Asch slipped back under the covers, journal in hand as the candle by his bedside burned. If he were going to suffer through the dreck's babbling, he may as well be comfortable while doing so. With a malicious smirk, he opened to where he last left off.
"As soon as we reached Chesedonia,…" Asch began to read, rolling his eyes at the mention of the replica's eagerness to 'become a hero,' as he put it. He continued to scan the page as the replica detailed his process of learning about isophones – honestly, how could he be so ignorant? As he read about the group's introduction to Dist, and couldn't help but let out a snort at the replica's description of him, though he tried to smother it. He continued on.
"This is the first time I've actually been in Baticul since I lost my memory... It doesn't even feel like home anymore…"
An odd jolt ran through his chest, tight but somehow the smallest bit warm, at seeing his own feelings expressed by another. But what kind of twisted joke was this, that the one person who might understand him would be his replica? When he thought of it like that, he supposed it almost made sense – of course his copy would have copied feelings. As he bitterly told himself so, he felt an inexplicable wave of loneliness.
Other small tidbits caught his attention as he continued. He had referred to Natalia as 'my cousin,' and was obviously not happy about the idea of them marrying. Obviously, his replica had only seen her as family, and never romantically. Asch had never had the courage to ask Natalia what their relationship had been like, and though he would never admit it, he was glad that the replica had been open about his feelings in this way. Maybe the benefits from reading this would get close to balancing out the deficits of being subjected to the dreck's whining. As he perused further, he caught other details – apparently Father had been distant and cold to him as well. Once again, he found himself snorting at what was written: "I wish Father was even half as nice."
The more he read, the more he became shocked at his own thoughts. It was clear that Van had very carefully crafted what he told the replica, in order to fit in perfectly with the vague wording of the score and Van's own ambitions. Van had claimed that he would be a hero, and the score dictated that the scion would bring prosperity to Kimlasca. Van had claimed that he had been imprisoned in the manor to be used as a weapon, and the score dictated that his power would cause calamity. He'd told the replica so many lies, made it look like Van was the only one who had cared, and that everyone else was out to get him. It all made sense now – why he'd been so pig-headed and refused to hear Asch out in Akzeriuth. No wonder the replica had believed Van.
Still, sympathizing with the dreck left a nasty taste in his mouth. So he did his best to dismiss those thoughts; told himself that the replica had still been too gullible, that he should have known better. It worked well enough for him to put his thoughts aside and read more, in any case.
He had been surprised that Natalia had realized something fishy was going on with Van but hadn't said anything, even if she'd promised not to tell. Then again, he supposed she must not have known the details of their secret conversation.
He continued, once more sighing at the idiot's constant complaining.
"That was the first time I saw Asch's face…"
His thoughts stilled. He'd never really thought about what kind of an impact their meeting had had on the replica… Something about it seemed really significant for the other boy, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that.
"I felt like puking. I actually did puke later…"
For a split second, an offended incredulity surged through him as he gaped at the words on the page. While the rest of the paragraph clearly indicated that his reaction was one of shock, Asch couldn't help but feel a small amount of insult. After all, wouldn't anyone react that way after basically hearing someone say, "The first time I saw your face, I threw up"? He huffed exasperatedly. Of course the brat would fall apart at the slightest provocation. Seriously, he couldn't handle anything! He grimaced.
"Haha…!"
Asch picked up his head from the book, glancing around his room. How odd, what was that sound? Perhaps something outside. He returned to reading, thinking nothing of it.
"Just when we reached the oasis, I heard Asch's voice in my head. It was like the voices I hear when I get those headaches, but I knew it was Asch this time..."
Of course the replica had known it was him, he'd told him who he was at the start of their conversation! Sooner or later he'd have to stop rolling his eyes like this, or he'd be the one getting a headache. But as he read, he remembered that first time they'd talked through their link, too. Of course, he'd known the dreck wasn't likely to trust him at the moment, but that wasn't really any of his concern. He gave them information, and the rest was their responsibility. He'd had enough things to take care of then. Of course, that didn't stop him from taking a few minutes to beat the crap out of the replica a few minutes later. He just couldn't help himself, it had oddly been kind of a stress-relief.
