disaster.

❝ shut up, ❞  a demand that tears the heart she wished she had. she regards yorha’s newest model with something resembling pity, but the sentiment does not reach her;  expression turned that she might not feel the insult she herself would had anyone looked at her like that. she remembers the feeling of isolation, of abandonment—  the feeling of being created without any true aim other than to be left to die within the blood of her comrades. she is not wrong, but she isn’t completely right, either, a paradigm that she dwells within because she knows all too well that even when the reason for her creation is a false pretense, there is more to live for than she had ever allowed herself to think of. 2B—  command’s newest infatuation. she is the strength and willpower that carries the fleet  ( at least as far as A2 is concerned ).   in a way, she nearly finds herself resentful;  she is the prefect pawn, and what she does not know had never hurt her,  not until her final days. 

      it is an echo , that which they share.  a parting of thoughts exchanged between them , given voice by the cluster of memories she has imparted.  she is nothing more than a copy , a file within , but it is enough.  it is enough.  it is all she needs to ensure that 9S survive where she has not.  she had accepted her end once the logic virus had taken its hold ; given in to the finality that now , with the destruction of YoRHa , she would no longer take physical form.  though it grips her core , and leaves her with a sadness that knows has no end in sight , she is resigned.  at least now , here , she could ensure that her companion would not meet the same end.

      she has manifested before A2 ; data in the form of an image , flickering , unstable.  she fights to stay , to remind A2 that living is important.  that fighting holds meaning , more than just for revenge.  she assumes that she is still blind to the reality of her existence , but she is now part of A2 , and memories shared have confirmed what she was beginning to see as she stumbled along overgrown earth , tripping over stones , unable to determine her path as logic virus continued to eat at her conscious  ( betrayal , abandoned , pointless ).  she was deteriorating , quickly , and soon there would be nothing left of her but the virus that would invade the mind of that who was left —— 9S.  she is here though , staring into eyes so like her own , defiant , filled with anguish.  all she could do now was hope.      “    I know what you know , A2.  and though I cannot make you fight for the future , I will ask.  please , save him.  he’s all I have left.   ”

she is not the sum of those she could not save, she decides;  she is the sum of the trials she endures since she’d lost them. 2B is no more than a memory that she’d lain to waste  ( for the right reasons—  ALWAYS  for the right reasons, of course ),  and she’s one that haunts her whenever she so much as lets her gaze sink to the ground beneath her feet or skyward where she lets her thoughts wander far too much. she isn’t reasonable, she knows, but it is difficult to breathe when so much of her own will is left behind in the past where she wants nothing more than to end the ageless war between her own kind and the invasive machines. now, she wants nothing—  not life, and not death. a stagnancy lingers in her thoughts when she remembers the years of being hunted by her own for doing nothing but following protocol. 

she wasn’t supposed to live.

      once , she might have turned a cold heart toward the lives lost , claiming it for the greater good , the cause —— humanity.  but humanity no longer existed  ( how long had they been extinct ? ).  it was a lie.  lies built upon lies built upon lies.  by all reason , A2 had every right to despise that which she had been created by , and for.  her purpose , her life , given to a cause that bore no meaning.  suffered countless ways for nothing in return , but to bear the pain of loss and heart ache.  she had no answers , only the pain.  but she was here because of the product of that heartache.  within , with the metaphorical beating of her heart , she lived because of those that had been taken.  would she demean those very lives , forsake the very core within her ( those who gave her life ), because there was no one left for her to fight ?  it was a waste.

