Silent Depression

Oh, how Owen always pushed the wrong buttons. He wanted to take back that question the moment he said it - challenging statements generally weren't really well taken, especially if the one on the receiving end was a bit... well, mad.

He flinched notably, his eyes cringed shut. He backed up, only to meet with that cruel tree again, halting him in his tracks. He hated how close he was, and while Owen was fully prepared to just shove him away, before he realised... he didn't really want to do that. No, he'd much rather just run away.

Wearing a fearful expression, he chanced a glance open to see the fork being pointed at him. In all honesty, he could never have imagined himself cowering in the laughable face of cutlery, but given the circumstances, that thing could probably pry his eyes out, or worse.

"Okay," he whimpered, raising his arms in surrender. "Okay. You win. Don't hurt me..." Geez, when did you get so pathetic? he mentally scolded himself. "I don't, okay, just.... just stop, okay?"

'Freak.' The word was mouthed under his breath.

While the large boy's flinching brought sadistic joy to the red-haired boy, the red more prominent than ever, Owen's begging . . . brought Ambrose to his senses a little bit. The large boy was just scared. Scared, and unable to defend himself from The Powers That Be. The large boy was simply defenseless. How sad. How depressing.

The conflict would have stopped if the large boy just kept his mouth shut. He didn't. And, Ambrose caught it.

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?" the red-haired boy demanded, screaming at the top of his lungs, face mere inches from the large boy's own. The plastic fork was hoisted-up, aiming towards one of the eyes . . . Yes, the left eye would be a good place to start. "You think I'M the freak here, do you? No no no, YOU ALL are the freaks! Running around this damned island with your tails and your wings and your . . . your . . ."

He bit his tounge. Because, the next word Ambrose was going to say also described him now.

Immortal.

Ambrose backed away slightly, clutching his head a little. No. No, he wasn't . . . He was human! Cursed, but human! He was . . .

Good luck with that one, darling.

Ambrose faded back into the dark reds and browns. His knees gave out, and he simply stared at the starry night sky. The large boy was far from his thoughts now.

He knew. He knew that the mirror was right. And yet . . .

"Damn it," he choaked out. Perhaps Ambrose and Owen had a lot in common, after all.

Owen didn't think that Ambrose would notice his off-handed mouthing, he'd been subtle enough about it. Well, as subtle as he could get about these things. But he did, and yet again, Owen found himself cringing in front of the maddened boy.

"I didn't call you anything!!" he immediately shrieked in fright, the back of his head pressed against the tree, trying to gain some more distance, but failing. The fork so close to his eye invoked a sort of primal fear within him, his jaw wide open, aghast.

And his words did touch upon a particularly sensitive nerve, and a rather obvious one too. Well, he was a freak. It didn't take a genius to look at him for more than two seconds and arrive at that conclusion. But he wasn't talking about appearances, not here...

Screwing his eyes shut, he almost awaited the plastic cutlery to be forced into his eye... but when that didn't happen, he tentatively peered open, sighting the boy kneeling on the dirt. "..."

He didn't know what to say. Moments ago, this boy had him pinned up against a tree and now he was... well, what was he doing? "St-stay away from me..." he stammered, peeling himself away from the trunk to take a few steps back, keeping his cautious gaze focused on the boy. A hand was held out as if he were trying to calm an angry wolf. He didn't seem moments away from tearing him to shreds any more, but he wasn't taking chances.

Owen's voice didn't register to Ambrose, nor did his outstretched hand. Instead, he only heard Them and only saw the stars. He couldn't see such stars in the asylum . . .


". . . Darling?" Disaster called on that first of many endless nights, wondering what was the matter with his precious candidate. "Are you okay?"

"Obviously not," Ambrose growled under his breath. "They have me BOUND, from head to toe."

"I'm sure the nice warden is only thinking what's best for you," Disaster smiled gently, taking advantage of the motionless Ambrose and brushing a leather-gloved hand through the red hairs. Ambrose himself could only scoff.

"Don't be like that," Diaster pouted. "Come now . . ." Another stroke. "You can be patient now, can't you?"

"No." An honest answer.

"Just for a year . . . I promise."


Some promise that was. Still, Ambrose knew he couldn't blame Disaster-- he and Laughter were only doing what they thought best for him. He couldn't blame Them for trying. Nevertheless . . . The damage had been done long ago.

He stared up at the night sky. It was all he could do.

He never wanted this. He never wanted any of this, and yet . . . it happened. In a way, it had to.

Still, though, he could fight against it. Even if it was pointless.

When Ambrose didn't seem to notice him, Owen hesitated. He didn't know what to think - was this some sort of trap to confuse him? But why would he need to do that? His hand lowered, and he subconsciously glanced around. Maybe he could run while he had the chance. But he couldn't leave the mirror here - heck, the mirror itself was partly the reason he'd dragged himself so far out here.

