Title: Perpetual Motion
For: IF 2-5
Date: June 19, 2010
They say that sometimes it takes losing everything to move on. Some people even go as far as to say that if you haven't lost everything, you'll destroy it yourself before your soul is finally free.
I guess that's true for people. At any rate, it's true for me.
My name is Takeda, Kayaku Takeda. I spent the last few years of my life working for Suoh Chemical Company. They make explosives and have a huge fireworks brand that sells worldwide. I was one of their DOT-Class C chemists, designing the fireworks, and it was a good life. Especially for a pyrochem major with no plans after college. Believe me, it was heaven on earth.
But then one day the Director called me into his office and asked if I wanted to make a little extra money... "testing" some of Suoh's more powerful compounds. Black ops team. A way more powerful bang, and a bigger paycheck, too. I was all for it. Before I could understand what was happening, I'd agreed to sneak into places and blow up things like vacant buildings, or quiet, clear offices with no one in them. Sometimes it occurred to me that this might not be totally legal. But it paid well and by the time I started having second thoughts, I was too far in to back out.
Until they asked me to hit someone, nothing had ever gone horribly, terribly wrong on a mission. But they asked me to blow up a... a person, a living thing. It was like a nightmare. I tried to say no. The Director pulled out some newspaper clippings and handed them to me. They were articles about offices being blown up... near the local Army base. Records of enlistments and shipments of chemicals burned to ash. Then he showed me my list for the year. The dates and locations matched up perfectly and I knew he'd turn me in. So that night, there I was, waiting for my target. I never stood a chance against him... maybe the Director knew that. Because he certainly had no love for me after that fight.
I wound up pinned. My target had the upper hand. What could I do? I was about to die so I explained everything, told him the whole stupid story. He listened. Then he took the gun away from my head. It turns out he was running from his place in the world, too.
My target told me his callsign first, his name second. He told me between blocks in the city that he was accused of murdering his own squad. They'd been killed by someone with an inborn magic called Talent, and he was Talented. But he couldn't kill anyone--he was a medic, and his Talent was only for healing people. Even though he'd explained it multiple times to them, apparently this wasn't clear to his comrades. He was a traitor, and he was being chased. I was a traitor, too, and I had no one to run with. So we ran together.
We ran south, for days. We picked up two horses from an inn. Slept in the forest by the side of the road between towns, didn't dare to make a fire. We tried our best to outrun the men chasing Sapper, and when we couldn't, we fought. I still had my explosives, he had a nodachi and a few small weapons. We were outnumbered three to one. In an odd sort of way, dangerous as it was... it was a rush. An adventure.
After all, what could be better? Both of us were lost, we had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and only a few, shrinking miles to the Vivian border. Even though we were both running for our lives, after losing everything, it didn't matter. The sting of blood, the pounding of our hearts, the steps and blow in a fight beat out a constant, steady rhythm: we're free, we're free, we're free!. Nothing left for us, the whole world in front of us, and danger at our backs. Until our time ran out, we were on an adventure.
Of course, they did eventually catch us. After we'd gotten our respective hits in, they said something unexpected: they wanted to talk. Just talk. They weren't going to kill us, after all. Yet. They had plenty to tell Sapper.
Apparently, for him, things were okay. He wasn't a traitor, after all--it had been a ploy by someone else, they were finding out, and they wanted him back. His CO had things to discuss with him. It looked like we'd be parting ways. Then he turned back to me.
"Do you still have your hit list, Kayaku?"
I handed it to him and he showed it to them. It was my list of targets for the year, as determined by Suoh. None of them had resulted in fatalities, but three were considered strikes against the Emmerian Army. A few more were scheduled for later that year. If I didn't take the job someone else would; they could catch Suoh in the act this time. Take them down for good.
"So that's good?"
They thought it would be good enough to come back home.
When they left, we went back to the inn. We could hardly believe our luck. There's no drinking age in Vivia, so we had a couple of shots to celebrate our good fortune. The adventure was over, but we weren't going to die. That was pretty good. And as awesome as it had been to be free, it was nice to be going home, too. We had time to talk to eachother about something besides why we were running and where we'd go.
