[ he looks stunned when the words land after a second—byleth's always been good at getting her point across in as few words as possible. but this was cutting. abrupt. illusions, tampering with the mind. caleb was right, in that something about this is not right. even with his perception as warped as it is, he can tell.
but then again... the surprise fades into something hurt, then is forcibly schooled into more neutral steeliness. the problem is, this is not so impossible an illusion. part of him has always believed this conversation would happen, someday.
the only thing suspicious about it is the timing. he stays his ground. ]
I've always told you that if you do not approve of my actions, then kill me.
[byleth folds her hands behind her back, cocking her head to the side. there's something dark in her eyes, now—like a yawning abyss opening up, with nothing at the bottom.]
Do you really think you deserve a quiet release, after all that you've done?
[ There is something frightful about her eyes, warping and dark, but he doesn't look away. Rather, he can't. He just watches her, reading her expression, absorbing her words. And he knows—knows this isn't right. That it should make him so mad, so absolutely furious that he reaches out and crushes this counterfeit's skull beneath his fingers. Byleth would never do this. Her words would never be so barbed.
But still, none of them ring false. His father had never spoken unkindly to him, either. And yet the two of them sound much the same, now—her voice is joined by a litany of others, rumbling in agreement. These are all things he's heard before, long absorbed as truths. ]
I know.
[ Listening to her say the things he's always told himself—however hard he's closed off his heart, it does hurt. He lets out a breath, quiet and destabilized. ]
I will meet an end befitting my sins. You've no need to worry. [ He will not pass peacefully in the night, he's sure.
...Still. ] But right now, there are others. And you—you cannot stay here either.
[she stumbles suddenly, gripping her head, pain flashing across her expression. her voice comes out in quiet gasps, pleading, struggling against an invisible force.]
No... I can't...! Stop...!!
[there's another stagger of pain, but she catches herself. byleth strikes a hand out, as if to cut away at the ache—and the hesitation is gone again. the dark shade returns to her eyes, vivid vitriol blooming plain on her features.]
--Stop talking to me. Leave. I never want to see you again.
I should have chosen Edelgard. Then I wouldn't be stuck to you, on a fool's march to Enbarr!
[ ...Not an illusion. His expression suddenly twists back to surprise, then to horror, anger finally flashing through him like lightning. What—who is this now?
Something is wrong, but it's not what he first thought. The resignation, the sadness, he lets it all burn out in a familiar, righteous rage. What did they do? What did they do? ]
Then go to her! Once we're free, I will meet you there. Call me a monster, hate me, excise me—strike me down at the gates of Enbarr! But for now, hear me out.
[ It won't matter if they're both lost here in whatever lie this is. He's going to try and grab her and literally shake some sense into her. ] Professor!
[she opens her mouth to respond, but he's already coming, trying to trap her in his grasp. byleth's pupils constrict into pinpoints, and she wrenches herself away, even as he catches her left arm.
but that's more than enough arms to be dangerous with. reaching into the pocket of her uniform, she frees her own bone-like blade, made merely dagger-sized, and thrusts it directly into the front of his left shoulder, pressing all her skill and weight down into it. even in miniature, the blade responds, cutting deep through nerve, muscle, and sinew.
kicking a foot up, she fights to free herself from him, twisting the blade as she does.]
[ He'd underestimated how badly it would sting. Not the blade—the pain lancing hot through his shoulder is familiar, bearable, answered with just a choked gasp. Even the words themselves are nothing new. It isn't real.
It's that her hand on the hilt, her voice hurling insults. It's that his teacher that is being taken away like this while casting him aside. Her perceived betrayal creeping in his hindmind that his darkest, most injured thoughts always occupy. See? a voice offers. Don't they always do this in the end?
His left hand drops, dangling beside him as he's knocked back, stumbling. He reaches for his stupid—mic, because it's actually bigger than Areadbhar is right now, something he can use as a bludgeoning implement if not an actual weapon. ]
I have. [ How must pain must he have caused her so far? ] But I cannot go yet. Forgive me—!
