Red and Blue

-== New Scene: Escaping New Haven - The Passageway ==--
The innocent town above them slowly succumbs to Reth’s power, and within its silent streets lay the bodies of many. The surviving townsfolk filter in through the small secret door in the kitchen of the Old Lantern, and behind them, the revolution party and their comrades scramble their way through and down the ladder as the short Tiefling woman trails behind, reaching up with her free hand to grab the handle of the hatch and slam it closed behind her.
There is a moment of complete darkness as her eyes adjust to the change of light down the ladder and into the long underground passage that takes the refugees to the Targarius Manor. The passageway echoes with the soft wailing of people as the realization that their loved ones are missing and will never return.
Syn lingers at the top of the ladder for a moment, eyes looking down to the soft flicker of light that begins the start of the passageway, and listens to those wails for just a small amount of time. It is a reminder that the world is cruel and unfair and that higher powers have no regard for those that exist here on Arhor’ha. It is a reminder that the creature that ravaged the town is the same creature that has given her the ability to be a Breaker. Her eyes narrow, and a sharp, frustrated breath is exhaled. She carefully begins the climb down from the ladder, finding her feet touching against the stone.
--- She turns to see the long stone passageway and the faces of her party; behind them are the survivors of New Haven scurrying far along to find safety and hope at the end. “A shit show.” She says with another sharp exhale. Adrenaline has begun to disperse, and the wounds begin to make their presence known. “We did the best we could getting these people to safety, but…”
Those blood-red iris’ of hers flicker against the lighted passageway and fixate on the Devil behind the party. “You….” She stumbles forward with the rage of Reth still coursing through her veins. She brushes between the others to approach Gig, reaching out to grab him by the collar of his shirt and slamming him into the wall of the passageway. “You knew Reth was heading this way the entire time, and you said nothing.” The corners of her mouth curl into a snarl. “Reth is after you, and you failed to make that known to anyone here. You brought this on the party just so you can bask in your own bullshit games!” Her hand around the collar of his shirt holds tighter till her knuckles turn white and her fist of fabric shakes with anger. “This world is a gigantic cluster fuck of people like you using people like us for whatever grand plan you have in that fucked up head of yours. You’ve provided us with absolutely nothing to go off and instead led that fucker straight here and for what!?” Her free hand drops Wraeth. It falls and hits the stone with a clank as her hand rises to grab the other side of his shirt collar. “What. Are. You. Doing!?” Her hands shake him. “Tell me what you are doing!” As Syn shouts into the face of the Devil, behind her red eyes are that of panic and confusion in both Arhor’ha crumbling apart, her world crumbling apart, and whatever sick, foolhardy trust she had placed in Gig.
"Hahaha!" cackles Gig as he is handled so aggressively by the spitfire tiefling. His eyes of burning coals against blank ink appear more alive than ever. They appear more than amused. Someone told him a killing joke.
The laughter dances along the cavern. It echoes.
The devil's lips settle into a smile. Demands. "Syn," he reaches out with clawed hand to brush aside a stray tuft of raven dark hair, "Didn't you know Reth was coming here the whole time? What with the blood in your veins boiling as hot is it now. Couldn't Captios deduce that the first place Reth would visit is this town? It is so close and there are so many deliciously breakable mortals living here. Mortals you never informed, either." The very mention of being livestock causes the villagers to give Syn and Gig a wide berth if they didn't already.
"Last I checked, I was not your barking guard dog," Gig continues as he brings up his other hand and neatly starts grooming the angry Breaker. Hair needs to be tucked back. Yes. Like that. Lets fix that hair tie. Excellent. "Or barking guard devil. Woof!" he borks an audible in triplicate.
A pat is given to her head. All done. "Our world is ending, Syn Thatcher. You already know what I'm doing, I'm watching it burn with some of my favorite mortals. I'd let my own city burn to ash just to watch what you do next." In fact, he already has.
