(8/2/02-9/18/02)
All in all perfect timing, Hyuga--for it had been scant timing indeed to have stopped by Nisan in search of one particular girl before returning to the fort and realizing that he would have to finalize his plans a bit sooner than expected. A data terminal is plugged into one of the many jacks studding the ship even in the training room and Hyuga, a look of concentration on his face as the speakers above blare emergency klaxons, shifts to touch the sheathed sword at his side automatically. "Soon, now," he murmers aloud, preoccupied with attempts to track Yui. "Are you all right, Midori?" is the next question as he glances up to his daughter, checking her for signs of stress.
Midori ..is at best lost, and at worst near-panicked, the sheer volume of events in the past hour or so welling up. Hyuga. The man she called father, whose only apparent being was in the ether, had descended from the skies and plucked her unsuspecting from the city of peace. Calmly, she attempts to look composed, but can only look like a sodden child, almost in tears from her experiences. There is no danger, and no sense of malintent, but, -something- about the situation is not right. Something is bothering father. She stays close, pretending an interest in what her father is doing, but her grip on his waistband is that of someone hanging on for dear life. > ...I am fine, father... <.
So far so.. good? It's nearly impossible to put a concrete value on how things are going right now. It is nothing but chaos and, true to form, chaos is impossible to measure up to anything. At least.. At least, Yui managed to turn bad odds into decent ones. So far. But so far, things are far from over.
Calm is a necessary shield against so frazzled a moment, as the Shevvite woman runs down unfamiliar metallic hallways, a sword which was not originally hers clutched in one hand. But even in calm, one must admit how frustrating it is, with dimmed hallways and nothing but the sounds of battle echoing through the Fort in full from the cacophony that reigns outside and, even now, is slowly leaking in. Down unfamiliar hallways, half running while she tries to keep her way. Things could hardly be worse.
Or is that a false call? With a clutter of steps, she enters the training room, giving it a curious glance-over that suddenly turns into a very even stare. Steps come to a stop. And her arm holding the sword is hanging loose for a moment as she allows herself a brief moment of blatant and complete surprise. And finally breathes unbelieving words as faint and weak as wind.
"You..."
You are here. You have my daughter. You... You.
"Do not worry, Midori," Hyuga soothes--for once, oddly, capable of doing so in the midst of all this wildness. In the heart of chaos where the very events protected could things be exposed; care was one of them, and he reaches out to stroke down Midori's hair as she stays close. "I had expected that there would be trouble eventually. We shall only be here a short while longer, and then we should be able to leave. Remember--just endure for a little while longer, and it will be done. Do you think you can?" The question is encouraging, soft and almost unheard through all the noise of the explosions and frantic battle outside. Then. The doors slide back, and the world seems to stop. "Y...ui," he breathes, his hand arrested in the fatherly gesture, his reality fixed upon a single point. Then he breathes in again. He'd expected this. Shame on Dominia for not telling him the leader had entered. Perhaps Dominia was dead, so she could not have. Hm. He'd deal with that later. Yes, he'd definately deal with that later. "Midori, please step by," he says quietly, putting the terminal port aside on the bench and beginning to rise, eyes never leaving that of the woman across the room from him. So. You are here, Yui. And a smile crooks even as a mind is screaming.
A nod of the head, and Midori cannot but trust who seems so authoritative here, so relaxed, in his own place, that even the siren, and the noise from outside cannot faze his calm. Smiling gently as she looks up at him, she half-breathes the words, "Thank...you..", as the doors slide, and the wall of calm, of serenity in chaos is torn down in that instant. Midori gasps, as she registers both parents' surprise, confusion, alarm, and, most disturbingly, their intentions.
Somehow, Yui was expecting this. Somehow, she was not. But it... it still is an unwelcome sight. Especially with Midori in toe. She falls silent for a long moment, glancing at them both in complete disbelief. No. It.. it wasn't supposed to go like this. Midori, of all people, was not supposed to be here. And you... I had hoped, and hoped, that you would not, either. "Ci.." No. Wrong name. He has a better one, a truer one, that feels.. More removed than the man you married, rather than the Solarian who, for some inexplicable reason, has brought your daughter here to the heart of Yui's battle. And her voice is very quiet, very even. Even while her eyes flash concern. "...Hyuga. Why are you here?" Both of you. Especially both of you.
