tunicaintima | Supernatural AU for Roland

So... this isn't a memory? But what we saw before this was from my head. This isn't mine, so it has to be yours.

[Firo shakes his head. His voice is contemplative, not angry or accusatory when he continues.]

You haven't given me any reason to believe you'd tell the truth. Anybody'll lie. So if you want me to think you're truthful, prove it.

[The reasonable way all that's laid out, its reasonable tones, calms the shadow a little; his 'voice' loses its heat.]

How? You know as much about me as anyone living, I think. Tell me what you'll accept as truth and I'll give it; otherwise all I can tell you is that I don't know. Look at me. You can see I don't belong to this place. Isn't that enough reason to move this along, move me out from it? Even if I can't prove it to you, I've no reason to lie.

[When the shade finishes speaking, Firo turns away and flexes his fingers.]

...I'm only gonna do this so we can get outta here. These guys're giving me the creeps.

Where do you wanna go?

Memories close to you are the easiest, so show me what I was asking after. Show me your family. Think on them, any memory that comes easiest. Any members of it you're closer to?

Closer?

[Even when he's not trying, Firo's mind doesn't need much more than that for the scene around them to fade away. They're now far from the town, in a stony clearing across the woods. Few hunters come here--no game--so it's a relatively peaceful place. Firo and a taller man with glasses stand beside each other.

It's simple, Firo. Recall how you feel at the full moon--you can harness that now. Watch.

The man steps away, smiling gently. He's still smiling when his whole body tenses and he drops to his knees, when his skeleton quivers with the effort of remolding itself. Brown fur sprouts all over his reformed body.

The wolf turns back to the still-human Firo: Now you try. Go ahead.]

[They are in the darkness again and the shadow takes a loud, relieved breath, for the moment forgetting that to him breathing is a useless gesture. Then he focuses on the scene.]

Your teacher?

[Firo doesn't know why he bothers--instinct from hanging around with people whose faces he can see, probably--but that sigh prompts him to look up where a face should be.]

Yeah. They've all taught me things, but Maiza's the one who showed me how to do this.

[Back in the memory playing out, Firo sucks in his breath and steels himself to try. One hand bristles into a paw, and Firo springs back in surprise. He and Maiza share a look, then fall against each other laughing.]

Is this the kinda thing you wanted to see? Why?

Mhm.

[Before he can think on the question the scene changes. Maiza shifts smoothly into a bald, scarred man with a distinctly bowlegged stance. It's night, in a forest, and he leans against a tree, watching a figure approach. The figure's obviously a child, black hair, skin the color of leather. When he steps out into the moonlight his face and clothes are indistinct, as if being viewed from far away. The bowlegged man looks at the sky, gives an approving grunt, and settles his hand for a couple seconds on the child's shoulder.]

[The faceless child manages somehow to look surprised, but it doesn't last long. The man jerks his head toward a path, speaks a few gruff and indistinct words, and the child moves away.]

[The shadow watches for a second as the bowlegged man stares off into the woods.]

It's not that I wanted to see that, specifically. I wanted you to think of something. Whatever would come to your mind first. And you did. Thank you. They took it in turns, then? Every one teaching something different?

[Of the memories that aren't his, this one seems to make the most sense. Firo can, at least, see why it's important. Though he's always happy to talk about his family, he has to tear his eyes away from the scene to answer the Shade.]

Uh... you're welcome, I guess. I don't get why that matters to you, though.

They did. Yaguruma and Ronny and even Molsa taught me more about how to hunt. But Maiza's the one who taught me everything I needed to even get to that point.

Now you tell me--who's that?

That-

He-

[Unlike the werewolf, it's easy for the shadow to look away at his feet. Shame makes it easy.]

He's teaching his students to keep time with only their own heads. Only- the moon shouldn't be here.

[He turns the blue lights of his eyes upward and the moon disappears, the squat, scarred face of the waiting man falling into darkness.]

That was the challenge of it. No moon to keep time by. It was the first time most of those boys had been left in the dark on their own, at least in this way. Not the last. They'll have to wait alone each night until they get it right.

Very different from your Maiza, isn't he? But just as effective, I think. You change at will quite well, as I've seen.

Edited 2017-01-11 16:05 (UTC)

I don't really get it, but...

[A smile plays on his lips.]

He sounds more like Yaguruma. Different things work for different teachers.

[He actively tries not to fall into memory there; he's curious about what may be the first glimpse he has into the shadow's life. The first glimpse that he can understand, at least.]

...So that's you? What else did he teach you?

Me? That boy? There couldn't be two more different creatures than me and that boy. You only have to look at us to know that. Didn't you see him?

Yeah, I saw him. But this isn't one of my memories, so it's gotta be one of yours, right? And you were talkin' about the teacher like he's somebody else, so...

[Firo shrugs. He notices too that the shadow doesn't outright sat no.]

Can you tell me I'm wrong? For sure?

[It's obvious, even for a face with only one possible expression, that the shadow is avoiding his gaze.]

In a little while, another boy will come along this way. He'll be late. He'll have to do it over.

