#stuff rex wrote

Gladiia was not used to her limbs aching. Not like this.

Pain? That was an old friend, she knew every pain imaginable, she had long since grown numb to them all. All the blood she had shed, all the people she had lost, the Captain would not bow her head to simple pain.

No, what she felt now, early in the morning, her limbs dully thumping and tangled up in a warm blanket, was new. Or perhaps it wasn't, and it was simply so long since she had last felt like this that she was learning it anew all over again.

Pressed to her side, still and calm for the first time in what must have been eons, was Chief Medical Director Doctor Kal'tsit. Compared to her, the Captain often felt like a child strutting around in clothes too big for her. And yet she had been the one to convince Kal'tsit to put aside her myriad responsibilities for a night, to focus on something much more...simple.

This was not the first time she had managed such a hard won victory. To claim any victory at all over such a fine woman was an achievement worthy of any war campaign.

It was early in the morning, early enough that even they, who needed to wake before everyone else, had a moment to soak in warmth.

Kal'tsit face was not without lines of stress, she had a history too vast and a life too involved for that, but for once Gladiia could see more of her, more of what must have captivated the King Of Sarkaz, the Old Rulers Of Sargon, and countless more before her.

She would need to wake her soon, if the doctor did not wake herself on instinct, but for now she will allow herself this tiny indulgence.

She didn't bother to hid the fond smile on her face when eyes of brilliant emerald lazily opened to meet hers.

Kal'tsit did not smile back, she never does, but something in her silent gaze made the bottom of Gladiia's worn heart grow warm.

(They don't keep it a secret, not really, but their reputations means only the mad and foolish dare ask at all.

I HAVE NOT WRITTEN FOR TAO "ACTUALLY SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE MAIN CHARACTER" KAKA YET BUT YOU'LL REGRET GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO DO SO BELIEVE YOU ME - Taokaka thinks she's forgotten something. This isn't anything new, she's always had trouble concentrating on most things for long periods of time, Tora says that things fly into Tao's head only to fly right out again all the time. Its never bothered her before, the world is so full of things that it honestly wouldn't be fair for Tao to just focus on one thing and not give attention to something else too.

She's forgotten that she's forgotten things, or at least people tell her that she has...but this time, she remembers that she's forgotten something. Something big. Something...important. Like breakfast. Forgetting breakfast would be like forgetting your feet, Tao never forgets breakfast or her feet, but she's forgotten something close to it. There's a restaurant in town that makes her stomach squeeze shut, there's a road she doesn't walk down alone because it feels too wide for just one person. She thinks there's a patch of grass in Kaka Village that should be pressed down and worn but there isn't. Tao asks people, she asks the kittens but they knew less then her, she asks Tora but she just shakes her head and tells Tao to take a nap. She goes into town, Scruffy Man holds his head like it aches but doesn't know, Hat Lady goes through a bunch of papers in her big office but apparently the papers don't know anything either. Tao bursts into Boobie Lady's place, not even knocking even though she knows she needs to knock because at this point forgetting has stopped bothering her and is just making her angry. And Tao doesn't get angry, she doesn't like it, doesn't understand it, this coiling feeling in the bottom of her stomach food can't reach.

She yells and screams, paces back and forth while Boobie Lady and her squiggly looking husband try to calm her down. Tao thinks-is sure she's forgetting something important. No. Someone important. She tries to force her mind to make an image, an outline, something anything so she can remember. She thinks she's forgetting a friend. Tao forgets a lot of things but friends stay, friends don't just leave her head she won't let them. Squiggly adjusts his glasses and tries to tell Tao that if she forgot something it must not be important, because you remember things that are important. Tao hears the words, hears the kindness behind them, and she feels her head explode and her chest clench and she lunges. "FRIENDS ARE IMPORTANT! TAO DOESN'T FORGET HER FRIENDS!" She's held back before her claws or teeth can do anything, but she struggles and yowls because she's never been this angry, doesn't know what to do with angry, so her head simply lets go of control and lets her burning gut tell her limbs what to do. "Tao! Tao listen-!" Litchi (Litchi, apparently that's her name when Tao is too angry to be friends with anyone) holds her back, stronger then she looks and kinder then Tao thinks she deserves, Litchi keeps her claws and teeth away from doing anything she can't fix, and then her voice hitches, "Tao...Tao you're crying...Tao look at me..." She can't, she didn't notice the big hot wet tears rolling down her face until Litchi pointed them out and now Tao feels stupider then she's ever felt in her life and for once she can't bare to be so stupid, how stupid could she be that she could forget a friend? A friend with no face and no voice and no shape. She can't remember a thing, all she remembers is that there's a hole in the world that somebody should be filling and only she seems to notice.