"I see you have arrived safely..." And whether this is a thing he has attempted to assist in or avert is up to whim, as his tone has reached that wonderful place of balance between focused and merry that Hyuga clings to for sanity in times of duress. His mind also dives to that spot, finding that knife's edge of rationalization, the kind that thrives so wonderfully well in the madness of war. And yet, it is all so familiar. They have done this before when he has been as desperate as Yui must be now, when backup is slight and one is far into enemy territory. When blades are carefully drawn--and speaking of which, Hyuga reaches for his now, sliding the oddly sheened katana out of its sheath. This was not a traditional weapon; it had clearly been tempered with whatever Solaris could provide for the Guardian, which fortunately had not turned into something too technological. Fragility of the purpose of the blade after all. "You have not had too many problems, I would hope?" Light words, kind almost but for the look in his eyes that never lowers from Yui, the way his weight is light upon the balls of his feet as he slides towards the center of the training room. "Yui," he answers to her choice of his name, inclining his head a slight fraction. All right. Solarian-hearted it is, my dear. "I'm afraid that we're here to--" And then the world caves in. No. The world already did -that- when his wife entered. This is only ice and vision and everything and there is screaming somewhere near and he can sense it and anger he had not expected and then before he knows it his hands are on the floor as he has stumbled and fallen heavily to his knees, ice coating every inch of his nerves. For a moment he returns to himself and for a moment he forgets what -himself- constitutes, and then... and then it is all made right again. Look, he can breathe again. He is still trembling in his shoulders, the waves of Nightmare pulsing through him, but he can breathe, and everything is perfect. He is no longer worried. He is no longer hurting inside. He is fine. Everything. Is fine. And he stands, slow, sword scraping along the floor as it is dangled from one hand, and he sees only blackness and he sees only storm, and then the world clears and he sees Yui again.
Wordless threats, and nuances of outcomes of permutations of things that, to Midori, are all going to happen, cataclysmically, and in succession. No, she cannot look, and does not feel the ice of nightmare Hyuga feels, yet, she covers her eyes, anyway. It is enough that the intent was there for one second only. -This- is the price of duty, of serving what you know, or are told is right, of serving out an end to the exclusion of all others. And Midori cannot stand it. She cannot stand it, and, yet, if it will happen, she knows there is little she can do.
Surprise. That is all that there is as first, as Yui watches Hyuga merely draw his sword and walk across the room. As if it were merely business as usual, simple as anything. And it is not quite what she expected right off the bat. And why... Why did she not? She knew... She knew that, somehow, sometime, it would have to come back down to this sometime. But somehow.. She did not expect him to be so nonchallant about it. Well. Too little to wonder and far too late.
She gives herself the leisure of a soft and silent sigh, watching him with eyes that draw unreadable so very quickly. And she very slowly walks over towards him, stopping opposite of him, sword not yet drawn to ready. And do forgive her for a moment's moment of idealism.
"We... do not necessarily need to do this. We'll hold this fort soon enough as it is. So you needn't.."
It is not often, nor her instinct, to turn to such. But... But she has no nightmare to turn to, no way to do as he did and block out the world. And she can not simply point her sword at him without at least giving herself the grace of that moment. Even if she still bears the bruises and marks of her battle with Kaori... She is ready, still, to do what must be done.
But that doesn't mean that, in a quiet and many-muffled way, she wants to.
Ice and--you betrayed me you used me you Shevvite, you were only in it for your own uses. You -lied-. It is a voice that echoes through metal, through stone, into his very soul where he cannot tell if it is his own thought or not. But calm, Hyuga. Apart from the cold, there is only the calm of tempests unleashed, that ride the surges of violent emotion and beyond. In order to master it, you had to surrender. Or rather, in order to stay alive and moving--and move he does, the light in his eyes strange now, far too amused for what it should be. His smile is much too bright. "I needn't... what, my dear?" It is a phrase which should come from far more kind lips than the ones which seem to dance over the seriousness of this matter now. "I needn't choose to destroy the fort and your forces with it? To close you in and bring in my reserve troops that you may be trapped? I see... perhaps," he considers, tilting his head to the side, all laziness now in the same way that a large cat about to hunt might stand poised. "But I don't think you would really forgive yourself for that, would you? Now." His sword comes up smoothly, though that look of something not quite -there- has never left. It is cold. It is so, so gloriously cold. "Do you remember the first steps, my sweet?"
Panic. The nauseating sensation in the pit of the stomach, and the silent feral wail, welling up until they would consume the small child, whose parents might just now fight to the death. There would be a winner, and she does not know who, r in what circumstances that might be. There might be a winner, and the prize is the victory today, is the superiority. Is her. Nausea grips her, and she almost doubles over, silently to the side. > ...No... <. There is no grim fascination. She must get away. If there is no stopping this, then the prize will not present itself meekly to the victor. Midori half-turns, glancing for the door, almost choking onwhat she will not allow herself to see, as she staggers to her feet.
I am sorry. Midori, I am /so/ sorry. But what.. What can be done? Yui is caught off guard anew at Hyuga's responce.. Smiling and smiling and taking this all so nonchallantly, while he readies his blade and is so nearly mocking about it all.
Is she simply being naive in thinking that is not right?
Well. There is no time to consider this, no time to ponder this. No time to trudge through the mess and reason out why he is acting like this, when she is wishing desperately that this would not have to happen at all. But who were you joking, Yui? How could you believe that walking your paths of duty simultaneously would not lead you both to this? And it is too late, far too late, to wish otherwise now.
"I see." She says evenly, finally, although she feels a little ill within. "Well, then. Of course I do, dear."
She finally raises her sword up, prepared and in a position trained into habit so deeply that she could do it in her sleep. Even if her voice sounds flat, and she must qwell every touch of emotion within. No. You knew it would come to this. You /chose/.
