Silent Depression

(( Continued from: [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.] which is continued from: [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.] . . . OI. > <; ))

. . . He was coming back into conciousness. Slowly but surely. Images were starting to form over his blurred eyes . . .


"What did you do this time, Occurance?!"

"Don't speak to me in that tone. Entropy is my responcibility, We All agreed to that--"

"ANSWER."

". . . Fine. I took care of some loose ends. That's all."

"That was not some loose end, Occurance."

"We lost some great entertainment, Disaster."

"We keep telling you to consult first."

"And I keep telling you . . . It's 'Vernal Equinox'. I like that name better."

"That is not your title."

"You're right. It's not." There was a shuffle in the grass. "It's what I chose. Now, get the hell out of my sight."

". . . Disaster?"

More shuffling. The opening of eyes . . .

Ambrose found himself along the edge of the dense woods. The forest was familiar to him, if only faintly-- the first round of the OCT was fought here. He creamed some Abenzu. Good times. Although still night, the moon was now shining brighter than ever, the clouds overshadowing it before now vanquished by a well-placed hand.

Also, he found that he was lying next to someone. Someone with leather boots.

He quickly got up. "Diaster! What happened? What--!"

The deity was silent, though; the trees behind him rustled slightly, but that was expected. Others were with him before-- others of Them. They were always watching, regardless. The real question was . . .

"Why were They here, Disaster?"

Again, the flamboyant man said nothing, turning away towards the ocean. Ambrose had never seen him like this before. He wasn't a constant smile, but he was usually upbeat, a ray of, well, lightning. This? This wasn't like him at all.

Finally:



"He didn't make it, darling."

When you find yourself trailing out in the woods without any logical reason whatsoever, it's usually time to start reconsidering your purpose in life. And that was exactly what Owen was doing, wondering how the heck he'd ended up so far from his precious dorm-room. It had started through a casual trip to the dining hall, before being hit with a sudden spur of a decision that made him want to leave the academy for good.

He had hardly escaped the stretches of the academy before his mind decided to change again, to take a detour through the woods. He hadn't been in there forever, at least, not since that... thing with the intruder happened. He wasn't even that interested in leaving the academy any more. He really couldn't be bothered - these flashes of ideas came and went.

The mirror was held underneath his arm. He still needed to find a solution to his... problem. That is, the way his face looked like it had been ravaged by a bloodthirsty bear. Right now, the mirror was his only solution to such a problem - at the very least, it was the one that caused it. But whenever he looked in the mirror, he only saw himself exactly how he appeared. That was worrying - it sort of meant that the mirror didn't see any other form within him.

Or it was teasing him. It did that sometimes.

Eventually hitting a breathless spot, he sat down on a tree stump to regain his energy. His foot was making a recovery, but his leg was still largely unused - the muscles had weakened more than he preferred. He found the thing to be aching more than it usually did - an almost 'old man-ish' feeling. He was not enjoying it.

It was around then he heard some voices... what sounded like bickering. well, he knew it was bickering, his power tended to hand him that useful detail. Except that he didn't have a clue what they were talking about.

He got up, following the voices before he saw Ambrose standing... and some unfamiliar figures too. He held his breath, remaining half-concealed behind a tree, watching to see... whatever was happening.

(( TIMEWARP to current events, ect. ))

"No . . ." This wasn't happening. "NO! This isn't happening!" None of this made sense anymore. "I REFUSE IT--!"

"Careful there, darling Entropy," Disaster warmed, calm as he anyone could be. The eye of the tornado. "You're going into italics."

"I am NOT--"

Ambrose stopped himself. BREATHE. Inhale, exhale. Get off from the ground. Stand your ground.

". . . Better?" Ambrose asked cautiously.

"Much. You know I do this all for you," Disaster charged forward in the conversation. "You know I'm on your side with all of this. Why the hesitation? Trust me. For once," he couldn't help but add.

Ambrose glanced amongst the trees, searching for any more of Them. There was a presence here . . . not that it mattered much.

"I do," Ambrose said after a time, and very relunctantly. "Just-- leave me alone, for now. A lot of things have happened today."

Disaster could respect that. The deity slipped behind a nearby tree-- and, vanished. Just like that. Ambrose was alone now . . . or, was he?

Ambrose took a couple more deep breaths. In, out. He could do this. No diatoma, no luck, no Luppa-- still, he could do this. Stay sane. Don't think about it. Stay sane by not thinking about it. The perfect formula.

Nevertheless, someone was still here. Watching.

"Show yourself," Ambrose ordered, pulling out from his still-damp pockets a trusty plastic fork . . .

