A/N: So I finished this much sooner than I expected. I love that you guys are picking up on the meaning of the title :] Plus pondering on the psychology of the story! Man, you guys make me so happy x]
Chapter 6
"Kirby."
The voice went ignored.
"Kirby? Kirby, I know you are awake."
"I know. I know it's today." Kirby mumbled. But he didn't want to face its reality. For the past two days, Kirby had tried one break-out after another, none which were met with success. Pretending to be a guard, sneaking in the shadows, searching for alternate routes into the prison. Just this morning, he'd tried digging through the wall with a spoon he'd nicked from the kitchens. To be fair, that idea had been stupid from the start.
They'd finally chained him to the bedroom they had so graciously offered him. They promised to release him after Marx's…. after Marx's…
Just, afterwards.
So long as he promised not to return.
In a pitiful show of defiance, Kirby had ignored the green-blanketed bed and instead curled up in the corner.
"They will begin soon," Earl Kavika said from the doorway.
His kindness only made it worse.
"You have a choice," the earl continued. "You may stay here if you like, and we will negotiate your release after the execution. Elsewise, you may come with me to see Marx off."
See him off. What a disgusting way to put it. What a disgusting choice. If he stayed here, could he really pretend that it wasn't happening? Wouldn't his imagination fill in the gaps in the most gruesome of ways? But if he went… how could he watch that?
"I'll stay," muttered Kirby.
"What was that?"
"I'll stay here. I don't want to see it."
"Kirby, I'm not partial to showing sympathy towards your friend. But he may want your support…"
Kirby snorted. He couldn't get his body to stop shaking and he suspected he should be worried about that. Couldn't quite get himself to care, though. "Marx doesn't need me."
"At some point, everyone needs somebody."
"He doesn't."
"Very well." Earl Kavika turned to leave. "Then we shall speak after."
After. After he was killed. The end, blank slate. His last memory of the jester would be Marx getting dragged down to the dungeons, locked in chains. Kirby saw someone else in his mind's eye – Fumu, nailed to the wall and engulfed in flames. The last, final memory of her. He shuddered violently. It's been a year. Does this ever get easier?
"Wait," Kirby choked out.
Kavika stilled.
IhatethisIhatethisIhatemyself.
"I'll go."
Earl Kavika led Kirby behind the low castle, where they had walked three days hence. They passed the garden of gnarled roots and spiny flowers, and followed a winding stone path which soon faded to sand. They ended by an ugly stout tree, from which the noose hung soullessly. Someone had placed a thick wooden board beneath the branch, and a strange lever was located at the edge of this board. Kirby didn't understand all this, but it made him shudder nonetheless.
Dreamland didn't have customs like this.
Then again… Dreamland had never known an evil that necessitated such customs.
A single grey-clad woman leaned against the lever. The executioner? Kirby mused dazedly. She stared at Kirby and he shied away.
Everything was much too quiet. Much too hot and much too quiet. Kirby leaned closer to Kavika and whispered, "will I be able to speak to him before….?"
"Briefly," the Earl responded.
Suddenly a grated door to the castle clanged open, and Kirby jumped. Out stumbled Marx, accompanied by two aggressive-looking guards. Kirby cringed at the sight. Marx sported a heavy limp, as though the gouge in his calf had worsened. He walked with his head bowed, veiling his expression from Kirby's perception. Kirby found most horrifying his complete and utter lack of struggling. Marx was spitfire and fury; he didn't just give up. So why wasn't he fighting against the guards, and using the last of his ragged voice to swear against all of them?
"Khir, Chazek!" Kavika gestured meaningfully to the guards.
They inclined their heads and obediently dragged the jester to meet Kirby face-to-face. Although they were a good four feet apart, it was too close for comfort – too close to be seeing Marx like this.
Abruptly, Kirby's throat was too dry. If he'd thought of any words to say before, they dissolved on his tongue and became nothing. Time whizzed by and he knew he ought to say something but oh stars all he could do was stare.
"Kirby," prompted Kavika. "Farewells?"
He expected a beautifully simple hatred towards Marx, for making him suffer so long, for killing Fumu, for dragging him out to space and leaving him alone. But instead, all his hot hate cooled into something painful and raw. Any loathing he had left was directed at himself, because despite everything Marx had done, it hurt to witness this. It hurt to see him so broken when over and over again in the past he'd erected a mask of immortality.