"Come now, Yui," is the drawl now, too gentle and too toying. This is nothing like the fluid intensity of the Guardian the last time they had come together like this. For one thing, that had -nothing- of this manic sheen in Hyuga's eyes, the choir of crashing waves that sing out that all is well, Nightmare is here, and it is keeping you safe. And as he speaks, his words must be as cold as they sound, for the breath steams faintly in the air as if in winter. Somewhere, someone is still screaming. "Look what a -bad- example you're providing for our daughter." And then he pauses, grace arrested as he reels in mid-step against the storm as it reaches another crest, filled by the darker side of that which lies in wait for sleepers, head snapping back as if he were shaken like a doll though Yui has done nothing of the sort. A cough, and he recenters himself. Watch for it. Let it happen. He couldn't stop it, so it was best to at least not drown. "I had to do this, for my country!" he shouts out suddenly, in a manner so unrestrained that it is clearly not... quite him, is it? Two floors up and ice fills another room, another struggle, and it is hard to remember that that pain is not this pain is not this. Back to balance. Back. His eyes refocus on Yui again, and let the fact that pure -hurt- seems to bleed now from every gesture be ignored, for how very out of habit it is for a man whose sleep is even tailor-made for maximum effect. Now. Slowest motions, moving forwards. "I suppose it's back to the basics. You do remember these, don't you, Yui?" he teases, snapping out a quick thrust high and designed to not quite contact. It would turn into its true role as a feint and then attack at her leg if she bothered to block it. It's the basics and up. At what level will you decide to stop?
This...is too much. Emotions as a beacon to what is coming are one thing, but at that moment where the elastic snap of thought into action draws back, the first move made, the first half-stab in a ritual with only one ending, Midori has to get away. The door a shimmering rectangle in the tear-stained visage, and sliding, and gone, and Midori scrambles from the room, a high-pitched whine escaping her as she dashes into the hallway, the lunge caught short as she whirls around, and makes off odwn the corridor. Do not look back. Do not go back. Do not think about it, because to do so would be a punishment upon the residue of the poison in the minds of the two in the room behind, as Midori disappears.
Goodness... Midori. Midori... Yui would be to her side in a moment to comfort her, if the current situation wasn't so.. preoccupying. But it is frustrating- And /hurtful/- For Hyuga to be so very, very cheerful and nonchallant about this, for him to be.. For once, not quite as lucid as she is used to him being, and with such a glint in his eyes... Something is wrong. Something is /wrong/. And in convincing herself this, bit by bit, her emotions steel. "I am providing no worse an example than you are, dear. It /does/ take two to dance, doesn't it?" Well.. At least.. This dance. She swallows hard, narrowing her eyes at him mildy, more curiously than angrily at this point.. As if she could see through all of this charade to see what he was thinking, and make some little sense out of this mess.
Futile, futile. And her responce to his strike is a bit slower than it properly ought to be, like the delays of one multitasking too many times over, distracted and worried, and otherwise lost to complete focus. A small frown touches her face as she realizes this, meeting the feint lightly and moving back and away. And yet, she knows quite well that it is risky to divide her attention so.
"I thought you were my friend," is whispered, echoed, quiet in the tones of something quite betrayed indeed though what he far more would want to say would be, what you wanted was to not suffer consequences, it was in your best interest to hurt me. For Hyuga would -never- speak such words aloud, not so pleading as they are at their root. And his daughter may run and his wife may attack back, but it would be fine because it didn't matter anyway, he had a reason to this all and when he was good enough to get back to his feet again he would see how it all worked together. So. Instead of worrying, instead of hurting, turn that pain and stress into more and more intensity. Deal with it. Deal with Yui -now- and he could get Midori and this could all be better, couldn't it? So -go-. Moving instantly up to a more complex level, the Guardian shifting his footing so that he can pivot around Yui--control the other person's direction and you control -them-, second lesson--and aim another teasing strike at her legs. Immobilize your opponent or reduce their motion and you control them again. Lesson three. Two at once, Yui, but anything else would be insulting, isn't it? "It was beautiful while it was a dance, wasn't it?" he says then while he strikes, quiet and low, harsh and possibly more sane than his earlier cry--but if so, if so, then so much more cold. It was beautiful... while it lasted, Yui? Your words. Your response.
Something is terribly /strange/ about this fight. So very, very odd... if not for the strange things that Hyuga is alternately snapping or whispering that make no sense in the world to her, than it's.. It's everything else. And the realization that something is terribly out of place, terribly wrong, is something that can fuel her to move quicker. Faster on her feet she is now, as bit by bit she pushes those emotions /away/. Something is wrong, and Hyuga is not quite himself, so see? See. Move, move and focus, and push away that pain until it does not matter here. Deal with it later, and focus now. She moves as he moves, careful to match the strides, backing up as he strikes at her legs. Slowly snapping back into that so familiar rhythm.. Keep moving, keep focused. And focus not so on the pain. "It is, it was.. I wish I knew anymore where that stopped being clear."
