By the time she arrived, Gadriel was waiting, with the bottle, and some food, and also Elion, who did not want to be left out of anything. Right now, Elion was napping in his helmet, lying on the grass, Gadriel rocking the helmet idly with one hand, looking down at the puddle of orange fur like it was the best thing in the world.
Melinoë arrived not long after he had with only a small bag looped over her shoulder, the sprigs of a few random herbs visible when she angled just right. Sorry, Gadriel, she was going to greet your cat first, kneeling down to observe the ball of orange fur and feathers as it rocked in its nest.
Greeting Elion first was always acceptable. He would not have brought the tressym along if he didn't remember and care how much they had liked each other.
"Melinoë." He inclined his head, where he had cleared a spot for her to sit. If she did not mind sitting on the grass. "Thank you for coming." He was not good with small talk, or any talk, really, around her.
Of course he wasn't. His entire body was covered in scars, and she was a goddess.
Rudeness had never stopped anything. "We were occupied searching for the last shard." He still hadn't put the pieces together yet in his mind, what it all meant.
"Did you see a healer about your leg?" She seemed to be walking normally on it, at least.
"It was a trying time." Melinoë had... thoughts. Most of which consisted of her just assuming gods were being gods and chaos was having a field day. It was always complicated interpersonal nonsense that drove wedges between them and put the entire world at risk.
She stuck her leg out, the bite mark gone. "Yes, it has healed nicely. I told you there was no cause for concern."
She looked down. "The healer did a fine job. Besides, if I did scar, I fear my entire body would be marred for how frequently I am wounded." She flexed her ghostly arm, brows furrowed. "Some linger regardless."
He touched his right cheek, with a wry smile. "Mine is."
She has only ever seen him in full armor. Not only had every battle left its mark on his skin, even the surgeries to make him what he was had left scars. One problem with the Astartes organs that promoted fast healing was fast meant scarring.
He reached out to touch the arm--not fast, and slow enough for her to pull away or signal she didn't want it. "My brother Chairon had an augment for his right hand. Lost it to the Orks." The arm did not bother him.
"You wear them well. Marks of a warrior." No shame in that. And not all were blessed to be gods obviously.
Melinoë did not pull away. Her arm felt the same as the one with flesh still upon it, despite the ghostly glow and visible bones.
"Mine is a reminder of my arrogance, when I tried to help a friend and did... too much. Tried something I should not have. But we learn, we grow, and we carry on."
"All scars are a sign of failure." A parry not perfectly executed, a strike that did not strike home. "We wear our failures until they overwhelm us." And then they are dead. There's no romanticizing the Astartes.
"But not arrogance." He trailed his fingers down the arm, and then pulled away. "It is never arrogance to push oneself beyond one's abilities to aid a bro--friend." One day, 'brother' would not be his default word.
"You sound a lot like Nemesis." Said with a fondness perhaps one would think was odd, given how she and Nem often spoke to one another, and the topic at hand. "I find myself inclined to ask if you are always so bleak, as I might ask the same of her."
She let her hand fall to her lap. "I would have been dead if I did more than this — then I would have failed in my true task."
"Then I am glad you did not do more." He had seen too many die young and full of promise, when just a little more tempering would have made them stronger. A tragedy. A waste. "It is not still painful, is it?"
"I am not bleak. Merely realistic. We accept the burden of becoming what we are knowing that there is only one way that it ends, and the path may be either short, or long, but it always leads to the same destination, and it is always paved with suffering." But someone had to step into the breach, or else humanity would have fallen long ago.
And look at what she had become — a diligent, undying titan slayer. For the best, obviously. Melinoë shook her head and smiled up at him. "No, it does not hurt."
That sounded a touch too familiar. "Always suffering?"
"Sometimes, those with augments say it hurts, and that they can feel their original limb." It was not something Gadriel had experienced, thank the Emperor, but he had seen enough.
"For my kind, yes. Suffering strengthens devotion." Straban's words, not his, but true enough. "When you are willing to sacrifice all that you have, all that you are, you become a purer instrument of His will."
"Magic may work a bit differently than augments. This feels as if I never lost my arm at all." Which was convenient. "But I kept the reminder regardless, so I would never forget."
Melinoë pulled her knees to her chest, chin resting atop them. "And what is your kind, exactly? I had assumed you were mortal, at first, but you suggested otherwise. And who is he, whose will you serve?"
"Sorcery is very different, yes." At least in his experience. Thousand Sons sorcerers resurrected their dead in the middle of combat, seemingly without effort.
Eerie to watch. He'd rather deal with things the non sorcerous way.
"The Adeptus Astartes. We begin as baseline humans but are...adapted. In many ways." The height, obviously. Less obviously, the things like Betcher's Glands and Iron Sinews. "We serve the Emperor, whose genius was behind our creation."
"Yes. Of course. Who does not dream of becoming one of the Emperor's own Angels, the best of his blade against those that seek to destroy humanity?" It was better than the hivesprawls, it was better than the idle and corrupt life of his family, safe on Talassar.
