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shifted_prompts2010-09-07 04:57 pm
pactum.livejournal.com) wrote in shifted_prompts2010-09-07 04:57 pm
Entry tags:
letters from the departed
Title: Letters from the Departed
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
presea
Character/Fandom: Emil Castagnier/pactum with a brief cameo by Marta and others.
Prompt: 12. press play;
Word Count: 2,853
Summary: Insomnia plagues Emil as his truths continue to fall apart like lies. Salvation or damnation comes in the form of clues left behind by his amnesiac self.
Author Notes/Warnings: Spoilers, things that are under his personality section, general craziness. I skipped over a lot of the log part (excuse is, well, craziness) since that one's still going on between me and Jchan. Hope that's okay!
Letters from the Departed
-------
Emil’s dreams no longer feel like dreams. When he dreams of dying, it hurts and it makes him wake up in a cold sweat, clinging to his pillow, with Tenebrae quietly concerned about his screaming and Marta all the more worried about what secrets he’s keeping. But he can’t help it. If he tells anyone else about the dreams then something will happen, either to him or to them, and he won’t accept that. He won’t.
So, he tries to help himself by visiting the person who runs the pharmacy and buying some sleeping herbs. They help for a little while, but after a few days of peaceful recuperation with Marta, it’s back to the same old cycle of nightmares and memories and dreams that mix into something terrible. He could make it easier on himself if he just took more, but the pharmacist tells him in very plain terms that anything beyond a week’s worth of herbs is pushing it and he needs to find another outlet for his inability to sleep.
Just like countless other nights, the pawn of Ratatosk sits in his hotel room on the edge of the bed, hot and clammy and sweating, when all he wants to do is be out cold. He sighs and glances at the torn part of a crumpled note in his hand. For the hundredth time, he wonders if he should find the other ones. The blue-haired boy from the Astral Plane seemed to urge it. But Emil’s life isn’t any of his business, right?
Except he hadn’t been the only one. There was the Doctor with the coat that smelled warm and also reminded him of tears, and he had seemed rather concerned about Emil, too. And the Doctor in the suit… No, he can’t fault people for being worried about him. Emil is worried about himself, after all.
He has a very bad feeling about all of this. He had a bad feeling from the day it started, and with the appearance of the boy who looked just like him, his careful façade of clumsy adventurer began to fall apart. Things that once made sense now form a strange sort of disconnect called Emil, and he feels that he knows Death intimately. Death is not the thing that comes to bestow mercy on people who are old and dying. It is a regular visitor to Emil, either in his dreams or in the reality of the battlefield, as unwanted and unwelcome as an awkward rambling wreck of a traveler who insists on laying in front of the fireplace.
The dreams might be telling him something. That’s always been a possibility, but all he’s been able to gather from the visions is Richter killing him. But Emil is alive now. What could that mean? And Richter doesn’t hate him, he’s just not on the exact side. But it makes him wonder… about that boy, and about Richter, and if there’s something Emil doesn’t know. It’s silly to think he has another life. He remembers his childhood just fine. He saw plays in Palmacosta when he could, like the Man with the Iron Mask! He really liked that one. Oh, and Emil loves to bake, but his favorite food is…
The paper in his hand tears a little bit more. Emil glances around the room briefly to make sure he’s alone, and then unfurls the note to read it again.
--
Dear self,
I don’t know your name, or— rather, my name at this point, but that doesn’t matter. It occurred to me that I’ve gone through this routine before— rifling through old things, sniffing books for clues, completely and utterly missing the important thing again and again. I very much doubt that I will be able to solve the mystery at this point. It may take several more tries before the mystery is truly unraveled, but then there is always a risk that I will never be able to solve it. I had a feeling the first time I stepped on the Plane that I wouldn’t be able to come back, and I think in some ways it still holds true; the person I was then is not the person I am now for many reasons. I feel like I remember a great deal more about what I did, and what I accomplished, and the people I did it with.
It also occurs to me as I sit here writing that perhaps my lack of memory is owed to the fact that I’m not ready. It’s not the kind of trauma that results from being hit in the head a lot. Someone or something doesn’t want me to know who I really am, and that is disturbing to me, but probably necessary in order to accomplish… whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing.