How can anything be so cold when it is so hot? That is a thought which is not his, and it is not hers, and it is ont someone else's. But he must concentrate on -here-, he must concentrate on now even as he loses himself more fully by slippery inches into the Nightmare which had so deeply possessed him. "This has always been war, hasn't it, Yui," he murmers and cannot tell how loud it is or even if it is audible through all the static in his brain. And there are not enough words now that filter down from above and make it through the keening wail of noise, and so he fights without thought now, not even pausing before he breaks his own rules--as if anyone was surprised--and turns a rather nasty backstep of his weight into dropping low to the ground and stabbing upwards at her leg. Damage your opponent's mobility and you can pick them off at your leisure.
Focus. /Focus/. Moment by moment, step by step, something seems more and more /off/ with this duel. What.. was it? That puts such a glint in his eyes, and turns his words until they are more vague than even usual.. It is enough to warrent a narrowing of her eyes so slightly, like trying to peer through a wall of mist to the heart of the matter. But Yui can certainly not spare the time to fully analyze this.. Nor can she continue moving away, away, away. Even while her words are lilting fainter. "I suppose that depends... On where you believe the war is waged." It is the creeping edge of frustration, of realizing breath by breath what is happening and how it must be seen through. One that realizes that it is awkward to continue backing away--A step back at his attack, but.. She certainly can not keep this up forever. And even, even so... There is that looming issue of duty to attend to. A small, inward sigh. Well. It is time, then, to be more agressive about this. Even if.. Even so.
Mist moves much in the same way that fog does, or illusion--both of the former are water, Yui, sweet, and mirages also pretend that water is there when it is not. All are just as he is; there and then gone. Having missed Yui by the fact of her retreat, Hyuga's sword only barely brushes the cloth of her skirt. Fine. Next priority is to get back up to his feet before Yui presses the attack back on -him-, and he does so by pushing up against the ground to spring up and back as well. So parted, they have a bit more space to consider who shall advance now. By the look in Hyuga's eyes--dark, playful, and so very much more the Solarian than they have been in so long--he will likely only toy some more. "Oh, what a pesky thing, such little details as -wars-," he teases, katana held out at the ready to parry her should she move on him. All the while, he begins to pace once more to circle Yui, hopefully keeping her off her balance again. "They're really far too tawdry for anyone's attention, wouldn't you say?" Only the -masses- should care. Only the -Lambs-. "So I suppose if it's easier to think that this Fort is of any actual import, then it... does quite seem like a battle. Doesn't it, Yui?"
"A place's importance can be measured in many ways." Is all she says for a moment long, as vague as anything said before. Watch and wait, patient and ready, in case he moves in.. And yet, with the growing distance forced into her eyes, it looks just as easy that she could move in for the next strike as well. Curious, curious, this entire moment.. But Yui would never be so foolish as to think anything would fall so easily into her hands. "...This is less a battle than a moment, one could say. What meaning can come of any of this may easily be left up to someone else to say." This could be a great Shevvite victory, in the form of proving itself, standing tall, meeting threats.. Whatever one would care to bother to justify, it could easily be so. Yui is here as a vessel of duty. Yui.. was here to find /you/. But this is hardly the persuasive attempt at reclaiming her lost Citan that first plans might have led her to. Although.. Although. There is another, less graceful way to do so. Perhaps... She did defeat him once.
She defeated him because the feeling of being left behind by one's own country because you are too embroiled in a conflict to finish the war can be crippling, all grounds beneath your feet removed even while there is a voice in your ear whispering, this is all according to plan, Guardian, play along. There is that time when no matter how much you might trust in the plan, the thing that is your tiny spark of life behind enemy lines may halt and cry out in terror at being so very alone. But he wasn't alone. He would never be alone now--not now. "A sort of significance," Hyuga dismisses and agrees with her at once. "Like any other sort of symbol. In the long run, hardly important, so long as the masses have their pretty little stories to go by so that they can sleep well at night and pretend to be -just-, isn't that so?" It is in mid-sentance when he leaps forward then, breaking his defensive stance to lash out first at her sword in expectation that she will strike at him, and then curving the strike to a defensive curve that can be turned into a low thrust again if he needs to. If there is an opening... will there be?
But is it so wrong to harbor the wish of 'I did, I could again'? The accute will and wish to finish this, settle this with her in favor, just so.. So everything can be /right/ once more. So she can collect her family neatly and easily all in one simple moment, and sort out all the pieces later. It is not.. So bad a need, is it? "That.." A twinge of frustration goes running by those dark, deep eyes, as her preliminary strike is blocked, less by the movement itself than by the entirety of this all. The strike itself? He can block it, she can draw back, she can try again from another angle. And continue speaking in a voice that draws progressively less readable, more distant and lost in that tone of overwhelming calm. "..Seems needlessly simplistic, doesn't it?"