[ He twists around to kick her shin, swinging the mic to strike her—he's aiming for the head, but if anyone is as quick as he is, it's her. ]
[it's a deadly dance, and she barely avoids the kick—leaving her open to the bludgeoning. byleth shifts her head, but it's not enough, not quick enough—only her previous dodging saves her from a direct knockout.
instead, he grazes the side of her head, the microphone bouncing off her temple. stars explode visually, and she gasps in pain, eyes squeezing shut briefly as she staggers. but it's only for an instant. she's moving, and her eyes open again, full of
horror. betrayal. despair. it's the same struggle as before, the dark coming and going, like a candle flickering in a breeze. her struggling stops, and the sword-dagger drops from her hand as she reaches out to him, hand shaking.]
and without warning, byleth throws herself at Dimitri, fist and legs lunging out, kicking, hitting for anything within reasonable striking distance. she's hissing with effort as each blow deploys, face transformed back again to its cold, tempered anger, beyond words.
but brawling's not her usual style, and it shows. so it's no surprise when she snatches something from her waist, rears back, and wields her own microphone, slamming it down on the arm that's still holding her.]
[ He doesn't expect her to go down that easy, but that vicious anger, the recklessness with which she swings at him—it isn't her. It's more something he would do. The terrible, unguarded pain in her is so unfamiliar it strikes him harder than her fist.
His arm crumples under the blow, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to fall. And if he does, she'll smash his head in. The water laps peacefully against the pier they're fighting on, as though mocking them, but he cannot hear it. All his focus is on keeping his balance, forcing himself to ignore the pins and needles pain in his hands as he staggers, bleeding.
But he is just—so tired. This has played out so many times, and it always hurts like a freshly sheared wound, and part of him thinks it would be easier just to let this happen. If it weren't her, maybe he would. Instead... ]
Professor, please— [ His voice wavers, and it doesn't matter if this is a spectre, an illusion, he's never had so much pride that he wouldn't beg. ] Please. I cannot lose you too.
[ The fact that she's lunged at him means he can, at least, retaliate if he's quick enough. So he kicks her foot out from under her at the height of her swing, shoulder screaming in pain as he gets her in a lock, and—with what's left in him—throws her into the wooden slats of the pier, crates crashing in around them. If he can just knock her out, maybe— ]
[ well! lucky for dimitri (?) the throw was pretty fucking brutal, and byleth manages to crack her head. she is knocked the fuck out - and she will wake up somewhere else.
for dimitri, there's silence - it's a long silence, an aching, painful silence, one heavy with the weight of the ghosts of his pasts, and with byleth unmoving in the slats and the crates.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
but then again... the surprise fades into something hurt, then is forcibly schooled into more neutral steeliness. the problem is, this is not so impossible an illusion. part of him has always believed this conversation would happen, someday.
the only thing suspicious about it is the timing. he stays his ground. ]
I've always told you that if you do not approve of my actions, then kill me.
no subject
Kill you?
You're just begging for an easy way out.
[byleth folds her hands behind her back, cocking her head to the side. there's something dark in her eyes, now—like a yawning abyss opening up, with nothing at the bottom.]
Do you really think you deserve a quiet release, after all that you've done?
It makes me sick just to look at you.
no subject
But still, none of them ring false. His father had never spoken unkindly to him, either. And yet the two of them sound much the same, now—her voice is joined by a litany of others, rumbling in agreement. These are all things he's heard before, long absorbed as truths. ]
I know.
[ Listening to her say the things he's always told himself—however hard he's closed off his heart, it does hurt. He lets out a breath, quiet and destabilized. ]
I will meet an end befitting my sins. You've no need to worry. [ He will not pass peacefully in the night, he's sure.
...Still. ] But right now, there are others. And you—you cannot stay here either.
no subject
[she stumbles suddenly, gripping her head, pain flashing across her expression. her voice comes out in quiet gasps, pleading, struggling against an invisible force.]
No... I can't...! Stop...!!