      fingers tighten about her wrist , unwilling to give up.  there was life in abundance around them ; caught in the rays of the sun that still shone brilliantly despite the horrors it has seen , and in the wildlife that perserved.      “    do you require a purpose then ?    ”      anger laces her words , tone tinged with frustration that A2 must continue to deny and destroy all reasoning and hope.  what existence she must lead to forgo any virtue that she might possess.      “    must one be given to you ?  because if that is so , I will provide you with a means to continue.  it is not over until we are destroyed.    ”

oh, how she wished she could be lead by example;  to be shown the meaning of hope when there was  ( seemingly )  nothing left to hope for. a2 does not wish death upon herself—  doesn’t wish to stop living in the world that only recently she had discovered was a world worth living in. the beauty of nature and its inhabitants is something she had never taken notice of before she’d held the fragility of life within her palms, the thick ooze of synthetic blood dribbling between them when she’d tried with desperate fervor to save the like of her companion’s  one & only.  it is nearly painful to think that she and her companions had been similarly as close, an unspoken bond built upon the stone of trust built through the mud caked on each of them through every battle they’d endured. to be asked if she requires a purpose—  in truth, her outward answer is nearly affirmative had it not been for the stubbornness built upon years of loneliness. 

she speaks, and her temperature rises, imitating blood that would’ve coursed through her veins should she have been born(e) in another life. she’d said it before,  ‘ we’re the same, ‘  but the disdain held within her chest sparks the beginnings of the riot her tongue wished to release;  a war begun when her voice split the air. her will is  iron - clad,  the makings of her argument inscribed on her palms the day she raised her sword to kill one of her own. it’s an act of mercy―  at least that’s what she’d always called it. it isn’t long before unit a2 realizes it isn’t so much mercy as it is leading lambs to slaughter. there’s never a day she doesn’t think about her fallen comrades;  their screams, accompanied by the looks she imagined in their eyes always seemed most vibrant when she settles somewhere to rest, eyes only shuttering softly.

❝ we’re not, ❞  said with a tone matching the desire of her limbs to spring and dismember the very illusion of her imagined within her headspace. there’s a moment where she wonders if she could, would she? staring at the image of her as she was before her dying days;  could she truly be so cold? nay―  it’s merely the sting of a life lived without knowing the truth. all she knows is that she and her squadron  ( her  FRIENDS )  fought and died for a mission that their command knew would end in tragedy. disposable dolls, they all were;  filled to the brim with hope for the future and a fighting chance at saving the humanity that they never had.

fists ball at her side, but she does not lunge like she wants to. instead, she relaxes enough to keep her head on straight―  enough to tell her that she had not the slightest idea of the truth behind her words.  

     ’  Fine,  ’     and abrupt.     ’  Forget I said anything!  ’     It's his fault for misunderstanding,  doubtless of the differences and lackluster in attempts to follow.  Should she change her mind would he then find a way to care about space.  It’s in his skin to be caring,  softly considerate of how others might feel.  Shallow gaze lingering.  But he works just as hard to remain at her side,  an equal rather than a hindrance,  despite how it nips the bud as flowers continue to struggle.  He dusts the chill away with careless movement,  rolling his shoulders.  Staying in motion.  It prevents winter's kiss from resting too much against his joints.  Almost within minutes he gives in,  biting back the concern.     ’  You’re tougher than me after all.  ’  

there’s a moment when  ‘ heart ‘  stops;  a momentary guilt that settles over her shoulders when he dismisses her. she meant not for the bite in her voice to affect him―  the last thing she needs is to lose the very few  ‘ friends ‘  she had made. swallowing the pride welling in her throat, she decides that repairing ties is far better than losing them  ( perhaps she’s not as icy as their current surroundings ).  ❝ you’re right, ❞  and within her voice is the edge of a smile, tiny as it might be,  ❝ i am. ❞  it’s not without sarcasm, enough to drench him in the wayward storm that passes over his head  ( a silhouette if there ever was one ),  and yet she takes his hand within her own. she will be his  ‘ umbrella, ‘  her mechanics hopefully serving to properly heat frozen fingertips. blessed is she that her body temperature rises and falls to suit the climate she wanders;  he, a lucky companion.  

WHAT’S YOUR MUSES FATAL FLAW??

         —  your brutal honesty  ,

You’re blunt. You’re outspoken. Frankly, you’re kind of a jerk. But you get away with it because you’re usually right and also because you’re indispensable to the major plot. But honestly? It’s going to come back to haunt you. One of these days, you’re going to be TOO honest. You’re going to refuse to lie at a critical juncture, upholding your honorable caustic truthfulness, and you’re going to pay the ultimate price for it.