"And yet so much of the world is simplistic, isn't it, Yui?" Hyuga's voice is quick. It is sharp, and perhaps worst of all, is it so -alive-. This is not the befuddled, cheerful doctor who dispenses tonics in Lahan. It is not even the playful-yet-confusing man who has traveled with the pirates before moving on to places only he can truly define. Perhaps -this- is the real Hyuga--but if so, then what is the being that has sat up nights with his head buried in his wife's arms, shoulders shaking as he says only again and again that he wishes there was something far kinder than the world than this, that he wishes that people were better to one another and there be an end to pain? He blocks Yui, swings his sword as it had already been projected to an angle low again and designed to strike at her legs in a teasingly glancing blow. Whittle one's opponent down by degrees--play with them. Only the cruelest animals did so. And humans. "People like to believe that they are truly in charge of themselves, but we all know that we dance on the strings of so much more. Even our bodies tell us what to do--breed that, kill there, eat this and run away screaming from that. The truth is that no one really can--so why not let them believe something which makes them feel just a little bit better? In the end, it will still only be the few people at the top who will have any real bearing on the mass. To do otherwise is to self-gratify." He moves now, to the side and sliding, never in one place for too long, "But it's what humans need, isn't it? Tsk."
It is /wrong/, all of it... Or is it simply undilluted truth, unmuddled for a change? Either way, this is not the man she married, this smirking, toying man.. Wit and cleverness turned dark in a way that draws a slight frown to her features. Which is nothing but a flicker of the thoughts running on inside. Oh, it makes it easier, far easier, to raise her sword and block and strike.. The reluctance completely gone from her movements as she falls full into the steps of this duel. "On the contrary. Nothing is so simple. It is just easier to speak of it that way." Light words, faint. No, this is not the man she married, at least.. There is something else in play here, certainly. And that removes the only uneasiness she had to step through this fight at all. Quick back up a step as he strikes again, move back in as best. "It is true, to a degree, that we are drawn along by a legion of circumstances to do what we must.. But isn't it extreme to deny that one has choices enough to bend the way as they go?"
"One has choices?" Hyuga pauses, poised on one foot as the other is extended to balance its toes upon the floor, ready to slide forward at a moment's notice and strike. "Yes, I suppose. One could always choose to lie down and -die- at any moment, good and proper and obedient, I'd suppose?" Another snap with his sword as she returns to proximity, this time chaining the motion with a back-and-forth of a strike to the left, right, and left again while he advances. "Or isn't it another truth that humanity has been raised to suppress the suicidal freedom by so many words of how there will 'always be another day,'" he raises his voice in high-throated mockery, "Or how it is 'wrong and immoral', or even how 'it is the most selfish action in the world.' Of course it is selfish," he continues, the logic bouncing insanely depending on how one understood him. "All things individuals do is selfish. We all want our little bit of life and will make up -any- excuse in order to have it, no matter how noble we would like to pretend it to be. Even me," he adds playfully, the humor flowing in and out as well. This is Water at its worst. This is mercury. "All to keep ourselves from realizing just how horrible we really are, and give our lives some faux sheen of 'nobility'," he adds, twisting the word so he almost spits it, "all so we can go to sleep at night and wake up the next day to do it all again. That is a choice... wouldn't you say?"
Really now! Yui can argue and debate to her heart's content a more moderate and less.. blatantly grim point of view. Yui is certainly no optimist herself, but why must he speak of everything like one endless, hopeless loop? It only makes the frown upon her features more blatant. And what exactly can she say in responce to this? This is trying her limit at civil conversation. And without a nightmare to crawl in, she hardly can meet his joking without anything more than a peer. But move, focus, let not the conversation distract you. And yet, it is hard, and harder as it continues, to keep this up. Still, she bears the bruises of a battle before, after all, and she is tiring as this continues. Focus. As he moves in with the chain of strikes, she does her best to parry them, one another, and.. Just what can she possibly say? But a small and amazed, "What has gotten into you?" So small, for all he said. And yet, she is quite ready to go on to say more when she is too slow in backing up, in blocking, and one of his blows lands. Blocked a moment too late, she only graces this with a cringe. Yet allows herself no other hint of showing pain.
Mercury is living metal. It is poison, while all the while seductive as you stare at the paradox it presents; a solid that flows, yet refuses to obey liquid laws, and fascinates you into to rubbing it into your skin despite the danger it presents. The Nightmare flows over Hyuga, and somewhere a girl is screaming as ice shatters itself with intent to kill. It orders him to wait rather than pushing forward to press the attack, draw back and smile to his wife as she offers that small question against so much confusion. "I have only opened my -eyes-, Yui." And his smile is so very bright, and so very terrible. And those eyes themselves; how the glint of destruction turns them alive, more alive than he has been in years. More alive save when he had been in Solaris, and experiments had come to his fingers and lives discarded in research. "All along I thought that I could change things--and yet, -really-, is there anything different in this world through all these generations? People remain as willing to persecute one another as before, save with prettier excuses to excuse themselves from blame!" And Nightmare sings. He lowers his sword, pivoting on a heel so that the blade is deceptively held behind him, and offers his free land with a loose palm up. "Won't you open yours?"
