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Post by seishounohana on Feb 10, 2010 5:27:35 GMT -8
It was a rainy day that night. Somehow, Franchesca was not in the mood to work. If anything, she had hoped that she would have been allowed to take a leave of absence from the silence and the otherwise dismal life inside the medical-surgical ward. Nurses, like herself, had it hard. For one, all they see in eight hours of work are all people who continuously suffered pestilence and violence. In one of her wards, there was a woman who had been mugged off her salary and had been depending on the hospital charity funds for her treatment; In another, there was a child suffering from end-stage leukemia. All those and more were part of the daily undertakings of her own life, and for a time - Emily's. Franchesca would remember how she and Emily used to team up back in the day and one of them would check each other's drug computations and refine each other's nurses notes; how Emily was so excited when she got accepted into Medical School. Aye, those were the days. Franchesca would have sworn that she could have heard Emily calling out to her several times that night while she was trying to get a few minutes of sleep. But how was that possible? Emily was dead. Sacricia Emily Lourdes Epifania Delos Santos was declared dead at 9:00 that morning. The woman slumped into her chair further as her thoughts began to swell. It was still a mystery as to why and how Emily died; after all, the filipina never said anything about having any condition to begin with. Emily never told her anything; at least, she had stopped telling her anything about herself after they left America to work in the Main Hospital that she had inherited from William Clavering, Layla's half brother and the man that Emily eventually married despite being around over twenty years older. That man was as strange as a bat. Emily would often comment that he would be sweet to her but never get too close, that he would also send her chocolates as expected for a man on valentines day and if anything, he gave her books. Emily loved books more than anything. Probably even more than people itself. Sometimes the girl would say that it was a way for her to understand how the mind worked, how humanity is, how humanity wanted to be and eventually failed to be... ... In the end, remembering all these only made her miss the white-haired freak even more. "... You took us all by surprise, you bitch." Franchesca grumbled as she sat up, her eyes staring forward onto the empty chart that once held Emily's files. Right, they were forwarded to the Pathology department, weren't they? "... I should ask Layla if--" "Ask me "if" what, Miss Fran?" "DO NOT CALL ME FRA- Oh." Franchesca almost shouted out. Even though she had a certain distaste for the name, she had managed to control her anger. The woman who had managed to make her way into the nurses' lounge had short blonde hair and baby-blue eyes. She was an easy person to identify; after all, who else in this hospital wore a long, white Consultant's coat while on a wheel chair? No one else but Dr. Layla Clavering, Emily's Mentor, surrogate mother, and eventually, Sister-in-law. "Layla, I didn't see you there. I-I'm sorry." The blonde woman's expression softened. After all, she knew how close the members of Regalia was once upon a time. She knew that Franchesca was loyal to Emily's own devotion to medicine, and that she was happy to work with her. Layla understood that, but-- "I have a favor to ask, Franchesca." Franchesca nodded. "Yes?" Layla tilted her head to the side, curiously. "Would you be alright with helping me with Emily's autopsy today?" She asked, "... I am quite sure Emily would've wanted this." Franchesca's face became slightly downcast. Why her? Why? She wasn't as close to Emily like Elise was, and everyone knew that Elise was now a Foreign Relations Officer in Germany. With her being more than a few hours away, was she just a mere replacement? "Fine, but someone's gotta take my place here, you know. I've got a ward of patients to-" "Already taken care of. Someone will be up in a few minutes." The woman said, wheeling herself out of the room. "Come, take me to the Pathology Suite. Everything has been set." Franchesca frowned slightly, but with a last look on the chart that she had been holding, set it onto the table and went on her way. Here, the Filipina grabbed the Doctor's wheelchair's handles and began a step forward. A step forward into Emily's own heart. Maybe more literally than otherwise. Maybe something that would explain why Emily was who she was. Why she was so afraid, why she was so fixated on things that it made her miserable. Why she could still never get over him after 15 or so years... Just... "why." [TBC Please PM any reactions/comments to me. >_> K? K. I love getting feedback. Mind that this is set around 20 years in the future. So Em's around 48. >_>]
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Post by seishounohana on Feb 14, 2010 6:35:01 GMT -8
It was a rather quiet walk for Franchesca and Layla. For one, this was actually one of the first few times that Layla had interacted with the nurse without Emily's intercession, primarily because Franchesca wasn't much of a social person inspite of being very protective of the Filipina Nurse-made-Doctor. It was usually about work, or the underground activities of Regalia that had her more or less involved with the eccentric blonde.
