Disclaimer: I regret to say that I have neither the creative talent nor the
money to be the owner of .hack//SIGN. *sniff, sniff*
A/N: There comes a time (or two, or three) in every writer's life where she looks at everything she's done, blinks a few times, then yells, "I'M A TOTAL FAILURE!" Well, such a time has come for me, and I've been so depressed that I can't write a thing. For better or for worse, though, I've shaken it off, and I present you (if anyone actually still remembers this story) with chapter seven!
"O turn away those cruel eyes, The stars of my undoing!"
-Thomas Stanley, "The Relapse"
************************************************************************
Potential
By Moonlight'sSpell
************************************************************************
Chapter Seven: Relapse
Sora let out a yawn as he paced the field for the nineteenth time. He kept track by counting how many times he passed that odd-shaped mushroom. Since this was his only form of entertainment, he was forced to admit it: he was bored out of his mind.
He didn't understand it. At noon on a Saturday, he usually had plenty to do. He'd train up, get valuable items, torture female newbies. . . but somehow none of that stuff seemed fun anymore. He passed the mushroom again. "Twenty," he said with a sigh.
He jumped at the sound of someone logging into the field. When the golden rings dissipated, he was face to face with a familiar blond Wavemaster. He smirked. *Goodbye, boredom! Nowadays amusement comes right to me!* But then something very strange happened.
BT smiled. "Hi, Sora," she said brightly.
He nearly fell over in shock. She. . . she looked. . . happy to see him. *Happy* to see *him.* No scowl, no sarcasm, no withering remarks. Just "Hi, Sora."
Something was dreadfully wrong.
Here he was, ready to have some sport, and she greeted him as though he were a normal player? As though he couldn't, and wouldn't, kill her in an instant if she gave him the slightest cause?
He racked his brain, trying to think what could have caused this sudden change. Then it hit him. It must have been *his* fault. After all, hadn't he been really nice to BT lately, for reasons that even now were a mystery to him? He must have somehow gotten her to think they were *friends* or something.
He snorted to himself. Friends? He didn't have friends. He didn't need them. And he definitely didn't need an annoying little Wavemaster tagging along after him. So, he obviously had to do something to remedy the situation.
Of course, there was one way. . . a way that would work perfectly. So why was he hesitant? He stood staring at her for a split second and an eternity, the proud PK arguing with the tiny part of him that said he *liked* seeing her act this way, that he wanted to see her smile at him again. . .
Such thoughts were nonsense. Just look at how weak she had made him already! This must be brought to an end. Yes, he would do it, and in the process he'd bring his art to a place he'd never reached before.
"Oh, hello!" he responded smoothly, flashing her a grin. "Sorry, I was daydreaming. What were you saying?"
************************************************************************
Sora walked alongside BT. He seemed to be calm, but on the inside he was jubilant. His plan would soon be brought to completion.
The hardest part, of course, had already been accomplished. It had seemed innocent enough: a simple invitation to a dungeon. A challenging one for her, of course, but he had offered to do it so she could gain more experience. Little did she know what was in store for her once they reached the bottom.
He glanced in her direction. She seemed to suspect nothing. Good. It would make his betrayal all the more bitter. He had learned there was only one way to keep people away from you, and that was to hurt them.
They had reached the last room. He would have to make his move once they'd reached the treasure. And there it was, the enormous Gott statue, hovering in a golden light.
He gulped, suddenly uncertain. Did he really want to do this? He thought of the conversation they'd had on the way down. He had tried to be as pleasant as possible, of course - if he was going to do this, he would make it devastating - and he had actually enjoyed himself. She wasn't all that bad to talk to, and she certainly knew a lot. Did he really *want* to keep her away from him?
He shook those thoughts away. He had to do this! If you made an exception for one person, it would only lead to another, and another, until you let the entire world walk all over you. He would never be that kind of person! And so. . . it was showtime.
BT, oblivious, had walked to the statue. "That was sure easy! Hmm, I wonder what kind of treasure we'll get."
He smirked. "I think. . . that you're mistaken. You see, *you* won't be getting anything. You won't leave this dungeon alive."
She whirled. "Huh? What are you talking about?"
He approached her, blades sliding out of their sheaths. "I thought my methods were in need of improvement, so I decided to try something new. I seem to recall you saying. . . that you saved your game before meeting with me, just in case. And so I found a way around that particular barrier. I think we've been playing for a good two hours, right? It's a shame all that time will be a waste for you." He brought one knife up to his face, watching the torchlight shimmer along its edge. "And now, I'll say goodbye. You should be more careful who you associate with."
He regarded her with satisfaction at first, but then he noticed something strange. He had expected her to run, to flee, to curse him, to have *some* reaction to his declaration. But she seemed frozen, unable to move or speak.