He followed his gaze, looking up to the sky... Well, what was so special about it? Just a few stars. A few clouds. A moon. But he seemed encaptured by it - for a reason Owen assumed was probably rather soppy.

He stepped forward carefully - why was he doing this, that boy almost killed him - until he was only a few feet away from him. "...Um.. hey? You... awake..?"

He crouched down, reaching for the mirror he'd dropped earlier.

The stars were so far away . . .

Ambrose managed to snap-out it with Owen's words, turning towards the large boy with puzzlement. What. . . ? That was a waste of time. Why did he just space-out like that?

It's called being overwhelmed, darling.

"Not needed," Ambrose automatically responded towards the sky, then catching Owen's glance. Crap. Did he--?

"I'm . . . aware now," Ambrose said calmly, carefully choosing his words. The last thing he needed on this forsaken island was someone else knowing about the Powers That Be, how they were always watching. . . . It was dissettling, even to Ambrose. Assuming that anyone believed him.

As Ambrose spoke, Owen gave him a sort of perplexed stare, wondering how his response had anything to do with what he had asked. Unless his intrusion was uneeded? To be fair, he was reluctant to interact with the boy at all. He seemed the dodgy kind, and he hasn't hesitated at all to scream In Owen's face. In fact, he was still trying to get over that. He rubbed an ear.

"Uhmm..." Owen hesitated, also trying to pick his words carefully. He didn't want to arouse the boy's fury again. He raised an arm again, the 'calming a wild animal' arm. "Don't flip out at me.. or anything..." he started. "But... wh-... What was that all about." He tensed, almost ready to ditch the scene if the boy acted up again. It was damn terrifying.

Ambrose watched the large boy's movements carefully: the outstretched arms, the hesitation in his voice, the readying for the worst . . . He couldn't blame the boy for that approach towards him. It was foggy, but . . . he had yelled at the boy, threatened him. Ambrose couldn't recall the specifics, though, no matter how hard he tried. He had the plastic fork in his hands, and . . .

What happened next?

"I haven't the slightest," Ambrose replied frankly to Owen's question, wishing an answer himself. With the fuzzy vision, the event pointed itself towards Entropy, but . . . he was concious for it. He usually wasn't.

"Haven't the---" Owen repeated, scrunching his brows like storm clouds. Okay, that was messed up. He stared a moment, exchanging a glance to the boy, to the tree he'd been standing at, the mirror... then back to the boy. Was the boy really going to practically traumatize him then scrape up an excuse as lame as that? Owen probably should've been used to these things, given the wild occupants of this place... but he wasn't. That annoyed him.

"Whad'you mean?!" he cried. "You just gonna point that stupid fork at my eye and tell me you don't remember?!" He should've known better than to raise his voice, but he really couldn't help it - his nerves were too rattled for self-control. "Gonna just... yell in my face or somethin'?!" He took a step back. "Can you... just tell me.. something... anything, so I know I didn't just imagine it." He was almost about to mutter something under his breath... then remembered what happened the last time he did that.

Ah. So that's what happened. Usually, he didn't start picking at eyeballs that early . . . That was saved for later. Why go for the eyeball when a finger would do with ease?

The fear of imagining things . . . Ambrose could all to easily relate to that. He brushed aside a few bright red hairs from his face, turning directly towards Owen, a gesture not meaning to be threatening but rather frank and honest.

"I was screaming," Ambrose recalled with some difficulty-- the more he thought about it, the more the fog disappated along with the recent memory. "And yes, I did have my fork readied to attack." That wasn't his fault, but all the same: "My condolences with that."

It was all Ambrose could remember now of the event.

Owen peered at him, confused. It was starting to seem like Ambrose really wasn't aware of what he'd done... or it was an act just to toy with him. He was pretty much accustomed to it being the latter.

At his apology, he blinked, expecting... well, at a little more. His condolences? Was that it? He huffed, before remembering that it wasn't often that he received an apology at all. But still - it was formal, but hardly sufficient enough. He deserved.. a little more for what he'd been through. Right?

"But... why?" he frowned, before gesturing to the mirror. "Did it have something to do with that?"

Ambrose gazed up at the stars, if only because he could not look upon the large boy. It was an embarrassment-- him witnessing Disaster, and now . . . this. A humiliation.

You ARE allowed to show weakness, darling Entropy.

That wasn't true. They never allowed him. Every opening he gave, one of Them would pry in . . . like now.

"I wish I knew."

Wishes were for the weak. Wishes were for those who waited all day and did nothing in the meantime. Wishes were for those still locked up in an asylum for days on-end, never seeing daylight, watching the years pass by while you remained unchanged just so others could watch you squirm . . . Wishes were for those that could do nothing.

