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thisavrou_log2016-06-18 10:17 am
ex_forcechoke292) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-06-18 10:17 am
Entry tags:
[closed;] oh how we breathe and how we choke
Who: Anakin Skywalker (forcechoke) & Luke Skywalker (t65)
When: Sometime after 6/13
Where: Obi-Wan's personal lodging on CLF5
What: Tol Skywalker is a depressive, moping, human disaster. Smol Skywalker interrupts a sad brooding session. [*VADERGATE, a drama in (like) 15 parts (or something), this being the sixth of those 15 parts.]
Warnings: Err on the side of depression and self-harm discussion. Anakin being #EXTRA.
[It's been two days. Edging on a third, perhaps, Anakin has all but lost track of time, by now. Sleep comes and goes, just like Obi-Wan and Ahsoka do, though far more fitful and with not even half the concern. (It's concern he should be grateful for, should love them for, and yet dreams that are claustrophobic reminders and damnable half-prophecy feel far more like what he's worthy of).
Just outside the terror of one of those frantic nightmares is where Anakin sits now, curled into himself on the side of the bed, looking numbly out the window of the doors leading to the secluded beach and water beyond. In this, he is the picturesque example of those ancient texts of grief, all hair rending and prostrating in front of a funeral pyre in a display of sorrow that is as overt as it often is ultimately useless. He has no fire to throw himself on, nothing to help him make a real, final reparation for this guilt, but if he only could.
The serenity surrounding this scene is a stark contrast that he both doesn't deserve and hardly offers a balm. It numbs to the point of further exhaustion, the slow sounds and quiet movement of the idyllic scenery (though more idyllic to some than to others) only lend to further frustrating inward contemplation (and subsequently, damning and invasive thoughts). This is how meditation in the traditional sense as failed Anakin's attempts at the Jedi Code's ideal of personal, emotional removal. Being alone with his thoughts has never served his control, but the intruding presence instead, only heightened now with little proof that he should attempt to see this some other way.
It's early enough--or perhaps he's still barely-awake enough--that he doesn't recognize another presence approaching, and doesn't expect a real interruption that isn't another hot flare of his conscience as the fire within reaches desperately to find freedom. He's hardly paying attention to his surroundings, not when vigilance seems to be so altogether useless, and thus, doesn't notice that he's not alone.]
forcechoke) & Luke Skywalker (t65)When: Sometime after 6/13
Where: Obi-Wan's personal lodging on CLF5
What: Tol Skywalker is a depressive, moping, human disaster. Smol Skywalker interrupts a sad brooding session. [*VADERGATE, a drama in (like) 15 parts (or something), this being the sixth of those 15 parts.]
Warnings: Err on the side of depression and self-harm discussion. Anakin being #EXTRA.
[It's been two days. Edging on a third, perhaps, Anakin has all but lost track of time, by now. Sleep comes and goes, just like Obi-Wan and Ahsoka do, though far more fitful and with not even half the concern. (It's concern he should be grateful for, should love them for, and yet dreams that are claustrophobic reminders and damnable half-prophecy feel far more like what he's worthy of).
Just outside the terror of one of those frantic nightmares is where Anakin sits now, curled into himself on the side of the bed, looking numbly out the window of the doors leading to the secluded beach and water beyond. In this, he is the picturesque example of those ancient texts of grief, all hair rending and prostrating in front of a funeral pyre in a display of sorrow that is as overt as it often is ultimately useless. He has no fire to throw himself on, nothing to help him make a real, final reparation for this guilt, but if he only could.
The serenity surrounding this scene is a stark contrast that he both doesn't deserve and hardly offers a balm. It numbs to the point of further exhaustion, the slow sounds and quiet movement of the idyllic scenery (though more idyllic to some than to others) only lend to further frustrating inward contemplation (and subsequently, damning and invasive thoughts). This is how meditation in the traditional sense as failed Anakin's attempts at the Jedi Code's ideal of personal, emotional removal. Being alone with his thoughts has never served his control, but the intruding presence instead, only heightened now with little proof that he should attempt to see this some other way.
