sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ BLUE (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
firstroar) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilialog2022-05-24 04:32 pm
firstroar) wrote in ximilialog2022-05-24 04:32 pm
exhale [open]
CHARACTERS: Blue, any
LOCATION: infirmary, mess hall, sun room, Blue's dormitory
DATE: post-mission
CONTENT: downtime (+dream/memshare option)
WARNINGS: mention of terminal illness, medical treatments/needles
Disorienting moments blurred together in the chaos in and outside of himself, with the context left only to his physical senses and the alarming news coming in from the earpiece. Blue can only hold on and endure as the train is rocked, as the car he's trapped in slows to a crawl, as the noise keeps coming in over the signal...
Until he doesn't. Until his eyes have to wince to readjust to the reflective surfaces and glaring light of Ximilia, until he must shudder and brace against the feeling of his psionics flooding back to him, bringing forth the anguish, fury, confusion, and betrayal flooding the place as much as the bodies. It leaves Blue in something of a shock - one that's well and fine to be ignored, since hard focus on him would likely just rattle him more, and anyway, his own attention keeps getting forcibly redirected toward a fairly unified notion.
Newt.
Newt, monsters...the roiling, gnashing form that bit back when he reached out - is that? What happened? He doesn't know. He just sees Newton getting carried away while he and the rest are left to linger undirected.
The exhaustion creeps back in steadily, bringing with it the old awareness of a failing body that must work harder for less of what's necessary. He puts up no audible fuss about having to be ferried to the infirmary, about getting pinched yet again with needles for fluids that compensate for what he can't intake himself, but his insides are raging. Bodily, he aches. Mentally, he is caging lions: Frustration bubbles over in the face of how unfair it is that he had been given time and means to stand on his own two feet and move about as a hale body, only to have no means or power to do much more than rummage a few suitcases. This isn't how Soldier Blue could help. Why did he have to have his psionics taken away.
It's infuriating to ruminate on, and that fury, while muted externally, still informs the way his brow knits, the way he goes still and quiet, bracing against shuddering, aching waves of discomfort. Now and then, it makes simple objects near him rattle or lift off surfaces just barely when his psionics are up and lacking any other means to vent.
It's worse when those psionics are off, when he feels himself alone in his own mind - that's when he tries to gravitate toward populated spaces: The infirmary, the mess, the sun room...somewhere with familiar-seeming people in that unfamiliar-seeming state of mind. The frustration remains, but at this point, that's familiar, too.
In those spaces, at least, his focus can be pulled outside of himself and toward others, regardless of if their feelings of frustration resonate with his or not. Sometimes he wants to commiserate...and sometimes he wants to simply try and take care of the burdens of others, to feel as though he can leave some good behind despite the decay he's saddled with.
That orb never did respond. Nothing changed. Not for the better, anyway. What else...is he supposed to do? It can't be to just die quietly; he won't allow that.
Just as before, more and more time will be spent bedridden than he'd like. In sleep, should there still be hours left with his psionics active, his mind can be pulled out and toward others at rest, too, and he may find himself walking their dreams just as much as his own. The bleed over doesn't even have to be terribly seamless, since to a sleeping mind, anything and nothing can make sense anyway.
He's just...there, now. There, somewhere with someone, be it happy or sad.
LOCATION: infirmary, mess hall, sun room, Blue's dormitory
DATE: post-mission
CONTENT: downtime (+dream/memshare option)
WARNINGS: mention of terminal illness, medical treatments/needles
Disorienting moments blurred together in the chaos in and outside of himself, with the context left only to his physical senses and the alarming news coming in from the earpiece. Blue can only hold on and endure as the train is rocked, as the car he's trapped in slows to a crawl, as the noise keeps coming in over the signal...
Until he doesn't. Until his eyes have to wince to readjust to the reflective surfaces and glaring light of Ximilia, until he must shudder and brace against the feeling of his psionics flooding back to him, bringing forth the anguish, fury, confusion, and betrayal flooding the place as much as the bodies. It leaves Blue in something of a shock - one that's well and fine to be ignored, since hard focus on him would likely just rattle him more, and anyway, his own attention keeps getting forcibly redirected toward a fairly unified notion.
Newt.
Newt, monsters...the roiling, gnashing form that bit back when he reached out - is that? What happened? He doesn't know. He just sees Newton getting carried away while he and the rest are left to linger undirected.
The exhaustion creeps back in steadily, bringing with it the old awareness of a failing body that must work harder for less of what's necessary. He puts up no audible fuss about having to be ferried to the infirmary, about getting pinched yet again with needles for fluids that compensate for what he can't intake himself, but his insides are raging. Bodily, he aches. Mentally, he is caging lions: Frustration bubbles over in the face of how unfair it is that he had been given time and means to stand on his own two feet and move about as a hale body, only to have no means or power to do much more than rummage a few suitcases. This isn't how Soldier Blue could help. Why did he have to have his psionics taken away.