Owen had no idea what was occurring between the two, but he didn't think to intrude. It seemed intense. Besides, who was this man anyway? He didn't look like any professor he knew. All in all, he was fairly confused.

The boy was only somewhat familiar - had he met him somewhere? The boardwalk at Sindri's Cove? There was some familiarity, he sensed. The name 'Ambrose' played in his head. He was pretty sure he was some sort of spider-kid.

When the man left, Owen was about to take his exit too, for now, really just wanting to avoid confrontation. It never ended well. But before he could even move, he found a plastic fork being pointed in his direction. It was a questionable weapon indeed, and Owen doubted its threat.

But he complied, stepping forward - one arm raised in surrender, the other still wrapped around the mirror. "I wasn't spying or nothing," he immediately blabbed. "Just happened to be walking around here. Haven't done anything."

There was a rustle in the grass-- and, a familiar boy stepped out from the tree cover. Was he familiar, though? Ambrose hardly recognized him with his new disfiguration. He was changed, twisted. More creature than before, at least, and less human. It seemed, at least, that the large boy remembered Ambrose's name. That was a start.

His mirror . . . caught Ambrose's eyes. It was certianly valuable-looking. Why carry it all the way into the forest, though? Was he hiding his loot?

His verbal defense was weak.

"How much did you hear?" Ambrose interrogated, still aiming his plastic fork towards the boy. He didn't want anyone else to know about Them-- having Leon holding it over his head was already too much. If anyone knew about Disaster-- "How much did you see?"

Owen blankly awaited the normal reaction that he'd normally guess from someone who had not seen him before. He got it, he looked pretty disgusting, he was used to it. He was only slightly relieved when no such remarks were made, but he could tell the boy was thinking it.

He saw the way his his glance dropped to the mirror, and he held it tighter. Was it really wise to bring it out here? Where it could be lost or stolen?

He was hardly intimidated by the fork, but he didn't want to induce his anger... He looked pissed off as it was. His empty arm remained in the air. "Didn't hear anything, I--" His urgent tone was worrying, and he stumbled over his words nervously. "--I didn't see nothing. Just you. I swear." He found himself cringing, hoping that the boy wouldn't see through his lie.

The grip on the mirror tightened; so, it was valuable. And shiny. All the more to his collection. First thing's first, though . . .

'Just' him? Who said anything about whom he saw?

There were distincted mutterings from above. Of course They watched eagerly, thankful that someone else was going to be the target of Ambrose's frustration, but They also gazed below with pity. The poor boy didn't know what was coming to him. Oh, well. At least it was entertaining.

Slowly yet surely, Ambrose paced over towards the large boy, still pointing his fork menecingly. The fear from the boy was intoxicating.

"Shall I ask the question again?" he geniually questioned, not noticing the slip into italics. . . .

When the boy started pacing towards him, Owen found himself shuffling backwards, not wanting at all to be close to the boy. Especially when he had a weapon (as laughable as it was) pointed at him. However, it wasn't long until he found that he'd backed up into a tree, blocking his escape. Damn.

"I uhh..." His eyes searched away from the boy, all in all, not sure how he was meant to respond. What was he expecting to do with a plastic fork of all things? Was it meant to scare him? But his threatening tone gave him a reason to be wary. Why was he always dragged in these situations?

"I... Okay, I saw one other guy. That was all. Didn't hear anything, I just saw him." Sweating profusely, he gave a glance down at the fork. It was so... questionable. He just didn't know how seriously he was meant to take this boy if he was using cutlery as means of threat.

"Uhmm.." His eyes narrowed. "What're you gonna do with a fork anyway?" He snorted. "Eat me?"

Now they were getting somewhere. Honesty always came easier to the interrogated.

"Eat you?" Ambrose asked in honest puzzlement, withdrawing the plastic fork slightly. "Why would I--" He was talking in italics. Taking a deep breath, Ambrose cleared his throat and tried again.

"Eat you? Why the hell would I do that?" No one had ever asked him that before, although the fork suggested as much. Still, it was rather rude of the boy to ask such questions when he was clearly in charge.

". . . Are you sure you didn't hear anything?" He hat to makes sure-- not like the boy would understand any of it, though. . . .

Obviously, the boy hadn't understood his lame attempt at a joke. Or it just wasn't that funny anyway. Or either. Whatever, he had taken a risk saying it anyway. He cringed away, but again, he couldn't make much distance between them.

His raised hand moved in front of him in an attempt to block any further approaches - as bandaged as it was. "I dunno. Some people are weird enough to do that," he blurted defensively, before realising that he probably implied that Ambrose was weird. Oh well...

