Quicksilver -- Mana Khemia fanfiction (3006 words, spoilers)

Heavily inspired by the song of the same name by the Cruxshadows, which I thought would, if Mana Khemia had ended as it should have ended, make a great song for Vayne. Also possibly very strange. Or not. I don't know.

WRITTEN ON A PLANE YOU GUYS so I have no idea if it's good or not. Also, makes no sense unless you've seen the end of Mana Khemia, srsly. Obviously contains nuts spoilers.





Quicksilver
the future belongs to the brave

You are not wrong, you who believe
Your will defines your destiny
But if you act in selfish fear
The truth means nothing....

You are not wrong, if you perceive
The message veiled in mystery
But if we bury what we dream
We're left with what remains....

***


"So, this....

This is what I am."

Vayne stretched his limbs; near-imperceptibly, but Isolde could see him tense, then relax, like one awakened from sleep. It was as if he was stretching out his soul, teaching it again to fully occupy a body it had forgotten.

"This... is what you hoped to banish from this world."

She kept her eyes on him as she spoke, though unease flickered at her heart, serpent-tongued. "Now do you understand? The purpose of my actions... the reason I can't allow you...." She paused, watching his expression slowly morph; from that of the conflicted, wild-eyed boy who had stood there a moment ago, to something that now carried itself with unearthly repose and grace, its icy eyes calmly watching hers. Devoid of malice as it was, she still felt her gaze waver under that stare. "Knowing yourself, knowing this power... you must appreciate it. The extent of what you can do. Why you mustn't stay in this world."

"No, Isolde," said Vayne, with a lazy blink. It left, for a moment, a blurry film over his eyes. "I don't think I do."

Cold fear eclipsed her. Gods, save me.... It's too late.

"I do... have power." The words came slow and easy. "And now, I know so much more about myself. You're not wrong, when you say that. But when you say I must see what it means.... it seems that you're the one who doesn't understand me." He smiled softly, sadly; she could not tell if he was trying to dampen the impact of his words in prudence, or if he truly felt compassion.

"It's true, I was created by Theofratus' hand. My father...." She tensed at Vayne's recollection. "But from the same source from which all Mana come. That source of goodness and truth that, ultimately, drives alchemy. I mean no harm...."

"You might not mean it!" she hissed, drawing back. "But how can you know what you'll do? In the heat of the moment, in the midst of fear...."

"I'm not afraid, Isolde." He took a step towards her.

"Get back!"

"You're the one who's afraid." He moved with feline grace, sliding through the space between like oil on water; his form had not changed, not significantly, but she saw the new motions that worked under his skin. Light began to halo him, glittering off the tips of his hair. His features were softened through the aura.

"Stay back, or I'll pierce your heart!"

The smile never left his face. "You know you can't do that."

She saw no mockery in that smile, no human, vain defiance. He smiled because the simple calmness of truth cocooned him. It was as he'd said. He had no reason to fear.

She allowed, for the first time, her eyes to fall from his.

"So... this is how it ends," she said.

"Ends?"

"Theofratus' son-- his creation," she corrected herself. "To take my life, as you took his." Breathing in strength, she returned her gaze to him. "I can't win against you, but it won't keep me from fighting!"

She felt a hand touch against her shoulder. "Ah!"

"Why pick a fight you can't win?" There was sadness in his features, now. "I'm asking sincerely. I really want to know, Isolde-sensei." The slip back into the more deferent form of address reminded her of the old Vayne; the two mingled in his expression, not struggling for dominance but blending into one seamless entity. The two sides of himself were finding peace with each other. "Hey... can you hear me?"

Snapped back to reality, she tried to regain her train of thought. "...Because...!" Fire rose in her voice. "Because it's all I can do, any more! I won't let you simply destroy it all... I can't let you... but there's nothing...."

Vayne shook his head. "There's no need to disgrace yourself in front of me. I don't want that.... Let's just go back."

"No... if I just let you live, I'm already disgraced.... And his name...."

"Even if you could destroy me, then my father would never have a chance to prove himself. I want to live... in a way that proves to the world.... That he didn't do anything evil."