Eyes: Blue | Green | Brown | Hazel | Grey | Other Hair: Blonde | Brown | Black | Red | Ginger | Grey/White | Multi-color | Other - Platinum Body Type: Skinny | Slender | Slim | Built | Curvy | Athletic | Muscular Skin: Pale | Light | Fair | Freckled | Tan |  Olive | Medium | Dark | Discolored Gender: Male | Female | Trans | No Gender | Other - Android Sexuality: Heterosexual | Homosexual | Bisexual | Pansexual | Asexual | Demisexual |Other - Irrelevant ( omniromantic ) Species: Human | Undead/Vampire | Shapeshifter (Weres) | Demon | Angel | Witch/Wizard/Sorcerer | Incubus/Succubus | Other - Android Education: High School | College | University | Higher Education  |  Monastic Education | None - N/A Living Situation: Lives alone | Lives with parents/guardian | Lives with significant other | Lives with a friend | Drifter | Homeless Parents/Guardian: Mom | Dad | Adoptive | Foster | Grandparents | Family friend | Creator Relationship: Single | Crushing | Dating | Engaged | Married |  Separated | It’s complicated I’ve been: In Love | Hurt | Sick | Abused I have a(n): Learning Disorder | Personality Disorder | Mental Disorder | Anxiety Disorder | Eating Disorder | Substance-related Disorder Things I’ve done before: Drank alcohol | Smoked | Done drugs | Stolen | Self harmed | Starved myself | Had sex | Had a threesome | Gotten into a fist fight | Gone to the hospital | Gone to jail | Assumed a fake identity | Gone to a rave | Killed someone | Been in a war | Positive Traits: Affectionate | Adventurous | Athletic | Brave | Careful | Charming | Confident | Creative | Determined | Fearless | Generous | Honest | Humorous | Intelligent | Loyal | Modest | Patient | Selfless Negative Traits: Aggressive | Bossy | Cynical | Envious | Fearful | Greedy | Gullible |Jealous | Impatient | Impulsive | Insecure | Irresponsible | Possessive | Sarcastic | Self-conscious | Selfish | Unstable | Clumsy | Rebellious | Emotional | Swears

      thoughts turn , and she draws gaze from that of shimmering blue to stare at the ground upon which she stands  ( a gift ; her life once forfeit now rises again ).  did she see a future ; was it there , within her grasp , only for waiting for her to clasp it between waiting palms ?  9S would insist on it.  would find any and all reasons to convince them that any future at all was worth it.      “    would you rather cease to exist ?  to erase yourself from this world completely ?    ”      and it is not just A2 that she speaks too ; it is herself.  a future now lies before them , but she has always been the one to view the world in shadows , given voice to that which could go wrong.  but 9S has changed her , in ways she has yet to discover.  would it be too late for A2 ?  or could they pull her along with them , and show her what it is they have found together ?  to cradle future within waiting palms , gentle , as if it were a butterflies wings easily crushed.

      “    did you come all this way only to give up now ?    ”      she turns toward her companion , once enemy , now friend , and reaches out to touch her wrist.  fingers brush over skin , and she cants head , wondering what it was that A2 searched for.      “    is that what they would want ?    ”

silence. she dares not peer back at she who still has hope despite every odd;  despite malignant will held to their lives that had already ceased them. she is hopeful when everyone they fought for had perished without any semblance of reasonable meaning. they were fated to die;  lambs herded for slaughter. part of her wonders how she continues to be hopeful when everything they had ever known, every objective and every detail  ( every friend and every foe );  all of it was founded on lies. even the very cores that keep them alive are stolen from machines they’d once called enemy  ( the cores of those that murdered their friends ).  when she finally does turn to meet those eyes, her expression hides none of her vitriol;  she does not wish to live with the knowledge that her core is what killed her friends. she does not wish to live in a world where the girl she’d killed to spare her life stares back at her with such compassion. she does not wish to live.