--
Emil reaches the bottom of the note. Even if there was more to read, he couldn’t even make the attempt with his hands shaking that hard. “You can’t be me. You can’t be me!” His voice rises sharply, and in the void his words leave behind, he hears Marta tossing on her bed. She may or may not get up, but either way he doesn’t want to explain the note to her, so he shoves it into his shoe. Besides, the back of it has a number. He’s sure that this letter is part of a bigger set of clues, and he’ll have to visit the Plane again to find them.
Still, part of him is reluctant and slow to act. He doesn’t understand how this letter could possibly be addressed to him. It was written by someone who probably just has a passing resemblance to Emil, and also happened to be in Meltokio at the same time. Why didn’t anyone say anything? Why didn’t Tenebrae meet him? At the very least, he could be a distant relative from a parallel world, like all the different versions of the Tenth Doctor Emil has met. Yes, that seems likely. He hasn’t met this person… well, personally, but due to the way the Plane works, it’s a little hard to schedule meetings.
Emil bites his lip and sinks into the mattress. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.
Today he receives a message on the Doctor saying that they should meet. He goes to the meeting spot without any idea of what to expect, but apparently misses him. It happens again, and another time, until he’s used to swinging by the ballroom every time he pops onto the Plane. He wonders what it’s about, but also reminds himself that he could be curious about the other other Doctor and what he knows about the Plane, so Emil sets aside his fears and waits patiently when he isn’t searching for the other notes.
At last he finally catches the Tenth Doctor. Emil says a lot without saying anything. Pleasantries are transparent. Something angry flashes in the back of his mind.
A message.
A message?
“Hi there.”
He reels from what he’s seeing. It’s him, staring back into picture, it’s him it’s him it’s him and oh, Martel, he can’t think about this right now. He can’t, he…
The boy smiles even though he states a terrible fact. Emil doesn’t want to hear any more but the tape goes on. The Doctor wanted him to see. “At this point, I've all but completely lost my personal memory. I don't know my name, nor do I know the date, but I remember the names of cities and the kinds of people I hung out with. There was a girl with blonde hair, but mostly I remember a redhead with a bad attitude.” He laughs a little, lighter and softer than Emil’s own, before continuing. “I never minded, though. Lots of other people disliked him based on appearances alone, which I never understood. People will always fear what they don't understand but that's no reason to hide in a shell all of your life.”
Something about his words seems eerily familiar. Redhead with a bad attitude? Did he know Richter? The blood drains slowly out of his face as Emil keeps watching, unable to look away.
“I only remember vague glimpses of places. A platform surrounded by fire, a winding cave that provides its own light, a city of books. I don't know if these things mean anything to you, but they feel important to me, so I'm mentioning them now.” He’s never seen anything like that, he tells himself, but it’s more out of self-defense than anything else.
The boy in front of him closes his eyes, thinking. “I remember the feel of dirt on my hands, the sharp air of the forest... Just what sort of life did I live, I wonder? Before this memory loss, I mean. Even if I don't manage to figure it out, though, I hope this message gets to you. I will always be curious about how you— or rather, I— live in the future, what kind of friends I have, what I'm doing, that sort of thing.
“I just hope you aren't afraid. It's easy to fear what you don't know, but it takes far more work to understand it. It's always worth the effort. But if you're really me, then you'll know that already. Courage is magic, after all.”
He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me.
Emil can’t remember much after that, but he finds himself in his hotel room again, all alone and unable to sleep, just like days before. He’s not sure what to think about anything right now, so he goes back to what he was doing before: digging through various nooks and crannies of the busiest places on the Plane. It’s a good way to tire himself out so that he can pretend to sleep, at least, since no time passes while he’s here. At the same time there is something profoundly disturbing about all of this, but he tries not to think about it too hard, as if that will make things simpler for everyone involved.
He finds another note crammed between two books about amnesia in the library. Steeling himself, he finds a dark place between two aisles and reads despite all his misgivings.