For a handful of moments, their own breathing was all that resounded in the still air around them, as the other's words settled on their minds. Vayne, his pale hand still resting on Isolde's shoulder, filled the chamber with the light of his presence: a fuzzy glow, white and pulsing, that caught upon dust motes and lit them up, for brief instants, with brilliant flares of colour.

"This place feels so old...." He took a ragged breath, not befitting his youthful form; it was as if he tasted the ancient nature of the air and allowed it to live within him. "I never noticed these things before.... Before I knew I was a Mana, I never cared that much about anything. I did whatever was asked of me without complaint, but I didn't know why. Now... that reason...." He swept a hand through the air, stirring up the little dust-glimmers, a childlike serenity crossing his face at the dancing display. "It doesn't really change anything, but at least I know I have a purpose. Now, I know why I act, why I feel these things.... And knowing that... knowing this power, feeling the whole world through it, echoing in my heart like lightning, like life.... I couldn't possibly...."

A tear streaked down his face, alive and shimmering in the light.

"I couldn't possibly do any harm to this world, knowing that. Do you understand?"

"How can you say such things...." Her own voice was thick with tears.

"I don't know...." He was crying, but not the way she was. Even through his sobs, she could hear the smile warm in his words. "I don't know, Isolde-sensei. You tell me. You're the teacher.... I don't really know anything. I just exist.... But... I want to help this world." He paused for a moment, a new thought arising in his mind. "Don't you?"

"...What? Of course...."

"Then why.... Alchemy can help this world. And you teach because you want to bring the world alchemy, right? But this isn't.... Destroying a Mana.... Running from the truth in fear.... Isn't it your wish that I should grow, to know this light, the way alchemy meant for us to? Have you forgotten what it means to pursue this?"

"...No, Vayne.... You're right. I used to believe... that alchemy's powers could.... But now, seeing all it has wrought...."

"Then why do you still teach?" His voice was flecked with genuine surprise.

She laughed, bitterly, through her tears. "Maybe I don't know. Maybe I don't know why I do or say such things. No... No, I suppose it's... because if students will learn this... it's my duty to make sure they don't use it for the things he used it for... to make sure they don't make mistakes. Such a dangerous power...." Another wry laugh escaped her. "How can I be the only one who sees it?"

"Maybe because it isn't true."

"Of course you'd say that."

"Look at me."

His words reached her ears, and she realised she'd been staring at the ground again, watching the ripples his light picked out in the movement of dust through the air. "It is an ancient place," she whispered. "You're right...."

"Don't turn away. Look at me...."

She looked up, her head as heavy as it had ever felt. It was a titanic effort to make herself regard his form, to meet his face, now, all those words echoing in her mind. Who knew what she might see there, what might turn itself upon her. Who knew....

His eyes caught hers, benevolent, placid. She could feel the wish-power that swelled and tumbled within him, but his expression betrayed nothing of the turmoil. It radiated. Light streamed out from him in waves that felt almost casual, thick tendrils of power that curled and undulated like a cat's tail; they spread from his back, from his arms, like long and flexible wings. She remembered him, suspended in light, lifting himself to the heavens by his own power. Those streams of light didn't look like they could bear a body aloft, but she was confident they bore his weight, when he willed it.

"Be brave, Isolde-sensei," he said, and the words seemed to come from everywhere around. "Look upon me with the eyes with which you saw your own Mana, when you pacted.... So long ago, now. So long ago, dear Isolde. But remember. Remember. We all remember...."

The walls around seemed to echo with them, the voices of a choir. And for a single moment, her fear dissolved, and the world resolved before her senses, crystal-clear.

"You're...." She swallowed. Why say it? But it was the only thing left to say. Everything she'd fought for felt so hollow in this light, and now the only words left.... "You're beautiful, Vayne."

"Mm." It wasn't an arrogant agreement; merely an acknowledgement of truth.

"...So what now?" Her eyes stung with tears again, partly from holding them open; there was nothing to do but stare at him.

Vayne gave a little mental shrug, and somehow she felt it, rippling through the light around. "I don't know. What did you want to do? ...I meant that seriously, by the way. I'm not really good at knowing what to do, when people don't tell me." He rubbed the back of his head, the first truly human gesture she'd seen from him in a while, and she barked out a laugh.

"Heh. Never change."

"I already have," he said, simply, sadly. Sorrow for her, not for himself.