Dark eyes so used to being warm and serene find themselves narrowing, a look that is first and foremost critical. Like a quizzical peer, missing only the curious arch of an eyebrow. She knows not of, sees nothing of, the Nightmare that rages behind his eyes. And to see an effect without the cause... it is baffling. The swordswoman has followed him down all means of trains of thought, over ideas and under contemplation, without as much of a blink at the loops. But this is baffling, by all means /irrational/, for him to say so much that says so little.
This is nothing like the man she married. And something lurches within her, despite how she is all outwardly steeled.
It is tempting to call that a look of hopelessness that settles back within those eyes, concerned and confused in ways that make the woman--Trained so strictly in the grace of being calm first, logical second and everything else later when everything important is over with--Want to scream.
But no. Calm. Calm because it is a defense, because it is all she can do to remain standing, to remain controlled, to not just give in and dive and slash and hope that a good jolt will snap him out of this, return something familiar to her, make him make /sense/ once more. But calm. And still. And talking, despite how her voice is audibly strained.
"What have you opened your eyes /to/? Human nature is one thing to fret over, over those who live but to self-justify, to accuse all others of faults they are guilty of as well... It is inevitable. But why now? And how does it relate to this?" Her sword lowers a fraction, arms shaking just visibly from unspoken stress and the more physical strains of this fight, "Please. I assume it is not too much to ask a straight answer from you?" Although perhaps it is. More things are wrong with this than she can count. "Why are you doing this?" Loyalty is an old dance, the realization that they are sides apart sometimes and worlds away... But this is something else entirely.
She didn't expect to see him /smile/.
"...because the hope of humanity is nothing more than an avatar of all its evolution, as pathetic as that is." Hyuga turns his hand slowly so that the palm faces down, fingers half-spread and dangling. "An embodiment of all its ills, instead of its savior. And if we are all to save ourselves, then we have had -how- long to do more than this?"
As he speaks, his voice quiets--the manic gleam dims in his eyes, until his manner is the same as those Lahan nights, when rhetoric has come into his head and shaken him like a dog until all he can do is turn the puzzle around and aloud to his wife until it lets him free again. "...is humanity's true nature all that is poor about it as well, Yui, or is it right to continue fighting for the right to exist without turmoil? Will that day ever come?" And his hand lowers, slowly; his sword too, until its tip rests on the floor.
And he hurts.
Will that day ever come? So Citan had asked, and stubbornly clung to the belief that it -would-, that humanity was -worth it-, and now with events that have flung him adrift only to be greeted with the mass of so many dreamers' private hatreds and fears? "...and I don't know why, anymore, Yui," he whispers, gone for a moment into the silence that is the eye of the storm. "...I don't know why we try anymore, in this world... with Midori and all these wars, and how history never seems to do anything but repeat itself." He shakes his head as he speaks, and the brown hair slides along the lapels of the Solarian coat. Then he looks up, and he looks at Yui.
Hyuga lifts his hand again, paces towards his wife, the gentleness that Citan expressed there in his eyes--the sadness that comes from wanting so very much to -stop- the world's fears, and seeing only failure. "Yui?" It is a soft question; those who open their eyes on their sickbeds say such words in that way, disbelieving and hopeful and possibly finally awake. "...Yui?" And the distance is crossed, and he is sliding his hand against her cheek--the face he kept himself from dreaming about, or tried to. The hair that he saw in sunlight and flowers. Words are forgotten at the wayside; they are second to the tales spoken through the eyes and the face. Wonderment is there, in the way he cradles her neck with his palm. So Hyuga chooses not to try at them, but only leans down and finds the lips of his wife with his own.
Then he does the same with the sword dangling innocently all this time, and her stomach.
And for the first time in all this roundabout, confusing and alternately terrifying meeting... What he says makes /sense/. Clearing away the cobwebs of surreal manifestations of Nightmare, clearing away all the frustrations and darkness of that realm until there is a probable cause to what caused it all in the first place. And it is clear.
So clear that her sword, too, lowers, slowly not in the ways of reluctance, but rather with the gradual realization of clarity.
"Oh." She says, softly and at first, quieted by both the sudden /familiarness/ of those words and tone and the words behind them, anticlimatically short. "I see..." Flicks and specks of that steel which guard her, shedding before so much familiar and, in word and action, so much more /painful/. It was simple to guard against all the darkness and Nightmare in comparison, so much that made so little sense and allowed her to raise her sword with a frown. But this... This is quite a different matter entirely. "I see..." Too much. "And we managed.. So long to avoid that, only for it to come to this again... Or... Perhaps... It was less avoiding than it was simply a break, turning aside from the ...truth...?"
The sudden confusion in her voice is less from her thinking aloud than his movement towards her, so gentle and sad in his steps that she can all but fight to remember that those swords were at each other's throats but a moment before. Her own--Or his own, if one wishes to debate semantics--sword is held loose in her hand, barely remembered, as confusion falls full fledged upon her. She had wished for familiarity, yes, for something to make sense...
