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thisavrou_log2016-06-30 06:17 pm
ex_forcechoke292) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-06-30 06:17 pm
[closed;] you ran into the night, you can't be found
Who: Anakin Skywalker (forcechoke) and Kylo Ren (outer_space)
When: Backdated to 6/27-6/30.
Where: Outside/MERO #010
What: Skywalker family drama. Surprise. [*VADERGATE, a drama in (like) 15 parts (or something), this being the ninth of those 15 parts.]
Warnings: Violence, strong language, adult content. We're just very sordid, angry idiots.
[Now that he's moved in with Obi-Wan, he's so much closer to that offending room that his glowering in its direction had become something of a ritual. As angry as he is with himself--and he is still very angry--there is something to be said for Kylo Ren's unearthing of the subject before it had come to a head. As if he'd known. Planned it.
The man might not be a Sith, though Anakin's not really sure what else his demeanor (and that interest in Vader's legacy) points to, and he might be family, though he's not sure what to think about that either, but that doesn't curtail at least a good portion of that anger being directed at that room now just down the hallway (too easily accessible).
He's given it time. He's given it a chance to temper, to fade, to get easier. The anger comes and goes, but the guilt...that hasn't ever gone away.
It is a particular fit of pique, a spike of what he thinks is something akin to clear-headedness even as angry as he is, that has him stop glaring and instead storm his way over. For answers, he tells himself. Real ones this time.
Anakin doesn't knock as he approaches the door. He waits, gives it a moment. He knows Kylo Ren knows. Pleasantries aren't necessary. For once: patience is a virtue.]
forcechoke) and Kylo Ren (outer_space)When: Backdated to 6/27-6/30.
Where: Outside/MERO #010
What: Skywalker family drama. Surprise. [*VADERGATE, a drama in (like) 15 parts (or something), this being the ninth of those 15 parts.]
Warnings: Violence, strong language, adult content. We're just very sordid, angry idiots.
[Now that he's moved in with Obi-Wan, he's so much closer to that offending room that his glowering in its direction had become something of a ritual. As angry as he is with himself--and he is still very angry--there is something to be said for Kylo Ren's unearthing of the subject before it had come to a head. As if he'd known. Planned it.
The man might not be a Sith, though Anakin's not really sure what else his demeanor (and that interest in Vader's legacy) points to, and he might be family, though he's not sure what to think about that either, but that doesn't curtail at least a good portion of that anger being directed at that room now just down the hallway (too easily accessible).
He's given it time. He's given it a chance to temper, to fade, to get easier. The anger comes and goes, but the guilt...that hasn't ever gone away.
It is a particular fit of pique, a spike of what he thinks is something akin to clear-headedness even as angry as he is, that has him stop glaring and instead storm his way over. For answers, he tells himself. Real ones this time.
Anakin doesn't knock as he approaches the door. He waits, gives it a moment. He knows Kylo Ren knows. Pleasantries aren't necessary. For once: patience is a virtue.]
no subject
The door opens, and Kylo emerges. ] You're not coming in. [ He's rehearsed this much, his resolve already quaking in his grandfather's presence. The man is resplendent with anger—Kylo Ren briefly thrills with fear and recognition. ] I'm done with your questions.
[ He swallows hard. Holds his head up. What is he to this man? A door to knock on when the mood strikes, nothing more. ] Maybe you should keep walking. [ He nearly succeeds in holding his voice steady. ]
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Too bad. [The anger flares. Burns. If he'd never said anything he'd never have thought to ask for clarification. He'd never have known. Could have--what?] I am not done with you.
[I'm not going anywhere.]
What in the Nine Hells did you think this would accomplish? What? That I'd don a melted mask for you? Help you live out some perverse childhood dream?
[The glower he'd approached with darkens into a full scowl.]
Show me. Show me this "legacy" that was worth damning us all for.
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I am not done with you. He receives the words with sickening—even to him—gratitude. They'll echo in his thoughts, reproach and reassurance both. He looks at Anakin, his rage turned to an ache, and pities him.
He did this, left this man at the mercy of a Jedi who'd twisted him in knots. ] You've felt it. [ He urges his grandfather, soft and certain. ] You feel it now.
I'm not scared of you, Anakin Skywalker, but I could be. I haven't died for you, but I would. [ Something—the premonition of a smile—trembles at Kylo's lips. Fevered light in his eyes. ]
I know you've suffered. You are more than your suffering. You'll surpass—all of it, everything that brings you pain. [ Breathlessly: ] You have that power.
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[What had been angry is in a moment horrified at the notion. He's never asked this of anyone, never assumed, never been comfortable with it. Who, in good conscience, can ask that devotion of anyone? He's risked his life for others more times than he can count, but it's rarely ever been with the intention of seeking out martyrdom.]
Feeling someone die, knowing them, is hard enough. I'm tired of watching people die! For me. Because of me.
[If this is supposed to be his legacy...how in the hell did this happen? And what kind of power equates "surpassing" suffering with torture and genocide and blinded obsession with causing even more of it?
He sets his jaw and glares.]
