Number FIVE ☂ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
somebadnews) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
eastbound2023-12-31 11:43 am
somebadnews) wrote in eastbound2023-12-31 11:43 am
un: ut malum pluvia | audio
[ Since Five spoke to the Merchant, he's had a change in perspective. At first, the castle mystery seemed to be irresistible. (Not in any small part because it literally is. He's still compelled to dinner, despite since being smart enough to avoid the ballroom and gardens.) He won't say he loves mysteries, but it bothers him when he doesn't have a proper explanation for something; his ego is still alive and well and tells him he could absolutely solve it if he cares to. But once he found out Anurr mislead him (weirdly shocking) and has been amassing his power east, and that they're apparently actively hunting Matthias once they leave here, he's come to the conclusion that he needs to spend his energies on what's ahead of them in what little time they have.
He sticks inside the room he's been given, which is large enough for him to take stock of his inventory and blissfully gives him the freedom to properly pace as he works relentlessly into the night. Anurr's finger (still on the string it was given to him on) gets placed near where he's currently writing on the walls. He has half a mind to call him just to chew him out, but he hasn't been drinking enough for that. Apparently he has been drinking enough that he dragged one of the statues that kept turning towards him into the room. He's made friends with it, and asks its opinion on occasion, halfway appreciating the silence and halfway wishing it would point out something he's overlooking. Because there must be something.
Almost immediately after he starts writing probability equations, he gets sidetracked when he starts to work on how to save his brother's life. Their moment at the staircase made him aware of how fragile this second chance is, and he has no good answer for what to do if they reach the beacons and Allison insists on returning to an uncertain future where her daughter may or may not (but definitely not — how would she?) exist and Ben is stuck here. He should be using every waking moment with his family and take this as the only time he might have left with them, but instead he's still selfishly trying to figure out how to have it all. His family alive with no apocalypses or threat of the undead. There has to be a way.
For good measure, he writes some notes on the side, something to get back to, about Kamala's problem. The idea that it'll only take a few days to solve how to break apart universes, time, life and death itself is... ambitious. He's tried before. Notebooks upon notebooks of equations, some that might lead him back to moments when he could retrieve the siblings who were here and are gone, more that need to be worked out. Some that are utter nonsense that he wrote while half (or fully) out of his mind. He's tried so hard. Halfway through the space on the expansive wall he reaches another dead end and a breaking point.
It's been a while since he completely wrecked one of his rooms out of sheer frustration, and longer since he's had one so lavishly furnished to tear apart. Doing it here where no one can see is intentional, even if the explosive bout of anger isn't, and up until the last crash it feels fantastic to see the destruction and release some of his frustration.
Then he hears something scream and remembers. The things in this castle are alive.
Oh. Oh, that's... not good. His thoughts are immediately derailed by that horrible realization. He can't tell from the mess he made which thing made the noise. Did he just kill the vase or the dresser? Or is the curse going to put them back together? ...Shit. ]
[ Five clears his throat as he turns to the network. How to put this without admitting that he threw a tantrum and might have broken someone... possibly more than someone... several horrifically-cursed-people into pieces. For someone who can be fairly blasé when it comes to murder, this seems a little too much like insult to injury. ]
You're all pretty handy, aren't you? [ God, starting with a compliment. They have to know something is wrong, but he doesn't know how else to handle this weird problem. Maybe he should have written this down to not give himself away, but he's already started now. ] We have any carpenters, or... maybe some metal workers? I need something repaired.
A few somethings. I'm sure you can take a break from the mystery to do a mundane task. Call it a favor. [ Something crunches under his foot and he winces. That one may be a lost cause. ] ...Thanks.
[ And if anyone happens by his room (or heard the ruckus and went to investigate), he's at least trying to sort out the mess he made, and trying his best not to notice the statue looking much more accusingly in his direction. What's worse is he can't get a broom without worrying it'll snitch on him. Fucking magic castles... ]
He sticks inside the room he's been given, which is large enough for him to take stock of his inventory and blissfully gives him the freedom to properly pace as he works relentlessly into the night. Anurr's finger (still on the string it was given to him on) gets placed near where he's currently writing on the walls. He has half a mind to call him just to chew him out, but he hasn't been drinking enough for that. Apparently he has been drinking enough that he dragged one of the statues that kept turning towards him into the room. He's made friends with it, and asks its opinion on occasion, halfway appreciating the silence and halfway wishing it would point out something he's overlooking. Because there must be something.