You have a name. Or used to have one, at least. Its written in a file only Kal'tsit and Amiya have access to. Its not the same name you use to introduce yourself to other people, even if it sounds the same.

And a face, you probably still have a face, a face with pale skin and pale eyes and pale lips. Probably. You take your helmet off only when you absolutely need to, to shower or when you go to a check up. Your gaze bounces off mirrors before you can check.

You used to be a bastard. A monster. You wadded through pools of blood that reached your knees to reach your ever shifting goal. W looks at you like you're filth, Kal'tsit looks at you like she's watching a rabid animal, Amiya is the only one who Knows and still smiles when you enter a room.

There are patches of skin on your arms that carry scars from frostbite, a scar along your chest from a crossbow bolt, the pinky on your left hand is missing the tip. Burn scars on your forehead. You have trouble breathing when there's too much dust in the air.

You can't sleep. Not for long. Because when you sleep you see the most beautiful woman who ever lived, she's smiling at you. There's a crown of burning shadow above her head. She's bleeding from a gaping wound in her stomach.

You killed her. You know this deep in your bones. You and your worthless plots and your bloody schemes killed her.

You see a face behind her, a face that shares the crest of her nose and the sharpness of her cheeks. You hate this face, hate it more than anything else in this dying cruel world.

The woman, your King, forgives you. She smiles at you gently, blood leaking between her lips. She tells you to wake up. And an order from you King will never be ignored.

You wake up tense with anger, with sorrow, with regret. You think of opening a window and jumping out of it.

You think of finding the face behind your King and striking it until there's nothing left. You feel the monster you used to be rear up and plan, plans upon plots upon schemes, each bloodier than the last.

The details stack up in your head into a mountain of bloody knifes, you think of how easily every person on this ship can kill someone. You put them in little boxes and categorize them and place them into perfect little formations.

The speaker next to your bed flickers to life, Amiya's voice, sluggish and tired and cheerful, sounds through it. She tells you breakfast is ready.

You blink, and the plans vanish into thin air.

You reach over to press a button on the speaker, you tell Amiya you'll be there shortly.

The monster grumbles and retreats, knowing better than to press its' luck when the situation had turned against it.

He watches the sunset, rolling his shoulders. The sand is warm under his bare feet. He considers the situation.

Well, the situation, on the grand scheme of things, was that the planet was turning and that the sun was dying, but that was just the state of affairs that ran circles in his head for the past century or so and would never ever stop, so it wasn't worth getting caught up on.

On the smaller, more tangibly immediate side of things, he had done his part, fulfilled his deal with I-no. So, he was basically free to do what he pleased...well, he was free to do that earlier, sure, but that would have been rude. And, more importantly, it would have been significantly less dramatic.

Thinking of I-no made him concentrate on the flow of magic around him....nnnnope, still normal. It got a bit of a bump for a few hot minutes, the world and the people in it screaming as the power to grant wishes landed on their heads...but then it was gone.

Huh. Well. That's a shame. Did she ever find "Tomorrow"? Or would he have to wait until the next day to find out? Well, not that it mattered either way. He did his part.

He flexed his toes, the sand crunching between them. The feeling is...nice, like a warm glass of calpico.

Should he go after Asuka? He probably should, considering the history, it would be dramatic at the very least...but...hmm, if he knew his student as much as he thought he did, chances are he's on the moon...well, one thing at a time.

He sat down, the waves lapping at the sand a few feet away from him. There wasn't another sound for miles, not even any crabs scurrying around. There was just him, the sand, and the waves.

He could feel, if he concentrated, a tiny but razor sharp spike of killing intent being directed at him from a particular corner of the world. That would be...Delilah and the samurai. Ah, how nostalgic. Burning houses, a hole in the ocean, a pile of dust where a brother was. Oh the dra-nah. No. At least not for now. He could always make a surprise visit, really put that new found sense of restraint to the test. But later. If he wanted to.

...did he want to?

Did he want to do anything now? He made that big dramatic speech about being a straw doll with no desires of his own, and at the moment it felt right, felt like it was true. Because he was on a mission and Asuka was hiding like a rat somewhere he couldn't reach and wasn't that just appropriate? But now? On the sand?

He leaned back and looked up. His back pressed against the sand. It itched, in a vague, non-obstrusive sort of way. It was easy to ignore...it was...nice, even. In an odd way.

There are many tales of the three guardians of the Digital World. Tales of bravery, of wisdom, of love. But chief among them, are tales of light.

Each of the Three had a light all their own, it is said. Each a light of their own domain, that represented what they valued, what they embodied, what they protected.