But outside a battle rages, with Gear against Gear and Shevvites at the attack against a Solarian force unprepared. While lights flicker and dim and emergency lights set in, and husband and wife stand in a practice room, only a moment before with those swords raised against each other. And now there is such a sadness in his voice that she is tripped by plain logic for a moment--Or perhaps the sheer lack of it in this scene in full--As he /kisses/ her.
Dark eyes wide in surprise, confusion, and finally... Finally, at that, the sword falls from her hand, clattering against the floor in a chime of metal. And yet there is only the briefest moment to contemplate this before the world explodes in pain. Her scream is momentarily smothered between his lips and her throat before she recoils from him, colors dancing before her eyes and blurring the world before she can even realize what just /happened/. It is a numb look she gives down at the sword that has been so conveniently lodged in her stomach while she was so distracted in confusion. She can not even back away, force herself off that sword and welcome whatever additional injury it would over. All she can find the strength to do, hissing against the pain, is merely half collapse against him. And whisper, in a voice aching to a point near to a whimper, "Citan..."
/Why/? But all else fails her. She is in shock.
"...Hyuga," her husband corrects. And then he helps her stand, stepping forward and circling her around the waist with his free arm, allowing her head to fall upon his shoulder. Madness is rising on the screams of the minds of dreamers everywhere. It is comforting to rise up in storm than to think, than to -feel-; it is better to destroy than to feel powerless against the winds. And so Nightmare has only been bound so surely to the Guardian because of that void within him, for it takes away the pain even as it rips apart his mind.
Be yourself. It's all right.
Be yourself. Even if you're what the -Lambs- would call a murderer, a traitor, and worse.
Then, when your country tells you to kill the enemy commander, you listen.
"Now do you see, Yui?" he whispers into her ear, the embrace warm in comparison to the cold of the Solarian-tempered steels in her gut. "If this is the truth, than I will deny even this." For this is why he has run, equally why he has refused to see her and their daughter. "If we are to be on different sides by nature, I will never let you call me back."
They are hard words, cold as glass--cold as the seas as they roll in their beds and fill the Guardian's mind with tides. And at the same, they speak far more kindly than Hyuga may hope; always kindness shining through the scorn with him, for all that he wants to say and cannot. He speaks them by throwing them forth more than articulation. If his voice did not grate with harshness so, it might even be called hatred properly.
His expression damningly chill, Hyuga then releases Yui, lifting his hand to shove her disdainfully off his sword and away. "...blood everywhere," he murmers aloud, and does not watch to see her fall. All business and precision, the Guardian steps over to where his own sword--at least, the one Yui had used--lies on the ground. A hand lifts over the blade, and as he begins to concentrate, he does not even spare the effort of looking in his wife's direction as he adds,"Do not follow me anymore."
What argument is there to that? It is logic, terrible and true, that echoes in his words. It is inevitable. For as long as there is a subject of loyalty to draw upon, as long as they both stand true to what they know and believe in and care for, they are by loyalty alone enemies. It is damning either way- To be true to themselves, to be themselves, to follow what they believe in is not only the most natural choice, but the most respectable one. And yet in doing so, it is anything both.
How can you argue that? What can be said? There is no easy way to say that it is all alright, that everything will turn out okay. Not while there is /war/. Not while there is conflict. Not while they are both well beyond the childish fantasies of abandoning home and loyalty for each other. And her only responce as she leans against his shoulder, shaking gently in pain, is only a soft and almost resigned, "I see. I see."
Although, in a way, she wishes she she saw more than merely that. Hope is a foolish thing to wish for in the midst of war, but in moments as this, even the most logical mind can find itself straining for a drop of it.
And then she is pushed away. There is too much pain for her to be surprsied, having well burnt herself out on it by this point anyway. Not one thing in this meeting has been fit to rational plan, expected and understandable. Why should this be different? She cries out again as she pushed off of the sword, a considerably weaker sound. But even as she falls to the ground, too much in shock and pain and numbness to even catch herself as she collides sharply with the floor. Only with great effort does she manage to push herself up, not even to a proper sitting position, half sprawled upon the floor with only one shaking arm supporting her and the other loosely clutched at her stomach, blood soaking the palm of her hand, trailing between fingers. And she closes her eyes, half of pain and half to block out the sight of Citan--Hyuga--All business and coldness and darkness again.
And yet even then, she can speak, her voice very low and very soft. And every bit as serious as she can force it to be.
"On the contrary... as long... As we are on different sides by nature... I will follow you to the very ends of the earth."
Yet it is so very hard to tell, in that shaking and pain-soaked voice, if that is a threat or a promise.
He knows she has fallen. He knows she is bleeding--how could he not? And whatever strange force has gripped him, perhaps it -is- only logical that he has been taken by it, for all the rest of this world is a far crueler madness than kisses and swords.
It is a simple matter--only -too- simple, while his vision has begun to blur away into a room which is not here and is filled with screams and threat--to pull for the more elemental of his talents. A shield to strike against Fire involved claiming Water. Water is Ice, only warmer, and he is so very cold now. As Khiea summons the glaciers to lash out at her own betrayal of her heart, so does Hyuga now. The katana that Yui had carried with her glistens, and then is coated with layers of ice drawn from the moisture in the air; the space around them both is cold enough that Hyuga's breath begins to mist in clouds.