--
I’m sure of this, at least: I am not supposed to be here. If my memory holds true, as fragile as it is, then I shouldn’t be here. Many things have changed in the past two years, things that don’t match up with what I know instinctively to be true, so that leads me to believe that I’ve either been asleep for two years or something else… something more dire… happened that would cause me to forget much of my life.
Because of this, chances are you’re probably panicking over something you don’t know. But it’s not the things you don’t know that you should be afraid of. You should embrace the unknown, because someday it may become the familiar, and that is wonderful. No— you shouldn’t be afraid at all. And I know that you have the capacity to be calm and take this in a mature manner, so I’m going to tell it to you straight: this will be the hardest time of your life, but you’ll get through it, and it will make you stronger than you ever knew.
--
How is he supposed to remain calm? There’s someone leaving him messages, or at least everyone else thinks they’re directed to him, and— and it makes no sense! Two years ago the worlds were made into one and Emil had a family. Presumably they went through a tough time like everyone else but they were quietly thriving in a revived coastal town, and it was home, and it was lovely, and why can’t he remember every little detail that he wants to? His grip around the note tightens, wrinkling it almost to the point of tearing.
What kind of terrible event would make someone lose their memories? Emil might be a little thick, but he’s pretty sure something like losing his parents would make his memory fuzzy. And yet he still remembers, still thinks about it every night when he tries to sleep. It feels like he’s losing the little things. Like little pieces of himself are slipping away. The truth is that he’s been having this problem for a while.
Emil finds the last clue in the Coliseum. Armed with the first two parts, he settles into an abandoned seat.
--
I know a lot of things don’t make sense right now. I can’t promise you’ll solve every question associated with yourself. You probably have dreams and ambitions that have been put on the side due to this. But it’s not too late for you to enjoy the time you have, and the people you spend your time with will love you all the more for it. So… forget about me, if you have to. You don’t need me to take care of you— you’re gotten this far, after all. I know you have very capable and helpful friends who are worried, so if it stresses you, then put this whole mess aside for as long as you need.
Don’t let anything stop you. Remember: courage is the magic that turns dreams into reality.
— A.
--
He doesn’t have to worry about it. The boy in the letter said so. Marta is his priority, even though she’s worried about him, even though she knows that he’s hiding something. He doesn’t deserve to have a friend like her, he really doesn’t. Emil realizes that he’s shaking again and curls up in the seat. Courage is magic… Courage is… The boy in the letter is right. He needs to be brave about this even if it kills him, which means setting it aside and dealing with it internally, properly.
This “A” person can’t be him. Though the journey is taking a lot out of Emil and maybe messing with his memory— that could be leftover effects from Dr. Crane, too— Emil is definitely his own person. He can’t imagine living a life before the massacre at Palmacosta, can’t imagine denying his childhood when it’s right there in front of him. Though sometimes the past seems to slip through his fingers like sand, once he focuses on his mission and his promise to Marta, it becomes clearer than before.
Emil takes his journal out and writes something in it. Dropping from the Plane, he finds himself in his Meltokio hotel room with his loving and tolerating companion in the bed next to him. He fights a momentary fit of panic at her presence, as always, then smiles to himself. Of course. She knows he can’t sleep lately, so maybe having someone else there to hold onto will help.
It’s a nice thought, so he leaves the journal by her pillow before crawling into his side of the bed. It’s her turn to write in it, and he hopes what she finds there will help smooth things between them. Emil has been neglecting everyone around him in his relentless chase of the ghosts of the past so it’s time to put it behind him.
--
97
Marta: I told you in person back in the Temple of Ice, but when I thought that you'd died, I took it really hard. You'd listened when I told you not to tell me who I'm supposed to be, and you were so considerate. Thinking about it now, I think I said some truly horrible things to you after you told me how much you cared for me.
That's not the only reason, but I wanted to tell you, well— this is so hard! I'm embarrassed to be writing this in a journal, and it's probably not coming out right, but I take back everything I said to you in Iselia. And if you'll forgive me, I hope that we can keep having a nice journey together.
I really am sorry for all of the trouble I caused you, and even if you choose not to forgive me, I’ll definitely keep my promise to protect you.
