2023-07-25: Angelo's Angel
- Log: Angelo's Angel
- Cast: Zechst Abe (NPCed by Ruri Hoshino), Angelo Sauper
- Where: Industrial 7 - Magallanica - Mansion green
- Date: 2023-07-25
- Summary: Zechst carries Angelo to safety, but is there any safety, inside Angelo? He realises the effects he's had on someone else -- but both of them know that there's a third person who's had those same effects on Angelo.
<Pose Tracker> Zechst Abe has posed.
OST: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tf0qyv38lg Guilty Crown - Krone
Industrial 7 isn't safe. It will have to be, safety all carved from blown-out buildings and disaster.
It takes time to find a place still supported by heat, by oxygen; the colony is all but dead, dead and gone. But there in Magallanica is a mansion all flourishing green, and upon the lawn lands a Geara Zulu, white but for its many holes and stains. In its arms still lies the Rozen Zulu, worse still. Perhaps it could never have made the journey, under its own power. Not when it...
Zechst Abe is a Royal Guardsman, a sworn protector of the Colonel. But now he is here, as he wrenches his first-aid kit and his carving kit from under his cockpit seat, jerking the hatch release back and clambering into the sea of metal he has brought here. As a man he is still young, but with youth comes strength, particularly given the Coordinated genes which they employ so freely in space. What might have been an impossible obstacle course is merely difficult, as he climbs across the hulk of the Rozen Zulu, avoiding too-hot areas and jagged metal to reach its cockpit.
"Come on, come on..." He grunts, as he heats the metal and pulls it away. He knows where the most logical entry point is, using these methods; even with those references living in his head, it still feels like it takes impossibly long, to carve a hole in the Rozen Zulu's battered cockpit. "Lieutenant!" He cries out, louder: "Hold on!"
He's working as quickly as he can, even if each second feels like an hour. Until he's able to dig a hole into the side of the battered machine, in through those Psycommu hexagons, to climb inside --
<Pose Tracker> Angelo Sauper has posed.
Industrial 7 lost its use when it was attacked by both Federation and Sleeves forces. Lives were lost; its potential as an industrial city compromised.
Without its purpose, it was abandoned; thirty six kilometers and countless tons of potential, abandoned in the vast indifference of space. It doesn't matter how wasteful such a thing ultimately is. Things that are compromised is abandoned.
Things that lose their use are thrown away.
Magallinica, then, serves as the ironic counterpoint to the lifeless colony it is attached to: the Colony Builder is still very much active in stark contrast to the husk that is Industrial 7. Oxygen pumps steadily into the artificial environments of Magallanica as the Geara Zulu and the larger, damaged wreckage of the Rozen Zulu land just outside that distinctive mansion where everything began, and everything will end. The steady turn of the Colony Builder provides Zechst with weighty anchor of gravity on his body and soul as he starts the painstaking process of manually and forcefully opening the dented and damaged cockpit of the Rozen Zulu. Once a proud, pristine violet, that dense armor of the kneeling, one-armed Mobile Suit has been blackened and twisted in more than one location; the wreckage of the Psycho-Jammer loading bays loom like twisted, jagged spires above the Royal Guardsmen as he calls out.
Every time, only silence answers him from within that damaged cockpit.
But eventually, as layer after layer of metal is shorn through and pulled away, an opening is made, enough for Zechst to climb inside...
... where Angelo Sauper still sits in the cockpit seat of the Rozen Zulu, slumped to the side like an old king on his crumbling throne. He removed his helmet at some point during the transition; thick white hair spills messily over his forehead, clinging to his skin with sweat and caked blood and completely concealing his left eye behind thick, snowy locks. The smear of blood has largely dried -- some beneath his nose, some at his ears and mouth -- but other than those small outward signs of the Psycho-Jammers sheer strain, the Sleeves Lieutenant looks, physically, fine.
It's just his stare in that one visible, hooded eye, vacantly staring out at nothing as he slumps his head against his shoulder.
It's just the occasional blink, and the steady, shallow rise and fall of his chest that provide signs of life.
<Pose Tracker> Zechst Abe has posed.
In this, at least, they match: Zechst took down his own helmet, when he was sure this place still had life support. All the better to scream, perhaps.
Not that it matters. He hears no answer.
Still he fights through.
"Lieutenant?" Zechst asks, the word all lodged in his throat like one of those chicken-bones which are so much more common on Earth. (Perhaps Earthlings know better how to avoid them, eating as they do.) "Lieutenant Sauper--!!"