Tonight, though, we're not even any longer. He has a place to come home to... I don't.
I came home to flames and soot. Colored sparks raining from one of the windows. There weren't words for how it felt and there won't be in a hundred years. When I thought I'd lost it already, nothing was important in that apartment. It was easy to move on. Now it was painful to watch.
"Why don't you stay at my place?"
"...what?"
He smiled. "Well, you were going to join the Tactical Fielding Forces, right? I saw you talking to one of their recruiters on the way back from the base, and it sounds like a perfect job for you. They're always looking for bomb techs. My place is close to their headquarters, so until you could find somewhere, at least you'd have a short commute. Right?" He looked up at the fire. "And it's not like you can go back to your own place. Or to Suoh for a job."
"They think I'm dead, so yeah, probably not..."
"You'll like being a merc."
"Uh-huh..."
That was about an hour ago. On this side of town, it's quiet, no sirens running or anything. And the sidewalk outside is clear, and level enough for a fountain.
A fountain, to use the terminology some of Suoh's other black-ops crew did, is a sissy, fluffy, civvie sort of firework through and through. Quiet, pretty, and stationary. They don't shoot anything or spin around or make a loud noise like other medium-to-large items. What they do is put forth a lot of colored sparks, and then go out.
The one that's going now is called Summer Rain. It's a long plume of fine, dark blue sparks that hiss out of the cylinder almost silently, with normal-sized white ones on and off. The paper on the top even burns off in a flash of potassium-chloride violet like heat lightning, and the smoke forms dense, heavy clouds in the humid night air. I designed it myself, built it and gave it to Suoh with hope that it would be good enough. And though it can't really kill anyone, a single one stays in my kit at all times. After our run to Vivia, it's the last firework left. When it was put in there, it was never going to be burned, but why keep it when what it represents doesn't exist anymore?
They say that sometimes it takes losing everything to move on. Some people even go as far to say that if you haven't lost everything, you'll destroy it yourself before your soul is finally free.
Losing everything may sound scary. Sometimes it's painful. But sometimes it's exactly what you need to remind you that we're all moving on, from little things or big, all the time. That it's better to stay in perpetual motion than to try and hold on to the past. And once the sparks die, well, why keep the empty shell? You'll remember, but it's no use clinging to what's left.
Maybe that's why it isn't a really sad occasion to see those last few sparks flying in the wind, the clouds beginning to tear into shreds as the first cool breezes kicked up. Bittersweet maybe, complex and sharp, like the lingering chemical smoke. It was a good life, it was beautiful, now it's gone, leaving only ashes. No use trying to go back. That would be sort of silly, like trying to put the burnt paper and soot back into a spent firework. Once it's spent, all you can do is move on to the next one.
By the time I get up to the apartment, the door's open. Waiting on the other side is Sapper, and I realize he must have seen. Probably wondered where I ran off to.
"It was beautiful," he says softly. I don't know how to take that. He watched? Not just saw but watched?
"...thanks."
"Was it yours?"
"Mhmm." It's late at night, the air's thick and soft. It's mid-July. The window's open and in the streetlight from outside, you can see the last few wisps of smoke, smell the sulfur. That might be me, too. "It's over, though. That was the last one." Bitter starts to overwhelm the sweetness.
"Kay..."
"What? It's over."
He sighs. I struggle, nearly smother in the fabric of his shirt when he hugs me. "Smmmf--?!"
"Don't be sad about, okay?"
"I'm not! Do I look sad? Idiot!"
"Civvie." He pulls me closer. "And you smell like a firework. Go wash that off before you get cancer."
"Why you little--"
Then again, maybe there's a reason we need reminding that we're moving on, let alone a reminder to be happy about it. While we're busy figuring out how to feel about something, life has this weird habit of getting in the way.
"Ci~ivvie!"
"Get back over here!"
