Week 2, Saturday Post-Trial - Ion

[fragileprophet]

[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.

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[fragileprophet]

[That laugh...the anger, the resentment...it's so familiar. It chills him, inside and out. It's everything he's been afraid of. It's a threat in disguise as a sound that should be delightful. Ion's eyes snap shut. He finds himself filled with impulses that he can't stand.

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.

[fonlines]

[ They're all the same person, after all, even if circumstances bring forward different facets in each of them.

(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?

[fragileprophet]

[Like no one else, Ion's words make the expanding balloon inside of him pop like it's been punctured. As if he felt it burst, he puts a hand on his stomach, wrapping his fingers around a handful of his robes. There's just something about him that makes him feel so...small. Why is he here? Why are they both here? As long as one of them is around, the other has no purpose.

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.