You're insane if you think I would ever want that.
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[ “Insane” scarcely registers. The glare's nothing new. Anakin communicates in threats and insults—he's accepted that. The hurt is a familiar one.
He resolutely does not think of Han Solo. ]
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Beyond that, however, is the light that doesn't dim. The vision that doesn't fade, the one he can't shove out of mind, even if he'd wanted to.
And right now, right here, with this company, he wants to. This isn't how his mother deserves to be remembered, mired in all this guilt. Loved him, trusted him, forgiven him, none of that matters in how much he'd failed that night, and regardless of the circumstance, as with this hideous "legacy," he has no one to blame for that but himself.]
It doesn't matter. [More convincing, Skywalker. Luke said he needed help. "Help." Right.] What do you care?
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Anakin will never fail to command his attention, if nothing else.
The moments pile up before he brings himself to speak. ] I've answered all of your questions. [ Kylo Ren breathes in a shudder. His face twists. His voice is low, surging out of him. ] You can't answer one of mine.
[ He looks down the hall. Terrified in the depths of his disappointment. He wills himself to do something, but he can't break away. ]
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He couldn't begin to understand. Family or no, even his closest friends--his carefully chosen and cultivated family--will never quite understand. If he had his way, no one would. Ever.]
You have no idea what you're asking. You have your family, and you waste it, how could you ever understand?
[Lucid and calm, it would be far more than he'd ever want to say aloud. More than he'd want to think about clearly in the presence of any Force user lest they catch any piece of it. Angry, with his guilt still sitting like an open wound, this feels perfectly justified in that he doesn't really notice the slip beyond his agitation.]
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Shouldn't he know? Shouldn't he understand? ]
You're my family. [ He says vehemently, trying to keep the hurt from his voice.
He hasn't missed the implications--the evasion, in its way, has given him an answer--but the need to press the man for specifics, to learn everything he can, isn't so important.
Nothing's as important as this. ]
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Instead, he's left with a staunch denial that suddenly sounds so hypocritical that he's unsure what to do with it. Truth of the matter aside, he's so convinced himself that this isn't the way that family is supposed to work that he's denied every inch of it until it's become far too much for anyone to ignore.
"You're my family," insisted in the same way he knows he's thrown it around so much in the past few months, and he can't do anything but mutely wonder if he's been wrong.
And if he is wrong--]
Then why? Why the mask, why this...legacy? It's ruined everything!
[It's not true in so many words. It could be worse. He knows it and the point has been reiterated more than once. But in the face of indignation, the hyperbole seems perfectly logical.]
This isn't how family is supposed to work!
[But none of this is, is it? His fingers flex around an unseen apparition, the manifestation of his upset, but ultimately even that twitch of anger isn't enough to justify clenching a fist and letting the Force flow through it. He isn't even sure who he'd aim for, and if it wouldnt just be his own neck on the line instead.]
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Vader is a fact. Vader has always been, and the array of questions is simply bewildering. He's about to seek recourse in the Force when Anakin has his outburst. ]
What more can I do? [ The words feel as if they've been torn out of him. His voice leaps to a shout. ] What more do you want?
[ He's failing. That much he knows, that much he lives with day in and day out. It has to be a matter of his own insufficiency. He lowers his eyes. Softly: ] Just tell me. Tell me what to do.
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He can't let this future come to pass, not if it hurts so many people the way it inevitably will, and yet...how has it become so pivotal that this man seems to ignore all of that until this fate is nothing but a necessity?
Anakin wants to run away from this. From all of it. Retreat until there is no possible way Vader as everyone seems to know him can come to pass. But there is no retreating from it. Not when he's sought this out, even through the anger and confusion.]
Talk to me. Why Vader? Why is this fate so important? What--
[What does it mean if this happens to me?]
What happens if I can't be this man you want me to be?
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He schools his expression, as best he can, into impassivity. A hint of a scowl still lingers. ] Which question should I answer? [ Clearly the last, but he's not feeling particularly charitable. ]
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That's the problem: those righteous indignations are why they're here, and why it always seems to come back to this. The Jedi may not always have a point, but he still believes in them enough. In the real cause. And watching frustration only beget more of itself over and over again...
This isn't the way to get the answers he wants. (If that's even possible.)
The gaping is cut off, gives way to a pause where he visibly swallows back the urge. The intensity in his gaze, however, doesn't really change. It's tinged with something softer at the edges, painful, but it is no less insistent.]
My mother. [The start is rough, like he's dragging the words over sandpaper.] Died for me. Because of me.
[It's a desperate move, to bring this up. Somewhere, somehow, he thinks it might be the only one he has left.]
Countless soldiers. My entire Order. [A stuttered breath follows. It's still raw, watching it happen, being told the cause, and the weight of the guilt that follows.] As I'm told, a billion or so more.
[The scope of that is unimaginable, he still can't fathom how anyone can live with a scar like that, the number barely computes in an abstract, let alone when it's referring to people.]
My children deserve better than this. Their children [the inflection and steeling in his glance is pointed] deserve better.
[Where does that leave us?]