Almost immediately after he starts writing probability equations, he gets sidetracked when he starts to work on how to save his brother's life. Their moment at the staircase made him aware of how fragile this second chance is, and he has no good answer for what to do if they reach the beacons and Allison insists on returning to an uncertain future where her daughter may or may not (but definitely not — how would she?) exist and Ben is stuck here. He should be using every waking moment with his family and take this as the only time he might have left with them, but instead he's still selfishly trying to figure out how to have it all. His family alive with no apocalypses or threat of the undead. There has to be a way.
For good measure, he writes some notes on the side, something to get back to, about Kamala's problem. The idea that it'll only take a few days to solve how to break apart universes, time, life and death itself is... ambitious. He's tried before. Notebooks upon notebooks of equations, some that might lead him back to moments when he could retrieve the siblings who were here and are gone, more that need to be worked out. Some that are utter nonsense that he wrote while half (or fully) out of his mind. He's tried so hard. Halfway through the space on the expansive wall he reaches another dead end and a breaking point.
It's been a while since he completely wrecked one of his rooms out of sheer frustration, and longer since he's had one so lavishly furnished to tear apart. Doing it here where no one can see is intentional, even if the explosive bout of anger isn't, and up until the last crash it feels fantastic to see the destruction and release some of his frustration.
Then he hears something scream and remembers. The things in this castle are alive.
Oh. Oh, that's... not good. His thoughts are immediately derailed by that horrible realization. He can't tell from the mess he made which thing made the noise. Did he just kill the vase or the dresser? Or is the curse going to put them back together? ...Shit. ]
[ Five clears his throat as he turns to the network. How to put this without admitting that he threw a tantrum and might have broken someone... possibly more than someone... several horrifically-cursed-people into pieces. For someone who can be fairly blasé when it comes to murder, this seems a little too much like insult to injury. ]
You're all pretty handy, aren't you? [ God, starting with a compliment. They have to know something is wrong, but he doesn't know how else to handle this weird problem. Maybe he should have written this down to not give himself away, but he's already started now. ] We have any carpenters, or... maybe some metal workers? I need something repaired.
A few somethings. I'm sure you can take a break from the mystery to do a mundane task. Call it a favor. [ Something crunches under his foot and he winces. That one may be a lost cause. ] ...Thanks.
[ And if anyone happens by his room (or heard the ruckus and went to investigate), he's at least trying to sort out the mess he made, and trying his best not to notice the statue looking much more accusingly in his direction. What's worse is he can't get a broom without worrying it'll snitch on him. Fucking magic castles... ]
no subject
It's complicated. [ If she couldn't guess by the sprawling math covering the walls. ] I'm trying to do something impossible, but it's proving to be considerably more difficult when time is literally working against you.
[ He knows she's going to ask. He could brush it off and not tell her, but for some reason he feels like giving her context. ]
My brother is dead in my... their timeline. He's alive here, but that timeline also ends with the rest of the universe, a week after I go back. I don't know if I can change that, but I have to give it my best shot.
no subject
still, she can't quite stifle the hesitation in her hands as she reaches for another piece. my brother is dead. timelines. that sort of thing is really strange's purview more than hers, but she ... gets it. yelena had been dead for her, too. there hadn't been anything she wasn't willing to do to try and get her sister (and the others) back.
even die. )
That is complicated. ( she allows, wiping her hands off on her jeans. her eyes shift from the ruins of the furniture to the math scrawled on the walls, then back at him. ) You're using the time here to try and figure out how to fix it?
no subject
I have been, every day since I got here. [ He can show her a small library of notebooks at this point that he can only carry around thanks to an enchanted box. No one since Una has been able to make sense of his math, but if he ever found someone, maybe they'd be able to point to something he can use. He runs a hand through his hair and tries to resist the urge to jump back into the math that caused this mess. ]
Three years and it's only gotten more convoluted. Back then all I had to figure out was how to get back, and now I have to rewrite time and insert my brother into a place where he doesn't belong. [ That's not counting getting Allison's daughter back, but there's only so much he can do to fix his mistakes. ] At least the consequences of getting it wrong can't be worse than what we already have coming.