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Inbox: Upcycled
[Just that simple, automated voice saying 'leave a message'.]
This page also serves as the text inbox for Ethan's Upcycled phone, as well as for any more secure networks he/someone may set up to use.
This page also serves as the text inbox for Ethan's Upcycled phone, as well as for any more secure networks he/someone may set up to use.
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...
[It's amazing how small he can make himself, when he wants to. His phone sits aside, buzzing occasionally on the ground, and he ignores it wholesale.
You can't just stop moving. That's the one thing we survivors cannot do. Soft. Gentle.
He misses it more than he thought. Just having a calm voice to follow. Knowing he was doing what he could.]
I'm... [Afraid. He has never, in his relatively short life, actually felt this way about anyone other than the remainder of his family. And he got her killed. And he has to go back to that and--] I'm trying. They'll all have plenty to... [He's very good, it seems, at putting himself last. Slotting in everything, and then him.
The sound he makes is pained, frustrated. Connor already doesn't deserve what he's done to him, he's sure. But...]
... I can't take the idea of it. I thought I could, because I don't even know what I'm feeling. It's...
I liked it better, being alone behind a screen.
[What a depressing fact. He has to say it aloud to realise, truly, just how depressing it is. He wants to go back, so he doesn't have to think about this.
He liked it because it was convenient, of course. Having gotten a taste of something... he doesn't know if he'd feel the same, now.]
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[ his hand gently slides from Ethan's head to a shoulder, resting lightly and providing whatever comfort physical contact could. he didn't know if he was the type to appreciate this kind of thing, and he didn't want to make him uncomfortable just in case, but... it seemed cruel, to sit there and do nothing. ]
It's hard to keep moving forward. There's no guarantees that things won't hurt, or... that you won't make mistakes along the way and hurt others. But if you let that fear paralyze you, you'll never escape that cold, lonely place you've locked yourself away in. You may not believe me when I say this, Ethan, but you don't deserve to be there. No matter what you've done... it's never too late to start over and make amends.
[ ...yes; that's right. 'it's never too late.' ]
As long as you let others walk with you, you can leave that dark place anytime. You don't have to forgive yourself yet, if you feel like you can't - but if you keep up like this, you'll crush yourself... and if not for yourself, then for the sake of those who can't walk with us anymore - we absolutely can't let that happen.
So rest, if you need to. Have faith in those who are with you now, okay? Don't bear it all alone.
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It's always easier to hide, yes, but he tells himself it's not just that. The weight isn't so heavy, normally.]
Never... [He latches onto it, the thought-- irrational. The rest is too much. It sinks into him, bone-deep and heavy. He wants to push away from it.
So he focuses on it. On the cruelty of optimism.]
It's too idealistic, 'never'. [make amends? Is that what he's trying to do, systematically tearing people apart? Make amends for the thing he caused, for the world that continues on day by day?
If it was just the situation here, maybe he could swallow it eventually.]
You're right, Abel. I don't believe it, because I do belong here. Because no amount of making amends changes the decisions I've made, where I'm from. There is no answer in the world, no amount of other souls saved, that excuses the things I've done. You don't get to turn around and pretend you're righteous when you intentionally take someone's parent, their future, their positive experiences. I don't get to be a good guy just because I'm taking down what I think is wrong. I've long accepted that.
[What he did before is... Evidently a lot heavier than not. His voice is tired, but it doesn't waver the same way as it does when taking about people here. Things he's actively connected to.]
... Even without that, though... I just don't want to hurt him, but it's already too late for that. The idea of seeing his face, knowing I was allied with the one individual who seemed to want only to kill him...
[There's the problem. Connor doesn't know. And now, that's taken a darker turn, and he's scared of it. Making amends is nothing more than explaining and letting Connor make the decision, and that's terrifying.]
I can't run from it forever, but God. I want to. I've never wanted to run from anything. I'm not scared of what I am. I'm scared of-- [of finally having something and finding he's not good enough.] letting myself try to have something.
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the priest shifts away a bit. ]
You're right... There's no amount of good you can do that will take back your sins. That isn't how life works, as nice as it would be - it isn't a scale, where if you've gone too far in one direction, you just put enough on the other end to balance it all out.
[ but... ]
That doesn't mean you should be empty forever. You can make amends, even if you can't forgive yourself. No... maybe it's because you won't forgive yourself that you don't belong there. Someone who sits and wallows in self-pity in that place is no good to anyone, especially those he's wronged. The only people who should be locked away in that emptiness are monsters who would rather do nothing than face the burden of responsibility, and you're not a monster.
[ he draws back, a bit more - just enough that he can begin stretching to his feet. ]
What's done is done... and you know this already. All you can do, is... fight, now. For those you love. This is something you have to do, and want, yourself. Either you bear the pain and stand for them, and let them hold you up in return, or... you sink, and lose it all. Whatever you believe, Ethan... if you hear nothing else I'm saying to you-- I am telling you to please hear this.
It is never too late. For them, or you.
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It's a complicated mess, in the end. It makes it easy to accept the concessions, and harder to do so quietly. There's a... Certain measure of implication in Abel's words, after all. What belongs here and what doesn't...]
I'm not a monster. [It's not him trying it out - it's agreement, now. He knows, compared to the things he's seen, he's nothing.] I'm just not afraid to be a villain, in the eyes of the masses. Because if no one else...
[he trails off. They're not taking about home now. He doesn't want to talk about home, deal with the heavy weight in his chest.
Fight. It's so simple, isn't it? It's been the answer every time. The monsters. The reality. The very real guilt juxtaposed against soft encouragement.
Is it worth it? He's afraid. It's a new emotion, in this way. Between them all, he wonders-- would it be easier with some?]
I don't-- love. [There's a hesitance then, one that's honestly too awkward to be anything but real. More specifically - he doesn't know what he's actually feeling, other than that it's terrifying in its strength.]
... But I can fight, if they... If he wants to. [A two-pronged issue, but one will be solved easier than the other. It won't help his mental state anytime soon, and honestly... This isn't anything he wasn't already planning.]
I just... Needed time. After seeing that. I can't start a dialogue if I can't reliably remember what was done to sixty versus what I was made to watch. I hadn't thought anything he could do would be half as cruel as that. Had thought the plastic and thirium would make it easier to separate.
[That... Is probably a concerning declaration. Set of declarations, really. All he'd had, he said - it leaves no room for interpretation as far as the circumstances.]
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[ he offers a small smile, whether in encouragement, reassurance, or just solidarity. ]
...Don't stay out here for too long, okay?
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It'll be an answer, which is more than I have right now... And I wasn't planning on it. The chill won't let me stay out too much longer.
[It's almost amused. Almost. He shifts his weight, stretching his legs - they're quite loud in their protesting groans.]
It's just nicer to hear something when I can. Until the Synesthesia comes back.
[he's half talking to himself there.]
..... Thank you, Abel. [he may not feel better, the way he had last month, but... Maybe, for a little while, it was good to be serious. To see under the veneer, the facade they use to bury their hearts.]
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he offers a little wave, before taking his leave. hopefully he'd have the courage to talk to them now, and... the rest is in his hands ]