Marx is not supposed to be able to die.
He spited himself and he spited Marx, but it was almost as if he was too anxious and too shocked to have any heart behind the hatred. He just felt… drained. So horrified that he could no longer comprehend anything.
Just like with Fumu…
Why did he keep thinking of her? Why now?
Kavika sighed imperceptibly. With a gesture of the earl's hand, the soldiers hauled Marx back.
An emptiness pooled in Kirby's stomach. He hadn't even been able to bring himself to say goodbye. It couldn't end like this!
Together, the two guards and Marx drifted to the wooden platform beneath the desert tree.
As the executioner read out Marx's guilt, Kirby thought blindly; this isn't real - this can't be real. Out of tension, he nearly laughed. Fabric rustled at his side: he felt Earl Kavika gazing down at him in concern.
Don't worry about me, Kirby thought, staring at Marx's down-turned face. I'm okay. Definitely okay.
The executioner finished her small speech. The guards backed Marx to the center of the platform. Everything slowed down. Kirby heard his own blood pulsing sluggishly through his ears.
Warm dry rolls of wind sighed over the earth and stroked up beads of sand that stung Kirby's eyes. One guard settled the noose around Marx's neck while the other held him still.
That's when Kirby saw it.
Marx's lips curled back to reveal a mischievous sliver of his fangs. A thrill shot straight up Kirby's spine, his heart surged; Marx hasn't given up. Which meant something terriblewonderful was about to happen, real quick.
Kirby never thought. There was not a single moment where he planned, or wondered ahead, or considered the consequence. He never even saw what Marx did, because at that moment he whirled around and his hands scrabbled for the sword at Kavika's hip – because damnit, if Marx was still fighting, then Kirby was sure as hell gonna fight too.
Before the Earl even knew what he was doing, Kirby staggered away with the sword clutched in his fists: he couldn't let the Earl get in the way if Marx was going to escape.
Instantly Kavika had his hands up, and his dark eyes were so calm, oh so calm – how could he look so calm?
Kirby didn't want to hurt him; there was no wish at all for him to get hurt. He only hoped that the Earl didn't know that and would keep his attention on Kirby rather than trying to stop Marx.
Behind him, he heard unfamiliar screams; he could not say why, but the sound scared him.
"Stay back!" he yelled at Kavika, waving the sword clumsily. If he just kept Kavika away from the platform, maybe he'd buy Marx enough time to get through the guards. Get through? Is that what you're calling it now?
"Drop the sword," Kavika demanded, eyes nailed on Kirby, "you don't want to do this, Kirby."
Despite the imminent threat, Kavika's eyes darted to the platform.
"Hey!" Kirby screamed. He prayed that all the scuffling and scratching sounds meant Marx was winning. "I'll hurt you!"
Kavika raised his hands higher. "You have my attention, Kirby. My full attention. I hear all the words you speak. Now listen to mine. You have a choice."
No no no this was complicating things, this was making Kirby think, and thinking wasn't good for the moment, he needed things to be simple, clear-cut, he was tired of confusion and ambiguity.
"Kirby, listen to me! You have a choice. You do not have to protect him. You do not have to defend what he does, understand?"
Kirby shook so hard that the hilt rattled in his hands. "I don't want to hurt you," he whimpered, "so you better stay back."
Earl Kavika didn't listen. His purple robes flowing at his feet, he stepped closer. "You do not have to hurt me."
"I said stay back!" For all his bravado, though, Kirby didn't move an inch.
"Listen," Earl Kavika murmured, his voice infinitely soft and infinitely understanding, "You can choose differently."
"I…" Kirby lowered the sword. "H-how?"
At that moment, a multi-colored blur lunged past Kirby's side, accompanied by a vicious, vengeful snarl.
"Don't hurt him!" Kirby squeaked, but his fear was unfounded.
Just as Marx leapt at Kavika, the earl twisted on his heels and slammed his elbow directly into Marx's chest. Marx let out a harsh gag and struck the dirt. Immediately, he curled into himself, wheezing and clutching his chest.
"Back off!" Kirby growled. He lunged and stood over Marx with his feet planted, swiping the long blade inches from Kavika's face.
"Just hand over the sword," the Earl continued, his palms opened placatingly.
