Until We Have Faces

[ninefox]

Krell had to pin him with the Force to get him on the altar, and not gently. The back of his head might be bleeding, but it's hard to tell: the antechamber already smells of iron. The whole station is a bristling-black hulk of ancient ore, nickel and iron and ice and stone. The lack of anything resembling alloys or right angles makes it feel horribly unreliable, not a machine guaranteed to keep the air in, but an ancient brooding piece of debris untouched by the steadiness of engineers. It did have an airlock, that Krell and a few shame-faced clone guards shuffled him through, and iced-over doors somewhere in the dimness of their crisscrossed headlamps that must lead back into the warren of Ninefox Point.

The benighted promontory did not orbit so much as a brown dwarf or black hole: it was a rogue planetoid, drifting through the ragged stretches of starless, lifeless space. Here, old Strife, the Dark Side of War, had been confined ever since the ascendancy of the Jedi, noble Combat, and the rest of the Light pantheon. But even reviled and relegated Gods were due certain honors, and retained certain powers - and certain appetites. And Krell - who had his own suspicions about the future of that ascendancy - had come to give Strife his due and be rid of his most vexing problem in one blow.

It's pitch-black with him and the others gone. The heavy magnetic manacles embedded in the alter are utterly immovable; the stone beneath him is pitted and rough and cold, almost untouched since the creation of the universe - except, of course, for all the sacrifices that have come before.

Comments

[callmefives]

Fives doesn't even move through the falling and climbing and general rearranging, though the little creature's warmth breaks the room's chill where it curls against him. At least it stays quiet... for a while.

"Chambers?" he asks roughly. He'd assumed that this was where he'd be left, that this miserable little stone room was to be the extent of his world until he manages to end himself.

[ninefox]

Marten seizes on this opening with enthusiasm.

"Yes! We did the light spectrum so it's perfectly suited for your eyes, and soft floors, except one bit that's bouncy, that one was my idea! And, and a bed, and chairs and things, Thief says you've got a skeleton that's good for chairs. And warmer than here! And games, if...if you like games. And a training place, because you're strong and all. And pretty colors on the walls, even some blue, even though the Lord doesn't really like blue."

[callmefives]

The idea that there could be light and warmth in this place, soft floors and luxuries like a bed and chairs is almost incomprehensible to him, and he doesn't want them anyway. And he wouldn't even know what to do with a game, or what one is, even if he were planning on settling in here. But-

"A training place?" he rasps, lifting his head a little.

[ninefox]

"Yes!" Marten hops down and scampers over to one of the doors limned in low yellow lights. "Come and see!"

It was actually one of the only places they barely changed at all; all of the sacrifices have been soldiers, after all, and most of them wanted something like it.

[callmefives]

Fives follows the little creature with his eyes, though he still doesn't move. If there have been quarters prepared for him, though, there's no point spending the next ten days dying of thirst here, and he probably won't be left to himself here anywhere, while he might be if he goes wherever he's meant to be.

"What's there?" he asks as he pushes to his feet, not letting any of the stiffness and pain show in the way he moves. The cloak slips the rest of the way off as he rises, and he ignores the boots and coat, though he does retrieve what's left of his blacks from where they've been tossed into a corner.

[ninefox]

"Put your hand on the door to open it," Marten tells him. "There, where the grooves are?"

It's close to hand-shaped, though not exactly - the actual image is a stylized one of the Ninefox's fanned tails.

[callmefives]

Fives lays his hand over the indicated panel. "The training place, what's in there?" he asks again. He wants to know if he can find anything he can use there.

[ninefox]

The eye-lights brighten, and the door just vanishes, opening on a corridor both eerie and beautiful. It still looks like stone, but instead of rough dark asteroid ore, it looks like the inside of a cave, with shining columns of white and iridescent stone, full of ancient curves worn smooth and cracks full of glinting crystals. Some of these are glowing: white and red and yellow. It's both warmer and brighter than the anteroom, and despite being technically smaller, proportion of the the high-ceilinged corridor makes it feel spacious.

"There's a target range, and an obstacle course, and an arena for running or dueling, and lots of climbing walls! Really steep ones! I like seeing how high I can get, except I'm not any good at the curled-over one. And there's weights and swords and big sticks - we fixed them to your hand size - and we can add in other things if you want!"

[callmefives]

That sounds promising. "Any vibroblades?" he asks. He's not trying to be subtle, he doesn't think the chattery little creature is likely to have any clue why he's interested.

[ninefox]

"The training weapons are all softlight, but we can adjust the specifications. How long is a vibroblade supposed to be?"

They've been isolated so long that the names of things change, sometimes.

[callmefives]

Fuck. That won't get him very far, but if there's any wood there he can make do with a splinter if it's solid enough. "They come in assorted lengths."

[ninefox]

There's a branch, and Marten takes the rightmost path; soon they come to a similar door to the one they came through. "It's all in there!"

[callmefives]

Fives lays his hand on the panel next to the door again, assuming it'll work like the first, then steps through the door when it fades away and looks around.