While walking through the clean floors of the hospital corridors, Franz wouldn't help but shed a tear or two. Emily had been too young to die, and to think that she only became a doctor two years ago.
Never the less, Layla was right there and noticed the sniffling and the somewhat slower speed that Franchesca was having them go. Personally, Layla had always thought that in her condition, Emily would've outlived her. But certain things in life change people's fates. "Why are you crying, Dear Franchesca?"
Franz only wiped her tears with her hand, "I-I'm not crying." She dismissed, "Do we turn left or right?"
Layla smiled softly. Denial, the first stage of death. Funny thing is about death, is that the symptoms don't always show itself upon the dying person himself/herself. But rather, sometimes it shows itself on the people who were close to the person dying. Franchesca was no exemption. "You are crying, miss." She would say, "Why? If you tell me, it could make you feel better, at least. I am quite sure Emily would be saying the same thing to you."
Franchesca grumbled under her breath. Why did this woman so eerily seem to know Emily so much? "How would you know?" She said, "Emily's not your real daughter." Bitter still about Emily's death, she would fidget and stop the wheelchair by the elevator door. While waiting, she would notice a soft smile on Layla's face. Pained, if not tortured by her own thoughts. The nurse grumbled once more. Why did this woman have to remind her so much of how Emily acted after she graduated from High School? "Fine. I'm upset. Emily never tells me anything." She said, "She never does. Not even to Elise or Beth or Steph, or even Sophia. It's fucking ridiculous."
"She loves Regalia like her own family." Layla said, "She told me once that you guys were like her sisters, and that she would rather not burden you all with her own problems."
"But, she--" Franchesca sunk. That girl, really. Why was she so selfish with her own problems? Why did she just let herself suffer so much without telling them anything? mean, after all we've been through!"
"It seems you do not know her well enough." Layla leaned against the backrest of her wheelchair, blue hues staring at the white ceiling above them. "Emily's the type to rarely show how much pain she's going through. She thinks that it would trouble other people, so it was best to, in her own words, "let her deal with her own problems"."
"But w-why? I mean, if she was THIS sick, she should've told us! We would'v--"
"Stopped her from working, right?"
Franchesca frose. The woman was right on. She and the rest of Regalia would have chained Emily down, literally, in an effort to stop her from self-destructing, or so they assume. Emily apparently had other plans for herself. Layla only chuckled. "I am right, right?"
"... Still, I don't think I can accept this. The bitch lied to me."
Layla sighed and gazed forward onto empty spaces. How was she going to explain all this? Emily was dead. "No different from how David Blaze treated her. Emily had always wanted to be able to stand on her own."
"No man is an island, you know."
"Emily felt like she was one."
"Why? Not like she didn't have me or the other girls!"
"Mmm... her loneliness goes deeper than that, Franz." Layla said, "She's actually been alone since childhood. Emily has gone through a lot of things, so as a woman who didn't really have much happen in my life until my older years, I wondered how she could possibly have lasted through all that."
Franz paused for a moment. "She... lost her parents when she was four, right? I remember her telling me that." She said, making the doctor nod in reply.
"Her parents threw her out the window to save her and her sister. Both of them got hit quite bad, but Emily lost most of her memories then." Layla looked up, hoping to meet eyes with the nurse handling her chair. "The hit of that fall was hard, and caused a significant amount of damage to her brain then. It is one of the reasons why she sometimes acts as she is."
"... Probably her being too emotional too, huh?" Franz inquired. Layla thought for a moment before nodding too.
"Yes. Her hypothalamus was severely damaged then, so she has been emotionally sensitive to many things. It was also the reason why her first foster family basically abused her after a while; she was generally a burden to them."
Franz shrugged. "Meh. It looked as if they had no problems shoving it into her face, then? The woman told me they would threaten her with stuff like feeding her to the dogs or something like that." Layla sighed, nudging the chair a bit to snap Franz out of her trance as the elevator door opened to greet them inside. It was empty, another perfect opportunity to continue.
"Yes, Emily had always been afraid of dogs." The doctor laughed, "If anything I remember seeing her shake and tremble in front of a puppy. I wasn't sure if I should be amused or feeling sorry for her then."
"You're horrible."
"I know." Layla laughed, her voice reverberating across the steel structures inside. "Ah, she would also tell me that she was generally forced to pick pockets after school."