Kirby tightened his grip. No, he couldn't… After all this, how could he just hand over the sword? How could he hand over Marx's life? Only to spare the lives of others. The Earl's dark hand beckoned expectantly.
Kirby trembled. Beneath him Marx was quivering against his ankles and gasping weakly. So helpless. But only for now.
It didn't matter. It didn't matter if he would get up again, just as strong as Kirby remembered. Kirby had made a choice, and he was going to stick with it… no matter how awful it made him feel at times.
A sharp sound beneath Kirby – something between a cough and a scream – and suddenly the pressure was gone from the inside of Kirby's calves. Footsteps pounded against hot sand as Marx high-tailed it away from them.
Kirby dropped the sword and shot after Marx. Oh stars he felt sick, he felt that any moment he would collapse and vomit up all this tension but he had no such privilege.
With a roar, Kavika was after them, and already the distance between he and Marx was widening and damn Marx could run – hadn't he been struggling just to walk a moment ago?
"You couldn't fucking break me out of jail?" Marx screamed back into the wind.
"Where are we going?" Kirby howled back.
"Halberd!"
"What?" That was on the complete other side of the city; there was no way they were going to get there before Earl Kavika caught up!
"Better fly!" Marx cackled. "No where else is safe, Kirby!"
"Well, I don't th-" All color vanished from Kirby's cheeks. Dark shapes were forming on the horizon towards which they were running. More guards were circling around in front of them. "Marx!"
But the jester had noticed himself. He skidded to a stop and Kirby nearly slammed into his back.
Marx whirled around and wrapped his arms around his companion. With great alarm, Kirby realized just how much Marx's bones jutted from his skin – his hipbones sharp and his shoulder blades forming painful angles. His breathing could've matched the wingbeats of a hummingbird. Insanity had sutured up the panic and adrenaline pulsing through Marx. His spidery hands shivered with tremors as he clutched Kirby's shirt, and his usually composed or darkly jovial eyes now darted about with dilated pupils. He was wired, like some addict in the throes of fierce withdrawal.
Rings of guards clad all in grey and black rippled towards them. All were armed to the teeth. Had they called all the guards in the city?
"Surrender," Earl Kavika's voice rumbled behind them. "This does not have to become any worse, Kirby."
"It always has to get worse!" Marx howled. Kirby flinched, but there was no escape – the jester pressed himself closer, and on all sides they were now surrounded.
"Give up," Kirby whimpered into his ear. "We can't fight them. Please, please just surrender."
"Kirby, Kay…" Marx whispered. Still eyeing the approaching mob, he seized Kirby's hair and tugged him close enough to taste his stale breath. "I think we're dead."
"Yeah, not yet!" Kirby yelped. "Please, give up. We'll find another way." Lies, all of it. There couldn't be another way.
"Now might be.. heh… Now might be… haha well…"
"Now might be what?" He could feel the guards approaching, sense the lethal silver of their swords like a beam of light branding his flesh. Any time now, someone would get close enough and deliver the final strike.
Is this what death is like?
"A very good time to tell you there's something I can do…" Marx breathed. His hands crept down and grasped the back of Kirby's shirt.
Kirby's eyes widened as he leapt to terrible conclusions. "Don't kill anyone."
"Not that. Holy Nova, I hope this works. Hold on tight."
Marx smiled one final time, and then a thousand paper-thin wires jabbed underneath Kirby's skin – he never saw them, but he felt them, and they shredded him apart into millions of pieces - all at once, he had no body, no ability to move, nor to scream or see. Nothing hurt but neither did anything feel like anything. He knew he existed, but beyond that, it was a void of absolute nothing. The world itself was all scrambled up and out of order, whirling in a maelstrom of chaos.
Then abruptly his lungs expanded and he reeled back and cried out and his eyes snapped open and –
The Halberd.
Holy sh-
No no no there was no way.
The Halberd, they were on the – completely impossible – he wheeled around, and it had to be true; the dials and levers, the windshield – they were in the Halberd's control room! An unpleasant retching hit his ears; Kirby turned just in time to see Marx lose the contents of his stomach to the floor.
"Meta Knight won't be happy about that," Kirby said dazedly, because suddenly the world had ceased making sense altogether and after all that adrenaline and I'm not dead! he couldn't even handle anything anymore.