--
The moonlight leaks through blue curtains and leisurely caresses Marta’s pillow. Unseen by anyone, her fingers tighten around the edge of the book.
-----
Author:
preseaCharacter/Fandom: Emil Castagnier/
pactum with a brief cameo by Marta and others.Prompt: 12. press play;
Word Count: 2,853
Summary: Insomnia plagues Emil as his truths continue to fall apart like lies. Salvation or damnation comes in the form of clues left behind by his amnesiac self.
Author Notes/Warnings: Spoilers, things that are under his personality section, general craziness. I skipped over a lot of the log part (excuse is, well, craziness) since that one's still going on between me and Jchan. Hope that's okay!
-------
Emil’s dreams no longer feel like dreams. When he dreams of dying, it hurts and it makes him wake up in a cold sweat, clinging to his pillow, with Tenebrae quietly concerned about his screaming and Marta all the more worried about what secrets he’s keeping. But he can’t help it. If he tells anyone else about the dreams then something will happen, either to him or to them, and he won’t accept that. He won’t.
So, he tries to help himself by visiting the person who runs the pharmacy and buying some sleeping herbs. They help for a little while, but after a few days of peaceful recuperation with Marta, it’s back to the same old cycle of nightmares and memories and dreams that mix into something terrible. He could make it easier on himself if he just took more, but the pharmacist tells him in very plain terms that anything beyond a week’s worth of herbs is pushing it and he needs to find another outlet for his inability to sleep.
Just like countless other nights, the pawn of Ratatosk sits in his hotel room on the edge of the bed, hot and clammy and sweating, when all he wants to do is be out cold. He sighs and glances at the torn part of a crumpled note in his hand. For the hundredth time, he wonders if he should find the other ones. The blue-haired boy from the Astral Plane seemed to urge it. But Emil’s life isn’t any of his business, right?
Except he hadn’t been the only one. There was the Doctor with the coat that smelled warm and also reminded him of tears, and he had seemed rather concerned about Emil, too. And the Doctor in the suit… No, he can’t fault people for being worried about him. Emil is worried about himself, after all.
He has a very bad feeling about all of this. He had a bad feeling from the day it started, and with the appearance of the boy who looked just like him, his careful façade of clumsy adventurer began to fall apart. Things that once made sense now form a strange sort of disconnect called Emil, and he feels that he knows Death intimately. Death is not the thing that comes to bestow mercy on people who are old and dying. It is a regular visitor to Emil, either in his dreams or in the reality of the battlefield, as unwanted and unwelcome as an awkward rambling wreck of a traveler who insists on laying in front of the fireplace.
The dreams might be telling him something. That’s always been a possibility, but all he’s been able to gather from the visions is Richter killing him. But Emil is alive now. What could that mean? And Richter doesn’t hate him, he’s just not on the exact side. But it makes him wonder… about that boy, and about Richter, and if there’s something Emil doesn’t know. It’s silly to think he has another life. He remembers his childhood just fine. He saw plays in Palmacosta when he could, like the Man with the Iron Mask! He really liked that one. Oh, and Emil loves to bake, but his favorite food is…
The paper in his hand tears a little bit more. Emil glances around the room briefly to make sure he’s alone, and then unfurls the note to read it again.
--
Dear self,
I don’t know your name, or— rather, my name at this point, but that doesn’t matter. It occurred to me that I’ve gone through this routine before— rifling through old things, sniffing books for clues, completely and utterly missing the important thing again and again. I very much doubt that I will be able to solve the mystery at this point. It may take several more tries before the mystery is truly unraveled, but then there is always a risk that I will never be able to solve it. I had a feeling the first time I stepped on the Plane that I wouldn’t be able to come back, and I think in some ways it still holds true; the person I was then is not the person I am now for many reasons. I feel like I remember a great deal more about what I did, and what I accomplished, and the people I did it with.
It also occurs to me as I sit here writing that perhaps my lack of memory is owed to the fact that I’m not ready. It’s not the kind of trauma that results from being hit in the head a lot. Someone or something doesn’t want me to know who I really am, and that is disturbing to me, but probably necessary in order to accomplish… whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing.