Scanning the text further, he wasn't surprised to see the replica having another childish fit of complaints, but it irritated him all the same. This was exactly what Asch had been trying to show the others – what he would show them as soon as he had a chance. But he'd have to keep reading, of course. They were likely to write it off as a momentary fault, or say that had been under a lot of pressure in an unfamiliar situation.
Although, he supposed all those headaches he'd given him hadn't helped his mood…
But he shook his head, as if to shake those thoughts away. The fact still remained: the replica was an ignorant, arrogant, brat. He thought he was more important than anyone else, and he had no empathy. It was revolting.
A few passages later, his mood dropped considerably, as he read the account of the destruction of Akzeriuth. The replica hysterically denied any responsibility in its fall, and apparently lost consciousness, prompting the cheagle write in his place. (Who knew cheagles could even write? Was that part of the sorcerer's ring's power? Not that that was important anyway…) A savage sort of satisfaction settled over him as he read the replica's denials. His reaction to his own failure was the damning piece of evidence Asch had come across so far. The dreck had even admitted that everyone had scorned him as a result of his behavior.
So why did they still seem to love him all so much? How could they stand to be around someone like this?
But the next entry was the complete opposite – his rash pig-headedness was replaced with a sorrowful acceptance. He seemed to have done a complete 180, outright admitting the words, "I really was an idiot." Personally, Asch agreed wholeheartedly.
"Will wonders never cease," he muttered sardonically as he continued once again.
Surprisingly, he hadn't written much on his feelings of finding out about his nature as a replica, only that he "didn't want to admit it," which would make sense. For a moment, Asch pondered how all of it must have weaved together inside the other's mind: the destruction of Akzeriuth and his part in it, his nature, his friends leaving. He certainly seemed to be much more…down on himself and self-deprecating, quite frankly.
Though, honestly, a part of him was quite surprised. The more Asch read, he saw a new-found maturity in the replica; his words were softer, and he began to think about others' feelings. Finally, he realized that he had to take responsibility for things, and think for himself. He actually seemed…thoughtful.
Maybe Akzeriuth had affected the replica.
He closed the book momentarily, resting it on his lap. After Akzeriuth had fallen, Asch had done as much as he could to ignore anything the replica said or did, as long as he could help it. Was that why everyone saw the replica differently?
Had he actually changed, and had Asch just not seen it?
Surely not, right? Even if a part of the replica did recognize his behaviors, Asch still never had a positive interaction with him. He'd been annoyed every time he spoke with him. He'd probably slipped back into his old habits. Maybe he just got better at hiding them from the others. Yes, that could be plausible, right? In the same way that he had seen the replica's frustration building up from the oasis to Akzeriuth, he would have to lose his patience again at some point. Surely, the more he read, he would see exactly that.
So despite the fact that the candle beside him had burned down considerably, he had to keep reading, didn't he? Before he could think on it any further, he found himself drawn into the narrative once again.
A swirl of unidentifiable emotions ran through him as read on, especially when the replica would allude to his thoughts on the nature of his birth, and what that meant for his place in the world. The written words provided a picture much different from what he had read before – something much more somber and down-to-earth. And written between the lines, Asch could almost see what it might have looked like for the replica's friends to have such disdain for him. But the replica had remained focused on what they had to do, and wrote less and less about himself.
In the future, Asch would look back and wonder if this point was when he truly began to open himself up to the possibility of a change of heart regarding Luke. Though he wouldn't consciously acknowledge it, he actually wanted to see how the boy's story played out. Not because he already cared beforehand, but because he had begun to gain the smallest spark of Asch's respect. If he were being completely honest, his interest had been piqued.
When Asch read about how fomicry had come into existence, he was bewildered. If what the replica had written was true – and he had no reason to believe otherwise – then Jade created fomicry to replace a doll for his sister. Asch wondered why he didn't just buy a new doll. To his bemusement, his replica had wondered exactly that, according to the next line. As he kept reading, he couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of guilt realizing that he now knew something about Jade's past that he obviously didn't want others to know. It felt a little like eavesdropping. But there was no going back now, so he dived back into the world seen through his replica's eyes.