It's early enough--or perhaps he's still barely-awake enough--that he doesn't recognize another presence approaching, and doesn't expect a real interruption that isn't another hot flare of his conscience as the fire within reaches desperately to find freedom. He's hardly paying attention to his surroundings, not when vigilance seems to be so altogether useless, and thus, doesn't notice that he's not alone.]
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[This is his father.]
[Whatever else happens now, that truth is immutable. Luke has finally come to the point where he can own up to that truth. If he can't, he's no Jedi.]
[He finds his father through the Force, through a strange bond he's not even sure truly exists. It's more of an impulse, some kind of phantom limb with a broken bone. He stops outside a door, and he knows what waits on the other side.]
[There were times he would have run from this.]
[Today, he knocks.] Father?
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He knows the relationship here between them is strained. Tenuous at best. But if the revelation had left Leia--inarguably far closer to him here--rightfully (and righteously) furious, he knows now where Luke's hesitance has always come from.
And frankly, it's all he
deservesexpects.It takes little effort to open the door from across the room, little more than a sharp movement of his wrist, and suddenly everything is still again. He doesn't lift his gaze, still tilted sideways at the scenery outside, to confirm what he already knows.]
I'd wondered-- [when it would come to this] when you'd come.
[His voice is rough with disuse, cracked, and sounds like gravel like it might after considerable prolonged screaming.]
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[It's different from Vader. Vader would have said I knew you'd come.]
[Or would he have? How much did Luke really know of Vader? How much does he know of Anakin now? Well, he's got to start fixing that, hasn't he?]
How have you been? Is- are you alright?
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And that right there is part of the problem isn't it? Abuse of the Force. Whether incarnate, or an agent thereof, he can't imagine the Will of the Force is any more thrilled about this turn of events than he is. It's difficult to imagine misuse to any more of an egregious degree.
His gaze slowly moves to Luke, overly cautious and wounded; he's still waiting for him to leave. To run, to yell, to do anything but this. How, it seems, the tables have turned. The only difference in the hesitance is that it's not fear that educates Anakin's movements, but shame. Anakin wonders if it's worth it to even try to give him an answer that isn't honest; proper emotional shielding is not a talent he's ever given the time of day too, not when he's spent so much effort and time in trying to tear down those same shields.
Settling on non-verbal honesty as the way to settle the urge to bite it back and say he's fine when he's clearly anything bit, he shakes his head. And not for the first time does it feel so strange that he's supposed to be the adult in this relationship.]
No. [It follows after a too-long moment of consideration. And then, a small sigh.] Can we just get this over with?
[He doesn't deserve that either. But waiting for the inevitable fight is a tedium he can't bear. Not when he can't even make eye contact without his heart stalling.]
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[And, not for the first time, Luke feels like he's missing something. He purses his lips, trying to figure it out, and he's got... nothing. He's got nothing.]
[Everything is so wrong lately. He'd hoped his father could help him fix it.]
I can't help if you don't tell me what you're thinking.
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I presume this is about your sister. [How can it not be?] If you're here to finish what she started, I'd rather just get on with it.
[Not that there's any need, he feels wretched enough. But there's no apology he can give that's genuine enough, no reparation that comes close to the loss. He doesn't want to hear it, isn't sure he can bear another revelation of that caliber, but none of this has been about what he wants to hear, nor what his already-fragile emotional stability can withstand. The only way this is about his grief is that he deserves to live with nothing but.
That's what Luke's hesitance has always been about, hasn't it? The loss?] You knew, didn't you?
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I did. [No. No, that's not all of it. He should tell everything.] I only just learned- you only just told me, less than an hour before the Ingress found me. I didn't know what to do.
[He reaches for his father's hand, metal to metal.] I'm sorry.
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This is something different altogether.
Selfishly, he longs for that contact, even as synthetic as this is, which is why instead of ripping his hand away, he simply re-averts his glance instead. He wants what he shouldn't have; he can prolong it if he tries to ignore it, perhaps.]
You don't have a reason to apologize.
[Not really. Not well and truly, where things matter more than wounded pride and a monster's guilt.]