Just seeing that shit-eating grin was enough for Syn to imagine ripping out every single tooth from that mouth of his, but she is no dentist today; instead, an extremely angry Tiefling speaking her mind. His response was enough for her to blink and think over his words, a moment where her grip of fabric around his neck loosens. Another blink and a shove back into the wall. “You’re telling me this was a coincidence!? Fuck off, Gig. We both know that’s a lie. What did you want me to do? Parade into New Haven exclaiming the party has two Breakers and a literal Devil with them? Should we go on a pilgrimage to every city across Arhor’ha, warning them of Reth and the end of the world? We informed the people when we realized what the hell was happening! ”
She shouts out the words in frustration. Yelling felt nice. A wall that could not care less about what’s shouted at it. A wall that doesn’t crumble, or a wall that leaves. Instead, a wall that just laughs back in her face.
Syn tilts her head to the side to avoid his head pat but fails to do so. Pat, Pat. Death glare.
“You didn’t have to follow the party, but here you are. I’ve been thinking over and over as to why that is. You say you want to watch the world burn, but that’s exactly what we are trying to stop. Not because every person here is a saint, but because those seated with higher power don't have the right to use us as puppets and then get pissed off when the outcome isn't what they wanted. Granted, a ridiculous idea, but it’s an idea, and as long as that one single thread stays together, we are going to try. Are you so caught up in your righteous self that you fail to realize that you will not have anything left here if the entire world burns? What are you going to do? Where would you go, Gig? Go back to Avernus to work through the ranks like a little bitch?”
She stares into the burning ember eyes of the Devil, leaning forward to whisper to him behind gritted teeth. “No, that doesn’t seem like you.”
Thump. The wall behind Gig connects like a pillar of obsidian crashing against dirt and stone. It enough to cause a dusting of the dry dirt to fall from the ceiling. "You seem to know me so well, Syn Thatcher. If so, why have so many questions?" he whispers back as his eyes crackle like the fires of hell set in an empty space. A pair of solitary stars burning in the Abyss look back to Syn.
"Is it your tower of truth is built upon lies, as well? The foundation may be sand. Bricks may be false. All you know for sure is that you don't like how that tower stands. It wobbles against the wind. Why is that? Why does it draw you in so? Why are you drawn to judge it?" Its that word 'judgement' that holds a fire beyond whispers.
It is that bright grin again. Alive and insane. "Is there a standard to which all towers must be beholden to? That it can reach a point where the tower must be rebuilt anew. Why, hellcat, I didn't know you could be such a little angel." It is not a term of endearment. The salt of the injury is added on as he runs a line with his index finger above Syn's head and it creates a halo. --- "No?" muses the Devil, "How about 'why a tower at all'? It is not part of Duodecim Code thirty five. Remove the tower! Why then you'd think all of Arhor'ha is a big mistake. One big cancer from the sky that is waiting for the immune system of Aber-Toril to wipe it out." A click of his tongue is set against his cheek.
Both of Gig's large hands come to cup Syn's face. The thumbs curl around her horns as he locks eyes. Locked in to this topic. "Would you exert your power over others like a dragon, then? Apply the limits of your ability to tell them how to live?" his grin is catastrophically wild now, "Pillage anything you can take with your hands and burn what you can't?" The pressure is tight now where he is held. The temperature in the tunnel rises degree by degree. "What does that say about these righteous creatures when all they want to do is reshape mortals in their idea of what the tower should look like. You know the answer, Syn, you don't need me to say it. None of you need me, or them, to do anything. That is what I love about mortalkind, a beautiful, nonsensical tower that is perfect just the way it is. A world without this has no meaning. I'd sooner burn alongside my silly mortals than persist in a world without them."
Her eyebrows curl downward with a frustrated expression by the abyss that she sees before her. "I only know of the things I've seen from you and how you act in front of me and around the party. You are like a puzzle when the last piece is missing. That frustration of spending all that time trying to figure it out but knowing you never will because that piece is lost to the void. Though you could make a new piece, a fake piece, so that the person putting the puzzle together ends up thinking it's complete, but it's not the same, is it? So I suppose that last piece is where my questions always end up, and I suppose that's why you'd never openly share the answers, and I get pissed off. "
More cries are heard further down the passageway; they echo across the stone walls and ring through everyone's ears as a woman stumbles to the ground sobbing. Her head turns, and she watches a group of villagers shroud the woman in comfort before her eyes shift back to the Devil as he traces a halo above her head. "I am no angel, Gig. I have no standard for Arhor'ha and its existence."