[ninefox]

It's still beautiful, and still a little eerie, but far more recognizable than what Fives has seen of Ninefox point so far. The light is bright, full-spectrum, shining from what look like salt lamps the approximate size of Fives' head dotting the high, arched ceiling. There's a sunken area of silvery sand lined with rans of softlight hilts and quarterstaves in a few different materials: collapsible light metal, specialty ceramic, hardwood, something with a sheen that Fives doesn't recognize. The climbing walls lean along one side of the area, the better to fall into the cushion of the sand, and there's a path around the edge of more packed dirt for running, that meanders off toward the obstacle course in the distance, which has almost the looking of a nature painting, sleek and stylized greens and browns like a forest that just happens to be in the shape of multiple elaborate physical challenges. The walls are similar, tiled in pretty, vivid mosaics that resemble landscapes, shifting from biome to biome.

[callmefives]

Fives heads straight for the weapons, running his hands admiringly over them; weapons have been too central to his life, too essential for his survival, for him to not appreciate them even now. What he's looking for, though, is any sign of something sharp enough to open his veins or pierce to his heart, or something that could be made sharp enough. If he doesn't find it with the weapons he'll do a circuit of the rest of the room, looking for anything he can use.

[ninefox]

All of the equipment is both sturdy and smooth-edged: it was clearly designed with rigorous safety standards. There is, however, an alcove with what looks to be a large, ornate glass water dispenser on top of a stone basin. Beautiful enameled lily-shaped cups sit on stone lily pads carved around the rim. It's full and cold, with condensation dripping down the sides.

[callmefives]

Fives touches his fingers carefully to it, trying to be sure it's actually glass... and resisting the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to fill one of the cups and drink. He's so thirsty, but that's not relevant.

He can't be completely sure, but it seems like glass, and he considers for only a moment more before tipping it onto the floor.

[ninefox]

It crashes tremendously, almost drowning out Marten's terrified squeaks as he bounces backwards from the rush of cold water and glass over the floor.

[callmefives]

Fives doesn't even rush, he just crouches smoothly down and reaches unerringly for one of the largest, sharpest shards of glass in the wreckage. He picks it up with a kind of automatic care that's ridiculous, given what he means to do with it, but doesn't so much as nick his fingers as he finds a good grip, turns it deftly, then drives it without hesitation for his jugular. His aim is true and he knows exactly how much force such a blow requires, he should bleed out in seconds from the wound.

[ninefox]

There's a slam of impact and silence, like being to close to a pressure grenade, although he isn't in pain.

When Fives blinks his eyes open, he's on his back on the floor, cold water seeping around him. A small, dark brindled fox is sitting on his chest; it feels like it weighs as much as a small spaceship. It's teeth are digging into Fives' wrist, which is completely numb. He has pins and needles ricocheting down his arm. He still has the piece of glass in his hand; his neck doesn't even sting.

Somewhere nearby, Marten is muttering, "Oh no, oh no, oh no," over and over.

[callmefives]

Fives stares up at the creature and then wrenches at his arm, trying to rip it out of the beast's mouth at the same time that he reaches up with the other hand to try and grab it by the scruff and toss it away. He doesn't care about the numbness or the pins and needles, he doesn't care that the beast feels infinitely heavier than it has any right to be, he just cares about his goal.

"Let me kriffing go," he snarls at it.

[ninefox]

It bites down harder; the tingling intensifies, and when the fox opens its mouth, Fives' arm falls away into the water, paralyzed to the shoulder. The hand that reaches into the fox's ruff feels like it's burning, and like it's trying to catch hold of a flame, like there's nothing there to grab at all. The fox puts one coal-black paw on that shoulder, and that arm falls uselessly as well.

It leans forward, so that they're almost nose to nose.

"You promised our Lord on his own altar that you would stop hurting yourself," the Fox murmurs in a low rumble. It's not quite the God's voice, but it resembles it a good deal more than Marten's continuing squeaks of dismay. "That promise will be enforced."

[callmefives]

Fives howls in rage as his arms fall useless, blood from where the glass cut deep into his palm spreading and mingling with the water on the ground. He doesn't even remember what the fox is referencing at first, he's exhausted and muddled and focused only on ending this.

"That's a load of osik," he snarls, trying to remember what he could possibly have said that would be taken that way. When he does remember a moment later it doesn't, as far as he's concerned, change anything. "I didn't promise a damn thing to the kriffing demagolka you serve."

[ninefox]

"You can lie to yourself about it all you like, but it won't convince anyone, and it won't get you out of it," the Fox tells him, sounding unimpressed.

Marten, meanwhile, has carefully made his way to Fives' bloody hand, and is carefully licking the cut. His tongue feels warm and good, a spot of gentleness among the cold numbness.

[callmefives]

"I'm not the one doing the lying," he snarls at it. "Just because I gave up then because there was no point doesn't mean I promised I'd give up forever."

He tries to roll over and toss it off him, indifferent to the dozens of glass splinters embedded in his back, or the still oozing wounds at his wrists and ankles. "And leave me the fuck alone!" he barks, turning to the little ferret. He doesn't want anything to feel good or gentle. He doesn't want anything of this place other than to not be here, by any means necessary.