Ambrose could do nothing about this. He knew that all too well.

Owen blinked at this - becoming impatient, but trying to contain it. So was he just supposed to brush it off like nothing happened? Just another hitch in his already agonising days? Where was justice when he badly needed it?

"Is that it," he remarked. "Is that all you're gonna say, no explanation no... nothin'..?" he chuckled in humourless disbelief, shrugging his shoulders at the sky. "I get it. I've just to pretend nothin' happened. That's no problem." His tone was obviously bitter. He bent down, retrieving the mirror he'd left lying in the dirt. It was dirtless, of course. His eyebrows scrunched unhappily. "I'll just... do that."

"Don't misunderstand," Ambrose ordered, his focus once again on the large boy. Why was he correcting him? It was perhaps out of their simularity of situation. And Ambrose couldn't stand that.

"This did happen. Remember that. Hold onto it with your life. Because I might easily forget and will need someone else to remember for me."

When Ambrose first met Them, he tried to convince himself that it was all his imagination, a vivid dream. Disaster, Laughter, the other Powers That Be . . . He feigned ignorance just to hold onto what little of his life he had left. Of course, it didn't last long. It couldn't. But, if he had just accepted the situation earlier and treated things more seriously, Ambrose might not be where he was today. And, that was a good thing.

"Just . . . don't mention it to others," he asked selfishly. He knew that the large boy would ask a reason, so . . . "It's embarrassing."

Misunderstand?! If Ambrose had intended to pinprick his nerves, he was sure doing a fine job of it. How was he supposed to do anything other than misunderstand if he wasn't going to explain?!

He only continued to stare in shocked silence as he continued. Finally, a hand raised defeatedly, as if to display that he didn't care any more. "I don't get it." He shrugged. "I just don't."

"It's also kinda embarassin' being pinned up against a tree being threatened with a fork." His tone passively aggressive, he gave another shrug. "S'not like that matters."

He quickly glanced down at the mirror's reflection - nothing noteworthy - before he held the ornament beneath an armpit. "I'll tell who I like. It'll make a cool story anyway." Well, how could he not talk about it? This thing would play on his mind all day. He started to walk away, carrying the mirror in tow, but slowly enough with the slight hope that Ambrose would actually decide to explain something.

The large boy . . . was still mad at him? But, he explained! The boy could at least respect that, of all things!

. . . What was it that he explained? Ah, it didn't matter. The large boy still managed to piss him off.

"A story?" Ambrose raised a thin eyebrow. "I fail to see how that matters--"

The glance towards the mirror . . . Ah. The looking-glass was wicked to him, too. Good. Ambrose turned his head and was about to walk away . . .

"Ooo! A story!"

The Powers That Be whispered amongst themselves, obvious eager. They lived off of entertainment, and what better way to amuse oneself than with tales? There was no way out of this now-- Ambrose wouldn't hear the end of it if he walked away now.

". . . Fine," he shrugged, sitting down underneath a large tree and getting comfortable. This might be a while. "Let's hear it."

Owen gave him a sort of strange glance at his words. He wanted to hear it? Owen found it particularly odd, since he'd be present for said story just moments ago. Besides, it'd be mostly composed of blatant lies -- he had me cornered with a weapon pointed at my eye, but I fought him off -- and Owen had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't appreciate that.

But what other story-? He looked down at the mirror, before setting it down on the forest floor and leaning with an elbow against a tree. "It's about Gods," he started, "who think it's a real laugh to play with our lives." He shrugged in a off-handed manner. "It's like a game to see how much they can make you suffer 'til you've gone mad."

True, he didn't know if the mirror was the actual cause of all his troubles, but it wouldn't have been an unreasonable guess. Everything had gone downhill since he'd found it. Either that, or he could've been his own cause - and that wasn't a blame he particularly wanted to accept.

"A game where you're not allowed to be happy, just... surviving." He shrugged again. "Story of my life, anyway. What's yours." Seeing as he'd shared something about himself... maybe Ambrose could return the favour. If he was lucky.

As the large boy gave his teaser, Ambrose's curiosity, along with Their's, doubled and even tripled. Gods. The large boy had mentioned it before. Perhaps . . . they had more in common than the two first thought. An ally against Them? It was definately worth checking into.

How much Ambrose wanted to respond with, "Likewise," but such a responce would not be wise. For all he knew, Owen was just pulling his leg . . . Why, though? It wouldn't make sense to.

"You first," he instead told the large boy, gesturing for the tale to begin. "I'll tell you mine in return." If any alliance was possible, that is.

Owen narrowed his eyes. What did it take for Ambrose to finally tell him about what was going on? He was hoping that the little blurb might invite the boy to tell him more. But it seemed like the only way around it was to spill his guts.