I don't remember that. I don't remember any of this. I just know it. Isn't that enough? Is there any reason to go pulling all this into the light?

[Firo sighs and plants a hand on his hip.]

How can you know if you don't remember?! You had to learn it from something.

What's with you, anyway? You were just fine bringing stuff about my family "into the light." Have you got something to hide?

I-

It's a fair question, isn't it? If I am hiding something, you'll be the one to suffer for it, tied to one another as we are. So if I am, you have a right to know.

But I can't tell you. Not directly. When I say I don't remember, Firo Prochainezo, that's just what I mean. If you want to know, you'll have to remind me. I don't know how. Your own memories, maybe. That last one did seem to spark something.

[Although that something is fading now, in the shadow's distraction. The moon is gone, and night is deepening. The bowlegged man's scars and his clothes are sinking away into the dark. The path under the trees is becoming harder to see.]

[The sudden concession has Firo staring slackjawed. Not many people actually listen to his squawkings--especially not enough to change their mind about something.

Maybe this shadow isn't such a jerk.

Firo ducks his head, embarrassed.]

Uh, right--remind you? Lemme see...

[So the shadow doesn't recall if he was a kid, right? Firo frowns; he doesn't like reflecting that far back on his past. But there are some bearable memories...

The scene changes so that they're in the middle of a street in the town. A kid with bright red hair brandished a broom handle, and a scowling teenager pitches a ball to him. The kid hits it, and a much smaller Firo races after it.]

That jogging your memory?

You'll see if it does.

[It's sparked his curiosity though, clearly: he moves closer, bending down to peer at the things they're using and what the boy's about to do with that ball.]

This is what boys play at now? What is it?

Just whatever we could find. See, you hit the ball like Claire did, and then everybody else has to try to catch it and stop you from running around the bases.

[The 'bases' are overturned trash cans and random doorways. The red-haired kid runs between them as the other Firo grabs the ball and chases after him. Another boy joins in the chase, and both he and the other Firo pounce on Claire.

As they go down in a heap, a man steps out of a doorway far down the street. In the memory, he's unrealistically tall, towering above the dream children and even the "real" Firo himself. Firo can't imagine Mr. Gandor any other way.

The man cups his hands around his mouth and calls. As the children run off towards him, he peers up at the nearly full moon in the sky.

Firo nods his head towards the man.]

He lead a different pack. I thought I'd join his when I got old enough.

A pack, hm? You and your friends, you've always known of these things? Always believed them?

[He's still watching the tall man when he hears a voice. He draws in a breath when he hears it, surprised not so much at that voice, which is a mystery to him, but at the feeling which accompanies it. There's a tightening in his chest, a pressure behind the place an uninformed man might call his eyes.]

[The voice is cheerful. It's just been laughing. Its owner, a grinning, sharp faced boy, lounges against a wall near young Firo's game as if he's always belonged there. That boy's aiming his grin at another, a tall and much less cheerful looking blonde. Next to them a third boy, faceless and dark haired, looks on.]

I won't believe in ghosts until I catch one in my teeth!

[The speaker leans forward, opening his jaw wide and snapping his teeth together right in front of the blone's face. Or, well, his collarbone. The shade looks away.]

I didn't know until I met them. And to be honest, I didn't really believe their dad was one at first...

[Firo turns his head when he hears the newcomer. No kid he recognizes--and then he realizes with some excitement that that could mean he's jogged the shadow's memory. ...Apparently not enough, though, if one kid is still creepily faceless.

Firo reaches out to wave his arm in the shadow.]

Who's that? Hey, don't you see 'em?

[The shade reaches out in some long forgotten reflex to snatch at that arm. His hand, of course, goes through. He stares, then looks back at the ground again. He lowers his hand.]

I see them.

[He starts breathing again.]

I see them very well.

[Abruptly the breaths turn stilted and uneven, loud and hitching. That feeling pulls and presses behind the eyes he doesn't have.]

[Slowly, Firo withdraws his arm. It's hard to make out any emotions in the shadow, but he can see enoguh to tell that something is happening here.]

Hey... Can you tell me how they are?

You're always asking me questions I can't answer.

[The hitching breaths don't stop while he speaks. His speech isn't speech; it is thought. His breath isn't breath; it's the sound of wind through leaves. There is no need for one to make room for the other.]

I can tell you what he said. You heard him too. He doesn't believe in ghosts. The other one never did, either. But that tall one did. He was afraid of them. No- no, it was disrespect he was afraid of. Of disrespecting the ghosts of his ancestors. He believed.

Tell me, Firo Prochainezo. You tell me. Did that do a one of them any good?

I'm not trying to.

[Firo'd be pouting now if he weren't too busy staring quizzically at the shadow. That sound is pretty unsettling.]

What's that supposed to mean? What happened to 'em? Did they die?

[That's just how it goes. Firo tries not to, but he remembers what it was like to be a kid. He remembers that it was like walking around with a big target on your back; if disease or hunger didn't get you, there was a big chance that other people would. The way the shadow's talking, it sounds like something dismal happened to these kids--not unusual. So Firo makes what he thinks is the obvious assumption.]

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I love that detail with the breathing + the speaking