"From the way you speak of it, I suspect many walk this path?" She turned her attention down briefly, reaching over to pet the top of Elion's head. "What ways have you been adapted for your station?"
"My Chapter has a thousand brothers. And many more die in the attempt to become what I am." So, elite, but not unique.
Elion, of course, being the attention whore that he is, butts his head into her hand.
"We undergo many surgeries to implant organs that aid us. We also have hypnomat sessions that teach us to control functions about our bodies. We are immune to human diseases and can endure pain or injury that would kill a baseline human." Which was not to say they were indestructible, or could not feel pain. They could simply handle a lot more of it.
"It sounds as if you are mortals made more like gods, save many of the boons." Like immortality, for one, and the lack of scarring, for another. "That seems trying, but you have endured and you serve a cause greater than yourself."
She paused, still idly petting Elion, her expression growing somber. "Do you ever regret it? Being put on such a path since you were young, it being all you know. Do you ever wish you had more of a choice?" And who was she asking, truly? Him... or herself?
"We have many gifts baseline humans would envy us for." The fact they don't age, the height, the nigh invulnerability. "It is the highest purpose I can imagine." Admittedly, his imagination may not be that great.
Elion is out of his helmet, so Gadriel began toying with it, idly, for something for his hands to do. "I would not make a different choice." A sigh. "But there are things I have come to realize...I regret that I cannot have."
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thecodexabides) wrote2025-01-01 01:22 pm
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Do you know Skyfall docks?
There is a small park used by a school.
It is empty by sunset.
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See you soon.
>>action? also formatting switch
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"Good evening." that was to you, Gad.
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"Melinoë." He inclined his head, where he had cleared a spot for her to sit. If she did not mind sitting on the grass. "Thank you for coming." He was not good with small talk, or any talk, really, around her.
Of course he wasn't. His entire body was covered in scars, and she was a goddess.
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"Rude to decline a friend's invitation." She replied. "Besides, you do owe me." And smiled.
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"Did you see a healer about your leg?" She seemed to be walking normally on it, at least.
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She stuck her leg out, the bite mark gone. "Yes, it has healed nicely. I told you there was no cause for concern."
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These moments of relative peace were more than he had ever had, but still felt too rare somehow.
He leaned to examine the unmarked flesh. "You do not scar." Jealous? Yeah a little bit.
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She looked down. "The healer did a fine job. Besides, if I did scar, I fear my entire body would be marred for how frequently I am wounded." She flexed her ghostly arm, brows furrowed. "Some linger regardless."
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She has only ever seen him in full armor. Not only had every battle left its mark on his skin, even the surgeries to make him what he was had left scars. One problem with the Astartes organs that promoted fast healing was fast meant scarring.
He reached out to touch the arm--not fast, and slow enough for her to pull away or signal she didn't want it. "My brother Chairon had an augment for his right hand. Lost it to the Orks." The arm did not bother him.
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Melinoë did not pull away. Her arm felt the same as the one with flesh still upon it, despite the ghostly glow and visible bones.
"Mine is a reminder of my arrogance, when I tried to help a friend and did... too much. Tried something I should not have. But we learn, we grow, and we carry on."
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"But not arrogance." He trailed his fingers down the arm, and then pulled away. "It is never arrogance to push oneself beyond one's abilities to aid a bro--friend." One day, 'brother' would not be his default word.
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She let her hand fall to her lap. "I would have been dead if I did more than this — then I would have failed in my true task."
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"I am not bleak. Merely realistic. We accept the burden of becoming what we are knowing that there is only one way that it ends, and the path may be either short, or long, but it always leads to the same destination, and it is always paved with suffering." But someone had to step into the breach, or else humanity would have fallen long ago.
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That sounded a touch too familiar. "Always suffering?"
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"For my kind, yes. Suffering strengthens devotion." Straban's words, not his, but true enough. "When you are willing to sacrifice all that you have, all that you are, you become a purer instrument of His will."
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Melinoë pulled her knees to her chest, chin resting atop them. "And what is your kind, exactly? I had assumed you were mortal, at first, but you suggested otherwise. And who is he, whose will you serve?"
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Eerie to watch. He'd rather deal with things the non sorcerous way.
"The Adeptus Astartes. We begin as baseline humans but are...adapted. In many ways." The height, obviously. Less obviously, the things like Betcher's Glands and Iron Sinews. "We serve the Emperor, whose genius was behind our creation."
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Elion, of course, being the attention whore that he is, butts his head into her hand.
"We undergo many surgeries to implant organs that aid us. We also have hypnomat sessions that teach us to control functions about our bodies. We are immune to human diseases and can endure pain or injury that would kill a baseline human." Which was not to say they were indestructible, or could not feel pain. They could simply handle a lot more of it.
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She paused, still idly petting Elion, her expression growing somber. "Do you ever regret it? Being put on such a path since you were young, it being all you know. Do you ever wish you had more of a choice?" And who was she asking, truly? Him... or herself?
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Elion is out of his helmet, so Gadriel began toying with it, idly, for something for his hands to do. "I would not make a different choice." A sigh. "But there are things I have come to realize...I regret that I cannot have."
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