--
Emil reaches the bottom of the note. Even if there was more to read, he couldn’t even make the attempt with his hands shaking that hard. “You can’t be me. You can’t be me!” His voice rises sharply, and in the void his words leave behind, he hears Marta tossing on her bed. She may or may not get up, but either way he doesn’t want to explain the note to her, so he shoves it into his shoe. Besides, the back of it has a number. He’s sure that this letter is part of a bigger set of clues, and he’ll have to visit the Plane again to find them.
Still, part of him is reluctant and slow to act. He doesn’t understand how this letter could possibly be addressed to him. It was written by someone who probably just has a passing resemblance to Emil, and also happened to be in Meltokio at the same time. Why didn’t anyone say anything? Why didn’t Tenebrae meet him? At the very least, he could be a distant relative from a parallel world, like all the different versions of the Tenth Doctor Emil has met. Yes, that seems likely. He hasn’t met this person… well, personally, but due to the way the Plane works, it’s a little hard to schedule meetings.
Emil bites his lip and sinks into the mattress. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.
Today he receives a message on the Doctor saying that they should meet. He goes to the meeting spot without any idea of what to expect, but apparently misses him. It happens again, and another time, until he’s used to swinging by the ballroom every time he pops onto the Plane. He wonders what it’s about, but also reminds himself that he could be curious about the other other Doctor and what he knows about the Plane, so Emil sets aside his fears and waits patiently when he isn’t searching for the other notes.
At last he finally catches the Tenth Doctor. Emil says a lot without saying anything. Pleasantries are transparent. Something angry flashes in the back of his mind.
A message.
A message?
“Hi there.”
He reels from what he’s seeing. It’s him, staring back into picture, it’s him it’s him it’s him and oh, Martel, he can’t think about this right now. He can’t, he…
The boy smiles even though he states a terrible fact. Emil doesn’t want to hear any more but the tape goes on. The Doctor wanted him to see. “At this point, I've all but completely lost my personal memory. I don't know my name, nor do I know the date, but I remember the names of cities and the kinds of people I hung out with. There was a girl with blonde hair, but mostly I remember a redhead with a bad attitude.” He laughs a little, lighter and softer than Emil’s own, before continuing. “I never minded, though. Lots of other people disliked him based on appearances alone, which I never understood. People will always fear what they don't understand but that's no reason to hide in a shell all of your life.”
Something about his words seems eerily familiar. Redhead with a bad attitude? Did he know Richter? The blood drains slowly out of his face as Emil keeps watching, unable to look away.
“I only remember vague glimpses of places. A platform surrounded by fire, a winding cave that provides its own light, a city of books. I don't know if these things mean anything to you, but they feel important to me, so I'm mentioning them now.” He’s never seen anything like that, he tells himself, but it’s more out of self-defense than anything else.
The boy in front of him closes his eyes, thinking. “I remember the feel of dirt on my hands, the sharp air of the forest... Just what sort of life did I live, I wonder? Before this memory loss, I mean. Even if I don't manage to figure it out, though, I hope this message gets to you. I will always be curious about how you— or rather, I— live in the future, what kind of friends I have, what I'm doing, that sort of thing.
“I just hope you aren't afraid. It's easy to fear what you don't know, but it takes far more work to understand it. It's always worth the effort. But if you're really me, then you'll know that already. Courage is magic, after all.”
He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me. He’s not me.
Emil can’t remember much after that, but he finds himself in his hotel room again, all alone and unable to sleep, just like days before. He’s not sure what to think about anything right now, so he goes back to what he was doing before: digging through various nooks and crannies of the busiest places on the Plane. It’s a good way to tire himself out so that he can pretend to sleep, at least, since no time passes while he’s here. At the same time there is something profoundly disturbing about all of this, but he tries not to think about it too hard, as if that will make things simpler for everyone involved.
He finds another note crammed between two books about amnesia in the library. Steeling himself, he finds a dark place between two aisles and reads despite all his misgivings.
--
I’m sure of this, at least: I am not supposed to be here. If my memory holds true, as fragile as it is, then I shouldn’t be here. Many things have changed in the past two years, things that don’t match up with what I know instinctively to be true, so that leads me to believe that I’ve either been asleep for two years or something else… something more dire… happened that would cause me to forget much of my life.
