2022-10-15: Trails of The Red Comet
- Cast: Zoltan Akkanen, Full Frontal
- Where: Side 3
- Date: U.C. 0096 10 15
- Summary: Two victims of the fallout from a singular man meet up for a small chat.
<Pose Tracker> Zoltan Akkanen has posed.
The soft crunch of formal boots underneath the artifical sky. The stench of recycled oxygen born of air filters and real trees. A gentle, idyllic day inside Zum City, with the curated bits of wildlife chirping and the soft hums of electrical currents in the background, green lands cut through by the concrete jungle of people with places to be and uncaring of what was razed through. Even in the artificial landscape, the scars of humanity left their marks. Strangely ironic, considering humanity built this place from scratch.
So did Zoltan's mind dare to wander for a few seconds as he kept lockstep aside him. Him. The languid gaze of a person who had a hunch, who had the slightest, tiniest, smallest inkling of why he was here. Walking alongside him. Alongside that damned leader of empty values, along the transparent vessel that stirred with nothing but the sanguine juices of another.
To put it lightly, Zoltan was a bit biased about the Sleeves Leader.
"So?" Breaking the lukewarm air with perfect humidity, strolling along a path without any vague destination in sight. Along the walkway was a poster stand; Advertising some farcical recreation of the One Year War, Federation Suits heroically laid on top of the darkly cast Zeon Zakus below. And trees. Plants. Grass. A forced idealism in the place.
"Why, tell me, are we here? If I wanted to see what war looked like, I'd go back and look at Torrington again." Barely carefully chosen words. Tone: Lightly flippant. He knew his worth.
<Pose Tracker> Full Frontal has posed.
A silence settled between the two for a brief moment as they continued walking down the city street, past semblances of city parks and shrubbery that was artificial in its perfectly trimmed edges and patterns. A fabricated creation even as leaves swayed in a faux breeze, created for the mere viewing pleasure of onlookers, to put their hearts an ease.
Just like us.
Full Frontal didn't even bother turning to Zoltan to reply. "Why indeed? Two shades of the same man, the only difference between us being who was chosen as the people's vessel. I am indeed empty, for that is the sacrifice required of one who would take on the Red Comet's role. And yet...it is odd."
The leader of the Sleeves paused in front of a busy thoroughfare, the babble of crowds merging with the cries of hawkers and their stalls, the cacophony of traffic trying to make way lining the top of an aural cake. He looked down at his fist, opening and closing it with mock curiosity, even as he detected Zoltan's increasing annoyance. Full Frontal continued, removing his mask. "We are brothers, you and I...is it so odd to take a stroll through our home together? These are the people we serve and protect. That is the duty impressed upon us, as successors to Aznable's legacy."
Politely moving over to a street hawker waving him down, Full Frontal noticed a tattoo on the man's exposed arm, even as the grizzled greybeard greeted him warmly. "Full Frontal, sir, it's an honor to meet the Second Coming of the Red Comet. I do not have much to offer you, but I hope I can at least present you and your aide with a decent meal." The hawker held out a pair of steaming hot sandwiches, meat glistening in the lamplight and dripping with au jus.
Full Frontal accepted graciously. "I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. It is an honor to speak with a veteran of the Gryps War, let alone to receive your hospitality." The Ghost of Char bowed his head to the beaming hawker and returned to Zoltan, offering him one of the sandwiches. "Whether or not we chose this path for ourselves is irrelevant, Zoltan. We are here to serve the people and their will. Our cause is not for eternal wars...it's to free the Spacenoids from those shackles."
<Pose Tracker> Zoltan Akkanen has posed.
"Odd?" Taking on another's man legacy was odd enough. His mind swirled about with the thoughts of The Red Comet, looking above to a street corner on the opposite side of the colony. Odd. If he had been successful, would he be in Full Frontal's place? The Failure twisted his mouth in thought, eyes flicking over to keep track of his nonexistent expectations. Calm, controlled, always seeming like he has the right idea. "What's odd is you." His venom was unrestrained; The chain of command, the lingering teachings of Char in his head, none of it capable of dulling the annoyance roiling within. This vessel sounded like him, even. The hell were they doing?
Brothers. Successors. Such words bounced in his mind as he stood away Frontal. He didn't bother making a move, since there was none to be made. Why, he was the SUCCESSOR and THE ONE TO TAKE ON THE BURDEN and all the high-handed garbage about some Zeon twats who wanted something to believe in. <<The beaten and the damned, all down after everything.>> He took note of the tattoo; Some unit that managed to be away from it all in the end. Lucky them. Why weren't Zeon helping him? The Federation? Where were the people to go after the Gryps War? After Axis Shock?
