killerwaves | .GRAVEYARD

.GRAVEYARD

GARDEN OF AVALON

[🎵]

There is a moment of silence. That is all there is, following the end one meets, but it is wrong to say that nothing else proceeds afterward. Indeed, upon the deceased opening their eyes, there's a feeling like settling into a body that has not yet crossed over, and an undeniable bright scene in front of them.

Is it heaven? Is it purgatory? These are the questions that may unfurl when faced with a bright, vibrant sky with pleasant colors, and soft clouds. Alongside this pleasing sight are picturesque rivers, running around fields of flowers mixed with lively greenery that seems to extend to distances behind one's comprehension. But, make no mistake—there are large trees dotted here or there, where someone might feel compelled to lie under given how welcoming they look.

Perhaps most striking, however, is the floating tower, that seems currently unreachable no matter how close anyone nears it. Does it need to be blocked off with an invisible shield? Honestly, no. But nobody knows that, and maybe no one will figure it out either, despite how many times they will ask who frequents it...who so happens to be standing outside of it, but also nearby. Huh.

Who's that? Well, that's—

Merlin, Mage of Flowers
💮

What a shock, isn't it? To see someone like Merlin so soon. Yet, he hardly seems perturbed, as he says, "Oh, so you've come! What a terrible fate you've been met with. But, don't worry, there's plenty of things to keep you occupied with.

What do I mean by that, you ask? I mean yourselves, of course! And, yes, by the way, you're still dead. So sorry about that. If you need anything, though, just call my name and I'll be there."

Beat. "Probably."

Then he disappears helpfully in a flurry of petals, not even saying where this is. Wow, helpful, isn't he? But, you have more than enough time to explore, at least. And hey, where did that random shack come from far off in the distance? If one goes in, they'll find a random bookcase inside, filled to the brim with fairytales that automatically replenishes if all books have been read with new ones. In addition, there's a random 'fan magazine' of the super popular idol Magi☆Mari; a beautiful white-haired young woman with purple eyes. Huh, why does she look familiar?

...Anyway, at least this will all keep one occupied.

As a side note, off to the distance are a a massive gathering of trees, but whenever one tries to approach them they can't seem to actually get close. How obnoxious! Looks like you'll have to just continue to admire your surroundings of pink flowers, one or two solitary trees, rivers, and other flora for miles on end.

As of 'Week 3', there is now an additional, cutesy shed in the Garden of Avalon that can be accessed for arts and crafts materials. Sewing kits, canvasses, painting materials, paper, you name it! There also is a shelf full of lube as well, for your needs. They will have a hint of a flower scent.

As of 'Week 4', the forest is glowing and can at some point be entered for funtimes.

By 'Final Week', there is a small little cottage of some sort that has appeared, which is ridiculously more spacious once walked into. It appears to be like a little free-for-all clothing store, except everything is free of charge. The styles range from cutesy pink, stylish, fancy, and to even towards the gothic side of things...but also there is a spot filled with make-up and the like! Do you want to look pretty in death? No worries, you too can shine here as well with beauty products found along the shelves, and of course mirrors alongside changing rooms for your convenience.

There are also knitting tools, for those wanting to really step up their skills.

Additionally, in this large 'cottage', there are private changing rooms with mirrors and a plush long seat to sit down if you want to for whatever reason. The doors lock once someone is inside and the door is closed.

Lastly, for those feeling 'adventurous', they would also happen to find costumes. Sexy ones, likes nurses, maids, and the like, but also silly 'scary' ones like a t-rex and a sheet ghost.

The forest has also stopped glowing, and upon entering it give you view to a beautiful lake surrounded by trees (sans mist.) The sky is still a fantastical color, and taking a soak at any time is possible.

However, on the other side of the forest, is a field of beautiful blue flowers, and a perpetually midnight sky.

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[Seeing Vergilius tense in the corner of his eye, Lobelia just barely manages to suppress a laugh, snorting in amusement. Petty is right. Vindictive is too. After all he did, he's certainly feeling far from appreciated.

Had he really been the one to make the mistake here? Lobelia, Lobelia, Lobelia. He still remembers the way his name rang like a mantra off Vergilius' tongue, back then. What happened to that Vergilius, he wonders?]

You've been freed from your shackles! Released from that island that held you captive! Should you not be just as pleased as myself?

[And sure, they're trapped in yet another place against their will, but what does that matter? Vergilius should simply be happy that such efforts were expended for his sake.]

Ah, but I knew you were a hypocrite, Vergilius. What I hadn't realized is how déraisonnable you are on top of that.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire, Lobelia. This isn't even a true afterlife.