He gave a sigh. He really didn't want to admit the truth to this guy, even though he probably knew he was lying. It was like he'd seen in movies - if someone had witnessed something that they weren't meant to, they could be 'silenced'... in pretty violent ways. Owen didn't want to imagine it.

"I didn't, I dunno what your problem is but I didn't hear nothing."

'Some people' . . . That was actually a valid arguement. "I actually didn't consider that," Ambrose admitted, not taking into account that he might be 'weird enough.'

He didn't hear anything . . . Good. It didn't matter if he did, only if the large boy denied the encounter entirely.

"Fair enough."

Ambrose withdrew his plastic fork just as the mirror caught his eye once more. It really was quite beautiful . . . and, drawing. Like there was a pull towards it.

"Can . . . Can I see it?" Ambrose couldn't help but ask, pocketing the fork to show clearly that he wasn't going to attack the boy. "Just for one second . . ." Or, forever . . . Either one . . .

Whew. Ambrose didn't flip out on him for his comment. He at least saw that as a sign of progress, at the very least, he didn't look like he was seconds away from mutilating him with the fork.

As it was lowered, a sigh of relief escaped from him, finally able to relax. He was almost surprised how well it had turned out (in comparison to his other confrontations anyway) , and he was surprised that he'd been let off, even with his half a lie. The Gods must be shining on him.

He glanced to the mirror then back to the boy. Why did he really want to see it? It seemed just like an ordinary mirror, really... Well, except for the beautiful, mysterious and particularly elegant engravings on it. He supposed that did spark some curiosity.

"Okay..." He hesitantly spoke. "If you want... But I gotta warn you, it might be a little..." he gulped. "Weird."

Removing it from underneath his pit, he angled the mirror towards Ambrose. Its frame was neither gold nor silver, but a rather peculiar grey stone that different from the norm. It looked ancient, yet at the same time, new and untouched. Eternal, as it were.

Owen found himself cringing, wondering if he'd see anything strange in the reflection, like other poeple had.

Weird? Why would it be weird? No, the mirror was perfect just the way it was, in all of its shining glory. . . . He just needed to see it, just once--

What was facing Ambrose in the reflection wasn't him. Far from it.

A figure in the black. That was the best way to think about it. Pure black from head to toe, and pale skin in the middle of it all. Jagged hair flailing here and there yet neatly combed; brightly dark eyes filled with ink; confident shoulders that slunk backwards. And, a twisted grin that everyone wanted to slap, no matter how gentlemanly it was.

Ambrose didn't recognize the 'person,' per say, but he had heard from others . . . what the THING looked like.

"YOU."

Ambrose skidded backwards, his own, brown eyes glaring at the monster in the glass. And the monster glared back. He started to panic. Did he--? Was he--?

"Get that thing AWAY from me!" Ambrose ordered the large boy, turning his face away. Fear? Was it fear that made him say that? If it was . . . it was for good reason, at least. The best of reasons.

The boy was glaring at his reflection. Either he had a severe distaste for his own appearance, or the mirror was being a sly trickster again. Owen had reason to believe that it was probably the latter.

He peeked over the top to look into the mirror upside down, but of course, given the awkward angle, it was hard to see much else other than a vaguely black shape. But that was enough incentive to tell him that Ambrose wasn't seeing himself.

Ambrose's demand startled him, and he found himself dropping the mirror before he could stop himself. It landed just before his clawed toes, before falling forward with a soft 'thud' face-first into the mud, effectively obscuring the reflection. Despite the dirt, the mirror still seemed to remain fiendishly spotless - by nature, it was untaintable.

Owen looked to Ambrose, his expression shocked and questioning. "What was all that about?" he asked, his tone more accusative than curious. "Who was that guy?"

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale . . .

He was still shaking. Shaking. Him, of all people. He hadn't been this scared since . . . ever. His eyes were wide, his palms slightly clammy. Clammy-- there was a new word.

The evil mirror was gone. A pity that such beauty was wasted on it.

Exhale.

"I should be--"

TRY AGAIN. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

He cleared his throat, as if something were stuck. "I should be asking you that-- is that a trick mirror?" As soon as Ambrose said that, though, he knew that wasn't the case. No trick mirror could show . . . THAT.

"What exactly does it show?" This was important-- as in, life-or-death. As in, your-life-is-forfit-and-will-become-your-death-if-you-do-not-answer-me.

Ambrose's reaction to the mirror was startling, and he found himself staring in shock for a few moments, simply blinking. He knew that he should be inclined to take respoonsibility for what had apparently occoured, but Owen insisted to himself that he had warned him. It wasn't his fault. It was the dumb mirror, playing on everyone's minds.