Such thoughts disappated upon being mentioned as an aide. Bastard. Don't they know who he is, on the inside?
He merely stood formal, a passing remnant focusing on 'proper decorum' before snatching the offered sandwich. "...Thanks." Barely polite before he took a bite. Oooh, middle class stuff. <<He really was on the down and out, and yet...>> "And who asked you what your course was? Did you say to someone, 'Oh, yes, please infuse me with The Red Comet'? Serving the will of any businessman who wanted to make a Cyber-Newtype makes you a servant, not some grand king." He did have the proper wherewithal to allow the juices to drip down onto the sidewalk. Sandwiches such as these were unintentionally messy.
"And? Do you think it'll happen? Spacenoids being free?" The cynical question tossed forth, an annoyed man doing his best to not stain his uniform.
<Pose Tracker> Full Frontal has posed.
Full Frontal watched Zoltan's barbs with mild amusement, his cold smile never once twitching or fading during the other clone's questions. One didn't require Newtype abilities to recognize the blue-haired man's contempt towards him, or the cause that necessitated their rebirths. Observing the lieutenant begrudgingly consume the sandwich from the hawker, an errant thought flashed in Full Frontal's mind, so quick that it was almost unnoticeable.
And even so, if our positions were switched, would our fates be different? Would I have your life, and you mine?
The uncertainty came and left faster than a stray shot, and Full Frontal took a mechanical bite of his own sandwich. The juices gushed into his mouth, the taste of street beef alighting on his taste buds. Seasoned reasonably well, but a hint of gaminess still lingered under it all. Perhaps an apt reminder of how he and Zoltan might never come to fully embody Char Aznable. Even so, their duties were clear and the leader of the Sleeves locked eye contact with Zoltan, speaking with a firm dignity.
"My course is to serve the people's will. If Char Aznable is what they need and desire, then that is the what I must become for them. It does not matter who or what I was, before I was reforged into this vessel." Full Frontal moved his free arm in a gesture towards Zoltan, his palm outstretched towards the other man. "And perhaps you are correct, Zoltan. I am a servant to our cause, but that may be for the best. The Red Comet failed due to his sentiments and emotions. If we are to create a future for Zeon with the time allotted to us, then we must set aside petty in-fighting and politicking."
Balling his outstretched hand into a fist, Full Frontal's smile grew slightly wider. "Do I think it will happen, you ask? It is not a thought, my dear Zoltan. I will achieve the liberation the Spacenoids cry out for, in their bondage amongst the stars. It is not madness, or passion, or rage that shall lead us there, not even hope. For that, I need to definitive power of Laplace's Box, and I shall obtain it."
Full Frontal paused and took another polite bite of the sandwich, his practiced expression growing brighter in full view of the street hawker, his gaze never leaving Zoltan's own, despite their being naught but an empty abyss behind this ghost's blue eyes.
<Pose Tracker> Zoltan Akkanen has posed.
The slight flash was lost in the winds, the small rustle of artificality whistling through the breeze as Zoltan chewed on his sandwich. All in all, he couldn't say it was a bad sandwich; Slightly cold, slightly gamey, slightly off-center, but the intent was there. The heart was there. Even if it was a benign offer as any. Help? For him? For Full Frontal? What did that person know, other than being a cog in a machine that so stripped him so as to not even have a name in the end? Assumptions and biases warped Zoltan's lense of reasoning, taking a few to bite a particularly stubborn piece of meat in half.
And yet, he wasn't going to so easily just curse out the leader and walk away. No, he accepted this full well knowing the annoyance he'd be subjecting himself to. The rational side of him searching. ...For what? And yet, he listened. Failing due to emotions? Idiot. Of course the one so up-front about it missed the forest for the trees. <<Sentiments? What, Char's a computer now? That's all he is, isn't it. An organic computer wanting to be Char.>> An unintentional scowl as he watched that palm. That fist.
"...And then what? We all join together in happy happy fun times and leave the Earthians to rot, is that it?" The want of Zeon to be free. To live among the stars. To be the next step. "What will you do then? Say you're the Red Comet and fly away for a few years before coming back as Edwardo Messis or some other made-up name?" A twitch in his eye. "Or will you be someone else's lapdog of societal will?" A piece to be tossed and used. "You can't think about anything else than what's in front of you, can it?"
<Pose Tracker> Full Frontal has posed.
Full Frontal watched Zoltan's impassioned reasoning with some interest. He had heard of the lieutenant's instability, but the Cyber Newtype before him was doing a remarkable job of keeping his composure. He finished his sandwich with a slightly more dramatic bite, finishing his show for the hawker that was one of many he held a duty to as their Red Comet. Mingling with the common people, giving them hope, this too was part of his responsibility to them as a receptacle of their will and desires.