[No, if there is a real afterlife, that's where he's cold and alone, he's decided. He cannot believe in a fake garden of flowers constructed by another. His soul doesn't belong here. After his hope has been realized, it should be sent to a place where he will forever live out his own sins and repentance on his own.]

[He makes a low noise at the statement, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. Yes, there was a Vergilius that cried out his name, over and over. But maybe that was a mistake. He's been making a lot of them.]

If you really knew me, you would know this isn't what I wanted. There's no freedom here. Not even for you, I suppose. [He curls up a little more, heart aching again...ah, what a terrible thing.] So much for your love.

[No freedom, hm? Not even for himself? Strange. Up until Vergilius got all up in his face with his bitch ass attitude, Lobelia was having a fine time. His heart felt light for the first time in years, he felt happy, but now the source of that happiness is threatening to rob it from him.

It's a cruel twist of fate, truly, and it only serves to further anger Lobelia. So unwilling is he to feel sorrow, regret, that he would rather lapse into frustration, tossing his head back to exclaim his woes.]

Oh là là! J'ai perdu mon temps. Il ne m'aime pas. C'était pour quoi tout ça? J'aimerais être vraiment mort. Je préfère être mort que d'avoir à nouveau le cœur brisé!

[...]

[He is turning, finally. Rolling over to his other side to shoot a very unimpressed glare at the other.]

What the hell are you saying?

[You know what? It's his turn to lay on his side and have his Aoba moment, if only because his ribs are seriously aching. It's not even a pleasant ache thanks to Vergiliass.]

What does it matter to you? You don't care. Leave me to my mutterings, démon de la tomate.

Are you really calling me a tomato demon.

[Really? Really.]

[Now he's the one to stare into Lobelia's back.]

You sound like a kid about to throw a tantrum.

Ah! So your ears do work. I'd begun to worry that they hadn't recovered along with the rest of you, bite molle vieil homme.

[Joke's on you, Verg. He's already throwing that tantrum.]

Now that one I don't know.

[Probably good that he doesn't!]

[Now he's letting out an exasperated sigh.]

You killed me, Lobelia. I'm not you. Not everyone is going to get off on something like that, you idiot.

[Yes, yes, he gets it. There was no escape from the island through conventional means, and here, they're subject to Merlin's whims. There are certainly worse fates, Lobelia thinks, but it wasn't his place to do as he pleased with Vergilius' life. He understands that.

He's silent for a while, eyes closed against the petals that brush his face, breaths irregular and labored. If he died once more, would he be free of Vergilius' pain? He wants to cherish it, yet even that has been taken from him now.]

Je suis désolé.

[Wow. An apology?? Vergilius has heard this tired resignation in his voice before, when he was prepared to accept that happiness would never come for him. If he needed an indication that Lobelia wasn't lying about his feelings, let it be this: a compromise. A genuine apology.]

Only you know what's best for you, non? Your life was never mine to take. Of course, I had been thinking only of what would make me happy and hoping you would feel the same. Admonish me if you will, but my actions can't be taken back.

...

[Of course those actions can't be taken back. Both of them made decisions that found them on this path from the beginning. The circumstances were outside their control, but what happened afterward was their fault, and their fault alone. As much as he hates Lobelia, and hates everything he is with that twisted nature, he knows he's as much to blame as anything. He could have left well enough alone. And yet Lobelia was like a scab he kept returning to pick and pick until it bled.]

[Everyone he interacts with is affected in some way, he thinks. He must be one hell of a blood stain one can't get out. It's why he did his damnednest to force people away. That's the classic lesson of a Fixer. Cut bonds. Move on. And here, he pulled Lobelia into his orbit, thinking it didn't matter because it was about proving something to him and himself. Maybe it was more than that.]

[The tiredness of his voice makes him silent for a long moment, eyebrows twitching together, unsure how to feel.]

["I'm sorry", huh.]

[.....Lobelia is different now, isn't he?]

...We'll find a way out of this mess. [He finally says, voice low. Whether the "we'll" is accidental, intentional, casually referred...hard to say.] As long as I still draw breath, even here, that's the flow I'll follow.

[There's little more that he loves more than the bright, incandescent anger that lights up in Vergilius' eyes, but Lobelia has come to realize that being the source of that anger isn't quite as rewarding as it used to be. Perhaps finding happiness in his own death is what changed him. Perhaps he doesn't need to poke at Vergilius like a rabid bear to get his kicks when he has the sounds of his own demise to reflect upon and indulge in.