"Urghh…" Marx collapsed against the wall and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"Th-the soldiers…." Kirby spun around again. "Won't they…?"
"They can't get in," Marx said haggardly. "Halberd's too well sealed. I say we just… stay here. For a bit."
"Right. Right, yeah." Kirby faced Marx. "You can teleport?"
"Sort've. A little. I…" Marx thrust his head down and dry-heaved.
It was a testament to the utter screwed up-ness of the situation that Kirby didn't feel an ounce of pity for Marx at that moment. Oh no – he was furious. "You could've teleported out of your cell," he said slowly. "All of that time I spent panicking, and you could've teleported out of your cell…" His fists clenched and his teeth ground together in rage. "I tried so hard to get you out! I spent every waking second freaking out about the fact you were gonna die – I've gotten like, all of four hours of sleep in the past three days! Do you even realize the kind of nightmares I've had? I risked getting thrown in jail just for you! And all along you could have just up and left the cell yourself!"
"It's not…"
"Two years and you never even bother to mention this? Damnit Marx how long have you been able to do that? What else can you do? Stars, I don't even… You're so chock-full of secrets, and I never know what's going on in your head – It's like I'm not even-"
"Kirby," Marx ground out, "please…"
"-worthy for you! Oh, don't mind me! Don't mind poor Kirby, he's just there to entertain you. Let him suffer just because it's so. Freakin. Amusing!" The last word turned into a scream and with that final note, all the fight dropped right out of his body. Kirby staggered back against the control board; his chest heaved and his hands trembled. He'd never lashed out at someone like that. He'd never done anything like that, ever, period. That…. Was pure hate. He didn't have pure hate, he wasn't – that wasn't like him.
"Nnhh. That's…" Marx waggled a finger before his unfocused eyes. "Nightmares?"
With that said, he crumpled to the floor.
"I'm glad to see you're expanding your food horizons," Magolor said as he cheerfully jabbed a fork towards Meta Knight's plate.
Meta Knight wasn't entirely sure what he was eating, to be honest, but he'd thought of steak at the time and it wasn't currently poisoning him, so he figured it was all right. "Contrary to popular belief, I cannot survive on sugar alone."
"You were trying to," chuckled Magolor. "I think you went months without eating anything except fuzzle pops."
"I ate in town."
"Sometimes," Magolor said, rolling his eyes. "Is this some left-over habit from the war?"
"My choice to eat little? Yes."
"Ah." Magolor got quiet, but no awkwardness could silence him for long. "What made you decide to try Halcandran food?"
"Cultural diversity."
Magolor sniggered. "Riiight. You know, you might actually like Halcandra. Tell you what – if we get through both of our messes all right, I'll give you a free ride there."
"Your description of the landscape is hardly flattering, Magolor. I mean no insult, but are the conditions even survivable?"
"Bah, you've been in a war. You've seen worse conditions, I'm sure – if your tendency to starve yourself means anything. Anyway, I promise – Halcandra really can be beautiful. It's only the people that can get to you."
"The people?" Magolor had never mentioned anything negative about his planet before, but if Meta Knight read correctly, there was something dark in the way he had referenced its civilians.
Magolor waved a hand dismissively. "It's a long story."
"You have an uncanny number of secrets," Meta Knight murmured.
"Eh?" Magolor cocked his head to the side.
"I was merely thinking aloud."
"Trust me, it's not worth knowing. We'd avoid the cities as much as we could if we went back to Halcandra."
"It is not only that."
"This is because I haven't told you where I'm going, right?" Magolor said. "Or about the amulet?"
"Among other things, that is correct."
Magolor grinned. "But Meta Knight, you're the one who's got all the secrets. Mine aren't all that bad. I get the 'dark and creepy' aura from you, like what you keep is all serious and important."
"I've told you my past; of the war and my role in it."
"Yeah, yeah." Magolor waved his fork about. "Sure, you've told me everything you've felt like telling me, but there are some nice holes in your story. You fought before Zero even got involved, and that was forever ago – how are you even that old?"
"I have my ways."
"Thought that Dreamland's life expectancy was like 120 years or something. You guys don't live that long."
"You're assuming I was born on Dreamland."
"Ah…" Magolor winked. "See, now you're a little more open. So how old are you really?"