"...I don't know either. I don't know what to do now. I just...." The room around her thrummed like a heartbeat, alive with power. "...I just wish that... you would... that you could...."

Vayne hmmmed, a sing-song tone that echoed his beatific smile. "That I would what? Go away? Not exist?" It was a playful taunting, a joke he hoped to share with her, a joyous dismissal of old fears. Her wish already resounded in his heart; intoxicated on his newfound powers, he couldn't help but feel it.

...that someone would understand me....

His senses bathed in the fire of her request, eyes narrowed to catlike slits, he let his hand fall to cover her heart. Even through her robe, it felt like a molten brand.

"Of course.... Anything you wish."

If she'd ever considered, idly, before, what it would be like to have her thoughts and feelings read, she would have thought it would have felt like something. It didn't, really. It was him doing the feeling, not her; she simply watched the emotions flicker over his face, his expression shifting like quicksilver. That one person could contain such multitudes... but then, she remembered, she contained them too. Just never all at once, like that... and now, the same things that she contained, he did too....

---

Sulpher.... Is it okay?

Meow.... (I don't see why not.)

But you're my-- I mean, I'm your Mana... I never want to leave you.

Meow. (You'll always be my Mana. We can all stay together.)

If it really works like that....

Myaaan. (You can wish for it to be however you want, remember? ...I don't mind, in any case. She did save my life.)

---

Sulpher and Vayne, talking in her mind...? The words came to her only blurrily, a watery echo she had to struggle to make out. And the more she fought to understand, the more it did feel like something. Like descending into the darkness. Where was Vayne? The world was so... the light so faint....

Isolde?

Vayne? What is it? Not now....

Isolde, hold on....

***


Stark whiteness filled her hazy vision. Not the pleasant, numbing glow of Mana-light, this, but an all-too-familiar banal huelessness. The infirmary.... Ugh, no. How did I get here? Vayne. Vayne was.... Damn, did he trick me...?

The thought flickered across her mind, but made no impact, like an old memory; a sudden flash of pain, followed by the ease of knowing that truth was in the past. Her heart felt calm, all her surface thoughts refusing to stir its placid surface. Buoyed on the recognition of that, she kept herself from sitting bolt upright and scanning her surroundings, and simply let herself lie, feeling out her body for injuries and the wider room for presences with a detached curiosity.

She didn't seem hurt, and the sounds and sentiments of the infirmary were much as they ever were. Melanie was behind the curtain, preparing some horrible concoction no doubt that would harm more than it healed. I'm not even sick. Gods only know if I can convince her of that, though.... And closer, another presence... no, two... no, one... or was it just her imagination? She blinked to clear her vision, and surveyed the room with her eyes.

"Meow."

Ice-blue eyes met hers, framed by a shock of silver-white hair. Two over-large feline ears protruded from it, white feathery fur spilling out from the openings. She had to admit it looked quite grand.

She wasn't about to say that, though.

"I didn't know you possessed a sense of humour. And what's with all that? You look like Nikki."

"Ahaha, you don't like it?" Vayne rubbed a clawed hand through his hair. "I can change it...."

Isolde waved her hand dismissively, though internally she was blushing at the show of deference. "Don't bother. ...I am fond of cats, anyway."

A smaller black form hopped up onto the bed. "Always reassuring to hear," Sulpher mewed.

"...And I'm going to regret saying that, having two of them talking in my head."

"You're happy, though, right, Isolde-sensei?" said Vayne.

"Sensei...." she mused. "Is it really fitting for you to be calling me that any more, I wonder...."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. As for happy... it's been a long time since I ever was. I really don't know."

"...Oh."

"But I do feel... hn. It's been a long time since I felt this way, too. Maybe not since my first Mana.... The burden I carried inside... does feel lighter, somewhat."

"That's good...." Vayne smiled and took a place next to Sulpher, curling up into an effortless ball that looked like it should have been uncomfortable with still mostly-humanoid limbs.

"And maybe, with time, with this bond.... Maybe what you did will stop mattering so much to me. I don't want to promise anything, you understand. But if you're to be my Mana, it wouldn't make sense for me to... and I really don't...." She reached a hand out to absently scratch at his ear. "I think... that now... it's impossible for me to truly hate you, Vayne."