Seraphimon, with wings of unbreakable gold, had a light strong and pure and raw. His was a light that pierced the deepest, foulest shadow. He was a beacon to those who were lost, a guide through the fog. He provided strength to carry on, his was the light at the end of every tunnel, no matter how long. He was sword and shield both, to all who would wish for him. Those who wish to find their way, their purpose, their destiny, those are the ones who pray to Seraphimon.

Ophanimon, of infinite wisdom and unending compassion, had a light of unparalleled illumination. Guardian of the library, who held the history of the world in her grasp, could tell anyone everything about anything. She offered comprehension above all, to see and understand and accept the world around you as it was, to see beyond a books cover and to understand the intent behind the ink that carried the words. For Ophanimon, no question existed without answer, and those who had not a clue where to go, pray to her most fiercely

And Cherubimon, kind and gentle and patient, his was a radiance soft and warm. He who would shun no one, who would welcome into his home and heart any soul no matter how wretched. He would show a way out of sorrow, out of the cold and damp darkness and into the sun again. Forgiveness given without condition, love without need of merit. The beasts, hunted and loathed and alone, would come to him gnashing their teeth, tears streaming down their faces, crying for salvation. And he would provide, every time, his warmth drying faces and lifting their souls. In his light, they found a home.

(Seraphimon was lost, he had no recourse, no escape, all he could do was watch as darkness rushed in on him from every direction.

Ophanimon knew nothing, no book in her library could help her, no craftsmen could fix who she had so foolishly broken.

And Cherubimon...he was cold.

Living forever has a few odd quirks to it that no one really tells you about. Mostly because no one has lived long enough to find out about them.

The obvious thing, that everyone can guess, that books are written about, is that you go a bit crazy, because the human brain is, full stop, not designed to exist in perpetuity for any stretch of time beyond a century. You lose perspective on what is normal, food loses flavor, people stop being important and start to look like ways to pass the time.

But once that passes, when the mind reaches a point where it grows bored of insanity, for the human mind is capable of growing bored of anything given enough time, that's when the really kooky shit starts cropping up.

That's around the time you start sticking sharp objects in yourself to see what happens, that's when you dig a hole for yourself to sit in for a decade because you think worms are interesting.

After that, a switch flips in your brain, and you become a bit more unique. In the way that a deep sea fish is unique, not good or bad just so different that there exists no practical equivalent of you.

For Raven, that switch had something to do with how he prioritizes things. For someone immortal, priorities shift around pretty quickly. Food and shelter get shunted to the bottom of the list, and "ways to spend your time" get top billing.

He began to treasure the small, the fleeting, the petty and insignificant. Cobwebs floating on the breeze, leaves rotting on the ground. A child crying because a toy was broken until they get a quick comfort from their parent.

Things that don't matter on the grand scheme of the universe. He could afford to pay attention, now that the grand scheme had kicked him in the pants and told him to stay out of it.

Few people could really understand this, beyond those who dedicate their lives to deep meditation and the like. But even they only lasted so long, even they could only hold a conversation to a point to where a mortal and not-mortal mind diverged in thinking.

Jack-O was different. She was flighty, she was powerful, she had the fabric of reality in her grip and she played it with like cheap taffy. She was a being brought into the world for one, single, absolute purpose. She was a middle finger pointed at the bony face of death created by a man called a devil by his fellows for pretty fair reasons.

She was as petty as it came, she danced and laughed and ran off when it suited her. She had no value for her life because she realized that past a certain threshold it didn't have any value at all.

She asked him, airily and cheerfully, when he last had a normal conversation with someone. Anyone.

And fuck him if he couldn't give her an answer. A conversation. About the weather or what he had for lunch. Something petty and simple and easy that was forgotten as soon as two people parted ways. She asked him about something so petty even he didn't give it any thought. He wanted to laugh. He felt like crying.

Asuka was his friend, after a fashion. They had collaborated on a mighty endeavor, and they had conversations about the math that held the universe glued together. But theirs was a path that would soon diverge.

Jack-O was, despite her friendliness, was not his friend. She was his responsibility, his charge. A petty girl who asked him about when he last had a conversation with someone.

She was born to die. Well, everyone was born for that, eventually. But hers was not some hazy date somewhere on the horizon, her death was a set thing, a concrete thing. A thing she was built around.

She would reach out across the void and drag back Aria Hale to the living world, and burn herself to nothing in the process. There was no delusion, no tomato in the mirror to slap reality in her face. She shrugged her shoulders and went on her way. Smiling.

She was petty and small and finite. She would be gone very, very soon. And Raven would, as always, remain.

Raven will miss her.