Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eaglesonofnone) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2018-12-04 01:29 pm
eaglesonofnone) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2018-12-04 01:29 pm
Three | My Confidence Shaken
WHO: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
WHERE: South Village
WHEN: December 3-ish
OPEN TO: One on the path in, anyone afterward.
WARNINGS: Most likely some frank discussion of mental health.
WHERE: South Village
WHEN: December 3-ish
OPEN TO: One on the path in, anyone afterward.
WARNINGS: Most likely some frank discussion of mental health.
Flickers of Doubt: (Now locked to Shiro.)
His trip to the Bunker had taken a deliberately long time. The device called a 'pod' promised a faster trip - he'd read that in the village codex - but that particular mode of transportation was limited to those who could swim. That excluded him. In the end, though, that mattered little. He'd needed the time as much as he'd wanted to investigate. And even once he'd gotten there, he'd found more reason to take time, more reason to walk slowly, to take the lay of the land, to practice climbing trees and, one night when he'd tried to start a small campfire, learn to control the sudden appearance of an ability that he never could've predicted. He didn't like it, but it wasn't the first thing about this place he hadn't liked.
Altaïr had taken care to spend a shorter amount of time in the Bunker than he'd truly wanted. The arrival of Evie Frye had taken him by surprise, but it had been a second incident the likes of which he couldn't afford to recur. Once, he'd been convinced there would be no afterlife. Now, he was convinced this was no afterlife, but this new youth kept his past on his mind. He could remember with too much clarity, felt heartsore for those he had left behind who hadn't gotten this chance. There were people here he cared for, and while that was a gift he wouldn't overlook, he couldn't help but wonder why he was here but poor Sef, dear Malik, his love Maria... Why had this been denied to them?
And so he had walked. He had thought, he had walked, he had given himself the time to mourn all over again. And he had cemented in his mind that Takashi was not Malik through he could make use of Malik's lessons, and that Miss Frye was not Maria, no matter how strong the resemblance and the accent. He had begun to make plans for instructing Takashi in Malik's methods, and to speak with Evie with the respect she was due rather than the unfortunate familiarity their first meeting had taken.
With his emotions back on a steady footing, he returned to the Village, his pace one that could easily have been sustained for days. At the least, he could say that his stamina had returned and he was confident in his ability to stay on the move as he once did long ago. At the best, he felt like he could have more honesty in his interactions with the people who now counted on him. And that was definitely an improvement.
Regained Confidence:
He knew he owed multiple apologies and they would be words gladly given, but now that he had gone to his home, washed both himself and his clothes, and had a chance to dry both, he stepped back out into the village. There were more arrivals here than he'd expected while he'd been gone - more people to speak with, to check on, and if he wasn't the only one with the ability to call fire to his hands, he didn't doubt there were people to reassure or perhaps even make certain they had a roof over their heads whether they were a new arrival or not.
With Connor in his house, he didn't think offering space would be wise, but he could offer to look around with anyone, to see if any of the other houses would suit them, and to help clear the dust.
no subject
"...I don't know how to explain it in a way that doesn't sound insane. It's not... something I should let weigh me down. Or hold me back. But I can't shake it."
If anyone would show discretion, Shiro was sure it would be Altair. Given his own recent, jarring transformation, he might not even think it was so strange.
Or, he would, but he'd at least respond with tact and restraint, Shiro thought.
"...I died," he said quietly, carefully, eyes fixed on his hand where it hovered above the water, palm up, beads of water clinging to the outline of his fingertips.
"I died, and I was brought back, and this... isn't my body."
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And he thought of what he had heard from others around the village. From Bruce, especially. He had read the codex as much as the others, but written English was still difficult for him, and there were concepts within it that context couldn't solve. Hearing it aloud had helped, and now, with that basis alongside what he had seen in the Apple, he thought he understood - in part.
"That is a great burden to carry, that sort of uncertainty and unease. No wonder it weighs upon you."
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"But this body was... made, by my enemies. To replace me. It thought it was me. And I don't know how I ended up tethered to it, there are... pieces of my memory I can't quite get to come into focus. So I don't trust it. I feel like can't trust, every moment of the day, that I'm actually myself. Even though I know I am."