He smirked, trying to hide his puzzlement. "You honestly didn't think I *liked* spending time with you, did you? If you can't be useful, I have no need to see you. You're actually quite pitiful, to tell the truth. Heh. . . just look! You don't even try to run; you won't lift a finger to protect yourself. You just stand there, awaiting your downfall." He looked at her again. She had sagged to the floor during his speech, and still wouldn't utter a sound. "Nothing to say? Well then, I'll make it quick." A victorious smile. "See ya." He took off at a run, charging with all his strength, one blade held out for a killing blow against his defenseless adversary -
************************************************************************
"Or death, in such a bright disguise, May tempt a second wooing."
-Thomas Stanley, "The Relapse"
************************************************************************
- and he froze.
One knife lay a mere inch from her face, poised to strike the final blow. And yet. . . he could not move. For as he had leaped, he had caught sight of her eyes, and it was what he had found there that had stopped him cold.
There was no fear there, no self-pity, no hatred. . . there was simply a great sadness. The first shock of his actions had passed, and even the confusion had fallen away. Even he could not bring himself to slay so immense a despair. And after meeting her on the other side, he knew she was different from all others in The World: she wore no mask. He, like everyone else, could hide behind a borrowed appearance, but he knew her real eyes, identical to the emerald gaze he was caught in now, held the same emotion.
He strained his body, trying to close the last few inches between them, but his arm refused to move. He was forced to sheathe his blade, admitting defeat. Now she'd laugh at him forever. He risked a glance at her again, hoping not to see the usual ridicule.
She was unchanged. It was as though time had frozen for her in that instant. She did not twitch, didn't tremble. . . come to think of it, she hadn't even flinched when he had charged at her. He tentatively reached out a hand, and gave her a gentle shake.
Time abruptly started again. She recoiled, backing away, leaping to her feet. The eyes had changed, and there was an emotion there he couldn't place. . . and yet it looked somehow familiar. It reminded him of himself somehow. Maybe a memory long forgotten, or perhaps someone he once knew?
He had it. He remembered a windy day when he was six years old. He had taken the elevator to the roof of his apartment building. He remembered how he had stood at the edge of the roof, looking out at the scene spread before him. . . and then suddenly lost his footing, only just managing to cling to the edge of the roof.
Luckily for him, there had been a man standing near him, and he had managed to save Sora's life. But, even now, whenever Sora was in a high place, he became paralyzed with the fear of that memory. That was why he loved to climb to high places in The World, because he could not do so in the real world without shaking like a leaf. That was what he was seeing in BT's eyes now. The fear of a memory.
But what memory? What could he have done that resembled something that had happened to her in real life? He had threatened to kill her, of course, but he had done so before without her batting an eyelash.
He felt that the answer was in his reach; he was just looking at the pieces of the puzzle in the wrong order. But then, BT spoke, her voice trembling but somehow empty.
"Hmph. Y-Yeah, you think you're something special, don't you? Laughing at people who can't d-do anything about it? W-Well, it doesn't work anymore. I'm leaving. Go pull your stupid pranks on someone else." And she lifted her sprite ocarina, leaving him alone with the feeling that she had not been talking to him, but to someone who wasn't there.
And then reality dawned on him. The plan had not gone the way he'd anticipated, but it had worked. She would never trust him again. So why was this so wrong? Why did he feel defeated?
************************************************************************
The dark-haired young man logged off his computer, staring at the darkened room. His black braid swished at his side as he left the den and walked to his studio. There, he beheld his works of art, the paintings that had been the only reason he logged off his computer at all. And yet now. . . they angered him. He had just lost. . . the only person who had really understood him. And he had wanted to lose her.
He let out an angry shout, kicking his easel, scattering the paints from their shelves, blue eyes flashing with anger and regret. And when he was satisfied with the destruction he'd wrought, he collapsed on the floor in tears.
************************************************************************
"Punish their blind and impious pride,
Who dare contemn thy glory;
It was my fall that deified
Thy name, and seal'd thy story."
-Thomas Stanley, "The Relapse"
************************************************************************
A/N: Okay, first of all, did anyone read this? And secondly, was it any good? Trying to bolster my self confidence, ya know?
To all my reviewers: So, so sorry for making you guys wait so long! I loved all the wonderful reviews and I felt so guilty for not writing. I was interested to see that mostly everyone said they're starting to like BT/Sora now. . . Well, that was my goal, so at least I'm getting somewhere.
To Witticism: I suppose you're right. . . I can't really imagine them doing any of this stuff anyway. . . but it's my fic, so I have this wonderful thing called. . . artistic license! You're doing a great job with "Bloodied Eyes;" I beg you to continue!