--- His hands curl up around her face, and her red eyes widen. Two pairs of hellish eyes lock onto one another. "A Mistake? Maybe. I've seen first hand the horrors of this continent, but I've also seen the horrors of the others. If exerting my power meant keeping at bay dragons, celestials, or infernal? Sure. I'm fighting for my tower, and the truth of it is," Her hands reach up and grab the backs of his hands as his grip presses harder around her face. "We are all a bunch of hypocrites." The temperature inside the passageway rises and, for a moment, reminds her of the heat in Avernus. Through the warm hands, she hisses out, "I want to see a realm where towers rise and fall from the hands of those that made them, not from others that don't like the way the tower is leaning. But that is not an option anymore. Lines have been drawn. Which is why I am playing word games with you trying to find some answers as to why we are shoved into this fucking passageway trying to escape Reth."
"What answers would you possibly want from me," Gig replies with a set of eyes that could cut through souls. A smile that could light fires gone cold. "Why you are in this tunnel?" he inquires as his grip remains as tight as reins. It is as splitting as the questions that remain unanswered. It establishes a devilishly sense of balance between mental anguish and physical. "Because you chose to go in this tunnel, Syn Thatcher. That's not your question, is it? Why were you in a situation that made you choose to be in this tunnel instead of fight, run above ground, or take up a brief profession as a farmer? Quite a question, isn't it? Because someone else made a decision that colored your decision. And another and another. An aurora of fire rippling through the weave of thought and action. And the fire burns against the wall. The rivers bleed along their path to the sea of stars."
The Devil releases his grip on Syn. His face returns to a neutral expression. Business amongst the insanity. "If you saw it all, you'd go insane," he offers a brief eHee laugh. "And what would you do if you knew? Good men would try to change course, no? Then you'd be no different than the Outsiders removing the bricks of another's tower. These are not the questions you want to know answers to. No, not really. Your question is far simpler. Far more selfish. Authentic."
Coalfire eyes flick to the others in the tunnel. The fearful walk in dozens through the tunnel. Allies make themselves amongst them in this sea of refuges. Gig flicks the eyes back as fast as an arrow's flight released from the bow, "I will not leave you. Not like Ford. Not like Alexa nor Solus." He grins, "That is your question laid bare at the end of the maze. Who am I? Same question every walking fleshbag here is thinking that sings out in every. Fucking. Step. They. Take."
Gig’s hands leave her face and she swats them further away. “Ah, yes. Ford, Alexa, Solus. Thank you for reminding me, Gig.” She rubs the side of her head for a moment and takes in a sharp inhale of air.
“The world is a chaotic mess and yes, I am in a tunnel because I followed with this group. I followed because I cannot take on Reth. No one here can take him on alone, or even together, and I can feel it, I can feel the judgement in their hearts.”
She takes a step backward, “In all of your hearts!” She shouts out those words towards the party with a guttural voice of rage. Her words bounce off the stonewalls and echo through the tunnel, turning her head to look back towards Gig. “And the ONLY person that has not cast judgment on me, is you.” Syn leans down to grab the handle of Wraeth from off the stone floor, using it to lean on slightly as the pain from the fight prior returns with a force. She is hurting physically and mentally.
She looks around to the others of her party, meeting eyes with every single one of them as she speaks.
“I played a part in the release of Reth. I have a hand in this shit show you all see now, because of doing what I thought was the right thing to do, but I’m so god damn tired of it all. Do this, do that, that’s wrong, that’s right, be yourself, don’t be yourself, fight for them, fight for yourself. No matter what I choose to do, everyone ends up dying or turns their backs, and you all will too.” ---
Her head turns back to look towards Gig.
“With death the way it is, or if Arhor’ha falls to oblivion, something tells me that you are also not immune to either fate. So, don’t fucking tell me a lie. If everything falls apart, if everyone here dies, if you die, then what am I doing? Why would a Bard play music if no one can listen? Why would an artist paint if no one will look at it?”
Her hand wraps around the handle of Wraeth tightly. “Why would I fight if I have nothing to fight for?”
Her blood-red eyes narrow on Gig’s and her expression, her demeanor shifts. For once, none of this is babbling nonsense out of anger, but rooted thought and feeling that has been screaming to be said out loud.