        By blessed light,  by Bahamut’s will,  by the hands gifted to me by my mother  ————  What answer is an acceptable one?  Has she ever had to explain before?  A noise catches in her throat,  and somewhere between the fall of a question and the birth of an answer,  Lunafreya steps into the past. 

        She is four or she is eight or she is nothing more than a construct of memory gone astray,  the desire to craft something logical and real from the strangeness of childhood.  She places her hands in her mother’s hands or her mother’s hands across her hands and she asks,  ‘ Do you have to go? ’  And a mother,  whose face wears the parts of Ravus that Luna loves best,  says,  ‘ I must. ’

        She says,  ‘ There are some things that we must do. ’         She says,  ‘ And so we do them. ’

        Lunafreya shakes her head,  both in the present and the past.  Fingers entangled in fingers,  shoulders molded soft,  she draws back,  giving space for those who took the pilgrimage to examine their healing bodies.  Her own aches in ways she can’t explain. Bones shifting beneath her skin,  she is rearranged from creature of light to mere human again,  but the hurt remains.  As if,  even still,  she is too large for her body.

        ‘ I am the Oracle, ’   she says after a moment,  mouth familiar with the shape of the word.   ‘ Through me,  our gods give blessing. ’   Soft shoulders,  soft voice.  ‘ It is not a very good explanation,  but it is the only one I can offer you. ’ 

oracle;  the word turns over and over in her mind until it is so tightly wound that its meaning dares not escape her. oracle;  she whom her gods deign worthy enough to lend their power when they are incapable of curing illnesses and preventing their inception to begin with. quickly she finds that gods that pawn off their duties to their creations so  ‘ beloved ‘  aren’t worth the more than the dust under her feet, especially when power lent to her drains her to the point of frailty beyond exhaustion.

in a way, she knows well what it is to have extreme power given, only to find that perhaps the strain that ensues isn’t worth the risk it takes to use it. bemused sigh escapes her, as if it’s funny that the gods take her for granted, as if her compassion and her willingness to heal others is something she isn’t told to do.

A2 remembers well what it was like to blindly follow orders without any pretense other than  ( you must ).  you must, she remembers, and so she does. you must, a blade to her back while she watches her friends suffer before they die, only try seeking the place she once called home. the pit of vipers, she’s named it, because they who borne from the same material seek to destroy her.  

      she is but a memory within the confines of her core.  nothing but data stored as a back up within her blade ( was she real ? ) , now in the hands of the only one capable of ending this war of android and machine.  she knew 9S would not be able to handle her death ( death ?  destruction ?  the end of her existence , only to be a cache of data within A2 ).  she only hoped that it would not drive him to unspeakable things.  he has suffered enough , and her desire now for a world that he may find life in.      “    you must succeed A2. succeed where I have failed.    ”

❝ shut up ! ❞  it’s spat from lips that curse her fate;  her destiny  ( if she could even believe in such an illogical idea ).  fate, the idea that their every action from creation until death was so far from their reach—  perhaps the belief in fate would have saved her the guilt she felt when the lives of her comrades slipped like sand between her fingers, leaving burnt palms and an anger unmatched by any living soul. 2B is betrayed, she knew, but the pride of yorha instilled by command, the pride she held in the restoration effort to ensure earth became a place suitable enough for mankind’s decent back to earth... it is something she does not yet know to be a falsity. corrupted data without the hope of salvation;  that is who 2B is, now. command will not save her—  in all likelyhood, she’s been abandoned much as she herself and her squadron had been.

     ’   ———  Aren’t  you  cold?  ’     The  weather  is  snippish,  chances  of  rain  hanging  pregnant  overhead  as  the  clouds  roll  dark  and  overhead.  He’d  shiver  if  it  weren’t  for  his  jacket,  so  he  stares  a  little  longer  than  necessary  at  her  appearance.  Thinks,  maybe,  about  offering  her  his  jacket  if  the  tips  of  his  fingers  weren’t  turning  a  mild  blue  from  the  struggles.  He  pushes  them  into  his  pockets  instead.     ’  Weather’s  kinda  …  bad  for  that,  isn’t  it?  Don’t  you  think  you  should  get  inside  somewhere?  ’