Meta Knight let his fork rest beside the plate and studied his hands for a long moment. "I have lost track."
"Damn." Magolor sat back, yellow eyes wide.
"And you?" responded Meta Knight quietly. He preferred not to dwell on these things. They made something in him ache, something far too old and far too weary.
"Seventy-six," Magolor said happily. "But that translates to a little under twenty in Dreamland years."
"Another trait of Halcandrans?"
"Of wizards."
Meta Knight frowned beneath his mask. "You said you had very little magical ability."
"Ah, yes, well…" Magolor's dark cheeks flushed. "I was… sort of an embarrassment for my family. They're wizards, and I... Well, we didn't get along well. It's not something I really like to talk about."
"You and I are more alike than I had thought," Meta Knight laughed lightly.
"So that's what it sounds like when you laugh…" Magolor marveled.
Instantly, the deep rolling sound shut off. "You have never heard me laugh?"
"Nah. You're like a wall sometimes, MK. Intimidating as all get out, and so hard to talk to."
"Hm."
For a few moments, only the clacking of silverware filled the room. Meta Knight internally scoffed. Magolor was such a noisy eater. Meta Knight took it as a reflection of his personality: for a man with so many secrets, Magolor was a startlingly outgoing and bouncy sort of person.
Sometimes Meta Knight could hardly stand to linger around the Halcandran: he suspected that Magolor harbored a deep loneliness, and that he attempted to sate this loneliness by using Meta Knight's company.
"I will require your ship's computer again tonight," Meta Knight spoke.
"You'll want me out of the ship then, won't you?" Magolor sighed.
"As usual."
"All right," Magolor relented. Another silence; these came often around Meta Knight, Magolor had learned. "Hey… MK?"
"Hm?"
"After you do get to wherever you're going… after you get your ship back, what do you plan on doing?"
Fantastic question, actually. It depended entirely on the… condition he got both his ship and Kirby back. "I am not sure," Meta Knight replied, for this was the complete, blunt truth.
"Heavy stuff, huh?"
"Pitting good against evil. Saving the universe sort of business," Meta Knight replied smoothly.
Magolor grinned wide and clapped his hands together. "Wow! I get a laugh and a joke in the same night! This is… serious improvement. It's about time you relaxed, buddy."
Meta Knight shrugged. "It has been known to happen. Why do you ask?"
"Huh?"
"Why do you ask what I will do?"
"Oh." Sorrow veiled Magolor's normally cheery yellow eyes. "It's just this little dealeo. A small thing."
"You asked for a reason; don't dance around it."
"Well, you know we both have our own business to deal with. Maybe yours will have you running in circles all over the place, and that's fine. But I don't really…" pause. "I don't have a lot of friends, MK. I don't want you to disappear on me, too."
Meta Knight tilted his head to the side. "An outgoing man like you… it seems odd you aren't surrounded by company." The knight recalled how bare the Lor Starcutter had seemed all those months ago. No decorations, no personal details. Just empty.
"I-it does seem odd, doesn't it?" conceded the Halcandran.
"Being alone is not so terrible."
"Man, you radiate a need to be alone," Magolor griped, "It's different for you. I bet you've been alone a lot."
"You would be correct," Meta Knight said quietly.
"Sorry, I…" Magolor sighed. "I'm sorry."
Meta Knight smiled beneath his mask. "'No hard feelings,' as you put it. After I retrieve my ship, the connection between the two vessels will still survive. Any time you wish, I may be contacted."
Magolor nodded. "Thanks. I might end up pretty busy, but hey, you never know how the dice will roll."
"Indeed not…"
Magolor paused, and when he next spoke, his voice was low and uncertain, "Can I tell you something, Meta Knight?"
"You have my attention."
Magolor's gaze darted away. "Um. What I'm doing…. Where I'm going, I mean – it might have to do with saving the universe."
"Heavy stuff," echoed Meta Knight, only because he did not know what else to say. He couldn't be certain what Magolor was implying or where he was trying to lead the conversation.
Magolor chuckled weakly. "Yeah, heavy stuff." He tugged at his scarf.
"I cannot understand from your vague hints."
"I'm looking for a friend of mine. We… had similar goals. We wanted to do some good in the world, like about the war. I didn't expect to tell anyone or anything – it was kinda just between us. But things got a little screwed up, and…" Magolor ducked his head down; his hood shadowed his expression in an unnerving way.