Then his brows furrow, his fist clenches, and the metal trapped within the coating finds its breaking point. When his heel comes down hard upon it, the sound of it cracking is like the explosion of branches in winter. Even trees cannot take too much. Neither can weapons.
"Then one of us will die." Tugging on his glove, Hyuga sheathes the Solarian katana carelessly. "Go home, Yui. Go home and take care of your child." Not 'our daughter', though Midori is one of the two most precious things to his heart. The other is bleeding on the floor. "...this world is fit only to be destroyed," he adds, softly as he begins to turn away, not a single look to her since he has stabbed her. "And as long as we must follow our duties, I will do exactly that."
She opens her eyes only to the horrible crackling and shattering of ice, of what once was Citan's sword. That which she guarded for him for years, and then raised against him... And now gone. There is a poetic irony in that that is powerful, that hurts, and that makes her cringe anew.
But this is how things have always gone, and how they must go. Loyalty proclaims that I must kill you. And if I must fight you to see yoou, then so it must be. If I can not turn against my loyalty, then I shall simply watch the world crumble about me and follow you to the very ends of it. Or die. It is inevitable. And that is the tragedy.
But it is hard to debate, to think, to do much of anything while one is half collapsed upon the ground, bleeding and so numbed with blood loss and pain that thoughts and words do not make more than the most basest and simplest degree of sense. "One of us will." She repeats, so simply and clearly as that. If she is not lucky enough to have Shevvites follow her in, then that might be as simple as just waiting. "Hiding and trying to forget could not change that."
It is frightening how much sense everything makes right now, with the world blurring over and hurting so /much/. But she hardly realizes it, the pain of her would, the blood that soaks deep into her outfit, in lieu of her thoughts. Is this how things must be? Loyalties versus loyalties, and no leisure in between. It hurts. So much hurts. And so much is numb. She only finally lets her gaze fall from his back, instead letting it settle wearily on the floor, where blood drips freely between a blurry view. And her words are soft indeed.
"As long as we must follow our duties, I will never be far."
Threat and promise. Hopelessness and hope. It's all as blurry and numb as the woman who speaks it.
Amidst all the raging Nightmare, one storm is as good as another. The edges blur, the boundaries slide until everything is out of control and hurting--To the dreamers tonight, there is no difference betweem any of it, only nightmare after nightmare all slurring between betrayal and pain and hopelessness and duty and loss and childishness and maturity and everything in between. And one of the focii of these storms approaches.
She is usually the Princess of Dreams, all frill and cheer and glee. But she is gone, fully gone... Not even Hyuga could keep her out of the Nightmare on a night like this, hurting and hurt and /angry/ in ways that she has not been since she was the loyal, pretty and perfect Ether Weapon. Her hands still tingle with the ether she has used. She /hurts/. She aches, she /burns/, from the inside out, with a fierceness and power that refuses to abate. It is like she has dove beneath the icy waters and breathed in one too many breaths, with no way to free the water from her lungs, no way to get it all to free, to stop hurting quite so much.
She trudges along, steps short and slow and sliding, shambling like the walking dead. Perhaps that is not so far from the truth? Khiea practically had to haul herself off the ground, forcing feet that did not want to move, to take her towards the elevator, and down, down... She dared not leave while she could see Hyuga walking through the nightmare, with flicks of sight and sound from... From her. /Her/. That /woman/. Who raised up emotion upon emotion within Khiea that she fought so often to ignore. And now, in Nightmare... It does not matter. It does not. She bears her emotions as proudly as a flag, as she trudges her way into the room.
Khiea stops. She tries so to stand tall- Where is the girl who was whimpering and whining about the lights but a moment before?- Even though her breaths are hard, as she skims the area around her. Hyuga. And Yui, collapsed on the floor, holding her stomach behind a too loose hand, bleeding openly. But despite all images before her.. Khiea is angry. Annoyed at this sight as much as anything. And her eyes narrow upon the figure collapsed on the floor.
Yui glances up, only briefly, as if she could sense or feel that glare- With all the ether still crackling around the weary Khiea, that is no surprise at all- Confusion ringing in her eyes at the teenager who glared her down. No strength remains to question, to comment, to wonder... And Khiea gives her no leisure anyway.
One gesture. It is sharp, snapped in the air, as if Khiea were tossing something away. And with it, ether rises like an ocean, like a flood, in a rise of sparks rising in the air like a heavy mist of too-cold power. Sleep. It is a spell she has used before, to brush aside those of inconvenience. Sleep. And somehow, it carries with it an edge that seems almost malicious.
But not another word. She does not even bother to watch as Yui collapses to the ground completely, hand looser on her stomach, letting blood fall all more freely when it was bad enough before. And her words are very monotone, very simple, very matter-of-fact.
"I think it might be time to go, Uncle Hyuga."