He was almost more surprised to learn of Guy's past, and his reason for coming to the manor in Baticul. He was completely floored. Sure, Guy had seemed distant when he was younger, but Asch never paid mind to it. He was a servant, after all. They weren't meant to be friends.
So what had happened between Guy and the replica? Why had he given up on his plan to kill him? Asch became more engrossed in the story, eager to find out what he would learn next. Who knew the replica's friends were so complicated? It seemed that wherever the replica went, things were chaotic – in order to save St. Binah, they'd had to travel all the way to Sheridan, racing against the clock before the city fell. But even upon arriving in Sheridan, they had to rescue Ginji and the Albiore's hover drive, while racing against yet another time limit and fighting off hordes of monsters. The suspense of the whole ordeal actually managed to raise Asch's pulse a bit. He almost found himself silently rooting for the group; that they would reach St. Binah in time, before he remembered that he'd been informed of the townspeople's survival back when it had happened in real time.
Just as Asch had suspected, the replica had lost his patience and lashed out again. But this time, it was different. He'd caught himself much quicker, corrected himself, and re-focused. Still, he'd lapsed into self-deprecating, and that grated on Asch's nerves like nails on a chalkboard. At the very least, the replica was honest and seemed to realize that he hadn't actually changed at this point. Asch supposed he would give him some points for self-awareness. He yawned, rubbing his eyes.
The rest of the narrative detailed the events around the Sephiroth Tree supporting Engeve, and the break-out of the war between Malkuth and Kimlasca on the outer lands. Of course, he'd been informed of all of these things when they had happened, so he found his concentration waning some. Unknowingly, Asch began to doze, and the book slipped from his fingers as his eyes closed. The candle had burned all the way down shortly after, and darkness enveloped the room until dawn would arrive.
Asch awoke to the warmth of sunlight on his face, and a floating sense of comfort as he stretched his limbs across his plush bedding. A sensation of something sliding from his chest caused him to snap his eyes open, briefly forgetting last night's events until his eyes landed on the book beside him in bed. A glance at the clock told him that it was about time to present himself for breakfast, so he climbed out of bed and made his way towards the washroom, his mind wandering over the last events he could remember reading. Images flitted across his mind with an unusual clarity, almost like memories…? Bracing his hands on the marble counter, he rose his eyes to meet his own reflection. A surge of intense shock ran through his veins as he registered a figure standing behind him.
But when he turned around, no one was there.
He drew in a few deep breaths, hand on his heart as he tried to calm it's furious pounding.
"Must've…not been fully awake yet…" He murmured, suppressing a shudder as he continued his morning routine with a slight tremor in his hands. Try as he might to ignore it, he felt as though someone were watching him. Had he slowly settled into complacency since living in the manor again? Perhaps his battle instincts were telling him something. A scowl settled over his face, and he slowly sized up the room around him, calling to the unseen presence.
"Whoever you are, if you think you can sneak up on me, you're dead wrong!" He growled, tensing. "Who are you, and what do you want?!"
Inexplicably, he felt the presence fade away from him. He crossed the threshold back to his room with grim determination; just because he couldn't see it didn't mean he would just let it slip away without a fight. As he entered, his foot hit something.
What…the hell….?
There on the floor in the doorway was the journal, opened up to the first blank page where the replica had written his name, claiming the book as his own.
The air suddenly seemed heavier, and he felt like throwing up. What kind of sick joke was this?!
The spell was broken by a knock at the door. "Master Luke? Breakfast is ready in the Hall."
On impulse, he almost ordered her to retrieve the guards. They could place the manor on lockdown, search the premises, find the intruder... But what would he tell them he'd seen? He hadn't actually gotten a clear face. The only other hint of an intruder was the odd presence he kept feeling every now and again. But how could he explain that, feeling as though someone were there, when he knew no one was? Besides, for all he knew, maybe he knocked the book onto the floor as he left the bed. They would think he was losing his mind, chasing ghosts.
He was starting to wonder if he was.