Franchesca only groaned in disgust, reminded of her own country's lax in assessing families in adoption. Emily had probably ended up in that situation with the reason that the orphanage was willing to give away children for the money they would get for each child that was "given a new home."
Corruption was the first cause of Emily's misery.
It was everywhere, where they came from.
"Fucking Filipino culture. Always about themselves, huh? S'why I hate the damned place." Franz spat out bitterly, Layla would keep quiet regardless.
"Filipinos do not have a monopoly in corruption, Franz. Humanity is generally selfish by nature. When you were a child, you would try to cry in order to have your parents let you play outside. That in itself, is corruption in it's simplest form."
Franz was shot down, again. She kept quiet however. Layla began to speak once more as the elevator finally stopped, opening to reveal the floor where they were destined to go. The pathology suite was in the other side of the building, so it was going to be a long trek once more. "... You know, I met Emily back when she was seven. She wasn't in very good shape then." Layla said, "The Aoyamas did well though..."
"Aoyama? Wasn't that Emily's other name? Kari Aoyama?"
"Yes. That was the name given to her when Nadeshiko took her in."
"Ah."
"She was quiet with them, still. I was a medical student then, and... she barely spoke until..."
Franz blinked, scooting the doctor across the corridors. "Until?"
"Until the Aoyamas got ambushed. Emily did tell you that they were a political family, right?"
"Nope. Never told me. Heck, I didn't even know she was adopted."
"Well, she was adopted twice, well... Thrice if you count that thing she had been involved in."
Franchesca groaned. "You serious?"
"Yes. She was a victim of child trafficking." She said, "... Emily was able to do things she didn't imagine she would be able to do, then. When we were at her trial for murder, we had to charge it as mental instability, which it was... but..."
Franchesca kept quiet. How the heck would a child be able to deal with that many tragedies in her life? Franz could only imagine how Emily lived most of her life; probably living with the innate fear of separation, and the lot of unmet needs that she had been forced to live with.
It was no wonder that Emily was so... afraid, to put it lightly. How could someone that young live with so much pain and suffering?
A will to live?
"Enough." Franz said, "I don't want to think about it any more than I already have."
Then there was silence. The corridors were haunting the Filipino nurse again.
Talking about her had become so painful; why? Why did she have to suffer this much? Was it because it was her namesake? That she was named "Sacricia"? That dreaded, cursed name that gave her the thinking that this was all "God's plan" and that she should accept everything that comes?
Why?
"She didn't have to suffer."
Layla would smile softly. Yes, Emily didn't have to. It was a choice that she had most likely made in the effort of being someone significant to people. Having been left out of the better joys of life, Emily had thought that she, herself, was insignificant. That sort of thinking persisted even through the times when she created Regalia. Why did she let herself suffer alone?
Why?
Why, Emily - Why?
That was the question that rung in Franz's mind as she and Layla entered the pathology suite. Greeted with the smell of formaldehyde mixed with ether, she cringed. How do doctors live with this stench? Layla would now lead her towards the special room she had managed to pull out for her beloved "daughter" who was now lying cold in a steel table.
Layla stood up slowly, letting her weak legs get used to the floor as she had always done. She would grab a packet of sterile gloves and toss it over to the nurse. "Get scrubbed. We will start the autopsy in an hour. Be ready."
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Post by seishounohana on Feb 23, 2010 7:01:06 GMT -8
[This last part is a recording. It will be written as such; don't be surprised. This is also the last post. Anyone who wishes to participate in the funeral may post as they please after this post is over.]
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"Subject Sacricia Emily Lourdes Delos Santos-Clavering, 39 years of age. Unknown family history. Born August 7th, exact birth year unknown. Bone examinations from previous check-ups estimate date of birth to be 37 years ago. Contradictory information follows a lack of concrete legal papers."
"Sterile field established. Shall we start, Doctor?"
"Physical exam commencing. Scars prominent on left arm and lower torso. one, two.... ten... fifteen lacerations all in all with massive burns and slight tissue... dis-figuration on left breast..."
"... Damn that girl never tells us anything."
"Now, now. This is a legal recording, Franz."
"My... apologies. We'll cut it."
"Kay. Hair is normal, but scalp shows stitches from childhood surgery. Medical history states that client underwent a Craniotomy to release massive hemmoraging due to injury after fall. Sister reported to have gotten through same proceedure for a lesser extensive injury."
"Light bruising on upper right quadrant of abdomen. Shall we start... opening?"
"Yes. Blade."
"Incision started. Y-cut incised. Saw."