"...A happy ending, then?" offered Sulpher.

Vayne laughed nervously. "...Well, if we can get out of this place without Melanie trying to pour some weird gunk into us...."

Isolde rolled her eyes. "...My thoughts exactly."

"And goodness knows what I'm supposed to say to my workshopmates...."

"Yes, it's a good thing we're graduating," said Sulpher. "Although I suppose we won't be leaving the school now. Not that I mind... I rather like this place."

Vayne nodded. "I go where you and she go. Just don't go in two different directions. ...Ah, but! Speaking of graduation!"

"What about it?" Sulpher asked.

"Well, if I'm the Mana, and Sulpher's the pacted.... Shouldn't he technically be the one who graduates?"

"That's assuming I let you graduate," said Isolde.

"W-wait, what? But what did I...."

"You did put me in the infirmary."

"I wasn't responsible," said Sulpher. "I insist on getting my degree."

Isolde laughed lightly. "You two are good humour," she said. "But, Vayne, in all seriousness.... I do believe that if anyone deserves to graduate, it's you. You embraced the transcendence that alchemy is made for, and I.... Even I had let that knowledge become clouded, in my own fear. You showed me something I needed to remember, and... well.... Well done."

"Thank you, sensei," Vayne said, ducking his head a little.

"Please. There's no need to call me that now."

"She really can't make up her mind, can she?" said Sulpher.

***


And the strange laughter of one cat, one human, and something both yet neither echoed through the building, until Vayne's friends were eventually drawn; and there was much to explain, and even after all was said, and the jokes had been made, Vayne felt like he'd never hear the end of it.

Except he would, in short order. They were all graduating, and he was staying here, or leaving; whatever Isolde chose. It was an unspoken understanding: he and Sulpher didn't have plans, after all, and Sulpher had always gone wherever Vayne had gone. He'd never really had any direction in life, never known where he was going or what he was doing. But as a Mana, he felt content not going much of anywhere of his own accord.

Being with his pact-mates, helping their wishes come true....

That seemed like a peaceful kind of life, to him.

So that was the way it would be.

***


Theofratus.... I had truly underestimated you.

I still don't know why you longed for death. Alchemy is transcendence... I'm remembering that again, now. But was there really nothing more you could have done with your time and knowledge? Was that really the best way to leave this world, in desperation and in fear, rather than on the wings of eagles? If only you'd stayed with Vayne.... If only that hadn't been your first wish.... Maybe you'd have found the peace I'm beginning to see.

I don't know why you left. But the gift you left behind.... Through him, your son, your creation, I'm learning that your leaving wasn't the end of my life. And if you really did have to go, I'm thankful that you still gave me that.

I wish we could have been a family. But in your absence, I'll be all I can for him.

And if there is anything left of your heart that cares... know that he is everything, to me.

I must move on with my life. I'll commit this letter to the fire, and hope it is the last time I dwell on this sorrow. Rising on the updrafts, like the flames that burned your body, I'll wish that it reaches you.

With love,
Isolde.

Why Atelier Iris 3 is actually a very alchemical story.

[Huge swathes of spoilers for the end(s) of AI3.]



In a sense, though it's not immediately apparent from the superficial story, Atelier Iris 3 could be said to be a game about how alchemy is disrespected and ignored in the world, and how it comes to be respected again.

The first statement is implicit in the plot; the second is not. But if we recognise that, after Iris's sacrifice, people are going to put together "Iris was an alchemist, and we disparaged her for it" and "Iris was the only one of us who could make things right" and realise that, at the very least, alchemists are people who are capable of turning away fundamental negative forces and tendencies that threaten to destroy us as intelligent beings-- as opposed to being people who do strange and disreputable things, who adhere to philosophies and practices that are outmoded or even dangerous, who generally have nothing to offer the world and may even do harm to it-- it becomes obvious how, by the end of the story, the opinions of the townspeople of Zey Meruze regarding alchemy might change.