[there's another stagger of pain, but she catches herself. byleth strikes a hand out, as if to cut away at the ache—and the hesitation is gone again. the dark shade returns to her eyes, vivid vitriol blooming plain on her features.]
--Stop talking to me. Leave. I never want to see you again.
I should have chosen Edelgard. Then I wouldn't be stuck to you, on a fool's march to Enbarr!
no subject
Something is wrong, but it's not what he first thought. The resignation, the sadness, he lets it all burn out in a familiar, righteous rage. What did they do? What did they do? ]
Then go to her! Once we're free, I will meet you there. Call me a monster, hate me, excise me—strike me down at the gates of Enbarr! But for now, hear me out.
[ It won't matter if they're both lost here in whatever lie this is. He's going to try and grab her and literally shake some sense into her. ] Professor!
no subject
but that's more than enough arms to be dangerous with. reaching into the pocket of her uniform, she frees her own bone-like blade, made merely dagger-sized, and thrusts it directly into the front of his left shoulder, pressing all her skill and weight down into it. even in miniature, the blade responds, cutting deep through nerve, muscle, and sinew.
kicking a foot up, she fights to free herself from him, twisting the blade as she does.]
Let go of me, you broken fool.
Haven't you troubled me enough already?
no subject
It's that her hand on the hilt, her voice hurling insults. It's that his teacher that is being taken away like this while casting him aside. Her perceived betrayal creeping in his hindmind that his darkest, most injured thoughts always occupy. See? a voice offers. Don't they always do this in the end?
His left hand drops, dangling beside him as he's knocked back, stumbling. He reaches for his stupid—mic, because it's actually bigger than Areadbhar is right now, something he can use as a bludgeoning implement if not an actual weapon. ]
I have. [ How must pain must he have caused her so far? ] But I cannot go yet. Forgive me—!
[ He twists around to kick her shin, swinging the mic to strike her—he's aiming for the head, but if anyone is as quick as he is, it's her. ]
1/2
instead, he grazes the side of her head, the microphone bouncing off her temple. stars explode visually, and she gasps in pain, eyes squeezing shut briefly as she staggers. but it's only for an instant. she's moving, and her eyes open again, full of
horror. betrayal. despair. it's the same struggle as before, the dark coming and going, like a candle flickering in a breeze. her struggling stops, and the sword-dagger drops from her hand as she reaches out to him, hand shaking.]
Dimitri...!
no subject
and without warning, byleth throws herself at Dimitri, fist and legs lunging out, kicking, hitting for anything within reasonable striking distance. she's hissing with effort as each blow deploys, face transformed back again to its cold, tempered anger, beyond words.
but brawling's not her usual style, and it shows. so it's no surprise when she snatches something from her waist, rears back, and wields her own microphone, slamming it down on the arm that's still holding her.]
no subject
His arm crumples under the blow, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to fall. And if he does, she'll smash his head in. The water laps peacefully against the pier they're fighting on, as though mocking them, but he cannot hear it. All his focus is on keeping his balance, forcing himself to ignore the pins and needles pain in his hands as he staggers, bleeding.
But he is just—so tired. This has played out so many times, and it always hurts like a freshly sheared wound, and part of him thinks it would be easier just to let this happen. If it weren't her, maybe he would. Instead... ]
Professor, please— [ His voice wavers, and it doesn't matter if this is a spectre, an illusion, he's never had so much pride that he wouldn't beg. ] Please. I cannot lose you too.
[ The fact that she's lunged at him means he can, at least, retaliate if he's quick enough. So he kicks her foot out from under her at the height of her swing, shoulder screaming in pain as he gets her in a lock, and—with what's left in him—throws her into the wooden slats of the pier, crates crashing in around them. If he can just knock her out, maybe— ]
no subject
for dimitri, there's silence - it's a long silence, an aching, painful silence, one heavy with the weight of the ghosts of his pasts, and with byleth unmoving in the slats and the crates.
when dimitri even moves an inch, he'll find himself standing somewhere else entirely! ]