Because of this, chances are you’re probably panicking over something you don’t know. But it’s not the things you don’t know that you should be afraid of. You should embrace the unknown, because someday it may become the familiar, and that is wonderful. No— you shouldn’t be afraid at all. And I know that you have the capacity to be calm and take this in a mature manner, so I’m going to tell it to you straight: this will be the hardest time of your life, but you’ll get through it, and it will make you stronger than you ever knew.
--
How is he supposed to remain calm? There’s someone leaving him messages, or at least everyone else thinks they’re directed to him, and— and it makes no sense! Two years ago the worlds were made into one and Emil had a family. Presumably they went through a tough time like everyone else but they were quietly thriving in a revived coastal town, and it was home, and it was lovely, and why can’t he remember every little detail that he wants to? His grip around the note tightens, wrinkling it almost to the point of tearing.
What kind of terrible event would make someone lose their memories? Emil might be a little thick, but he’s pretty sure something like losing his parents would make his memory fuzzy. And yet he still remembers, still thinks about it every night when he tries to sleep. It feels like he’s losing the little things. Like little pieces of himself are slipping away. The truth is that he’s been having this problem for a while.
Emil finds the last clue in the Coliseum. Armed with the first two parts, he settles into an abandoned seat.
--
I know a lot of things don’t make sense right now. I can’t promise you’ll solve every question associated with yourself. You probably have dreams and ambitions that have been put on the side due to this. But it’s not too late for you to enjoy the time you have, and the people you spend your time with will love you all the more for it. So… forget about me, if you have to. You don’t need me to take care of you— you’re gotten this far, after all. I know you have very capable and helpful friends who are worried, so if it stresses you, then put this whole mess aside for as long as you need.
Don’t let anything stop you. Remember: courage is the magic that turns dreams into reality.
— A.
--
He doesn’t have to worry about it. The boy in the letter said so. Marta is his priority, even though she’s worried about him, even though she knows that he’s hiding something. He doesn’t deserve to have a friend like her, he really doesn’t. Emil realizes that he’s shaking again and curls up in the seat. Courage is magic… Courage is… The boy in the letter is right. He needs to be brave about this even if it kills him, which means setting it aside and dealing with it internally, properly.
This “A” person can’t be him. Though the journey is taking a lot out of Emil and maybe messing with his memory— that could be leftover effects from Dr. Crane, too— Emil is definitely his own person. He can’t imagine living a life before the massacre at Palmacosta, can’t imagine denying his childhood when it’s right there in front of him. Though sometimes the past seems to slip through his fingers like sand, once he focuses on his mission and his promise to Marta, it becomes clearer than before.
Emil takes his journal out and writes something in it. Dropping from the Plane, he finds himself in his Meltokio hotel room with his loving and tolerating companion in the bed next to him. He fights a momentary fit of panic at her presence, as always, then smiles to himself. Of course. She knows he can’t sleep lately, so maybe having someone else there to hold onto will help.
It’s a nice thought, so he leaves the journal by her pillow before crawling into his side of the bed. It’s her turn to write in it, and he hopes what she finds there will help smooth things between them. Emil has been neglecting everyone around him in his relentless chase of the ghosts of the past so it’s time to put it behind him.
--
97
Marta: I told you in person back in the Temple of Ice, but when I thought that you'd died, I took it really hard. You'd listened when I told you not to tell me who I'm supposed to be, and you were so considerate. Thinking about it now, I think I said some truly horrible things to you after you told me how much you cared for me.
That's not the only reason, but I wanted to tell you, well— this is so hard! I'm embarrassed to be writing this in a journal, and it's probably not coming out right, but I take back everything I said to you in Iselia. And if you'll forgive me, I hope that we can keep having a nice journey together.
I really am sorry for all of the trouble I caused you, and even if you choose not to forgive me, I’ll definitely keep my promise to protect you.
--
The moonlight leaks through blue curtains and leisurely caresses Marta’s pillow. Unseen by anyone, her fingers tighten around the edge of the book.