Summary: "Moving on, is simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard."--Dave Mustaine
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.
Antauri stared at the door for an undetermined amount of time.
The boy--Chiro--would be moving-in in the morning and he would need a room to occupy. This was the most logical and uncomplicated place to put him. It was also the most gut wrenching.
The black monkey finally gathered his resolve and stepped up to the doors, causing the motion detectors to notice him and activate the opening sequence. They opened too quickly in Antauri's opinion. He wasn't ready to face what was on the other side, but he was starring at it just the same.
The room was very Spartan in style, very few nick-knacks or personal items littered it. The walls were bare and the most dominant aspect about it was the many candles that were over all the surfaces. And the empty charging pod that held an orange cranial helmet and a mecha-glove that when activated would produce a shield. It was these items that Antauri could not tear his ocular lenses from.
He ever so slowly walked into the former leader of the Hyperforce's room and reached out to touch his brother's personal affects.
He thought he was going to be sick.
He had made peace with the fact that Mandarin had turned on them. That what they had done was for the best of the universe and was not a betrayal of his own loyalty. He could sleep at night without drowning himself in ever looping thoughts of where he had failed as a teammate and colleague and friend. He knew it was through no fault of his own that he was now standing here, prepping to welcome the newest addition of the team.
And yet he felt as if what he was here to do was sacrilege. As if it was some grave act of deceit.
The past clung to this room and it was haunting.
Antauri had to close his eyes and take a breath before he could continue with his mission. He immediately wished that he hadn't though. The memories came flooding back--it was as if Mandarin was still here; he could feel him. His very aura stood within the room and was berating the spiritual Mystic for ever abandoning his brother in far more than arms.
Antauri quickly swiped up the last remaining entities of his former leader and shoved them into a secret compartment with the walls. He slumped against the wall after the door was shut gasping for breath. He could still feel Mandarin in the room. The ghost was simply silent now, watching him with his forever critical eyes and disapproving scowl.
Antauri began to meticulously pick off all the candles around the room and scrub the melted wax from their perches. The task was menial and mind numbing--exactly why he did it.
Once it was spotless and all the candles were out in the hall and their scent had lessened he felt the ghost begin to fade. It barely even looked like the same room he had spent hours in; talking over philosophical matters; arguing over fighting techniques; debating leadership decisions; and most of all meditating with his brother in every way except blood.
He took another deep breath and sighed.
Opening his eyes he swept the room one more time before leaving to go get Otto.
He did not think about the loss he felt at the change to the room, or the way he felt inexplicably filthy, or how those beady eyes were still starting after him.
Sacrifice was a ideology he was familiar with. Change was something that had been mulled over.
Moving on was a concept that no one had ever bothered to tell him about.