lifeaftr | minecraft is unrealistic

Entry tags:

minecraft is unrealistic

Who: Héctor, anyone
What: His spirit is as dead as he is.
When: July 25th
Where: Enso
Warnings: Mild injury, and a truckload of d e s p a i r to start with.

It's mid afternoon, one year and then some after he first arrived on the beaches of the island. The thirteenth month. Thirteen's been said to be an unlucky number. Certainly it's not doing him any favors.

As good and kind as everyone is... it's just not enough. Not every day. There's only one thing that ever will be, one thing which he always seems to be denied, one way or another. Granted, not much about his situation is new, when it comes down to it, but then neither are these deep black moods. There were no failures this year. No bridge. Nothing to try. Everything's perfectly fine until he can't fake it anymore, because everything is not fine.

He had four pleasant days with his family, after so long dreaming of them. Was that it? Is that all he'll ever have? And there's no reason for it, seeing as there's very little he can do someone else can't do better. Of course, if he hadn't been so stupid, he would have had many years with them before being drawn to this world, not only four days... stupid, stupid, stupid. He's always been stupid. It explodes outwards as anger first, for a few minutes, but that's hard to sustain for him. So...

He's just lying on the ground, in the leaves underneath a tree, no smile on his face and cracks spiderwebbing through all the bones of one hand. Don't punch trees if you have no padding on your hands, you won't like the results. He doesn't want to get up, he doesn't want to goof off, joke around, play games, none of that. There's... nothing. No point at all.

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[She puts her hand lightly on his once more. Not to heal, just... to offer some contact. Some comfort.]

I'm certain they deserved it.

[The trees have done nothing wrong and she is aware of this. But that's not exactly helpful.]

Probably. [He never really laughs, no more than a quick 'hah' or two, and he's not giving her that much. Or holding her hand.

A few moments of silence...]

I don't know if I'm going to see them again. I'm... I'm right back where I started. A hundred years ago.

I'm sorry. [It feels foolish to say it, just after telling him not to apologize, but sometimes it still needs to be said.]

I cannot offer certainty, only hope. I can't say that you will go home, and stay there. Only that you might. And in the face of a hundred years, I doubt that seems like much at all.

Three has already been long enough.

[A quiet pause.]

Would it help to just... sit together, for a time? [She can't fix it, not yet. For all her efforts, it's still out of her grasp.]

[But she can be here, at least.]

Sí. Three years. Everyone's feeling it, not just me. Why do you think I'm out here, where nobody..

[Where no one can find him. Where he's not bothering a soul. Shame it wasn't good enough. Who would've thought it'd be easier to hide himself in the city than the jungle?

He tries for his usual grin, looking more pained than anything.]

You should stay. Take a nap or something before you walk all the way back.

[...Hector, what part of what she just said made you think she was planning to leave? She was going to stick around because she's worried about you.]

You needn't smile for my sake, dearie. [She pats his hand gently.] Nor hide away when you're feeling unhappy.

I'll rest if you will.

[She asked if it would help for her to stay, he answered. Sort of... not for his own sake, no, spreading sadness to others is not what he wants.

At least he's making a half-assed attempt at holding hands--talk about a delayed reaction. The smile is gone, goodbye bad teeth.]

Already am. I... I'll snap out of it. I always do.

[Nor does she. What an unfortunate pair they make, worrying over everyone but themselves. Still, maybe they'll muddle through somehow.]

We all manage, in the end. But there's no reason to make it any harder on you than it already is.

[They'll see each other through it all by nagging till the very end, that's how. Many pastries, much fussing.]

What do you mean? [Can't get any more restful than planking in the dirt and leaves, gosh.]

[Okay, let's explain in small words.]

You're attempting to make me feel better. What, among the things which it is in my power to provide, would make you feel better in any small way?

[Meaning food. Food is nice, it's true. Walking all the way to their islet or the Denny... eh, seems such a long way.]

I don't know, that's the thing. I don't know what to do about it. [She's looking for answers and he has none. Zip. Nada. But he's talking, that might be an improvement.] It happens sometimes. I screw up, I don't get across the bridge, someone's forgotten, I get one of these moods, I... lay low for a few days until it's gone. So it's okay.

[Which he already said in fewer words. He shakes his head at himself and tries again.] What do you usually do?

Typically? I double-down and work even harder on whatever the problem happens to be until someone comes in to tell me that I've gotten much too intense about it and I'm making everyone very uncomfortable.

[...At least she's finally admitting it.]

Then I take a day or so to just... work on small things. Simple things, that make sense. A fair amount of baking or weaving, usually. Silly little projects, that nobody needs and no one is depending on. Something that's just for myself.

[He huffs, coming far short of actually laughing.]

Sounds like you. You work too much. Do you have any other hobbies? [Hey, for once he's not being a hypocrite, he only bakes for fun.

After a moment:] I used to play my guitar, years and years ago. When I felt down. But... that was lifetimes ago.

Oh, I've quite a few- but all of them do tend to involve making something, one way or another. [She's the type to like being productive.]

[Remembering the story he told her, the former friend who stole his music and his life, she can guess how much admitting that means to him. But she won't embarrass him by pointing it out.]

I could spin you some strings, but I'm afraid it wouldn't do you much good without the rest of the instrument. [She pauses as a thought occurs to her.] Though, now that you mention music as a hobby... I haven't danced in- well. Quite some time, I believe.

[Not since she taught the Knight how to, at the party to celebrate the return of the sun. The thought of them still brings a quiet little pang to her heart, missing them and hoping that they're all right, wherever they are now.]

Dancing's... good too. I used to do it all, dancing, singing, playing. Loved it.

[Such a long list of reasons why he swore never again. He slips once in a while, drawn into it by other people playing or singing, or when there's a very important reason, but... for the most part, he's stuck to it--it's almost impressive, considering how much it meant to him.]

Why did you stop?

At home, there just never seemed to be time enough for it anymore. I had a business to run, people to take care of, a new world of possibilities to explore. With all that to take care of- well. Even my energy isn't infinite.

Here... [She laughs quietly, a little rueful.] I suppose it's much the same, give or take the business. And with very different possibilities to be concerned about.

You got that right. Nothing we find seems to be good, not like it must have been for you before.

[Hungry elevators. Impossible black holes and malevolent ghosts who lead helpless skeletons to them. A plague of cursed flowers. And worse things happened before he came, from what he's heard.]

Oh, there's still some joy to it, some wonder. [Witnessing the birth of the sun renewed. Tasting the fruits of strange lands. Befriending people from other worlds entirely. So much that she never would have even known existed, had she not come to this place.] But it can become very hard to see it, to remember that it's there, in the midst of all the trouble.

Home had its' troubles, too. But I think I knew them better, understood them more. Here... nothing is quite the same.

The last island wasn't so bad.

[He says with no traces of enthusiasm, for all the excitement he showed the day it was upgraded. Rollercoasters, bah.]

But... it could be paradise, it could be the most beautiful place in creation and I'd still want to go home. Because I wouldn't be happy.

[She nods quietly, understanding.]

Because it isn't home. Not without them.

No. Not without them.

[He curls his fists again, voice unsteady.]

I need them.

[There's nothing she can say, but...]

[In the back of her mind, an idea starts to form. She can't bring them here, but maybe she can give him something. If she's willing to ask.]

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minecraft is unrealistic

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We can probably call this wrapped unless you want to do more with it.