“Here I thought, having all these people disappear was the lowest point, but disappointing you? Disappointing a Devil of all things? That’s lower than the Nine Hells. That’s when I know, that’s when I know there is no hope.”
There is a deep laughter that echoes around the halls. It sounds of a chorus of souls all fighting for a modicum of humor from the lips of the Devil. Gig settles down in a grin, "that is what finding yourself feels like." Free from being so accosted by the tiefling, the white haired Devil darts a swift and unmitigated punch to the woman's stomach. "A creature of wrath and denial," he draws up, a large clawed hand following to wrap around her throat. Its as tight as a noose as he stares deeply into her soul. "Red and Blue," he appraises in a guttural growl. Always Red and Blue. "You don't get it because if you did you wouldn't be Blue. And then where would your Red be, eh?" He begins to shake the Breaker around like a martini mixer before releasing his grip unceremoniously. "You are so perfectly broken, Syn Thatcher. It makes your edges sharp. Sharp to bleed the world around you. Like teeth," he chomps the air.
"You are wrong about me lying. I wouldn't lie to you, not really, not really really realitini," he forms that familiar grin. That punchably familiar grin. "What would be the fun in LYING to a creature of wrath and denial?"
A quick punch to her stomach sends her folding over as her hand leaves the handle of Wraeth, and it tumbles to the ground once more. A painful breathy gasp as the air leaves her lungs. There is no opportunity to recover as Gig’s taloned hand wraps around her throat. Syn brings her hands up and grabs onto his forearms as she struggles to bring in air to her lungs. Her gaze trails along his hand, arm and finds them settled back on the Devil’s own gaze as he stares into her very soul. She tries to speak through his grip but is greeted with an aggressive shake of her body till the grip around her neck fades, and she crumbles to the floor.
More gasps of air escape her, followed by vicious coughing. Her hand grabs Wraeth, and she swings blindly. “DENIAL OF WHAT!?” She yells out between coughs. “How am I supposed to know what the hell I am in denial of if I don’t know what I am denying!?” Her free hand forms into a fist, slamming down into the stone. That hurt.
She stumbles to her feet, stepping backward away from him to lean up against the opposite wall of the tunnel. “Fuck off, Gig with your stupid word games. Red, blue, red, blue, that’s all you say. I'm so ‘perfectly broken’ to who? Because it certainly isn’t perfect in my eyes.”
The wild swing of the club of great destruction catches a heap of air, crackling the subterranean air with heat from the lava-like bolts fastened into them. The ground it strikes sizzles as Gig takes a step back. Effortlessly. Tauntingly. Standing there as the words suffer through the same air.
People are scared. The refugees give as much room possible to keep from being hurt in the argument.
Gig takes a step towards Syn like a snake of smoke towards the lungs of an addict. It is a slow death and one coming by with eyes that invite a pleasant disaster. "It is you," he says plainly. His voice haunts with a legion behind it. Coalfire eyes burning in a sea of ink that settle on Syn.
"I saw it when we first met. Those fractures. Red and Blue. But the plate they fractured? They rebelled against it. The breaks were what made the plate whole, not what made the plate broken." Gig does a little three step dance on the tap tap tapping of his feet. "The space between filled with sadness and rage. Only a creature of such can see the world the way it is. Look at them," he sweeps his hands out to huddled masses, frightened and cornered. "What do you see?" --- Gig leans close in to Syn, "What do you taste on the air? Red and Blue. Always red and blue." His shoulders roll until he is leaning back against the same wall. His coat sizzles as if it burns the rock he leans against. Smoke break lax pose is given as he grins. "They'd kill you, if they could. To appease their fears." The Devil's announcement provokes denial in the faces of some but confirmation in others. He points to one of them, "She is thinking of slipping poison in your food. Him? Attack you when you sleep. You are responsible for them being alive and all they can think is how to remove their fears. Reduce their blue with thoughts of red."
The Devil takes a big breath in of the stale tunnel mired by many inhabitants. "They should revere you as a GOD but instead think of ways to hurt you." Gig turns a sidelong eye to Syn. The two are more alike now than ever before. "Perfectly broken, Syn Thatcher. You are, in fact, perfectly broken."
