Crowning Achievements

[subconmodo]

WHO: Avery Atchison, Jailbreak, Goro Akechi, Bendy, Maya Matlin, Puella Tempus, Ekkehardt Gehring, Héctor, Gunvolt
WHAT:WHEN: May 21
WHERE: A museum in Germany
WARNINGS: Will update as needed.


For all the high tech security the museum is said to house, the building itself is very old--the sort of outside and inside one would come to expect from a museum, really: tall columns, marble floors, high ceilings, even a few dinosaur exhibits here and there.

This late at night one might expect the guards to be a half step away from sleep, but they're wide awake and professional, if currently a little bored.

The mission is simple in theory: grab the crown and shackles, replace them with fakes, and get out. But between all the shiny, magical distractions to be found and a rival group of professional thief mages, things might get tricky.

Comments

[unpocoloco]

[His head bows. It's freeing and crushing at once, to have the permission given to feel as he does. He doesn't want to feel as he does. He's just going to have to come to terms with the fact that none of this is something he can be happy about.

But the firm lack of compromise makes him look up. Did Ekkehardt struggle in this way at all? Did he come to that conclusion long after the fact? Or the very moment he woke from his death?]

Okay. [He nods his head.] Si, we can go now. I can do this. [Though it's spoken half to convince himself.] But... can I ask? Did it take that long to get where you are? Sixteen years?

[spelleton]

'Where I am'?

[ He sounds vaguely curious. His personality? Coming to terms with the manner of his death? Something else? ]

I'm not quite sure what you mean by that.

[unpocoloco]

[He grimaces. It does sound kind of stupid, doesn't it?]

You always seem like you have it all together. You're okay. At least as far as I've ever been able to see of you at this age. I've never seen you get tired of this world and it's craziness and the way things come apart and-- I mean, you went through a war. And that. And things that happened when you were younger. But you're just... okay. You're talented and smart and you spend your time healing people at a school. Your life's together, your head's together, your family is wonderful. Whatever happened to you, you healed. That's what you said. It took you sixteen years but you did it.

[He looks down, rubbing at his arm.]

I guess I just... wonder if that's what it's going to take... to stop feeling like a mess, either inside or out.

...But it's a stupid question. [He forces a smile.] We can just get back to work. I'm sure we're not too far now.

[spelleton]

[ He's heard similar sentiments, time and time again. Soldiers and warriors he's stitched back together, on and off the field; "When will I be better? When will I stop being such a mess? When am I going to heal?"

Desperate, angry, pleading. Looking for answers. Looking for some magical time limit - if they can just endure it, then everything will be fixed, and they'll be well again.

He'd had the same questions himself, once. But that seems like so long ago.

He leans back against the wall, not looking at him. His voice is distant, like he's talking about someone else. ]

I wasn't a healer, before. [ It seems like a complete change of topic. ] I was a tutor.

I made sure that my charges did their lessons, and slept and ate well, and they were as safe and calm as I could make them. I was good at -- a little healing, enough to magic away scrapes and scratches, the things children get into. I was better at barriers. Protection.

And then I died. [ His mouth twists, a little, a wry smile. ] And everything was different, and I was different, because dying, and healing from that, changed me.

You want to know how long it takes? It's not a stupid question. But I can't answer it for you, because it's different for everyone. You work hard to gather up all your torn-apart pieces, and stitch them back together, and maybe one day you'll look at it and see it makes a certain kind of sense.

But that's something only you can do, for yourself. No magic number, I'm afraid.

[ He huffs in slight, self-deprecating amusement. ] And now I've made a speech. How unfortunate.

[unpocoloco]

[Seems a topic change but he's not unfamiliar with leading in from a different direction. He waits, patient. And learning about Ekkehardt isn't something he'd disregard in itself.

It surprises him. A tutor? He could see that. He can see everything Ekkehard describes. And it suits him.

He doesn't wince at the mention of death. That part, at least, was consistent with every story one of his primos told. Even if now he's got the horrible context for what that death was-- that makes his chest feel tight.

The answer he gets is a difficult one. It's not an easy out, if waiting sixteen years could have even been considered easy. It's not even something he's sure he can do or could have done even before he was ripped apart. He died. He walked the outlands. But in a way, the answer is still something.

And despite himself, he finds a small smile by the end of it.]

For what it's worth, it was really good speech and it was nice to hear it. Despite the topic.

[He breathes in deep and lets go of a shaky breath.]

Thank you, Ekkehardt. It seems like I can never do that enough with you.