"S-saw."
[Whirring sounds of cutting bone]
"You don't have to watch, Franz."
"I'm a nurse, this is what I do for a living."
[More whirring]
"Sternotomy done and Sternum removed. Pleura exposed. Right lung mildly necrosed. Signs of Pneumonia and scarring from aftermath of attempts to control pneumothorax. Left artificial lung still intact. Biospy syringe, please."
"Here."
"Sample taken for Laboratory testing. Gastrointestinal system seems intact. Blade."
[pause]
"Ugh, I hate that smell of Hydrochloric acid."
"Patient died lying down. Dried remains of food on lower posterior section of the stomach. Scar tissue by jejunum indicate possibility of potassium malabsorption on last few years post-ulcer treatment."
"Good God."
"Ovaries and reproductive system intact, slightly ... burnt. Possibly result from Qi overuse during youth. Patient now deemed sterile since youth."
"... and... to think she wanted children..."
"..."
"I'll... be quiet. I apologize. Oh, Layla. Did you check the heart?"
"Thanks for reminding me. Checking heart.
[pause]
"What? What is it?"
"... It's... "
"What?"
"... it's artificial."
"Y-you serious!?" [gasp] "Shit..."
"Artificial heart found; still functional and connected to artificial lung. I hypothetize that this may be some sort of testing that Mrs. Clavering had done to test her own theories in Biomechanics."
"When was the last time she had open heart surgery?"
"Four years ago."
"So that shit works?"
"Yes. Removing heart and weighed at... four kilos. Will cleanse and send to research facilities for further exploration."
"Saw."
[whirring]
[grunting]
"Skull open and arachnoid mater exposed. Now removing... brain... from subject. Prepare the table."
"Table ready for specimen. Blade in hand, ma'am."
"Making the incision."
"... It's..."
[Clanging of metal on marble ground]
"... Aneurysms... found... on temporal lobe of brain. Massive evidence of hemorrhage from previous childhood injuries also evident."
"... SO that's how she died? A freaking stroke?"
"... A stroke."
"... I'll... patch her up. You go finish your report, Layla."
[5 minute pause.]
"...Autopsy ended, 20:54 February 10, 20XX. Final Diagnosis: Qi-shock as primary cause of death prior to massive infarction to temporal area of the brain and pons."
"This autopsy is over"
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And now... it was a clear day in London, and Emily's body was laid to rest in a coffin of glass as per her Husband's wishes. In her hand, she was holding a key.
A key to the lock that she had given away years ago.
To someone she had loved beyond all reason.
To someone she had admired beyond compare.
To someone she had tried all her life to forget.
Only to die, never wake up.
[This thread is now open to anyone who wishes to make their last tribute to Em. That's it for me I guess.]
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And by my own admission you'll find my condition is worse then you imagined[A1i:8] |
PLAYED BY OOC NAME
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Post by Patrick O'Connor on Feb 23, 2010 17:28:53 GMT -8
Forty one years. It was a long time for anyone, but for Patrick O'Connor it felt like several life times. Several distinct life times that held the same struggles, the same pain. To be honest he had felt old for a long time, though now it was different then it had been twenty years ago. Sure he felt felt more content now then he had years ago but he still held the somberness that had plagued him since that fateful night and more so because of the atrocities he had committed in the following years. But he at least was content with life. He knew he could never be happy but at this point he accepted that fact. Patrick O'Connor know knew that it was never his place in this world to be happy. It was only to lessen the burdens of others that was his redemption.
Patrick sighed as he walked down the road. He was more somber then usual. He never thought this day would come. The day that he outlived Emily. That was funny, but Patrick couldn't bring himself to laugh, not this time. He should not have outlived her. The former alcoholic and drug addict, let alone murdering psychopath that had at one time held probable the most self destructive tendencies in his generation should not have outlived the self sacrificing girl that had given him a second chance when no one would, not even himself. He owed her a lot more then she had ever known. He sighed again, a shame he had not gotten the chance to tell her that again since he had seen her last, twenty years ago.
