the blue, blue ravus eyes. defenders of the weak, protectors of the treasures of the continent. of the people they care for. he has to be strong, he has to be - he has to be able to finish this. in the trial, the answer was the opposite. maybe that's the worst part of all of it, is that staring down at himself, he knows, he knows the answer to this shouldn't be violence. it wasn't before. this isn't who he is. rondo's pure blue heart is what guides his every motion. surely it guides his mirror's, too.
his hands are shaking, he realizes, belatedly. of course they are. they were then, too. ]
I'm sorry. [ rondo manages, his voice tiny. i can't just... i can't just kill someone i care for. this isn't aelfric's fiery trial, this pit of hell the difference between the one he found himself in before. ] I don't - I don't want to do this.
[ his fingers flex around the shaft of the axe. can't he just knock himself out? can't he just - isn't there another way? ]
[ isn't there another way? he has to be strong, he has to be - he has to be able to finish this.
mirror rondo breaks the eye contact first, casting about for something. anything. a solution. what guides the heart of a mirror? what is it protecting at the heart of it? it's only a reflection of resolve.
and then it sees the hesitation grow in Rondo. surely it cannot kill the other. but maybe
it reaches with a hand, slightly shaking, up and then - grabs itself by the front of the throat and digs its fingers in. hard. harder than any natural human would be able to, until the skin tears and sunders, blood pouring out of his mouth as he begins to choke on it and pulling until it has finished ripping out its own throat.
it's - it's the most bizarre feeling in the world - a mix of agony and horror and - and the tinest bit of awe and pride. the actual rondo makes a noise, choked off like he might stop it but he can't, he won't - he won't stop his own decisions, his own strength.
i'd rather die than hurt the people i care for.
he'd said it to aelfric, too. one hand drops - the greataxe he holds clunks to the other side of the other rondo's body, and he reaches up to touch his own throat, where his sacred flame was choked out of him before he even arrived. he swallows. hard.
eyes closed, rondo mouths a tiny prayer. to aelfric, to the flame, to the conviction he's always held, and reaches out to close his own blue, blue eyes. like he'd done to sazantos, in the other room. he pushes himself up, using the greataxe as a crutch, and he's... mostly okay. his ribs are aching, his back is throbbing from where he hit the ground, but his inside blood is where his inside blood is supposed to be. well. mostly - he spits blood to the side as he stands, rubs his mouth, and starts to look around the room for the others. ]
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the blue, blue ravus eyes. defenders of the weak, protectors of the treasures of the continent. of the people they care for. he has to be strong, he has to be - he has to be able to finish this. in the trial, the answer was the opposite. maybe that's the worst part of all of it, is that staring down at himself, he knows, he knows the answer to this shouldn't be violence. it wasn't before. this isn't who he is. rondo's pure blue heart is what guides his every motion. surely it guides his mirror's, too.
his hands are shaking, he realizes, belatedly. of course they are. they were then, too. ]
I'm sorry. [ rondo manages, his voice tiny. i can't just... i can't just kill someone i care for. this isn't aelfric's fiery trial, this pit of hell the difference between the one he found himself in before. ] I don't - I don't want to do this.
[ his fingers flex around the shaft of the axe. can't he just knock himself out? can't he just - isn't there another way? ]
no subject
mirror rondo breaks the eye contact first, casting about for something. anything. a solution. what guides the heart of a mirror? what is it protecting at the heart of it? it's only a reflection of resolve.
and then it sees the hesitation grow in Rondo. surely it cannot kill the other. but maybe
it reaches with a hand, slightly shaking, up and then - grabs itself by the front of the throat and digs its fingers in. hard. harder than any natural human would be able to, until the skin tears and sunders, blood pouring out of his mouth as he begins to choke on it and pulling until it has finished ripping out its own throat.
Another way to protect them.
Rondo is dead. ]
no subject
it's - it's the most bizarre feeling in the world - a mix of agony and horror and - and the tinest bit of awe and pride. the actual rondo makes a noise, choked off like he might stop it but he can't, he won't - he won't stop his own decisions, his own strength.
i'd rather die than hurt the people i care for.
he'd said it to aelfric, too. one hand drops - the greataxe he holds clunks to the other side of the other rondo's body, and he reaches up to touch his own throat, where his sacred flame was choked out of him before he even arrived. he swallows. hard.
eyes closed, rondo mouths a tiny prayer. to aelfric, to the flame, to the conviction he's always held, and reaches out to close his own blue, blue eyes. like he'd done to sazantos, in the other room. he pushes himself up, using the greataxe as a crutch, and he's... mostly okay. his ribs are aching, his back is throbbing from where he hit the ground, but his inside blood is where his inside blood is supposed to be. well. mostly - he spits blood to the side as he stands, rubs his mouth, and starts to look around the room for the others. ]