To death-resurrected: I was hoping someone would pick up on that! Don't worry, that's a major part of the plot! Just wait and see. . .
A/N: There comes a time (or two, or three) in every writer's life where she looks at everything she's done, blinks a few times, then yells, "I'M A TOTAL FAILURE!" Well, such a time has come for me, and I've been so depressed that I can't write a thing. For better or for worse, though, I've shaken it off, and I present you (if anyone actually still remembers this story) with chapter seven!
"O turn away those cruel eyes, The stars of my undoing!"
-Thomas Stanley, "The Relapse"
************************************************************************
Potential
By Moonlight'sSpell
************************************************************************
Chapter Seven: Relapse
Sora let out a yawn as he paced the field for the nineteenth time. He kept track by counting how many times he passed that odd-shaped mushroom. Since this was his only form of entertainment, he was forced to admit it: he was bored out of his mind.
He didn't understand it. At noon on a Saturday, he usually had plenty to do. He'd train up, get valuable items, torture female newbies. . . but somehow none of that stuff seemed fun anymore. He passed the mushroom again. "Twenty," he said with a sigh.
He jumped at the sound of someone logging into the field. When the golden rings dissipated, he was face to face with a familiar blond Wavemaster. He smirked. *Goodbye, boredom! Nowadays amusement comes right to me!* But then something very strange happened.
BT smiled. "Hi, Sora," she said brightly.
He nearly fell over in shock. She. . . she looked. . . happy to see him. *Happy* to see *him.* No scowl, no sarcasm, no withering remarks. Just "Hi, Sora."
Something was dreadfully wrong.
Here he was, ready to have some sport, and she greeted him as though he were a normal player? As though he couldn't, and wouldn't, kill her in an instant if she gave him the slightest cause?
He racked his brain, trying to think what could have caused this sudden change. Then it hit him. It must have been *his* fault. After all, hadn't he been really nice to BT lately, for reasons that even now were a mystery to him? He must have somehow gotten her to think they were *friends* or something.
He snorted to himself. Friends? He didn't have friends. He didn't need them. And he definitely didn't need an annoying little Wavemaster tagging along after him. So, he obviously had to do something to remedy the situation.
Of course, there was one way. . . a way that would work perfectly. So why was he hesitant? He stood staring at her for a split second and an eternity, the proud PK arguing with the tiny part of him that said he *liked* seeing her act this way, that he wanted to see her smile at him again. . .
Such thoughts were nonsense. Just look at how weak she had made him already! This must be brought to an end. Yes, he would do it, and in the process he'd bring his art to a place he'd never reached before.
"Oh, hello!" he responded smoothly, flashing her a grin. "Sorry, I was daydreaming. What were you saying?"
************************************************************************
Sora walked alongside BT. He seemed to be calm, but on the inside he was jubilant. His plan would soon be brought to completion.
The hardest part, of course, had already been accomplished. It had seemed innocent enough: a simple invitation to a dungeon. A challenging one for her, of course, but he had offered to do it so she could gain more experience. Little did she know what was in store for her once they reached the bottom.
He glanced in her direction. She seemed to suspect nothing. Good. It would make his betrayal all the more bitter. He had learned there was only one way to keep people away from you, and that was to hurt them.
They had reached the last room. He would have to make his move once they'd reached the treasure. And there it was, the enormous Gott statue, hovering in a golden light.
He gulped, suddenly uncertain. Did he really want to do this? He thought of the conversation they'd had on the way down. He had tried to be as pleasant as possible, of course - if he was going to do this, he would make it devastating - and he had actually enjoyed himself. She wasn't all that bad to talk to, and she certainly knew a lot. Did he really *want* to keep her away from him?
He shook those thoughts away. He had to do this! If you made an exception for one person, it would only lead to another, and another, until you let the entire world walk all over you. He would never be that kind of person! And so. . . it was showtime.
BT, oblivious, had walked to the statue. "That was sure easy! Hmm, I wonder what kind of treasure we'll get."
He smirked. "I think. . . that you're mistaken. You see, *you* won't be getting anything. You won't leave this dungeon alive."
She whirled. "Huh? What are you talking about?"
He approached her, blades sliding out of their sheaths. "I thought my methods were in need of improvement, so I decided to try something new. I seem to recall you saying. . . that you saved your game before meeting with me, just in case. And so I found a way around that particular barrier. I think we've been playing for a good two hours, right? It's a shame all that time will be a waste for you." He brought one knife up to his face, watching the torchlight shimmer along its edge. "And now, I'll say goodbye. You should be more careful who you associate with."
He regarded her with satisfaction at first, but then he noticed something strange. He had expected her to run, to flee, to curse him, to have *some* reaction to his declaration. But she seemed frozen, unable to move or speak.