It's infuriating to ruminate on, and that fury, while muted externally, still informs the way his brow knits, the way he goes still and quiet, bracing against shuddering, aching waves of discomfort. Now and then, it makes simple objects near him rattle or lift off surfaces just barely when his psionics are up and lacking any other means to vent.
It's worse when those psionics are off, when he feels himself alone in his own mind - that's when he tries to gravitate toward populated spaces: The infirmary, the mess, the sun room...somewhere with familiar-seeming people in that unfamiliar-seeming state of mind. The frustration remains, but at this point, that's familiar, too.
In those spaces, at least, his focus can be pulled outside of himself and toward others, regardless of if their feelings of frustration resonate with his or not. Sometimes he wants to commiserate...and sometimes he wants to simply try and take care of the burdens of others, to feel as though he can leave some good behind despite the decay he's saddled with.
That orb never did respond. Nothing changed. Not for the better, anyway. What else...is he supposed to do? It can't be to just die quietly; he won't allow that.
Just as before, more and more time will be spent bedridden than he'd like. In sleep, should there still be hours left with his psionics active, his mind can be pulled out and toward others at rest, too, and he may find himself walking their dreams just as much as his own. The bleed over doesn't even have to be terribly seamless, since to a sleeping mind, anything and nothing can make sense anyway.
He's just...there, now. There, somewhere with someone, be it happy or sad.
no subject
Some say the Uchiha are descended from the gods.
（ it is in no small part one source of the very arrogance that lead to their eradication. ）
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And there's...stories that humans were shaped in the likeness of gods, too. I wonder if such notions...are universal.
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（ the popsicle drips, he laps idly at the crease of his palm where it's left a sticky smear. ）
It seems nothing else so much as arrogant, to me.
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Does it...make people too proud of themselves, you think? Or...too ambitious in their hopes?
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（ his own father fell victim to that, under the sway of yashiro, tekka and inabi. insisting, demanding that the uchiha be given a higher station. yet their position within konoha was not unmerited — they were dangerous. and it was one of the uchiha, after all, that controlled the nine tails. it simply wasn't one who lived in the village. ）
If one earns their pride, it is more likely to temper them.
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[there's something troubling about those words, but Blue isn't sure he wholly understands why.
beyond one's means...
he looks down at his hands in his lap, recalling little echoes of the SD System's dogma. nothing in such pristine detail, and much he's sure he could recall skewed this way or that suits his troubled heart.
earned, not deserved...
we're contemplative in this ninja applebee's tonight]
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I do not mean basic rights. I mean to set one's self above others, or to assume one's superiority because of that inheritance.
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You can tell right away, can't you? When my thoughts are drifting back there. To that universe.
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（ and like it or not, he and blue have... a rapport, of sorts. ）
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（ that's said with just a very, very faint mischievous edge — ）
I suppose you are very old.
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Something else I'm not-so-subtle about! I'm very transparent, it seems... Someone so easily perceived... No wonder I've found myself here.
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（ specifics, blue!! ）
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Given the selection process for such a thing, it would not surprise me to learn it was a factor. The orbs make the deals, but Viveca-san and Commander Degar are the two that decide who arrives or not. It seems, by and large, their preference is for people possessed of the ability to understand the hearts of others. I believe a certain amount of transparency is required for that.
（ he isn't saying it applies to all the individuals aboard the ximilia, but the ones who have been here longest, who have made the deepest impact... they all seem to be driven by deep and incredible love that sits just so on the surface of everything they project to others. blue is but one of them. ）
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[his expression waters to something more contemplative, gaze drifting.]
It makes me wonder...if there isn't a bit of clairvoyance at play. In their regard. [it can't be entirely a gamble, right?]
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（ unless of course, their purpose is to come and perform an action that somehow impacts and echoes down the line, but that suggests too many variables altogether. ）
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They'd know, too, whose forms would fail too soon... [yet they're not so cruel as to send him away because of it.]
A gamble on all sides, then...researched or otherwise.
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（ he finishes the popsicle, and neatly folds the stick into the wrapper beside him. ）
Such is life.
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Blue's head tilts down so he can glance at the wrapper.]
Something familiar? From here? Or...did you find something new? In all of our wandering.
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（ shisui liked them, though, and so itachi would sometimes pick them up on the way to practice, as shisui would sometimes bring dango. once, they each brought the other's favourite treat and he remembers shisui's warm laugh that followed. ）
Would you like one? I'm certain I could dream it.
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We could synthetically create some kinds of foods on Shangri-La... The children liked these most of all.
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the not-cherries are turned over in his hands. he is no stranger to unusual things, having travelled broadly. being a shinobi meant you ate what was available when it was available, and there was little room or tolerance for complaint or being unduly picky.
he plucks one of the 'not-cherries' from the stem, turns it over in his hand and then takes a cautious bite just in case they have a pit. ）
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I don't know the history of it entirely, but... [he works at unwrapping the popsicle.] I believe they are based off a species that was born away from Terra, but...from pieces of plants from there.
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It is similar to a species of cherry in my world. Sato Nishiki.
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