Her red eyes fixate on the fearful people in the tunnel as Gig speaks. He was not wrong; you didn’t need them to confirm it aloud to know the truth. The eyes, it was in their eyes. She lingers on the thought for a moment while curling her arm across her abdomen. The fight from Reth had already left Syn worse for wear, and the punch to her stomach from Gig did not help.
“Frustrating, isn’t it?” She mumbles as they both lean up against the wall. Somewhere in her response is acknowledging his words and a nod back to the realization that they are not that much different. She does not look at him but instead pushes off the wall, tossing Wraeth back over her shoulder. The people around them shuffle away and push into each other’s backs to hurry the crowd further down the tunnel. Syn locks eyes with the woman Gig pointed out and lets out a hiss in her direction, leaving the woman stumbling backward and tripping. Wreath swings off her shoulder and misses the woman’s head, finding the great club smashing into the wall behind Gig. Her head turns to look at the others of the party until her gaze falls on Gig and her eyes narrow.
“To the manor, we go."
Captios opens his eyes from magically messaging Lancyte. Having discussed with Rolf, it was worth sending a quick message to the immortal bronze dragon about there they were heading. Lancyte would still probably head to New Haven first to check out the aftermath of the battle his protege just fought, but he could easily make up the distance if he really wanted to join up with the crew.
From behind him he hears Syn scream, “DENIAL OF WHAT!” As he looks back, he sees the crowds of people scamper to make room for Wraeth flailing wildly. He watches Gig laugh at the “perfectly broken” Syn while pointing at the various people who would have her killed for their own psychological well-being. He sees Syn hiss at the woman, and locks eyes with her for a second as she stares at the rest of the party. As she walks forward away from Gig, he waits for her to reach him before saying anything. -- “He was right you know. That lady did want to kill you.” Captios says it with such authority, as if he too could read someone’s thoughts. Oh that’s right, he can to an extent. “But he didn’t tell you the whole truth. He’s a devil. He tells the truth but only the truth he wants you to see.” Captios points out a young boy, no more than ten who clings to his mother. “That boy there isn’t scared of you. He’s in awe of you. The way you took down enemy after enemy. Chances are when we get out of here, he’s going to tell all his friends that make it out that he saw you. His mother, all I sense is gratefulness. You saved her and her child. You gave them life when death was staring them in the face. For every woman that would poison you there is someone that will sing your praises at the dinner table when all is said and done.”
Switching topics he keeps talking. Classic little wizard. “Gig calls you perfectly broken. He’s needling you Syn. We’re all broken Syn, that’s why were out here doing what we are doing. Even…” he turns to look at Pyro, who can’t seem to not bump into people. If this was a tabletop game, it would be as if Pyro had a wisdom of like 5 or something. “Pyro, well especially him. Being whole is boring. Being broken is freedom, it’s the chance to live your life the way you see fit. You don’t have to worry about breaking because you already are. Trust me when I say I’ve seen plenty of unbroken porcelain people in Upper Crystallis and I promise you that you are 100x a better person and friend than any of them could be. You went through fire and brimstone for your friends. Some of the unbroken, they wouldn’t even get hands wet if their friends were drowning in a bathtub. Being broken is a state that has nothing to do with the goodness you possess. And while you may not realize it Syn, you are full of goodness. I see that now. I see what Alexa saw in you. I get it.”
She stops in front of the wizard, looking him over for a second. “I know what he is.” She says to Captios as her eyes shift to the small child that he pointed out. The child stands behind the leg of his mother with wide eyes towards the group. “I helped save them because it’s what I needed to do to move forward. Poison lady over there pisses me off, but that kid there pisses me off even more.” She lets out a frustrated breath. “Those are the ones that cause us to second guess ourselves. When we are forced to make a decision, those are the thoughts that get in the way of getting things done. It’s a lot easier to push past people with bad intentions, its those with good intentions that make everything a pain in the ass. So, let the devil whisper half-truths. I don’t want to be distracted by the goodness you and Alexa see in me anymore.”
“If we want to save Arhor’ha, its going to get ugly. Everything comes at a cost. I’m tired of running.” Her eyes look over his shoulder for a moment to Ozy. “Pretty sure he is to… which is another can of worms. Anywho..” Syn reaches out and flicks captios' forehead. “Please tell me you have some big wizard plan in that brain of yours to be able to take on Reth or the Celestials, or even better… BOTH!”