"Make me--"
Crash!!
For: IF 2-5
Date: June 19, 2010
They say that sometimes it takes losing everything to move on. Some people even go as far as to say that if you haven't lost everything, you'll destroy it yourself before your soul is finally free.
I guess that's true for people. At any rate, it's true for me.
My name is Takeda, Kayaku Takeda. I spent the last few years of my life working for Suoh Chemical Company. They make explosives and have a huge fireworks brand that sells worldwide. I was one of their DOT-Class C chemists, designing the fireworks, and it was a good life. Especially for a pyrochem major with no plans after college. Believe me, it was heaven on earth.
But then one day the Director called me into his office and asked if I wanted to make a little extra money... "testing" some of Suoh's more powerful compounds. Black ops team. A way more powerful bang, and a bigger paycheck, too. I was all for it. Before I could understand what was happening, I'd agreed to sneak into places and blow up things like vacant buildings, or quiet, clear offices with no one in them. Sometimes it occurred to me that this might not be totally legal. But it paid well and by the time I started having second thoughts, I was too far in to back out.
Until they asked me to hit someone, nothing had ever gone horribly, terribly wrong on a mission. But they asked me to blow up a... a person, a living thing. It was like a nightmare. I tried to say no. The Director pulled out some newspaper clippings and handed them to me. They were articles about offices being blown up... near the local Army base. Records of enlistments and shipments of chemicals burned to ash. Then he showed me my list for the year. The dates and locations matched up perfectly and I knew he'd turn me in. So that night, there I was, waiting for my target. I never stood a chance against him... maybe the Director knew that. Because he certainly had no love for me after that fight.
I wound up pinned. My target had the upper hand. What could I do? I was about to die so I explained everything, told him the whole stupid story. He listened. Then he took the gun away from my head. It turns out he was running from his place in the world, too.
My target told me his callsign first, his name second. He told me between blocks in the city that he was accused of murdering his own squad. They'd been killed by someone with an inborn magic called Talent, and he was Talented. But he couldn't kill anyone--he was a medic, and his Talent was only for healing people. Even though he'd explained it multiple times to them, apparently this wasn't clear to his comrades. He was a traitor, and he was being chased. I was a traitor, too, and I had no one to run with. So we ran together.
We ran south, for days. We picked up two horses from an inn. Slept in the forest by the side of the road between towns, didn't dare to make a fire. We tried our best to outrun the men chasing Sapper, and when we couldn't, we fought. I still had my explosives, he had a nodachi and a few small weapons. We were outnumbered three to one. In an odd sort of way, dangerous as it was... it was a rush. An adventure.
After all, what could be better? Both of us were lost, we had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and only a few, shrinking miles to the Vivian border. Even though we were both running for our lives, after losing everything, it didn't matter. The sting of blood, the pounding of our hearts, the steps and blow in a fight beat out a constant, steady rhythm: we're free, we're free, we're free!. Nothing left for us, the whole world in front of us, and danger at our backs. Until our time ran out, we were on an adventure.
Of course, they did eventually catch us. After we'd gotten our respective hits in, they said something unexpected: they wanted to talk. Just talk. They weren't going to kill us, after all. Yet. They had plenty to tell Sapper.
Apparently, for him, things were okay. He wasn't a traitor, after all--it had been a ploy by someone else, they were finding out, and they wanted him back. His CO had things to discuss with him. It looked like we'd be parting ways. Then he turned back to me.
"Do you still have your hit list, Kayaku?"
I handed it to him and he showed it to them. It was my list of targets for the year, as determined by Suoh. None of them had resulted in fatalities, but three were considered strikes against the Emmerian Army. A few more were scheduled for later that year. If I didn't take the job someone else would; they could catch Suoh in the act this time. Take them down for good.
"So that's good?"
They thought it would be good enough to come back home.
When they left, we went back to the inn. We could hardly believe our luck. There's no drinking age in Vivia, so we had a couple of shots to celebrate our good fortune. The adventure was over, but we weren't going to die. That was pretty good. And as awesome as it had been to be free, it was nice to be going home, too. We had time to talk to eachother about something besides why we were running and where we'd go.