Zechst clambers in, to cluster beside that crumbling throne; airway patent and self-maintained, he notes without any real thought spent on it, all that combat medic knowledge he'd absorbed after one particular training accident. It's not difficult for him to learn. Except, of course...
He never really learned, did he. He was so excited for the Lieutenant, when the Colonel put so much faith in him. He didn't think... he looks at that blood, drying at his ears, and God, he didn't think.
"Lieutenant," he repeats, again, shaking his shoulder lightly. "H--hey... Lieutenant, come on, respond..."
<Pose Tracker> Angelo Sauper has posed.
Lieutenant.
Dry, cracked lips part, a small exhale spilling out of them. Angelo's detached stare continues to focus on some far off, unseen point to the side of the cockpit.
The truth is...
Where Zechst may have been excited, Angelo knew the role he was accepting.
While Zechst may not have thought of the implications, they were all that were on Angelo's mind.
The dangers. The threat of what Psycho-Frame represented. ... Angelo has never wanted to truly connect with others. After all -- true connection is a two-way street. And yet...
... he still accepted. And not only that, he put more of a burden on him than was asked. Because...
A gloved hand reaches out, and gently pushes, rocking him backward and forward once. Angelo's head lolls forward with the movement, and then, as if the inadvertent shift of his field of vision from that far away point alerts him--
"... colonel...?"
The dull look in Angelo's gaze is replaced with something more aware within the the fluttered blink of bloodshot eyes.
It's confusion, first and foremost, that takes over Angelo. Like he's not sure where he is. Suddenly, the commander of the Royal Guard jerks up in his seat, violet eyes wide with alertness. Tired as he looks, he has all of a survivor's sharpness in that stare he affixes on Zechst. Confusion increases.
"--Zechst--?"
Pieces of those last moments filter through, bit by bit, as he tries to make sense of what happened and where he is.
"... Where... are we?"
<Pose Tracker> Zechst Abe has posed.
Zechst wishes he could be what the Lieutenant needs, right now. It's just... someone like him can't possibly match the titanic symbol of the Colonel. The man they'd follow to the death...
... he's not that type of guy.
He's always been following.
"We're at Magillanica -- Industrial 7 -- looks like we're out in front of a mansion, sir. You were... it wasn't possible for you to fight any more," Zechst settles on, a little lamely, "so I brought you with me when we retreated. Um -- you told us to, sir. Bato -- Guardsman Panserinos -- he got away, too. And I told the Charn, while we were retreating..." For what good it did them, anyway.
He pauses, and asks, unsure: "Do you... remember what happened?" He doesn't know those dangers, the burden Angelo was taking on with that precious gift, but he can recognise the Lieutenant's confusion.
<Pose Tracker> Angelo Sauper has posed.
Piece by piece...
We're at Magillanica -- Industrial 7...
Bit by bit...
... so I brought you with me when we retreated...
... all those memories...
Do you... remember what happened?
... come drizzling back in.
"..."
There is the smallest mote of relief amidst the hazy confusion of Angelo's expression as Zechst mentions that Bato managed to get away; but by the time that Zechst asks that -particular- question, violet eyes have narrowed with dawning awareness. It's a complex cocktail of emotions that sweep across pallid features before Angelo expertly chokes them all back down and smothers them beneath a shaky but well-practiced wall of professional neutrality. It doesn't quite hide the tremor running along his jaw as it clenches. Nor does it truly obscure the way thoughts seem to be racing a mile a minute at the back of his gaze.
... or how his gloved hands have clenched into fists against the armrests of his seat.
Does he remember what happened?
"... We're at the coordinate," he says instead, latching on to Zechst's earlier words instead of spending too much time dwelling on his more recent question. Angelo's hands open and then clench on those armrests as he attempts to lift himself up past his subordinate.
"... I need... a new mobile suit," he croaks out, voice hoarse but firm; it's belied by his unexpected introduction to gravity weighing down on him as he attempts to lift; like his mind were still out there in space, he lets out a strangled sound of surprise as he weakly falters and collapses against his chair.
And yet still...
"The Charn -- what's the status of the Charn -- we must have some functioning Geara Zulus--"
He can't stop now.
Not when this is all he has.
<Pose Tracker> Zechst Abe has posed.
He chokes them down, but of course he's feeling them. Zechst reminds himself to keep his own anguish in his belly, seeing how such a noble man reacts. Keep it together. Keep it together --
"Sir!" Zechst is distracted from his very functional thoughts by the way Angelo collapses, and he grasps his shoulder again, to steady him and keep him from falling any further than he has. The state he's in --
His thoughts all keep cutting off in the middle, and he shakes his head, as he tries to orient himself. "Lieutenant, the -- the Charn didn't make it out. They'll have evacuated by now... they held on as long as they could, but it was facing up against the Ra Mari II, sir." A Zentradi Monitor like that... it's a wonder they were even able to evacuate, he thinks, but privately.