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[He sits back, his mouth a thin line.]
The way I handled this... was unbecoming of a Jedi. I hope you can forgive me.
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And how was I supposed to find out about this?
[There's nothing here that softens it, nothing that changes it, and even if so, this is his price to pay for that horror. Someone has to.]
You are not the one who needs forgiveness. I have none to give.
[If he doesn't even deserve it, how can he offer it in kind? His arms cross as he starts pacing in front of the outer door, brooding figure cast, unknowingly, in a stark silhouette.]
The Jedi knew. They knew something was wrong, even when I didn't. They said so from the moment I walked into their temple, and we were all too stupid to listen.
[He stills for a moment, his focus pointedly on anything but his son. (And he couldn't be focused more on Luke than in that same passage of time).] You shouldn't be here. I'm not safe.
[It's bitter. Unbelievably bitter. And colder than he's ever wanted anything to ever sound. And yet, the facade, a warning he desperately hopes Luke will take when no one else seems to listen, crumbles at the last word when his voice shakes, and finally cracks.]
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[That, he feels, is a low blow, but he's not sure it was unwarranted. He needs to get his point across, he realizes with sudden clarity. He also realizes he isn't sure what that point is.]
[So he falls back on explaining.]
Father, I... never expected you to find out. I didn't mean for Leia to tell you. This wasn't supposed to happen.
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[As much as Leia's anger often clearly runs parallel to his own, her own son's seems to do much of the same, for all his parents don't want to come to accept it. Solo has made it clear where the blame lies there too, even if he hasn't said as much. The clenching in his gut tells him this is his fault.
Kylo Ren's fixation on embodying Vader's "legacy" seals it. Now that he knows what that means.
Leia wasn't even the first one to tell him, or even to confirm it. Just the first to breathe life into it, to give the fear context and footing, to help it take root. At another time, for any other fault, he'd be the first to tell her not to hold someone to military tribunal-like accusation for an act they haven't come to know.
But there is no one else to take the blame for this. There is no one else responsible. Just him.]
She only finished what her son started. Made me see it.
[How is anyone supposed to fault her for that?
The guilt gnaws and aches even now, that he's even here to make any of them have this conversation. Obi-Wan could be happily with Satine by now, Leia unburdened with having to look at the man who kills her family, Luke without his fear, Kylo Ren without encouragement. That there's no fixing something this broken.]
And she's right. [He huffs, a wry sound that almost breaks into a laugh, were laughter the sound of hopeless self-deprecation.] You already are twice the Jedi I'll ever be.
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She could have done it more gently. This had to be a shock... and I understand being upset.
[But. But how do you soften this? You don't, Luke realizes. You don't soften it, you don't fix it. You just keep going.]
Yoda... he told me to live in the present. Whatever you become, that doesn't matter. You're not there. You're not close. If you were, we wouldn't be able to have this conversation in the first place. Father, that's what matters.
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You can't blame her, Luke. [The tone is tired, distant.] There's nothing gentle about this.
[And she is so unfortunately his daughter. So inarguably. It's a small point of grace that she endeavors to take after her mother in all the ways that seem so effortless for Luke; it's the only grace left to them in this cursed inheritance. Padmé deserves them, these unadulterated, blinding points of light. This love. It doesn't extend to him. It can't--it shouldn't.
The fact that Luke does anyway is either foolish or hopeless. Both, perhaps, in the face of all of this (pending) loss. He's so much closer than Luke wants to think. I always have been.]
And Master Yoda isn't the one who kills everyone, is he?
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So because you do terrible things- things you haven't even done yet... you know better?
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Yet. [And there it is. The one word none of them can run away from. The one word that might as well be branded on his forehead for all it heralds.] And what does living in the present get any of us, Luke? Your sister is furious, you're petrified, Obi-Wan is hurt. [All his fault.] That's not in the future, that's here, now.
[He finally turns then, the pull of rage and frustration and fear all plainly evident in his expression.]
So you tell me what I'm supposed to do. What Master Yoda thinks I should. Because every step I take could be the wrong one.