Uroboros' physical manifestation, in this sense, could be taken as a symptom rather than a cause. "Uroboros" is really no more and no less than "the stagnation of the people's development". People in Zey Meruze have let themselves abandon ways of life that helped and advanced people, out of fear, apathy and inertia ("our lives are fine as they are! Why do we need this weird alchemy stuff causing upheavals?"). They've come to prefer to live mundane lives that don't ask anything much of them on a spiritual and philosophical front: alchemy, and by this I mean the discipline that we know as alchemy in this world, challenges the soul and the psyche and asks the practitioner to refine themselves, which forces them in the short term to go through transformations and confront realisations that might be uncomfortable in order to ultimately become better people. When people see short-term suffering and struggle, and the benefits lie beyond that, in the future, they tend to shy away. Their lives are chugging along well enough. Why put yourself through suffering to be even better? Aren't things okay now?

But that tendency to settle for "okayness", ultimately, creates more suffering in the world; because as long as things are just "okay", they aren't good, they aren't perfect, they aren't refined, and we experience suffering. Accepting "okayness" means accepting a certain level of suffering, and not wanting to move beyond okayness implies that we will never move beyond suffering. The only way to permanently move beyond suffering, spiritually speaking, is to advance ourselves to the point of transcendence-- which requires some short-term sacrifices which at the time feel more acutely uncomfortable, yet are preferable because they are temporary.

The tendency to settle for "okayness", to let the cycle of life go around and around without moving forward, is synonymous with Uroboros: the snake eating its own tail, the wheel of life and death and reincarnation that Buddhist practice exhorts that we move beyond. And so the people of Zey Meruze, in their denial of alchemy, their denial of spiritual striving and insistence upon living simple, unchallenging lives, are in a sense Uroboros.

Uroboros appears physically so that it can be defeated, because the world has come to such a crisis point. When Iris defeats Uroboros in the physical, she also defeats Uroboros in people's hearts. Her actions-- the fact of an alchemist, whose ways they disdained, saving the world through her wisdom and selflessness, which they doubted she possessed-- inspire them to the understanding that alchemy isn't a mindless practice but is in fact the only thing that can save them from Uroboros/stagnation.

And here's the interesting part, and the part that is really very alchemical: she had to defeat the physical Uroboros to inspire the philosophical change in people's hearts, but she cannot truly defeat Uroboros until she has inspired that change, because if the change is not present in people's hearts, then all you've done is defeat some superficial manifestation that wasn't really causing the problem. It's the classical end-boss quote from many RPGs: "as long as darkness remains in people's hearts, I will return someday". What's little-understood is that it's also an alchemical truth. In alchemy, you change physical materials in order to change the spiritual self, but it's spiritual growth and purity of the self that allows you to be subtle enough to effect the physical change. Thus they really occur simultaneously. In changing one you change the other.

So I like to think of Atelier Iris 3 as being set, at the beginning, in a world where alchemy is in decline, and through that decline, Uroboros becomes strong, and a hero-- someone with courage, power and wisdom, though on more refined and spiritual levels than most RPG heroes usually have it-- rises up to physically defeat Uroboros, in doing so showing the people the value of alchemy and truly putting Uroboros to rest.

What's nice about this interpretation, too, is that it provides the necessary characteristic of growth to the story-- in a classical story, a conflict arises, it is resolved, and by its resolution things are made not just as good as they were before but better. Without this interpretation, AI3 lacks the "better"-- the danger is averted, but things just go back to the way they were. If we say that people learnt something about alchemy from this, there's growth; the conflict was worthwhile not just because it restored things to a status quo but because something was gained, and that makes the story really feel fulfilling.

And best of all, that is also in accordance with the rules of alchemy: a trial, a suffering, is undergone, something is deconstructed, in order to bring that thing into a more refined state than before, to purify it, to get rid of something unnecessary through the struggle. Fairy tales are good alchemical metaphors, and I think, viewed in the proper light, Atelier Iris 3 actually makes a pretty good fairy tale. Is it original? Not especially-- most fairy tales aren't. But it tells a story people need to hear, and what's nice about it is that it specifically associates this story with alchemy, which allows a careful viewer to draw out more meaning and truth from it than they otherwise would.

The One Who Called Himself The Morning Star -- Atelier Iris 3 fanfiction (1,369 words, spoilers)

A ficbit that I've been wanting to get down for a while. It's not as coherent as I'd like it to be; it's basically just some drifting snapshots of a train of thought.