"Perhaps you are correct, Zoltan. The present is all there is, for what purpose is there in lingering in the ghosts of the past or a future yet to be defined? The people cry out for a strong leader. They cry out for the return of the Red Comet, a hero to carry their despair, their suffering, their desperate desires for a better life. That is why I am here." Sweeping his arms around him, Full Frontal circled around Zoltan, theatrically highlighting the many bodies, stalls, cars, and buildings without drawing attention beyond their immediate seats.
"There is no greater honor for me than to fulfill the will of people, for that is what a vessel such as myself strives to. It is what guides me, what binds me, what drives me. It is what defines me. We are here because they cannot trust in the empty possibility of a worthy successor to appear, so we were made. If we are indeed puppets and pieces to be used, than should we not take joy in playing our roles to the utmost?" Full Frontal's unfeeling, azure gaze pieces through Zoltan's frustrated expression, a clash of ideologies, desires, and wills. Perhaps a microcosm of what Char himself felt so long ago with that one man...
<Pose Tracker> Zoltan Akkanen has posed.
The spectere of "proper decorum befitting an officer of the Sleeves" echoed in his head, fingers erratically twitching as he kept watch on the faracial copy of this off-brand Comet. Every moment precisely manufactured, every word meant to be the ambrosia for the people of Zeon. The common sense side of him eked out those reasonings; To be approachable. To be hope. To be the ideal self of someone down and out, to give them something worth believeing in.
<< Deific worship better suited for a cult. >> He couldn't stand it. The perfection. The sheen. The glaze of a mask and the words that touched like honeyed ambrosia for the soul, only for the mind to catch it, to rationalize it, to understand what he was saying. Sweet words like candy. And like candy, all that was left after tasting them was emptiness and nothing more.
"Don't give me that crap." A click of the tongue as those speeches, that voice, THAT DAMN VOICE FOR YEARS ON END, touched his eardrums. An arm reached out near the end of the walking loop, merely an obstacle to be avoided or gently stopping against. "A vessel of the people? You know as well as I do that Char never wanted to be this way. A perfect copy? I can't see that, Full Frontal." A scowl. A glare. Mismatched eyes matching the gaze of Frontal's own, white and red emotionally bashing against the still blue. "I *KNOW* why they tried making me, you fake messiah." Those fingers of his twitching erratically. Decorum. Maintaining "discipline". Maintaining "a role".
"Yeah? And you know exactly what my role was meant to be, right? Riiiight!?" That outstretched arm twisting to grab at the collar of the blonde vessel. "People tried to hope with Axis Shock, and look where that left everyone. It was after the program was commenced, but you saw. I know you damn well saw what went down there." That scowl. Those teeth grinding in frustration, in anger, in the outward rejection of what he was looking at in front of his eyes. He wasn't in the Sleeves by choice. Of course not; Cyber-Newtypes like him? Left to rot.
And this...This blank slate was their hopes? THIS WAS WHAT THEY WANTED!? "Don't tell me that you're going to try using Laplace's Box to pull off something like that."
<Pose Tracker> Full Frontal has posed.
Full Frontal's smile twisted slightly into the barest facsimile of a smirk as Zoltan grabbed him by the collar. "Ah, but there is where you have it wrong, dear boy. I never professed to be a perfect copy of the man, nor do I wish to be. For we all know how the Red Comet ended, sputtering out pitifully in a final duel he craved more than his so professed desire to force humanity into space. The light that shone to millions upon millions and yet life continued on pace afterwards, as if the Axis Shock was just a small bump in the pavement that the Federation has so plainly laid over the lives of billions."
Full Frontal slowly, but firmly gripped Zoltan's hand around his collar in a crushing grip, removing the offending body part from the personage of the Ghost of Char. His eyes remained focused, practiced, played, but a slight, steely edge reinforced the blonde man's expression. "I will not make the mistakes of my predecessor, for naught awaits the Spacenoids and the remnants of Zeon on the path of idealism and hope but utter ruination. I have inherited his final thoughts, his despair, the memories and cold rage at a world unwilling to change in the face of a miracle that surpassed the acts of gods and myth."
Returning his mask to his face at last, the Ghost of Char stared down Zoltan, an eerie but charged presence emanating from the human vessel. "Colony drops and the threat of environmental destruction are ones that do not scare our true foe in the Federation's echelons. No, what I have planned, Zoltan, will not fail...simply because it is not a feeble act of rebellion or an impassioned act of violence. I shall invalidate everything that the Federation is, and remove the shackles of the Spacenoids forevermore. We do not need to destroy the Federation to render them powerless. We merely require the power of Laplace's Box and time, which we will lose in a short four years when Zeon loses its autonomy."