He smirked, trying to hide his puzzlement. "You honestly didn't think I *liked* spending time with you, did you? If you can't be useful, I have no need to see you. You're actually quite pitiful, to tell the truth. Heh. . . just look! You don't even try to run; you won't lift a finger to protect yourself. You just stand there, awaiting your downfall." He looked at her again. She had sagged to the floor during his speech, and still wouldn't utter a sound. "Nothing to say? Well then, I'll make it quick." A victorious smile. "See ya." He took off at a run, charging with all his strength, one blade held out for a killing blow against his defenseless adversary -
************************************************************************
"Or death, in such a bright disguise, May tempt a second wooing."
-Thomas Stanley, "The Relapse"
************************************************************************
- and he froze.
One knife lay a mere inch from her face, poised to strike the final blow. And yet. . . he could not move. For as he had leaped, he had caught sight of her eyes, and it was what he had found there that had stopped him cold.
There was no fear there, no self-pity, no hatred. . . there was simply a great sadness. The first shock of his actions had passed, and even the confusion had fallen away. Even he could not bring himself to slay so immense a despair. And after meeting her on the other side, he knew she was different from all others in The World: she wore no mask. He, like everyone else, could hide behind a borrowed appearance, but he knew her real eyes, identical to the emerald gaze he was caught in now, held the same emotion.
He strained his body, trying to close the last few inches between them, but his arm refused to move. He was forced to sheathe his blade, admitting defeat. Now she'd laugh at him forever. He risked a glance at her again, hoping not to see the usual ridicule.
She was unchanged. It was as though time had frozen for her in that instant. She did not twitch, didn't tremble. . . come to think of it, she hadn't even flinched when he had charged at her. He tentatively reached out a hand, and gave her a gentle shake.
Time abruptly started again. She recoiled, backing away, leaping to her feet. The eyes had changed, and there was an emotion there he couldn't place. . . and yet it looked somehow familiar. It reminded him of himself somehow. Maybe a memory long forgotten, or perhaps someone he once knew?
He had it. He remembered a windy day when he was six years old. He had taken the elevator to the roof of his apartment building. He remembered how he had stood at the edge of the roof, looking out at the scene spread before him. . . and then suddenly lost his footing, only just managing to cling to the edge of the roof.
Luckily for him, there had been a man standing near him, and he had managed to save Sora's life. But, even now, whenever Sora was in a high place, he became paralyzed with the fear of that memory. That was why he loved to climb to high places in The World, because he could not do so in the real world without shaking like a leaf. That was what he was seeing in BT's eyes now. The fear of a memory.
But what memory? What could he have done that resembled something that had happened to her in real life? He had threatened to kill her, of course, but he had done so before without her batting an eyelash.
He felt that the answer was in his reach; he was just looking at the pieces of the puzzle in the wrong order. But then, BT spoke, her voice trembling but somehow empty.
"Hmph. Y-Yeah, you think you're something special, don't you? Laughing at people who can't d-do anything about it? W-Well, it doesn't work anymore. I'm leaving. Go pull your stupid pranks on someone else." And she lifted her sprite ocarina, leaving him alone with the feeling that she had not been talking to him, but to someone who wasn't there.
And then reality dawned on him. The plan had not gone the way he'd anticipated, but it had worked. She would never trust him again. So why was this so wrong? Why did he feel defeated?
************************************************************************
The dark-haired young man logged off his computer, staring at the darkened room. His black braid swished at his side as he left the den and walked to his studio. There, he beheld his works of art, the paintings that had been the only reason he logged off his computer at all. And yet now. . . they angered him. He had just lost. . . the only person who had really understood him. And he had wanted to lose her.
He let out an angry shout, kicking his easel, scattering the paints from their shelves, blue eyes flashing with anger and regret. And when he was satisfied with the destruction he'd wrought, he collapsed on the floor in tears.
************************************************************************
"Punish their blind and impious pride,
Who dare contemn thy glory;
It was my fall that deified
Thy name, and seal'd thy story."
-Thomas Stanley, "The Relapse"
************************************************************************
A/N: Okay, first of all, did anyone read this? And secondly, was it any good? Trying to bolster my self confidence, ya know?
To all my reviewers: So, so sorry for making you guys wait so long! I loved all the wonderful reviews and I felt so guilty for not writing. I was interested to see that mostly everyone said they're starting to like BT/Sora now. . . Well, that was my goal, so at least I'm getting somewhere.
To Witticism: I suppose you're right. . . I can't really imagine them doing any of this stuff anyway. . . but it's my fic, so I have this wonderful thing called. . . artistic license! You're doing a great job with "Bloodied Eyes;" I beg you to continue!
To death-resurrected: I was hoping someone would pick up on that! Don't worry, that's a major part of the plot! Just wait and see. . .