Tonight, though, we're not even any longer. He has a place to come home to... I don't.
I came home to flames and soot. Colored sparks raining from one of the windows. There weren't words for how it felt and there won't be in a hundred years. When I thought I'd lost it already, nothing was important in that apartment. It was easy to move on. Now it was painful to watch.
"Why don't you stay at my place?"
"...what?"
He smiled. "Well, you were going to join the Tactical Fielding Forces, right? I saw you talking to one of their recruiters on the way back from the base, and it sounds like a perfect job for you. They're always looking for bomb techs. My place is close to their headquarters, so until you could find somewhere, at least you'd have a short commute. Right?" He looked up at the fire. "And it's not like you can go back to your own place. Or to Suoh for a job."
"They think I'm dead, so yeah, probably not..."
"You'll like being a merc."
"Uh-huh..."
That was about an hour ago. On this side of town, it's quiet, no sirens running or anything. And the sidewalk outside is clear, and level enough for a fountain.
A fountain, to use the terminology some of Suoh's other black-ops crew did, is a sissy, fluffy, civvie sort of firework through and through. Quiet, pretty, and stationary. They don't shoot anything or spin around or make a loud noise like other medium-to-large items. What they do is put forth a lot of colored sparks, and then go out.
The one that's going now is called Summer Rain. It's a long plume of fine, dark blue sparks that hiss out of the cylinder almost silently, with normal-sized white ones on and off. The paper on the top even burns off in a flash of potassium-chloride violet like heat lightning, and the smoke forms dense, heavy clouds in the humid night air. I designed it myself, built it and gave it to Suoh with hope that it would be good enough. And though it can't really kill anyone, a single one stays in my kit at all times. After our run to Vivia, it's the last firework left. When it was put in there, it was never going to be burned, but why keep it when what it represents doesn't exist anymore?
They say that sometimes it takes losing everything to move on. Some people even go as far to say that if you haven't lost everything, you'll destroy it yourself before your soul is finally free.
Losing everything may sound scary. Sometimes it's painful. But sometimes it's exactly what you need to remind you that we're all moving on, from little things or big, all the time. That it's better to stay in perpetual motion than to try and hold on to the past. And once the sparks die, well, why keep the empty shell? You'll remember, but it's no use clinging to what's left.
Maybe that's why it isn't a really sad occasion to see those last few sparks flying in the wind, the clouds beginning to tear into shreds as the first cool breezes kicked up. Bittersweet maybe, complex and sharp, like the lingering chemical smoke. It was a good life, it was beautiful, now it's gone, leaving only ashes. No use trying to go back. That would be sort of silly, like trying to put the burnt paper and soot back into a spent firework. Once it's spent, all you can do is move on to the next one.
By the time I get up to the apartment, the door's open. Waiting on the other side is Sapper, and I realize he must have seen. Probably wondered where I ran off to.
"It was beautiful," he says softly. I don't know how to take that. He watched? Not just saw but watched?
"...thanks."
"Was it yours?"
"Mhmm." It's late at night, the air's thick and soft. It's mid-July. The window's open and in the streetlight from outside, you can see the last few wisps of smoke, smell the sulfur. That might be me, too. "It's over, though. That was the last one." Bitter starts to overwhelm the sweetness.
"Kay..."
"What? It's over."
He sighs. I struggle, nearly smother in the fabric of his shirt when he hugs me. "Smmmf--?!"
"Don't be sad about, okay?"
"I'm not! Do I look sad? Idiot!"
"Civvie." He pulls me closer. "And you smell like a firework. Go wash that off before you get cancer."
"Why you little--"
Then again, maybe there's a reason we need reminding that we're moving on, let alone a reminder to be happy about it. While we're busy figuring out how to feel about something, life has this weird habit of getting in the way.
"Ci~ivvie!"
"Get back over here!"
"Make me--"
Crash!!