He had thought, surely, that death would be just as rewarding for Vergilius, but Lobelia thought wrong. He gets that now. As stubborn as he is, insisting upon always being right, he's acknowledged that too. The idea of withholding that apology only to further hurt Vergilius has lost its savor, and why that is, Lobelia has yet to determine.

So much for being a genius, he thinks, but he doesn't bother Vergilius with his internal monologue. For what little he can make sense of his own ever-complicating feelings, it would be a waste of breath to speak them aloud and hope Vergilius can make sense of any of it.

Still... What's this about we? It's brief, but Lobelia looks back over his shoulder at Vergilius, surprised. Yes, that could have very well been a slip of the tongue, so Lobelia treats it as such. Of course, somewhere in the depths of his heart, he wants to believe it was intentional.]

Understood. You'll do as you please, hm?

[I've always liked that about you. In his newfound efforts not to hurt Vergilius when nothing can be gained from it, Lobelia keeps that thought to himself.]

But I don't intend to lay about uselessly while you toil. If you would do me a faveur, I can be of much greater use to you. I think you'll find it agreeable.

A favor, huh.

[He's moving on from the "we", not acknowledging it. Perhaps he never will. Emotions are indeed something not nicely laid out on a table to examine, but a gnarled barbed wire mess. He's circled it, of course, indulging in ever deeper layers of guilt and regret and sorrow amongst the ever-persistent anger, but never has gone deeper into the woods, so to say.]

[Ironic for a guide, he thinks.]

[He glances over with a flit of vibrant red eyes, before closing them. Another sigh. It would be nice to fall asleep here, he thinks, among the flowers. But he can never let himself do that. Not when his heart still beats.]

[Perhaps that's the same for Lobelia, too, on his new-found path. Whatever that path seems to be.]

And what is it you propose, exactly?

[How nice would it be to take a break and rest in such a scenic place? Until he knows what "we" entails, he can only spin his wheels and wonder what might become of his existence now that he's died and awoken in this flowery purgatory. No purpose, no reason, no drive... but just as he had before, Vergilius refuses to give up. Refuses to let "them" give up, perhaps. There may be something to live for yet.

Hissing pain through his teeth, Lobelia rolls onto his back, gazing sidelong at Vergilius. There's no delight in his inquiry, just a quiet plea, humble and earnest. He needs nothing more from Vergilius now than what he knows best, and so, plainly spoken—]

Kill me. I can't be of much use to you if I'm shambling along in your shadow.

[It seems the easiest way to "heal" in this place is to wipe the slate clean and start all over again. Vergilius has no problem granting such a simple request, does he? It's no different than swatting a fly, Lobelia thinks.]

...Hah.

[Well, that's a request, alright. Of course, he really still has half a mind to just stand up, walk away, and let the man heal from his broken ribs the old fashioned away. He'd deserve that. For all the pain he dealt, the torment, now here with a true, honest consequence. There's no healers to heal. Maybe Merlin would give him mercy.]

[(Of course, he doesn't know about what happened in trial, or how he died, on and on, over and over again like a macabre loop of film doomed to repeat itself. He assumes it was from an execution like before. Something to find out after some time, perhaps.)]

[...But after a moment, he moves to sit up, shifting over so that he can reach down to cradle the other with rough hands around the back of his neck, lifting him up. He's not doing anything yet, just staring down with vibrant lights through dark, messy bangs.]

Wanting to die to bypass the long healing from suffering. You really are one messed up soul, Lobelia.

[It's not even accusatory. It's almost like a quiet observation.]

[Even this much is selfish, isn't it? Yes, Vergilius has ended countless lives just as Lobelia himself has, but it's not like he relishes in their slaughter. That's what makes them different, among so many other things, and yet this difference hardly matters. As selfish as Lobelia's request is, he knows Vergilius won't hesitate to do what must be done. As his guide, his light in the darkness, Lobelia trusts he won't be led astray.

That uncomfortable, leaden lump settles in his throat again when Vergilius' hands cradle the back of his neck. He isn't sad, isn't angry, and he isn't happy either, but he will be soon. I'll be happy, that happiness already granted to him through countless cycles of death, no longer something he needs to claw out of Vergilius to get a mere taste of.

Ah, but speaking of countless deaths.]

Heh! You're not wrong, but dying by your hand might soothe me some. It's a fair trade, isn't it? Still... before arriving here, I experienced death countless times over. First was Papa's death, and then Maman's, and then so many others whose names and faces I've forgotten.

Those oiseaux maudits robbed me of my suffering, but had the choice been left up to me, I would have died every death I've ever caused. That would have only been fair, non? More importantly, it would've made me happy.

...What do you mean?