"It um..." He nervously glanced around, not sure how to respond. Truthfully, he wasn't all that sure about it himself. He'd owned the thing for around a year now, and he could still never be certain - learning only from what he'd experienced and the very occasional riddling messages it'd whisper in his mind. Beyond that, he didn't know what to believe. It would've been so much easier, he presumed, if it had came with an instruction manual.

"It shows... a reflection," he answered dumbly, and knew immediately that he should elaborate. "I dunno... it usually shows... yourself, or something, but uh, a little different... Or maybe... something important to you..." Considering how frightened Ambrose's reaction, he thought to slip in some reassurement. "I don't think any of it's real though...." He lowered his voice to a mutter. "...Probably." He recalled the same thing happening with Rein when he'd showed him - but at least Ambrose wasn't cutting himself with a knife, er, fork.

'Yourself, but a little different.' Those were not the words of comfort that Ambrose required. He needed to know that that THING was completely seperate from him. It should have been. After all, he gave the diatoma, the golden coin away . . . He should be safe from it. Far from it.

"It BETTER not be real," Ambrose grumbled underneath his breath, not even realizing that he had, once again, slipped into italics. The large boy seemed so uncertian, though-- he had the right to be frustrated with him! He should give him all that HE desired! ALL! GIVE--

No, he told himself. I don't think like that. It's just leftover from the creature. That was all.

An idea occured to Ambrose. If the mirror showed different things to different people . . .

"What does it show you?" Ambrose asked the large boy, genually interested.

Owen found himself blinking again at Ambrose's grumbling. Man, this guy had problems. He may have been hypocritical for thinking so, but he'd already made his mind there and then - he did not want to associate with this guy. Especially not after the fork incident...

He tried to remind himself that the mirror could be somewhat daunting at first encounter, and relaxed what would've been a foul stare on his face. The questiong did surprise him though - why would he want to know?

"Uhm... It's meant to show... some sort lizard... Which I can--" he glanced down at the mirror, double checking that the reflection was not in sight, "--change into. But, uhm... It's not showing nothing for me at the moment." He frowned. "I dunno why."

To prove this, he bent down to tentatively pick up the mirror, in a way so that the reflection would not face Ambrose again. However, upon making eye contact with his own reflection, it was not his own mismatched eyes he was glancing back at. Two sharp, hazel eyes glowered back, heavily lined with make-up and false eyelashes. Her thick lips were twisted into a surly, disapproving frown, and her manicured fingers rose to futilely comb through her wild mess of black hair, while her other hand lay perched on the edge of her wide girth.

A startled shriek escaped from him before he could contain it, and the mirror, again, was immediately dropped, face-down. He stared at it, simply shocked. That had never happened. After regaining himself, he finally forced himself to speak. "...Okay. I, uh..." He didn't want to elaborate. Ambrose probably couldn't see the reflection anyway. "...Okay, let's just... leave the mirror alone.." He forced a nervous laugh. "It's messed up."

Ambrose examined Owen from head to toe. He changed into a lizard? Looks like he messed-up last time. The example only made things worse, though . . . Did the mirror show what one transformed into? If so, then seeing IT really meant--

DON'T THINK ABOUT IT. He didn't want to think about it-- not now, not ever. It wasn't going to happen. It just . . . couldn't.

Ambrose jolted a bit at the large boy's scream, not quite sure why the hell he did that. It was his evil mirror; why should the large boy be surprised with anything it showed him, regardless of how messed-up it is.

"Perhaps it's broken," Ambrose suggested helpfully, glancing back down at the mirror with no sympathy despite it being shiny. That would be a nice explination for everything, wouldn't it? It was the mirror's fault. Still, how did a reflection know what the THING looked like? Even he didn't know . . . until now, that is.

"Broken?" he echoed, giving a half-chuckle of slight madness. "Broken? I have kicked that thing, I have tossed it down stairs, cliffs, I've set it on fire, I've hacked it with an axe," he listed, his tone becoming increasingly more desperate and breathless as he spoke. "It doesn't freaking break."

He took a breath. He was just a little zany, that was all. Maybe this guy's eccentric attitude was infecting him. He had just hated looking that woman in the face...

"I think it knows exactly what it's doing." He crossed his arms, giving it a glare. "It always likes to... pick on really personal things, you know? Try and drive us a bit crazy."

"I know this sounds pretty nuts but... hear me out. I think it's a God." His expression was completely serious. "It knows everything. I just..."

Finally, he scoffed, before turning away, his tone becoming cold. "Why'm I telling you all this anyway? I don't even know you."