He risked meeting Altair's eyes, his own set with a deep, tired worry.
"Does that make any sense?"
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Here, unafraid, he met Takashi's gaze, hand on his shoulder tightening in a heartening squeeze. "To speak of your cares and worries as if they are nothing in the face of another's is to belittle your own heart. If it aches, it aches. That is the reason why I had to take this last while to myself: to ease my own burden. To mourn again, in my own way. To attend to the wound on my soul.
"But like all wounds, if left untended, such a thing can fester, and I do not wish that to happen to you. You are too kind a soul and too good a man to let something like that eat at you from the inside." Again, his hand squeezed, and while he let his eyes wander over Takashi's face, he didn't look away from his eyes for long. "Secondly, I do understand your worry. I would do the same if I stood in your place. It is an odd circumstance, one few would ever have to face - and you are a brave man for speaking your concern. Can you tell me what memories there are that you cannot reach?"
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"Exactly how I got out of the... space I was in, before. The place where my essence was being held, incorporeal. Exactly how long I was there. This body - the clone - it had my memories, and now I have its memories, and there's overlap as well as... gaps. My head always feels..." He shook it, minutely, glancing away again.
"Well. It doesn't hurt now," he murmured, the barest hitch at the corner of his mouth for the most fleeting of moments, as he cupped some of the healing waters in his hand.
"I just know that I - it - tried to hurt my friends. And that they survived. But I can't remember how, exactly. And I miss them. I'm worried about what they're facing next."
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When he spoke of his head hurting, it was reflex how he reached up to touch his fingers to Takashi's temple, and when he spoke of his friends, Altaïr couldn't help the sad, sympathetic near-smile that he wore. "That you worry over them speaks of your quality," he murmured, hand falling to his side. "Do not doubt that you are a good man, Takashi, no matter what else has happened.
"As to the rest... It is very familiar, what you say. I have lived similar, and I have heard of similar being done. They are stories I will tell if you want, but the truth I think you need to hear is this:"
Looking into Takashi's eyes, he spoke softly. "The things you remember that you did not do - they are not yours to carry. You feel responsibility for them because you are a caring, empathic soul with a strong sense of justice. The memories you seek that dance out of your reach were formed within a liminal space between life and death, waking and dreaming. The things that happened then will likely always remain fleeting. And while that is no comfort, it may give you peace from chasing something that will stay near enough to taunt you but far enough away to remain uncaught. The thoughts, if they do return, will come in dreams or meditation and grow slowly in those times when your mind has no fetters or jesses.
"The mind is a flexible thing, like a river. At times, thoughts will overflow the banks, but given time, the river will go back to rights." And then, with that smile growing more sure, he finished, "And I will be there, extending a hand to help you to shore."
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If he bowed his head just fractionally into the touch of Altair's fingers, it wasn't intentional.
"I-" Shiro's gaze dropped a little, back to the water. There wasn't any point in trying to find the right words, so he went with what was closest. He lifted his head enough to return Altair's smile.
"Thank you."
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Having seen how Takashi leaned toward his hand put a thought into his mind - one that quickly caught and expanded, many things compounding into something larger until he knew what he needed to do. "Beyond your mentioning your head aching, I also see," he said, "that your worry sits heavily on you. My brotherhood looked after one another. If you will turn your back to me, I will see if I can ease your shoulders and neck, and perhaps soothe your headache in a way that will last beyond getting out of these waters."
It was an offer - one that he was welcome to say no to, but made all the same in good faith. It wouldn't be the first or last massage he'd given in a hot spring. Only the most recent.
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"Do I really look that tense all the time? Just a day ago, Zevran Aranai set up shop in the inn, handing out haircuts, and scolded me about it," he said, a rueful half grin pulling at his mouth as he reached his hand back to rub absently over the admittedly taut line of his neck, up over the now close-short hair at the back of his skull.
"I swear, I'm trying."
And for the second time in as many days, he didn't refuse the offer.