Week 0, Monday - Sandalphon

[fragileprophet]

[It's morning and Ion is already tired. He sits on one side of the bed, rulebook in one hand and walking staff leaning against his side. He closes his eyes, thinking--frustrated? Or just worried? But at the sound of another's approach, he--you guessed it, looks up with a smile. It's much more weary than the smiles of just a few days prior. Naturally, he recognizes his roommate right away.]

Hello--I saw your name on the door. It looks like we'll be sharing this space together, for the time being.

[He gives a polite dip of his head.]

I'll try not to be an inconvenience for you.

Comments

[melancoffeea]

Because you want to be your own person.

[It isn't something with which he can identify, but he thinks that he can understand Ion's story. Beings who are created for a specific reason (whether it lasts or not) all suffer from self-awareness.]

You chose that over your purpose . . .

[No matter which way he looks at it, Sandalphon can't understand that.]

[fragileprophet]

No, that's not exactly what I mean.

[He frowns, not sure that he wants to just come out and say it, but, well, they're partners, so he might as well be open and honest.]

Being alive, that's what went against it. "Ion dies at the age of twelve--" it's one of the first things I ever read from the Score.

[melancoffeea]

[His brow twitches, and his grip on the parchment softens. It makes a startling amount of sense all of a sudden. He doesn't know what the Score is, but it's easy enough to match the pieces.]

You're the replacement.

[fragileprophet]

Yes, that's right.

[In a small sense, it's a bit of a weight off of his shoulders, being able to say it. He had to keep it a secret for so long--and from so many people who deserved to know the truth all along.]

That's why I hate it to cause you any amount of anxiety if anything were to happen to me.

[melancoffeea]

[At the end of the day, that knowledge changes nothing. Ion—this Ion—has purpose whereas Sandalphon does not. Yet, with the former's feelings laid bare, something feels like it's shifted. His shoulders slump forward.]

Created, only to be condemned . . . How pitiful. What's the point?

[fragileprophet]

[At least at the moment, Ion doesn't have an answer. He's not sure Sandalphon is even looking for one. So he takes a quick pause, and decides to offer something else instead.]

If you're willing to tell your story, I'm more than happy to listen.

[melancoffeea]

[Sandalphon is quiet for a moment. With slow, fluid motions he folds the parchment up and tucks it away on his person, then rises to a stand.]

There's nothing to tell.

[His next words are soft-spoken, drained of the energy he exhibited earlier in their encounter. His attention has already wandered to their bleak future.]

A pair of stopgaps with a fleeting purpose . . . Heh. Will we even last the week, I wonder?

[fragileprophet]

[He's gonna just take a raincheck on that Tragic Backstory, for now. At the change of subject, however slight it is, Ion's able to find his smile again.]

I think so. Naive as it may be of me to say so, but I believe we can all work together to find the most peaceful solution to the war we've been recruited into.

[melancoffeea]

[Upon remembering his brief exchange with one of the hosts, Sandalphon scowls as he works on attaching the scabbard of his sword to his waist.]

We're not the first ones to be drafted into this war. If such a solution existed, we wouldn't be here.

[He's being evasive, but this is an easier topic to handle. Right now, he can't talk about himself.]

[fragileprophet]

You don't think there's even a chance for peace?

[Ion watches him work, his voice as gentle and patient as ever.]

I'm certainly not foolish enough to believe in a bloodless victory, as much as I'd pray for one, but...to end with the fewest possible casualties...if war is ever necessary, I'd consider that the ideal conclusion.

[melancoffeea]

You'd have to defy the guidelines established by our hosts to achieve even one less casualty. The risks are untold. That ideal conclusion is likely beyond our grasp.

[There's always a chance for anything to happen, but it's very slim.]

[fragileprophet]

You might be right.

[Even if it isn't what he wants, or hopes for. He has to at least admit that much. Ion looks at where he's let his own rulebook rest, his stomach twisting as he recalls the contents.]

Between what we've learned from them and whatever it may be that you've been personally tasked with...may I ask how you plan to proceed?

[melancoffeea]

[He pauses, his right hand frozen over the hilt. It's just a moment he needs to reprocess the task he was given, and his hand settles down on the pommel.]

Whether we like it or not, our lives are tethered. For your sake, I won't place myself in needless danger. If you need anything, tell me.

[From one pawn to another.]

That's all for now.

[fragileprophet]

...alright. Thank you.

[Regardless of the emotionally lows and tense words exchanged in their conversation, Ion's expression of thanks is nothing short of genuine.]

I may not be able to offer much, but please don't hesitate to do the same.

[melancoffeea]

[Such sincerity makes Sandalphon uncomfortable. He heads for the door, barely acknowledging Ion's offer with a slight nod.

This won't end well . . . The odds are stacked against their very nature, and the last thing he wants is to drag someone down with him (he's over that). As much as it hurts, he needs to think.]