Ambrose listened to the large boy's list carefully, considering all of them. Hm. It seemed that the boy was just as frustrated with the evil mirror as he was-- more, if possible. Hacking something with an axe was definately an act of frustration.

Personal things. That would explain the reflection, all right.

When the boy mentioned the possibility of the mirror being a God, Ambrose had to resist the urge to laugh. Because, from his experience, the evil mirror was right up Their alley. He was surprised he hadn't thought of it earlier . . . Instead, he managed to show the same serious expression that Owen wore, grim with the words he spoke.

"I don't know you, either-- that doesn't mean I don't believe you. In my experience, you don't lie to strangers." Far from it; the deities that were most likely to lie were the ones that you trusted the most. Laughter and Disaster had done so on more than one occasion, if only to 'protect' him.

"The higher powers always seem to know everything, but They don't. There's always something . . ."

His voice trailed off.

You don't lie to strangers? Owen had to stop himself from snorting. He'd made a habit of lying to strangers many times before, mostly because they could do little about knowing it was a lie at all. But he didn't say anything, merely nodding in vague agreement.

He did give him a curious sort of look at the red-haired boy at his words though... What would he know about deities? And what was this always something...?

If his baffled expression wasn't any hint, then Owen went ahead and asked. "Whad'ya mean? Isn't the whole point of being God knowing everything or something?" His expression turned somewhat defensive. "How would you know anyway? You haven't been stuck with mirror for a year." Tad exaggeration - its presence wasn't really as awful as he was making it out to be... save for the horrendously painful transformations.

"The whole point about being a 'god' is having power," Ambrose explained, sighing a little. This boy acted like he knew so much, and yet . . . "Whether or not that power is knowing anything and everything is . . . up to the deity." Some relished in the simple activity of ever-watching from above, while others took a more . . . 'hands-on' approach.

Owen shouldn't've asked that second question. Expecially not with that tone.

"A year?" Ambrose exasperated sarcastically, laughing a little all the while. This boy knew nothing. NOTHING. "You think you've had it bad? Try over a century."

If it were any other time, any other place, the large boy would not be hearing any of this. Ambrose was just too ticked-off to care at this point, though. His eyes flashed red, his teeth grinded together, and before he knew it, the red-haired boy was staring down the larger one in a fit of utter rage.

"A year is nothing. A year is getting through the As in the scientific dictionary. A year is-- but a fraction of the hell I've been through. You think you know how that feels?"

It wasn't a hypothetical question.

"DO YOU?!"

Owen crossed his arms, not exactly liking how Ambrose was trying to contradict him. How would he know this stuff about Gods? Surely, religious people tended to preach about what they thought they knew about God, but Ambrose seemed so certain that it was actually grating his nerves.

It ticked him off even more as he continued. Was he belittling his problems? His teeth gritted - an easily observable sight considering his mouth was constantly stretched open.

The boy's outraged reaction hadn't gone unnoticed either, and it took all of Owen's willpower not to buckle and surrender. It was downright frightening, and he certainly never saw himself as the courageous kind. Flinching at his shout, he tried to evenly glare into Ambrose's eyes, though it did waver with uncertainty.

"Do you know how I-I feel?!" he shakily tried to counter, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady. He gave a frustrated point to his malformed face. "This f*cking mess comes from that thing! Do you think I'm enjoying it?!" He found himself trembling - fear or anger? Probably a mix of both.

"What makes you so sure then, huh? Huh?!" he demanded, although more defensively than offensively.

Ambrose was mildly impressed that the large boy was speaking out like this, not to mention the swearing. That didn't mean he was any less upset. Far from it.

"If you were enjoying it," Ambrose growled, "that would make you a masochist." Considering the deformities, such a thing wasn't off his list quite yet. He could almost sympathise with the boy--

Oh, no. No, he did not just say that.

"'What makes me so sure'?" Ambrose repeated, his mouth forming a twisted grin. "What makes me so sure?" He chuckled a little. "I'm sure, all right . . . I have to be!" The laughter turned into screams. His eyes flashed red. His anger shot through the figurative roof.

"I'VE DEALT WITH THEM FOR OVER A F*CKING CENTURY," he informed the large boy, Ambrose's face now mere centemeters away from Owen's. When did he get so close? "What part of that do you NOT GET."

This boy was so ignorant. In a way, he envied that, but it only made the rage worse. He raised up his plastic fork, the weapon clenched tightly in his hands . . .

"Do you have Their voices echoing through your head every damn second of your life? Do you know that They're watching you every damn second of your life? Do you?"

A pause. Then:

"DO YOU!?"

Not rhetorical.