"There's still my Geara Zulu," he volunteers, immediately. "It's damaged, but still spaceworthy. But, sir --" Zechst pauses, and then barrels on, concern outweighing his worry, "-- you're hurt. Couldn't you let the Rewloola handle this one?"
<Pose Tracker> Angelo Sauper has posed.
Noble. In the state he's in, if he could hear that sentiment, Angelo would just laugh.
There's nothing noble about him.
The same scum as all the rest.
It's a thing he's all too keenly aware of now, with memories rising back to the surface of what happened, what slipped out of him. ... what they all saw...
Collapsed back against his seat, he's too shocked, too out of sorts, too... broken to feel any of the humiliation and hurt he might normally. He just feels numb as exhaustion inescapably reminds him of all that he burned himself out on trying and failing to accomplish. His head swims for a brief moment as it bumps the back of his seat; he -feels- Zechst more than he sees or even hears him as his aide tells him what happened to The Charn. As he tries to steady and support him. To offer him his Mobile Suit, despite everything. So loyal, to the point of defying him, even. He can feel it, even if he doesn't want to.
He can feel that anguish, even though it's the last thing he needs.
Why?
What has he ever done to deserve anything like this?
He's nothing.
Beads of cold sweat clinging to his forehead, Zechst words push past the ringing in Angelo's ears around the time that the young Guardsman tries to tentatively insist that he take a step back. That he's hurt. That the Rewloola can handle this.
Angelo isn't much older than Zechst, if at all. The way he usually carries himself - so serious and distant - may obscure that fact. But now... when his gaze rolls to the side, when his brows furrow into a vulnerable knot... when his voice weakly wonders,
"... are you saying he doesn't need me...?"
with a mixture of cynical resignation and tired defeat,
it couldn't be any more clear.
His gaze hoods, rolling towards the side once again, a dry, cough of a laugh escaping his lips.
"... hah. What a pointless question. Why would he...?"
<Pose Tracker> Zechst Abe has posed.
What he saw? That lives in his belly, too.
He's swallowed it down. Maybe the acid will fix it.
The way Angelo fixed...
Zechst Abe was no good, back then. His father never had a son. And why would he? With all he'd done -- the friends he'd made --
Who knows what would have happened to him, if he'd done even one more favour to men who earned their power at the end of a knife?
It's not like he had a choice.
It's why his heart shatters, hearing Angelo Sauper ask such a pointless question. It's why his answer is in the way his fingers tremble, brushing at the edge of the Lieutenant's suit where he grasps his chair.
"He needs you alive," Zechst insists, throat too dry. "He needs you alive! He wouldn't ask you to die for him, w-would he, Lieutenant? There's no way. Just like you wouldn't... ask us to die..."
He won't cry. He will not cry, here in this place where his superior is so vulnerable. He will NOT, "... I-I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Zechst sniffles anyway, lifting a hand to scrub at his face as it burns with his embarrassment. "I know m--my opinion isn't anything, after a stunt like that, but... b-but you're not... don't say such cruel things about yourself," and it's more a plea than a request, though he hates the sound of it, falling past his lips. "A-and I'm sorry I saw, I didn't want to, but -- but you're still," needed? He can't speak for a man like the Colonel. He can only say, sentence all falling off a cliff and getting up again, "... I still need you, Lieutenant."
<Pose Tracker> Angelo Sauper has posed.
People use each other.
It's a transactional nature to life that Angelo had grown accustomed -- resigned himself to. His only value was in the value other people with more power could take from him. It's how life played out for him, time and time again. And it was always the most pleasant people who wanted to take the most, in the end.
A smile is just a knife's curved edge waiting to be used.
It's the same remove that he had treated the rest of the guard with; with Zechst, in particular, it was easy to frame his aide's devotion as part of the transaction of what Angelo had done for him. He hadn't expected loyalty. He didn't need or want devotion. What he had done for Zechst... it was ultimately a deep-seated compulsion that he refused to qualify. But framing it in that cynical lens helped him to rationalize why the other young man was so faithful. ... Helped him to not see a knife's edge behind Zecht's smile.
But now, a raw nerve unable to close himself off, Angelo can -feel- that devotion, that concern, that connection, and know it for what it is. He feels it, as Zechst insists on his safety and tries to encourage him, and his expression lapses into placidity as he listens and fails to close himself off. He feels it -- and irritation swells in a tiny part of him for it, as if annoyed - angry - that Zechst could be so earnest. That Zechst could simply --
-- need him. ... and not expect to reap anything greater in return.
