dramadramaduck | ( THE R. TAM SESSIONS. )

[ For a minute or so, Castiel's not quite sure what he's seeing. Then - as River's carefree, happy, coherent demeanour in the first clip becomes clear - it's obvious. A memory. A series of memories. Or recordings. Maybe it doesn't matter--

Castiel's an angel. No, he's a soldier. He's been to Hell. He knows the sort of suffering that can be experienced either on the battlefield or down in the pit (or at the hands of one's own kind). He's seen it, experienced some of it, first-hand. He's a soldier. He knows it's sometimes necessary. But--

But there's never been any sense to pain without purpose. No, not even that, pain that's senseless in and of itself, deliberately inflicted on those that never asked for it, who don't need to, who shouldn't have to--

that doesn't matter anyway. none of it, it's meaningless. River's his friend. ]

[ oh grief, has she seen this, does she know this has posted for everyone to see? ] ... River, are you there?

[she knew. it had played for her too, but she couldn't watch it the whole way through. past the first seconds. it was like something exploded in her brain, bright and searing behind her eyes and she couldn't. and she hears his voice and he knows, god, he knows, even she didn't know this, buried under planets and secrets and recent things, good things, and she didn't want to know.

she's curled up in a ball in the corner of her room, visible, and the community still picks up her muttering.]

You've seen it— out of my head, they— they reached in and took it without asking— scraped the silver off my tongue and forged it, they're using me, and I don't— I didn't know, please, put it back, put it back— no no no no, I'm sorry—

[ castiel's not good with words, never has been. he never took to language in the same way some of his brothers and sisters did (zachariah, with his tongue so silver he could pass for a crossroads demon), and so words for him - they're functional, often blunt, sometimes clumsy in his borrowed mouth. like now. he doesn't know what to say. ]

I can't- [ put the memories back, i don't know what to do, i'm sorry? there was a time when he would have said something, probably the wrong thing, regardless of the consequences, regardless of not knowing what should be said, but he's changed since then. ... of course ideally a certain place would be getting razed to the ground right now, but not knowing the location puts a dampener on that urge. not that he's even sure he has the juice for that. he hasn't been able to world-hop under his own steam for--

... world-hop. ] Can I see you?

[ ... he'll probably still find a world-hop even if she says no. but you're supposed to ask beforehand, right. ]

You can— can't. Can't be seen, I'm hiding, g-gone. A spider ate the mouse. Poisoned it in its mind and it made a nest in its skin and now it's waiting in corners, you can't touch it because it's dangerous. Don't play with spiders. They'll get in your mouth and you'll be a hypocrite, telling them off. "Don't play with your food," the children will know you lied. [she sounds angry, but not at him. aimlessly so. angry at herself. panicked. she can barely differentiate between the video and the present at the time; her mind is a mess of memories and surroundings and things that don't exist, things that have never existed. she can't remember what he's asking for. she whimpers.] Can't see me if I can't see them.

[she's not even looking in his direction, not even talking to him. she looks around her room, up at the ceiling, anxious and scared.] I— I'm lost.

[ .... yyyyyeah, he's still sorting through trying to find the sense in most of that, but. he's getting a world-hop anyway. :| no expert on humanity is he, but he feels like she shouldn't be on her own right now. ]

I'm going to find a world-hop, River. I'll be there shortly.

[Fool.]

[Kefka was always interviewed with a screen between him and the interviewer. Standard safety procedures. Magic is dangerous; if you're going to play with fire, you should take precautions not to get burned. Animals infused earlier had seemed tame for days before going for the throat; it was no surprise that they took the same precautions with humans.]

[Marco was the first one to actually kill someone in there. Magitek Test Subject 24, hands clawed into knives, and only song and magic left his mouth. Unexpectedly raging at a question, he broke the glass and fried Nurse Jornan's face. It took ten soldiers to knock him out.