[He stares with eyes narrowed. How? How did he experience countless deaths? Lobelia is terrible, sure, but did the hosts of that terrible ordeal really hate him enough to make him go through that in vein of an execution?]

[His fingers flex, slightly, not yet ready to move. He would move on with giving Lobelia death on a silver platter, but this is something he needs explanation for.]

How?

[Ah, how he hates explaining these things... but compared to explaining the specifics of his magic, the terms of his now severed pact with The Tower are pretty cut and dry.]

You remember our old friend The Tower, don't you? It came to me to form a pact, granting me the strength needed to topple entire cities in an instant... but that power came with a prix.

Should The Tower's pactbearer fail to destroy their target even once, every ounce of destruction they've wrought will be dealt back to them. If the pactbearer dies halfway through the ordeal, they'll be brought back as many times as it takes to repay their sins in full.

[Lobelia isn't the least bit reluctant to speak about the ordeal he'd gone through, which is telling in its own way. He died without regret over and over again, enjoying every second of it.]

It was in those deaths that I found the true form of my happiness! Ah, but then our gracious hosts refused to let The Tower perform its duties, destroying it after a time. We hadn't even gotten to the best part before they reduced the poor thing to rubble.

Ah. So it's an all or nothing deal, your dear Tower. Every single death...you could have been there for ages, I reckon.

[He recalls the world crafted by that thing. It somehow suits - with great power comes a weight on one's shoulders that no one should ever bear. And somehow, Lobelia had been crafty enough to heed the pact...until now.]

[This, of course, brings up another question. He tilts his head, his voice as level as ever. He's not touching the "death brought me happiness" part. Not yet.]

...Who did you fail to kill, then?

Beelzebub.

[But before Vergilius can shoot him any nasty looks for tormenting the family dog—]

But I had no intention of killing petit chien, only borrowing his assistance! His exceptionally short temper made the heart on his sleeve an easy target. I knew that if I roused his anger, he wouldn't hesitate to kill me. Ah... and he met my expectations wonderfully! He tore into the side of my neck with those terrifying démoniaque fangs and severed my carotid artery. I dead before I could so much as scream!

[No mention of the fact that he then inadvertently "killed" Beelzebub, as far as Lobelia knows, but the fact that he isn't here suggests that he somehow managed to recover from his ordeal.]

Edited 2023-06-05 00:06 (UTC)

...What a fool you are for provoking that man.

[Just for the idea of tormenting Beel alone, seriously. He grimaces at the thought of it - poor, poor Beel. He had the idea he was easy to mess around with in his own way, even as level-headed as he was, and this only confirmed it. Well. Better Lobelia than him, even if Lobelia did seem to get a (ironically satisfactory) gruesome end for his troubles.]

[He shakes his head, the grip on the magician's neck and lower back of his skull adjusting, before tightening like a vice.]

I'll give you your death, then, Lobelia.

[He sighs his name. The angel of death here to add another tally mark to the many. And yet, and yet, and yet...]

[Well, best not to let it drag on.]

[He makes a decisive twist of his hands, and the snap of the other's neck comes painfully easily. Swift, as anything.]

[Who knew he was, indeed, so very fragile?]

[A fool... Yes, he supposes he is. Lobelia has been made to confront that truth many times over in the last few days, accepting that fact with a wry, crooked smile. Beelzebub is a good person, a loving soul, and someone who will no doubt succeed in protecting the people most important to him. So long as he fortifies that bleeding heart against people like Lobelia, he'll accomplish all he sets out to in life. If nothing else, Lobelia hopes that scar he carved into his heart will toughen him.]

...Merci.

[Lobelia's lips curve awkwardly, wanting to say more, so much more, but denying himself the opportunity. He's said enough, sinned enough, and now he has a reason to care about the words he speaks. Never had it mattered what anyone else thought, speaking freely without consideration for how his words would be received, but that's no longer the case. He is no longer the only one who matters.

Once more, he's woefully without the means to record his name as it passes through Vergilius' lips as a sigh. He's never cared much for his name, vain though he is, but it holds a special weight when Vergilius speaks it. Just as it had when his parents spoke to him so sweetly, their hearts full of genuine love, he feels a similar tightness in his chest when Vergilius addresses him by name.

That aching in his heart is the last thing Lobelia feels before his eyes slip closed, blackness replacing the vivid pinks and yellows of the flowers blooming beneath him, his death swift and painless. When Lobelia awakes once more, he's revived on the opposite side of the garden, and it's there he'll remain.

...If you really love me, leave me alone.

So he will. For Vergilius, he will.]

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.GRAVEYARD

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cw: death

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