Chapped, dry lips draw out into a frown. Fingers tense at the outskirts of Zechst's trembling hand.
"..."
And slowly, Angelo squeezes his eyes shut.
"... It doesn't matter," he begins, in the wake of Zechst's apology. It does matter. He never wanted anyone to see - to know - especially not Banagher--
"... and it doesn't matter if the Colonel asked me to die or not. Making sure he makes our dream a reality... making sure he finally burns down this filthy world... that's all that matters. ... If dying could make that happen, I'd do it in a heartbeat."
But he couldn't even manage that much. Those violet eyes open into little slivers.
"I... need to keep him safe." He needs him. "But Zechst..."
His lips pull into a deeper frown.
His first instinct is to berate Zechst with as much feeble energy as he can muster.
To shut him out.
To keep him far away, so Angelo never has to feel like this again.
But...
You try to reach your mother. But she is a shell of herself.
Still you try to care for her. To support her. To be there for
her like she was for you.
Gloved fingers gradually relax as Angelo's frown lapses towards a thin line once more.
"... you need to be there to see what comes after. ... So don't... do anything so stupid... like risking yourself like that... again."
<Pose Tracker> Zechst Abe has posed.
Opening up is hard. Closing the space is harder. Does it really not matter? Zechst's gaze falls on the Lieutenant's tense fingers.
If that's their dream, why does the cost make his tighten up so badly? Tense as his eyes, as his lips part just enough to show the line of his teeth grit together, brow all drawn in. The Lieutenant volunteers so easily --
Just like Zechst immediately offered him their only remaining Mobile Suit despite the dangerous locale, he supposes.
Is it really... just the same?
It must be; it must be, because Lieutenant Sauper cares. And if the Lieutenant cares, the Colonel must, too.
"O--okay," Zechst says, blinking overmuch as if it could deal with the damnable dampness there. "I'll be careful, Lieutenant. I will. Just -- please -- I want for you to see it, too. It's just... you work so hard, sir... if you had to sacrifice yourself just to bring everything about, it just --"
He shakes his head, sharply. "... sorry. Sorry, I don't know what I'm talking about." He knows exactly what he was talking about; he was about to say it wouldn't be fair. Perhaps that's why he cuts himself off. Nothing has never been fair. Why would it start, now? "I--I'm just getting too sentimental -- all I had to say was that I'll take care of myself, right? I'll uphold that to the highest standard." He'll make up for disobeying his direct orders, he means.
<Pose Tracker> Angelo Sauper has posed.
... I want for you to see it, too.
It's hard to say, what the scrunch of Angelo's brow is meant to convey, or the way his gaze lapses into thought, or the silence that reigns in the wake of Zechst's apologetic assertions, means. Perhaps Angelo is just tired. Perhaps he's still upset about how Zechst disobeyed him. Perhaps his own failures are still weighing on him. Perhaps...
But inside, Angelo's thoughts linger on those eight words. He wants to see it burn. But what comes after...
... he's never envisioned himself as a part of that.
... Would he even be able to appreciate it -- TRULY appreciate it...?
"..."
Gradually, that purple stare turns back on Zechst, watching as the young man apologizes, dismisses himself and his sentimentality. He wants to tell him that it's fine. That it's why Zechst deserves to enjoy a world where they can finally be free from all this filth. That his earnestness that seems to ask for nothing in return - that earnestness that he knows would just be exploited in this disgusting system - deserves to be rewarded in a way that Angelo could never manage on his own.
Because Zechst can truly appreciate what comes after.
But in the end, all he does is just let those eyes slip shut again. His eyelids feel so heavy. Everything feels so heavy.
"... We'll secure weapons and whatever we can and stay on the outskirts of the estate. Those damned Vists have this entire estate well-secured. They probably know we're here. ... Trying to go any further in like this would just be suicide."
Angelo draws in a slow breath. And then releases it.
"... The Rewloola should be nearby. If we get a signal out to them, we should manage to... secure a pick up..."
His words are murmurs, but he keeps talking, as if to try to fight the exhaustion.
"... and prepare to support the Colonel... when he retrieves the Box..."
And the ghosts still clinging to him, waiting for that exhaustion to win.
"... Zechst. You..."
Did well.
Deserve a better world.
Shouldn't have to follow filth like me.
Whatever the words he means to say, they drift into nothing in his battle with that all-consuming fatigue.