"And…?" prompted the knight.
"If we end up needing help," Magolor said slowly, "will I be able to reach you?"
"What sort of help?" Meta Knight answered carefully.
Magolor cleared his throat and stood up abruptly from the table. He stacked up the dishes with trembling hands. "Thank you, MK." He smiled fleetingly, visible only by the creases near his eyes. "Really, thank you for listening. It's nothing too serious, though. We'll be fine, I'm sure. No kind of help. I'll get back to you on it."
Meta Knight sat back, aware he had tread an unspoken line. Magolor's comfort with this subject lay on a delicate knife point, and evidently he intended to confess nothing more for the night. Still, the pieces of what he had admitted circled around the knight's head. Despite his own concerns, he couldn't help analyzing Magolor's words to understand what it all meant.
"So," Magolor said as he wandered to the sink. "You're looking for someone too."
Meta Knight smirked. Oh, he wasn't going to be as revealing. His secrets were his own. "That is correct."
"But you keep contacting your own ship."
"Yes."
"So…" Magolor threw a glance over his shoulder. He appeared infinitely more relaxed now that he wasn't talking of his own problems. "This person has your ship?"
"So it would seem."
"You're elusive, you know that?"
"Of course."
"Opening up to people isn't bad, MK. It'd help you be a little more normal, ya know."
"Is that why you have so few friends?" Meta Knight retorted emotionlessly.
Magolor froze.
Okay, so that remark had been frigid and cruel. But Magolor confessing a sliver of his purpose gave him no right to expect the same of Meta Knight.
"I'd hate to stick my nose into business that isn't mine," Magolor said, stiff as iron, "but don't ya think your friend might not wanna talk?"
Subtle tension tightened across Meta Knight's shoulders, as though Magolor's words made them pull taut.
"Sometimes people just don't want to be found, Meta Knight."
A long silence snaked between the two semi-companions.
Then, Magolor deflated where he stood. He whirled around. "Look, MK, I didn't mean-"
"You should not claim to understand the nature of my search," interrupted Meta Knight, frigid as a glacier. He rose from the table and shoved away a plate of food that he had barely touched. "I wish for privacy."
He stalked to the Lor's control deck and there waited until he heard Magolor storm out of the ship. The initial sting of the Halcandran's words had now faded; Meta Knight clutched his cape tightly around his body and shoved aside the lingering regret from having lashed out. Normally he wasn't so volatile, but few things could move him as did a single mention of Kirby.
"The Battleship Halberd," rang out the knight's voice into the still air. By now the Lor had learned his intentions well enough that it automatically connected by those three words alone. The connotations of the Lor's learning curve were disturbing, but Meta Knight did not worry himself over it.
In fact, as soon as the image of the Halberd's control deck materialized before his eyes, he found that he could not possibly worry about anything else at that moment.
Kirby's profile was silhouetted against the cozy darkness within the control deck, so stark and unexpected that words initially failed him. Luckily, his ex-student had his back turned, attention captured by something on the floor that Meta Knight could not perceive. After so long, Meta Knight almost couldn't believe his eyes – before he'd even contacted the ship, he'd been steeling himself for defeat yet again; always in the past the Halberd's control deck had been painfully empty. But no, there stood Kirby, in flesh and blood.
Although… not much of the former, Meta Knight noted. Kirby had always been of a slight stature, however, the past year had not treated him kindly. Hollows had formed where once flesh filled; his shirt hung oddly loose over his body and his once neatly-kept blonde hair now descended in messy waves almost to his shoulders. Even as Meta Knight watched, Kirby slumped against the control board and clutched his hair. The sound of his heavy panting filled the deck of the Lor Starcutter.
What's happened to him? "Kirby?"
The teen whirled around and immediately coils of tension wreathed around his body. "Meta Knight?"
Meta Knight could not know how Kirby might have changed over the past year - he could see only the side-effects, the physical manifestation of psychological wounds. For this reason, he had not expected a civil conversation. For this reason, he'd prepared four very carefully chosen words: the four words that he believed would best open Kirby to see reason.
Against his pounding pulse, against his yearning heart, against his so very human desire to strive for a kinder beginning or a gentler welcome, he forced out those words:
"Kirby - Fumu is not dead."