Releasing his grip on Zoltan, Full Frontal dusted his collar off. As if reading his thoughts and rage, the ghost spoke, still wearing a painted smirk. "I am indeed what the people want, Zoltan, for that is why I was chosen. A vessel, empty and welcoming to their feelings and the grave injustices they face in the merest act of trying to live in space. I care not for what others think of me, only to shatter the yoke of the Federation for all time with the role I have inherited. What will you do? Rage against the imagined chains that you think hold you down? Or join me in creating our future?"
The leader of the Sleeves held a hand out to Zoltan once again, awaiting the lieutenant's answer with an unfeeling gaze.
<Pose Tracker> Zoltan Akkanen has posed.
Zoltan listened. Zoltan scowled. The barely shaking fist crumpled around that collar, the fabric wrinkling under the sudden controtions it was forced to make. Watching, listening, lips pursed in that frustration that plagued him day in and day out. "That's even worse of an excuse than I thought." Even worse. Much, much worse.
<<He doesn't have anything other than whatever he has given to him.>>
The grip raised an eyebrow. Tight. Firm. He wasn't an idiot. With the barest hint of resistance, his locked fingers slowly loosened; freeing the wrinkled, now-stained fabric from his clutches, leaving behind a marking of meat juice. The mark of frustration. Shaking his hand away when allowed, that annoyed scowl of his refusing to fall off. "I'm sure you are." <<Like hell he is.>> He's being cordial. The minimum, considering the commander-soldier relationship.
And he met that aura of leadership with nothing but a gulp and a head-on stare. Char? This man? The second coming of Char? He's heard the speeches. He's seen what this man professes to be. "Oh...?" The slightest hint of interest. This might go somewhere. Granted, the man in front of him is nothing, and the mind screamed about what he already knew. The Second Coming of Char Aznable. Char, the man known for backstabbing. Char, the man known for working only for himself. Char, the man who was many things at once. Char, the figurehead? Nonsense. He can't see that; Only a man standing in front of him, echoing his fronts, but not saying anything about his feelings.
<<...He hasn't even told me anything about himself. Char, wanting the Spacenoids to be free? He wanted everyone off.>>
Not that he'll stop a man shooting himself in the foot. "And that's why you're trying to find the Box." Right, right. Let him find his damn box, it's much better than having the Federation have it. And staring at that hand, watching the Leader of the Sleeves hang his hand out...
A deep breath in. Breathe in. There's a time and a place. This Off-Color Comet just has the good speeches.
A deep breath out. Breathe out. There's a time and a place. I'm the real successor to the Red Comet, damn you.
A grab of the hand.
A handshake.
"I'm already in your command hierarchy, oh *vaunted* leader. What do I have to lose with saying yes?"
<Pose Tracker> Full Frontal has posed.
Full Frontal trains his smirk back into a more genuine-looking smile as Zoltan begrudgingly takes his offered hand in a forced handshake.
An insecure, fragile vessel...but one I can still make use of.
"And yet there is importance in developing camaraderie in the rank and file, would you not agree...Lieutenant?" The ghost let the rank roll off his tongue purposefully, maintaining a steely gaze with his subordinate. Turning his back to Zoltan, Full Frontal took in the cityscape one more time before returning to his office. "Very well, Lieutenant Akkanen. Return to your quarters and prepare for me a report on Torrington. I find that your outspoken perspective might make for an interesting read. I must also thank you; you've given my collar quite the pleasant aroma to enjoy on my way back."
Pausing, Full Frontal gave a light, calculated chuckle, a peal of sound breaking through the hum and thrum of the crowds, although he could already feel Zoltan's derision towards him rising. "Continue your duties, Zoltan, and you will eventually learn what I plan for the Federation's downfall. There is little need for the savagery of mobile suits and superweapons. Their time has come and gone, and the weapon I intend to wield is one that will render the Federation irrelevant. Whether or not they fall in the course of my wielding is up to them, after all."
Beginning to walk away, Full Frontal calls behind him to Zoltan, "And to you, my "brother", I say thus: the mantle of the Red Comet is heavy indeed, but it is one we must wear gladly for the people. Devote yourself to furthering their will, and perhaps one day, there will be two Red Comets gracing the evening skies in the name of the Spacenoids."
Empty words, perhaps, but it's not yet time for the stick. Let him enjoy his carrot.
As the Ghost of Char left Zoltan behind, the practiced smile faded to a stoic expression, his true feelings...no, the lack thereof crystallizing in the silence between sounds.
How long then, before I am refilled with a new will?