Fon Master Ion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fragileprophet) wrote2018-06-23 09:58 pm
fragileprophet) wrote2018-06-23 09:58 pm
Week 2, Saturday Post-Trial - Ion
[Ion's sitting alone in his room, rolling his staff against his knees, and thinking. There's a lot to think about right now. He catches his reflection--or, near-reflection now, as it were--in the doorway and smiles. He's not sure whether he did or didn't expect to see his Original tonight. But, ah, maybe they have a lot to talk about. And maybe this is the last chance.]
Hello--it's good to see you.
Hello--it's good to see you.
here i am many days late but after several info shakedowns
a great deal of things he could ask his replica. Especially so, in light of Sandalphon's words. There are so many answers he could demand of him, and yet-
The question that he asks first isn't any of them. ]
Are you possessed of some sort of healing title, here? One that would allow you to claim others' ails for yourself?
[ It's sharp, but not hostile. On the contrary, it is quite and deadly calm, though whether or not there's a lurking storm... ]
Perhaps... a Shield, or something similar?
YEAH!!!
Yes. I have the power to heal others by taking their injuries onto my own body. That said, I don't have any kind of Shield title--at last nothing outlined to me in my rulebook.
[Sorry, other Ion. You got it half right.]
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[ Not to mention how Natsuo's injury from last week has well and vanished long before its time. ]
Well. What are you, then? The Magic Mirror? [ Reflections and such. On the other hand, all the king's horses and all the king's men... ] King's Man?
[ His eyes flicker, entirely too sharp. ]
What did you expect might happen had you claimed so many injuries you couldn't take on any more, hmm?
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No, I'm not the King's Man. I'm the King's Man's target, Humpty Dumpty.
[Shattering himself slowly into pieces, never to be put back together again. He glances away. There's no point in sugar coating it.]
I expected I'd die.
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You seem so eager to be helpful. You seem so eager to try to make a difference, to do something good. And perhaps not fettered by my own chains, you could. I thought little of it. I allowed it. I thought you were simply downplaying your own worth and your own self-importance, but after what your erstwhile partner has said...
[ well, soon to be erstwhile ]
Tell me, what did he mean, that you were never given a chance for yourself?
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He could have meant a lot of things. He saw...most of my life.
[He only has so many memories he can give, with how long he's been alive. So, he'll start with the start.]
From the very beginning, Grand Maestro Mohs refused to give me any amount of power to go with the title of Fon Master. For the last two years, I've been confined exclusively to Daath. Any time I found my voice, he'd have me confined to my room.
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when he laughs, full and from someplace deep inside of him, it sounds like Sync. ]
That man... has never well known when he was overstepping his boundaries, his limits, has he?
Of course he did. How could he do any less, when faced with such a prime opportunity to seize more power for himself?
[ but with that, part of his mirth fades, his eyes glinting cold. There's a smile on his face still but his eyes promise the opposite. ]
There are factions in Daath that should answer to us alone. That you did not make use of them, or even worse, could not make use of them, well.
I suppose the title of Fon Master was even more of a farce than I'd ever thought it to be, if that really was the case.
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To say that his Original is right. That he was the wrong choice. He survived for reasons that have nothing to do with his character and now everyone is paying the price for his weakness. His fear. His insecurities. His lack of faith. It feels like there's a hand hovering against the back of his neck, waiting to summon forth an arte that will split him from the inside out, leaving nothing but worthless parts.
But something else stirs inside of his stomach, something coiling and, and...he doesn't know. It's too unfamiliar to describe. His hands shake, and he doesn't feel the sensation of his fingernails digging into his palms.]
It took me awhile to understand what it meant to be Fon Master. I had it so very suddenly, with no formal training, as you know. And with Mohs' brand of care I had my doubts holding me back. One wrong move, I thought, and they'll just replace me, too, so I need to stay quiet and do as I'm told.
[He stands, facing the other Ion.]
Actually, I got tired of living that way, so I went against him and ran away from Daath altogether. If I was to be the Fon Master, I decided, then I wasn't going to let anyone else tell me what it meant to further an agenda I didn't agree with.
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(Which only means any and all of them could have been Florian, once, somehow, if only things had been different.)
His laugh turns high and light as he directs it into a hand in lieu of coughing. ]
You misunderstand, dear replica. I am not offering this as any criticism of your efforts or of your existence. I only just finished speaking with my partner- power, respect, we spoke of-- as if power or respect for a title alone ever compelled anyone to do anything useful.
You were programmed with basic knowledge. They explained to me that much. It took time to catch you up, of course, of course. I do know, considering they would have us trading places to allow you practical experience. But after I died, it would have been up to you to continue your studies.
[ The station of the Fon Master alone is empty, if you do nothing with it. ]
My title, my face, my position, and the political clout I might have had- all that was yours for the taking, had you claimed it. But it would not have been given to you. It would not even have been given to me; we are too young. This only works if you make them respect you, make them respect your opinion, because for all your lack of esteem you are not unintelligent. I suppose it's better late than never, but tell me, what have you done since then?
Tell me, what should they have made a replica from, with no template remaining?
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He still doesn't want to talk about this. Ion's shoulders sag.]
I don't know.
[Maybe he failed. Maybe he's been failing. Maybe he was always meant to fail. This is all a big, cosmic joke. And the word programmed keeps playing in his head, over and over, only making him feel more and more beat down. He wonders if his Original chose it on purpose, or if it mattered so little to him he didn't even think about the dehumanization.
Well, Ion was never human. Just a replica.]
The Score foretold that there would be war between Malkuth and Kimlasca, but a letter was presented to me that detailed Emperor Peony's desire to hold the peace between their kingdoms. Mohs, of course, was against it, so I acted on my own in the matter.
[Many of the details are unnecessary. He skips ahead to what matters most.]
It seems that, at least for now, we've managed to deviate the world's path from the Score. Mohs has been arrested as a traitor for his continues efforts to incite a war.