"Are you okay Patrick?," Andrew asked with concern. He had known Patrick to be a somber person as long as he had known him but this was different. Ever since they had gotten off the plane he had been like this, overly silent and contemplative and he didn't really know why. All Patrick had done to inform him of this was walk in the orphanage and declare to him that he was going to London to go to a funeral. Andrew had asked for whom and only gotten the reply "Emily, an old friend." This was when Andrew had known that he should accompany Patrick but also to stop asking questions. Why? Because Patrick never talked about his past, at least not about anything from when he was fourteen or so years old until he had found Andrew, his face bleeding from the scar that ran down the left side of his face, the same one that mirrored the right side of Patrick's. So Andrew went with his mentor, and now friend for support, knowing it was strange for Patrick to mention someone from his unknown life, let alone go out of his way to visit them. That and Andrew couldn't help but be a little curious, though in his defense who couldn't? Near everyone had seen the scars from back when he had been fighting as a big name, using all the money for the orphanage. And Andrew knew well enough to know that something was being hidden when Patrick said he was beaten within an inch of his life. The look in his eyes betrayed him when he lied about that. Andrew shuddered slightly thinking of that. Those eyes held onto much more pain then Patrick usually carried around, and much more danger.
After a long moment Patrick came out of his thought and gave a weak but sincere smile replying, "Yeah, I was just thinking about the old days. Ye don't have to worry."
The Irish accent hadn't changed a bit, but a few things had, even with that reply. Patrick had opened up slightly to Andrew, something he had never done to anyone other then those in the past. he had admitted to him that he was thinking about the past, things he had usually brushed away, leading to his somber image. Patrick was still uncertain if he wanted to tell Andrew his true past, well uncover the parts that he had hidden. To be painfully honest he was scared. He didn't want Andrew to leave and turn his back on him. He found it funny though. He relied on Andrew almost as much as Andrew had relied on him sixteen years ago. Patrick went back to the memory of him finding Andrew when he was four, with the knife wound fresh on his face, staring at his parent's bodies. He remembered almost taking the kid to the hospital and moving on, but something convinced him to stay. Even know the best he could figure was that he wanted to try and make up where he had failed. Try to prevent his past from being repeated in Andrew. It was the similarity to his own beginning that had struck him, and led him to start the Heart foundation, an orphanage that was one of the best funded in the world, and the only that had been backed by a major name professional fighter. But looking back to his reasons of helping Andrew in the first place he knew that this day had to come eventually. He had to tell him, really though the kid was twenty now and going to college to become a better head of the orphanage then Patrick was, though Andrew didn't know Patrick's Plan to make him his successor.
Andrew gave Patrick a questioning look as they rounded into the cemetery, noting his comment about his past. Patrick had been acting odd lately. Maybe it was the funeral digging up hold memories he had been trying to hide but still Andrew had known Patrick to not talk about this past for his entire life, and now it seemed he was about to be plunged right into it. he was both excited and nervous, the danger in Patrick's eyes never really fading from memory. He had always wondered why Patrick seemed to be less effected by death then everyone else. Perhaps he was about to find out. They would enter the building where the service was.
Patrick fixed his red tie as he walked towards the coffin that held a person he felt honored to be able to call friend, even if only for a few days. He wore a black suit coat over a white collared shirt and black pants. His hands were bare, no longer wearing the fingerless gloves that he used to back in the day. His red hair was and had been cut short for a long time now. So long in fact that Andrew had never known him with hair longer than an inch. As he finally made it to the coffin he smiled slightly, a sad look on his face. She looked so peaceful there in death. Patrick almost gave a look that was slightly envious, though he didn't mean it. It had been a long time since he had those thoughts, now though he no longer wanted death. after a moment Patrick chuckled weakly, "Ye know, I never thought ye'd be the first to go... before me that is."
A moment passed as Patrick thought of the last time that they had met. She had helped him through so much, though they had spent little time. Sure he had thanked her before returning back to New York to graduate from 552 but still. She never really knew how much she had helped him.
"Ye know, I never really got to thank ye."
"I owe ye me life."