At first, Owen was ready to clam up and not tell him anything. Well, why should he? Ambrose had told him nothing so far, so why should he blab out his life? Would he even tell him anything in return? The look he gave him was flat and mistrusting, before he took a deep breath, and sitting down against the tree.

He'd tell him some parts anyway. And besides, he didn't have to know the truth.

"So, I'm just living with family like any other kid," he started. "Then these... people come, and tell me that I've to look after this mirror. Didn't know what I had to do with it, like, but I just kept it."

"But weird stuff starts happenin'... y'know? Weird monsters. Everything goes down to crap. Those people-- this mirror-" he gestured to said mirror - "they don't leave me alone. I try gettin' rid of the mirror an' every time I come back home it's just sitting there!" Realising he had a bit of an outburst, he composed himself. "But yeah. It does some messed up stuff to my. Likes to deform me you know? Turn me into some freak of nature or something." He pointed at his mutated face.

He blinked to Ambrose. Was that enough? Or did he spew it all for no reason? Either way, he'd soon find out. "Your turn."

Ambrose listened intently.

Owen's story was a bit different than what he initially thought it would be. For one, he remembered a family. The 'crap happening,' though . . . Classic Them behavior. Pick a new playtoy, throw it around for all eternity, or worse. The poor boy was only mor-- hu-- pathetic. There. He was pathetic.

The Powers That Be were remaining silent. Guilty as charged?

While Ambrose had no intention of leaving Owen empty-handed, he knew he couldn't simply tell the boy everything. He would tell him what he could, though.

"The 'gods,' as you call Them-- I refer to Them as The Powers That Be . . . They found out I wanted something. The removal of a certian curse," he scoffed. "Needless to say, Their offer came with a price."

How much should he reveal? Ambrose stopped in his tale, unsure.

It had been one of those stories that made more sense in his messed up head than it ever would anywhere else. He found himself hoping that Ambrose wouldn't laugh or mock him, but thankfully, that didn't happen.

About time, he thought as Ambrose started. Perhaps he'd actually get to know something about this mysterious kid. But after his hesitation, his hopeful sort of look turned into a frown. "Yeah? What curse? The..." He trailed off as he tried to recall. At Sindri's cove... the massive red spider.... "The spider thing?" Admittedly, he thought it was a pretty cool curse from what he'd saw, but he didn't say it out loud. "What price?" he urged.

He had to know, if for the sake of getting what the boy owed him. He hadn't spilled his embarrassing past for nothing. Either way, Owen was not about to allow him to walk away if he continued to shy around it.

'The spider thing'? Really? Ambrose wasn't even going to correct him . . . It was an arachnid. A spider was something smaller and less intimidating.

The price . . . Ambrose didn't want to say, but before he could stop himself, the words slipped out of his mouth by what he hoped to be 'divine judgement' by the Powers That Be but really just by his own carelessness:

"My humanity."

Ambrose's face was shaded, turned away from Owen. How much he envied this boy. This boy . . . didn't know what he had. He took it all for granted. So did Ambrose, though. Now, he just wanted it all back.

"Your...!" Owen couldn't help but burst into a sort of scoffing chuckle, out of disbelief rather than humour. Ambrose's... humanity? But he looked exactly like a human! If anything, it was Owen who had his humanity robbed with his new appearance.

"Your humanity?" he echoed. "Look at me," he held out his arms for emphasis, "I ain't exactly fit to walk in crowds." He shrugged in a passively aggressive manner. "You look pretty much human to me." Even with the spider thing - it couldn't have been that bad.

He leaned back on the tree, his arms crossed with obvious impatience. "So what else?"

'What else'? What else was there? As the boy went on, though, Ambrose realized that the two of them had a bit of a misunderstanding. Perhaps he needed to re-explain . . .

"My outward apperance may still be human," Ambrose grinned in dark humor, "but the inner . . . is very much twisted." All because of Them-- because of him. At one point, he wanted this. He had to live with that.

As for 'what else' . . . Why not. He needed to vent.

"You ever stare at someone and wonder how the hell they can live with such simplicity in their funny little minds?" Ambrose asked hypothetically. The boy probably didn't have this problem, but it was worth a shot.

"Uh huh...." Owen slowly nodded, still sort of unconvinced. Okay, so maybe he understood the 'twisted' part, it would sort of explain why he'd flipped out at him for no reason. But he was acting ordinary right now, so maybe it didn't change him that much. Whatever.

"You know, I don't really see the difference. There's a lot of twisted people here. Murderers, heartless bastards, assholes.... I mean, really." He inspected the back of his left hand, which seemed to be horribly scarred. "You fit right in."

He glanced back up to Ambrose. "No..." he raised a brow, giving him a sort of look as if he were blabbing nonsense. "Whad'you mean?"