---




Blades.

Blades of light-- no, metal, but reflecting the light, like steel talons polished until they blazed under the sun, blazed with a light that seemed almost to surge forth from within. The wings of a warrior angel, each one honed to the truest edge, rainbow light coruscating off the tiny imperfections in the surface: the scores and scratches where other blades had scraped along the metal's finer surface, where acid blood had tarnished the otherwise flawless finish. An impeccable figure of glory, yet carrying a subtler message to her eyes and mind: there is beauty to be found in weakness, behind blemishes and downfalls, in those things which we would otherwise cast aside.

You're right, Iris thought. There isbeauty in weakness. In things not fitting the pattern, and going their own way....

But Fanatos, you are not the only Mana.... Your ways are not the only ways.... And there are some patterns... that were never meant to be distorted.

Even you must feel that, now, joined like this....

She watched the motions of the brilliant armour, guided by Edge, the human who now wore its form. The last few times they'd fought, she'd barely been able to stop staring at it; it seemed to hold a puzzle for her, a visual illusion that set her perception on edge, trying to unravel it, trying to make the parts make sense. What part of this picture doesn't belong? The disparity, the conflict, was giving her motion sickness, but her eyes couldn't stop being drawn.

With time, her watching had paid off, the pieces falling into place. It wasn't Fanatos, the dark Mana, who was in some way incomplete; even if humans had dubbed her "the Mana of Evil", there was nothing in this picture that was truly cruel. She reflected that which people did not normally desire, fallings, failings, the tribulations of life; but only because even suffering could know beauty, even the darkest things could retain some component of grace. She was that flicker of grace in all evil things, the light of wonder within all that seemed hopeless.

In the few battles they'd fought together, she'd become certain that, as with any Mana, she could not dislike Fanatos. Indeed, she'd learnt a lot from just studying the shining creature. Even without words, there was a certain communication that went on between an alchemist and her pact-bonded.

She only wished the Mana could have that communication with Edge. That either of them could.

The armour of Fanatos dwarfed him, and within it, his hard, brutal motions seemed ill-fitting to the grace of the great angelic construct. It was like watching a play put on by untrained actors, who thundered and blustered through lines that deserved to be carefully weighted, even-handed. She wasn't much of a critic, but she knew when the actors were getting it right, because she'd forget they were acting and just lose herself in the story's ebbs and flows. But the sight of Edge, encased within Fanatos' mighty wings, kept jarring her, drawing her attention to the flaws in the pattern.

And each time, like a reader woken from the thrall of a story, she found herself feeling, suddenly, very alone.

~~~

They talked about it in her workshop-- not her house, really, more a workshop with a bed, the trappings and trimmings of alchemical labours spilling out into every available nook of the space. She liked it that way, a living space that felt like it was honoured by her craft. Edge thought she should clean up more often.

"So... what's it like, Edge, using the Blades?"

He looked up at her from his sword polishing, his hair frazzled and smelling of ozone and ash, damp sootish strands hanging over his eyes. He looked at ease, here, within the aftermath of battle, more at ease than he had out there dancing with the Mana. Iris didn't know quite what she thought of that. "It seems like it's working so far, I guess. I mean, we're getting through our quests a lot more quickly now." His eyes flickered up to hers, taking in her seeking gaze, seeming to grind over in his mind, for a moment, what she might be asking. "...Thanks. I wouldn't be able to do that if it weren't for you."

"No, that's not what I meant. Getting to join with something like that, I.... Doesn't it feel different? To what you're used to?"

"Yeah, I guess, now that you mention it." He gave the blade of his weapon a pass with the whetstone, the harsh ringing noise seeming to punctuate his words. "It does feel different." Another stroke, another metallic hum. "I'm stronger. Lighter. There's more I can do. Iris, why are you staring at me?"

"Stronger...." She turned the word over on her tongue, not sure what she expected to find. It felt hollow. "But doesn't it... mean anything to you?"

"Mean anything? Should it mean something?" His words rung with the cold scraping of stone on metal.

Yes, she thought, it should mean something, but I can't explain what. There are so many things that mean so much, but I can't begin to have the words for you. Your ears only hear the ringing of that sword... I'm not strong enough to drown it out.

She touched her hand to her chest, unconsciously, the energy fields around her fingers mingling with the tight, tangled knot that clenched at her lifeforce. Do you know what it means to speak with the Mana? she asked of its creator. Do you know what it is to live the way I do, to make alchemy your blood and breath? Do you understand the art you claim to know? Do you?

Does anyone, any more? Anyone but me?

She knew that even if she got an answer, it wouldn't be one she could trust. But for a simple "yes", she thought, she would run a thousand miles across the land, into the maw of her own grave.