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Hatred is gained as much by good works as by evil. -Niccolo Machiavelli[A1i:3] |
PLAYED BY OOC NAME
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Post by Gabriel Seran on Feb 23, 2010 22:40:08 GMT -8
20 years come and gone. The tides of everything had changed, years redefined and purposes altered. That was the change in the world, all that had changed were the times and though that was not all entirely bad Gabriel Seran had always felt his purpose was indeed for change. Regrettably so that was not his doing, not but the change in days, the change in seasons, and the change of the ages. Early to rise Gabriel was the first of his household up. A soft nurturing kiss to the girl he'd met so long in high school that'd eventually become his wife. A smirk on his face lighting those features reminding himself how lucky he'd become. Out of the chaos that was life he found himself the perfect balance, and essentially the perfect end to a story. Prepared for the day to come he'd get suited up finely in dark apparel. No longer the childish gear he'd so affectionately worn in his more youthful days, those items that'd either guarded him or made him a more promising weapon. His weapon's now were deals, idealogical attacks of the business world and a strong gauntlet in control of himself. But today was not like most others where he'd been so avidly pressed forward into the work place, to manage crippling companies or sell high priced arms to countries performing what he'd done in high school though once more to a much larger scale thusly again appearing childish. But it twas the world in which they lived. "Morning Cael, Ira." He'd say in that smooth flowing voice to his two children settling his bag at the table and making fit the last notch on his tie to a perfect fit. *Mumbles*"Hiya Dad!" The flooding voice of his daughter the one who'd always been affectionate towards him and still the cool minded son who'd been more of a momma's boy towards Lexi. He'd loved them each equally nonetheless. A lifestyle he'd grown accustomed to and was proud of. *Ring*"Yes?.....I'll be on my way out." Gabriel said in a quick monotone apparently unhappy with the decisiveness of his reply, "Avoir un bon jour mes enfants."He leaned in quickly stealing a kiss at each of their heads before trekking back and out of the room quickly flanked by Phillipe his new assistant as of Marcus' passing. *** Avidly awaiting the pull of the limo Gabriel had expected this to come, not the death so to speak by all regards he'd foreseen his coming to be the first of his youth. After all their foolish instigating and trauma spelled out over years it was always him that'd been the one so foolish as to fire the shot. Emily however he'd known her to be much more a voice of reason. Though researching of her cause of death it would seem as though the prior realizations meant nothing. His private jet roared in the empty airport, this time of day it was relatively steady progression of airflow, and following the recession and terrorist schemes it would seem as though the far flung battles of the world were turning for perhaps a turn for the better. It left those of the old times hopeful. Sitting idly in his seat Gabriel's palm etched heavily towards his forehead concerned of what he would do there. Would he shed tears like so many he'd expect? Would they hate him for showing his face? Would he go unrecognized or would he even gather the courage to stand before her grave and make a memento the last of which he could offer. *** As the hours passed Gabriel was unmoving, nestling close against the window watching the clouds pass, sleep was unnecessary at this point, he'd been wrought with nightmares and fabled dreams of a time when they'd been more youthful. Though far from old he'd grown deeply enamored by the prospect of going back. Of changing things. It made a stone faced man grow weak and teary gripping towards the conquest of a better tale even when the ending of this story suited him better towards an alternative that would ultimately have had him broken and alone much like Emily as she lie buried beneath the earth. At touchdown, Gabriel lingered for but a moment to make idle chat as the time beckoned for him to make his peace with the dead, with the ultimately fading body. Being around death had been no odd thing to him, nor had it been to linger about the death of a friend. But this was a strange new sensation, the thought of never returning was something wholly new. Of never glimpsing upon her features or sharing the similar rambles of conflict. Thoughts bubbled at the back of his skull reminding him of the time well spent, the time lost, and the time ultimately never to be shared again. His steps carried him slowly across the grassy fields the long willowing fields that stretched outward across the new country he'd left once before only coming back today for a purpose. "Took you long enough." Her whimsically familiar voice said, "Enjoying the little training I've set up for you?"It brought forth a smile, and he was back there at the beginning. His arms bound and hobbling on his feet barely capable of standing while she seemed much more balanced and ready to meet blows. His feet brought him further, slowly this time before resting before the stone, tired tear filled eyes around him, though they were few their hearts more than likely had been filled with more than just those standing. "I know where I stand."He'd nod softly placing a hand to the grave marker with a conscious effort not to cry. Even the darkest moments looking back appeared so much brighter now. Unified fighting against the Dragons, the Reapers, Saving those from the Correctional Facility, Re-establishing the Militia. The high points, then Ground Zero. The low points too. "As do I...now."He'd turn away now, walking fluidly towards the limo that'd brought him here, across the world and only for but a moment. A moment that'd lasted eternities within his mind and though to many would appear short and underrated came to play a big part.... In Gabriel's Future. *** Darkness flitted in the windows of Seran Estates. His body fluidly crossed the halls and empty ways. A whole day away from home, but still there in the heart he settled into a long couch, resting an arm over the edge comfortably for an instant before arching over and shedding the first and only tear before swatting it away. "Thank you."And to the night he marched quietly towards his bed finding his other half there nestled under the covers. "Hey beautiful.... I'm home."
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