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[His answer to Anakin's question is similarly fast. Luke is too impulsive to deep philosophical ponderings.] So you think it's better to do nothing?
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[Why is no one paying attention to that part? Back home, the decision--that assumption--had been made long before his own loathing and skewed sense of personhood had ever attached to it. The boy is dangerous...
It's a tough sell, he knows, to someone who has seen this future in action rather than secondhand dismay, but it's a testament to every fear he'd ever had after reaching Coruscant. The nightmares, the lectures, Palpatine's fixation on his several failed attempts to leave the Order. It all makes sense in a way he can't deny, and if this has been years leading to this point, who's to say they can do anything to change it now?
Stalling it out isn't an option, but if he remains inert, solitary, they might just have a chance.]
It doesn't have to be real for me to be real. I ignore that it will happen, and it's unfair to your both. I don't, and it's unfair to me? No! Who else is responsible for this, Luke? Who else?
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[He's done not feeling proud of that. This is his father. He should embrace his legacy-- on his terms.]
I'm not asking you to ignore it. You've obviously accepted it. [Okay, maybe that was a little whiny right there. Moving on...] I'm asking you to be brave, and... help us. We're your family. We need you.
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The Hero with no Fear. Force, what would that do his reputation if people found out he was nothing but his fear? "Be brave," his mother had said once. The last real time he ever saw her, and he hears the echo of that in Luke's voice, the ghost of a legacy the boy knows nothing about.
His heart wrenches, and his gaze falls. The real shame in this is that it's Luke having to give him this speech at all. That his son has seen him so broken, raw. He bites that back for all the good the silence does when the slump in his shoulders and his averted gaze do more than enough speaking for him.]
Help you how? [Resigned now, the anger ebbing the face of shame.] All I've done is ruin everything.
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[He sighs.]
The fact that you care... that you don't want to become that man, that means something. It might mean everything. We need someone like that. Some of us more than others.
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Anakin sighs, resigned. It's such a frustrating non-solution, one that feels more like forcing a smile than it does fixing anything, but what other choice does he have?]
Fine. I don't know what it is you could possibly want, but fine.
[As if he even had to ask if he wanted whatever was left?]
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There would have been no mask to cause nightmares, no one to instill doubt, no one to blatantly call it.
It's a bitter frown that results. For all the responsibility he's taken here...he does wonder what would have happened if he'd never known. If the danger would still be just as great. If this would hurt as much. It's a grateful disdain, two sentiments so contradictory that they shouldn't exist anywhere near one another. It's so far beyond begrudging, and he doesn't know whether to yell at the man or thank him.]
That's not a good idea, Luke.
[He already wants Vader. Reveres Vader. What good is this going to do?]
I can't give him what he wants.
[For all that I'm supposedly going to anyway.]
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[But all information about his nephew is precious.] What does he want? Did he tell you?
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[There's not any other way to put that. As a piece of his own impending future, there isn't any softening it. It just is.
His gave averts again as he clenches his teeth. He doesn't want to think about this. About him. And yet...this is just as much his responsibility, isn't it?]
Practically worships him.
[Not "me." Even without Vader, that's difficult to fathom in any context. He swallows against that impending anxious lump in his throat.]
He told me he was Vader's "legacy." [And with quiet disbelief:] I thought he was crazy...
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[And he's not going to let anything take his family apart again.]
Father... you're not dangerous. You're in control. You... [His composure fractures, and he bows his head.] Please, help him.
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[Oh, Luke. What about this looks like control? Anakin can't fathom it simply meaning "yet," this predicament existing at all is a Problem™. This danger is a ticking bomb, they just don't know when it's supposed to go off. Or how.
But it will.
He sighs, long and tired, and rakes a hand through unkempt, bedridden hair. This is categorically a terrible idea. His lucidity might be still-fragile, but even he can see how objectively ill-advised this is.]
If this is what you want...
[Anything. It's the least his son deserves.]
I will try.
[Try. Something his Masters would undoubtedly point to as defeatist. But he can't. No promises. Not when he can't bear the thought of breaking another.]