Cid played the tape to explain why 24 wasn't joining Kefka in Tzen. He left the room once Kefka started screaming at the tape.]

[After Kefka's infusion, the symptoms showed after only a few months. Twitching fingers, overeating, inability to sleep, quicker temper, playing with his hair (nervous) playing with his knife (angry) playing with the espers (a hollow in his chest, empty, his reflection looks wrong in the mirror, his friends are jumpy around him) but the first violence was outside the interview room, years later. A doctor threatening Celes, suggesting actions too old for a four year old, doesn't care if it's in jest, cut that wicked tongue out, take out the whole system of organs and lay them out and write out what was wrong very clearly in blood. And. The screaming. Scream, scream, he loves the screams!]

["My hands are talking," Maximilian tells him. Magitek Test Subject 128, since Max was 12, since Kefka was 8. His neck is black and hard, chitin, his hands are chitin spears, Kefka holds Max's hands and listens to him in the little metal room. "They're talking, Kefka, I'm scared." His eyes are bloodshot, red staining through blue eyes, and the air smells like freshly tilled soil. "What do I tell them?"]

[Celes is twelve. They know better than to talk about her around Kefka. Cid raises her like a daughter. Don't dare rust a great weapon; she is too gifted to break. They've broken others to see what would happen. It's too risky. "Don't let her end up like Kefka, like 24, like 128. Don't let her end up like 13 or 66 or 89." Don't let her end up too aggressive, biting at her master's hand; don't let her end up unable to function.]

[Terra is twelve. Kefka is breaking her. She is too precious to be broken. She is fire and healing and he does not trust torture. The slave crown is still unwieldy, but it is effective. He controls her actions with a command, and the crown makes her obey, and she forgets what she has done.

Memory loss is a gift to her; she does not remember the things she's done.

Memory loss is a curse for her; she does not remember the things she's done.

She remembers enough to scream when he comes to put the crown on her. He laughs. She's his doll, he is the emperor's doll, everyone here is on strings. Max listens to his hands. Marco can't stop singing. Kefka's heart only beats for blood. Why should she get to skip out? Suffer, child, and be his orchestra!]

[...anyone who died deserved it. Anyone who suffered a writing utensil to the throat doubly deserved it. Did they learn to actually science before they started? No wonder she was such a mess!]

Edited 2011-11-23 05:31 (UTC)

[Kefka shakes himself out of his reverie as River-the-video stares at him from the screen. He waves it off and sends out an audio to River-the-girl.]

River. Can I help?

[Sleep is often ill-gotten gains, sand in his fingers, but Max liked it well enough. Likes. He's not dead. Kefka fixed that.]

Edited 2011-11-23 05:32 (UTC)

You can't. She doesn't know what to do. I can still feel it when it's not mine, it's matter on matter, they're minerals, I am not a geologist but I can still dig with my hands. [she makes a miserable, terrified sound and curls against the wall.] I haven't been washed and I want my tongue back.

....Yeah, they put a whisk in and stirred with no care for the condition of the batter. [He can try and talk her language. He...thinks he knows what's going on. In that video, she was looking into that man's head. Matter on matter--thoughts of others probably hurt. She doesn't know how to control it, how to qualify it, but she still does it--no geologist but a digger. And it's hard to speak about it because--trauma? Some baked-in anti-telling response? Hmmm.] I am the whisk and the batter, and I'm already half baked. I can't fix things in your head, but I can quiet them for a time. Slumber, sweetly, with a word - dreamless quiet. This is my gift, from one broken toy to the other.

[Which is to say, he can cast Sleep to try and help out. He may be a villain, but she's too interesting to leave her in this miasma of powers eating her up. The pain he enjoys is inflicted by him; she'd be more fun to play with if not stuck with this.]

And, perhaps - I can find something to help more permanently. The trolls sing the lights fantastic, calmed, when they eat green sopor - if I can create that, perhaps it would assist you.

( THE R. TAM SESSIONS. )

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