~~~

She didn't ask Edge to leave the workshop, that night, but her silence eventually drove him out; knowing, perhaps, that she longed for things he could not be and could not even know. She watched him for a time through her window: a silhouette sitting on the steps, his back to her house, the moonlight glinting dully off his sword. Like he was a wraith, half-real, only the sword alive.

She turned over in her bed, letting the more comforting scene of soft candlelight reflecting off wooden furnishings drive out the spectral images. Had they really grown so far apart that these were the thoughts that filled her mind, now, when she thought of him? A ghost of a person, unable to see the truth she lived? It wasn't that she hated Edge; she didn't hate anyone, not even the man who had cursed her to die-- especially not-- not if--, she started to think, and pushed the thoughts out before they could form-- and he'd done so much for her, been there for her through so many hard times. She was just... disappointed, she supposed, that he hadn't grown along the same path as she, hadn't even found a vantage point from which he could understand anything that made her live.

Anything she'd live for.

Anything she'd die for.

She took one of the books from her bedside stand. Thick with allegory and metaphor, with universal truths gilt in ancient symbolism, it took her on a ride from life through death, and beyond-- against a backdrop of falling angels and morning stars, rapture and redemption, the preciousness of transformation. Her head spun with the heaviness of it, and how it made her think, all at once, of her own fragile position with regards to life, and the burnished, flame-ringed outline of Fanatos's armour cloak, and the shadow-image of one who could wear it and honour it-- an eyeblink's image, one she would not let herself hold onto, replaced with formless what-ifs and a hollow sense of longing.

With the tome as her pillow, she drifted into sleep, and there dreamt of a rising star that eclipsed her very soul, and burnt all her life away.

A Prayer for Peace(?)

Presented without comment.

What makes me stranger doesn't kill me.

A little less of a fannish post, today, and a little more of a post on life in general.

So, as some of you may know, I keep up with the awesome Slacktivist blog. I'm solely a lurker, but I've learnt a lot from the discussions that pan out in that blog-- not just on religious fundamentalism, which is the main topic of its popular Left Behind Friday posts, but on everything from Norse gods to werewolf myths to the politics of job loss in the newspaper industry. It's a fascinating forum full of thoughtful minds, and even when I don't agree with them, I feel my understanding of the situation broadened by seeing people hash it out, and gain a better appreciation for both sides. Oh, and it's often pretty funny, too.

But I'm going to have to stop reading for a few days, because the current thread is bugging me too much. It's nothing big or drastic: just an ongoing discussion, which is dragging out way too long for my comfort, in which a lot of the stereotypes about obsessed fans/nerds/"otaku" are being used to justify derision and mockery towards people who lean towards the geekier side of the social spectrum.

The thing that's grating on me, though, isn't the usual bugbear that people have with this kind of rhetoric: "well, my friends and I aren't like that, so stop tarring us with the same brush as all those losers who can't hack the real world". That's the main party line that the geek side of the argument is turning out here, and I don't disagree with it entirely. Not all geeks are people who have problems handling the mundane world, and it's terribly unfair that the media and society invariably paints all geeks in the worst possible light, even if some are like that.

But my problem with the issue is that I've had friends on the end of the spectrum that most frequently gets ripped apart in these discussions, even by other geeks. People who didn't quite know when to stop talking about their comic book collection, even past the point when people seemed to be bored. People who couldn't face a 9-5 job, or social interaction, because they simply broke down every time they tried. People who would happily have become hikikomori if only they could. People who turned up to conventions smelling kind of bad.

And yes, some of the people who fall into these categories are obnoxious, destructive, abusive.

But some of the people who just aren't that good at mundane life are also some of the most compassionate, gentle, thoughtful, philosophical and interesting people I've known.

And some of the people who live perfectly mundane, normal lives are obnoxious, destructive and abusive, moreso than the weirdest geeks and nerds I've ever known.

The person who was being down on the "loser geeks" the most self-identifies as a "bitch". Quite frankly, when it comes down to it, I'd much rather talk to someone who identifies as an elf than someone who identifies as a bitch. Calling yourself an elf, unlike calling yourself a bitch, isn't a declaration that you're inherently hostile and vicious towards all other intelligent beings.

I guess it basically makes me sad to read discussions like that because when people say "it's okay to mock and attack loser geeks", they're saying "it's okay to make the lives of some pretty nice, thoughtful, intelligent people miserable just because you think you're better than them". And I know some people do think that. It just makes me sad, that's all. And I know some people will laugh at the fact that it makes me sad. To some people, the only acceptable response is to deride these people; any attempt at compassion is a laughable weakness. I don't mind, at least not when they think it of me. But I still reserve the right to say it.

turn, turn, turn -- and a time for every purpose under heaven

So I really haven't posted in here in forever. I guess I may as well say a few things about why.

I still love Ar Tonelico. Very much. I'm eagerly anticipating the third instalment in the series. But I guess, maybe, I haven't had anything new to say about it for a while. The more I see of AT2's Luca, the more I realise she is not my Luca, not the Luca I inexplicably became attached to in the first few hours of the game, before the scene in the prison. At some very early point in the game, my brain decided that Luca was a certain type of person, and it wouldn't let go. The cognitive dissonance hurt, but I've learnt to accept that the Luca I know and the game's Luca just aren't the same individual, or even really related. And so, though I'm curious about Luca's path in AT2, I know I'm never going to get attached to the person that path explores. The Luca-shaped hole in my heart, to paraphrase a Christian saying, has been filled by another.

I'm still annoyed by the far too frequent, far too glib use of the word "human" in NISA games in the company of, and even directly describing, non-human sentient species. I'm still annoyed by Croix and how he'll brush off Luca's descriptions of magic and intensity with "I don't get it..." yet still think he's suitable for a 400-year-old cranky Beta who's spent most of her life as formless data, who can destroy walls with a flick of her finger, who lives and breathes and feels magic more than she feels the physical world. I'm still annoyed that the game puts them together, too, and prefer to believe that Croix's own strong feelings for Jakuri warped a Cosmosphere in which she only wished to tell someone the story of what Harmonious meant to her.

I'm branching out a little, too. I'm playing Atelier Iris 3, and so far it's very enjoyable-- I'm loving the quest-centric format, and the way it provides challenges that aren't wholly combat-based. I'm really wanting Cross Edge, but I don't want to buy a PS3. I'm considering it's probably inevitable if AT3 happens to be on it.

I still think up ideas for short stories, flashes of imagery. I consider writing fanfics about what would happen if Jakuri killed Croix, or about the surges of unexpected, uncontrolled emotion that come with harmonising, how a calm and peaceful mood can be ramped up to bright and brilliant surges of feeling in a matter of moments. I still imagine the sparks going off behind the eyes of someone so entranced. I still imagine. I still live.

Mir is still my favourite canonical Reyvateil, and probably always will be. I still love her story, and I hope it gets the conclusion it deserves. I'll be cheering for that as hard as anyone, if not moreso.

I believe that monsters are small lives, that time is eternal, that hopes and dreams and fantasies are worth pursuing for as long as your heart still beats, and beyond. I believe in living like a Narnian, even if Narnia doesn't exist. I believe in many things, and I like believing. If you think you're too old to believe, or I'm too old to believe, I believe you should probably wake yourself up before you die completely inside.

My life is full of believers, and I like that.

I haven't been writing. And I haven't been reading, really, all of your blogs. I forget, when I'm not logged in here. But I have been living, and dreaming, and thinking of you all.

I pray that you all keep living and dreaming too.

monsters are small lives

I haven't posted in here in forever, I know. But I felt like sharing this one, undoubtedly never-screenshotted-before line of dialogue with a wider audience. If it turns up even once on a Google search, perhaps it'll make people think twice. It's something RPGs rarely think of, and while AT2 isn't exactly the best at not making monsters out of its monsters, it was nice at least to see this snippet of text in there.