2024-01-16: Pirc Defence
- Log: Pirc Defence
- Cast: Lelouch Lamperouge, Nunnally Lamperouge
- Where: Run-Down Hotel, Nagoya Outskirts
- Date: 2024-01-16 (ICly early March 0098)
- Summary: Lelouch hides Nunnally away in a shoddy hotel, because it's the safest place he can put her without drawing her into the darkness around him. Despite feeling those shadows crushing them both -- alongside the facts of her own situation -- Nunnally remains devoted to her big brother. They're both smiling for their own reasons; it's the best they can do, for each other.
<Pose Tracker> Lelouch Lamperouge has posed.
It isn't the first time the 'Lamperouge' have moved fast. In that way, it brings memories. Pack fast. Don't know for sure where you're going. Don't ask questions about that. A stress latent in the air; it's a miasma, a contagion, sitting and grinding at the inside of everyone's skull. This one was worse than their exile, though. Much worse. That was more stable than this, compared to being woken up, made to get ready, and disappearing. Disappearing into the crowds, into nowhere, and trying to fade into the background noise of Nagoya in the recoil of the death of royalty. The recoil of his round. Physically, it's safe enough. Physically, it's a low end hotel on the outskirts of the city. It's far enough from the chaos that it's not as likely to be immediately in harms way when the crackdowns really get rolling - and, they do. One room, one bed, and it's an extended stay, so it even has an oven that works sometimes. But make no mistake; it's uncomfortable and small. It's either too hot or too cold. But, physically... it's safe enough.
All Lelouch can do is provide physical safety. And that, just barely. It was a weird cash only transaction - since when did Lelouch carry that much cash around? - and there's no real way to be sure if his name is actually on this hotel room. That's weird. That's unsettling. People yell in upstairs. People yell downstairs. There's stomping in the hallways, often. Lelouch can't protect her from that. When there's sirens, it's like the entire building bristles, holds its breath, and waits. Hopes that no one notices. Hopes that no one checks. Physically, it's safe enough. Emotionally, it's a nightmare. A lot of days, Lelouch isn't there. Most nights, he isn't there. But he won't ever explain what, or why, or where he's going - how could he? How could he explain that?
There's no way he can protect her from the world. But he's home today. The exhaustion is not in his voice; he's great at hiding that kind of thing in his voice. But he is exhausted. Can he protect her from his own exhaustion? He can protect her from hearing the sound of a pistol on him, but not the sensation of carrying a pistol. That's life, right now.
Right now, he's cooking. Something cheap and easy. It's spaghetti - making it taste nice isn't that hard, too. "I think I'm about done!" He's so fake, it makes himself sick.
<Pose Tracker> Nunnally Lamperouge has posed.
Everything breaks.
It shatters like the glass in a window, when the children are playing cricket. One moment, everything is lovely, and Euphemia is laughing; the next, Lelouch is in trouble, again. They all made a pact to hide away, so no one would ever discover who broke it all.
That pact lasted until dinnertime.
Don't ask why it came up.
Now they're hiding in a hotel room, and it's too frightening to go outside. There are too many ledges, too many stairs, too many narrow corridors; Nunnally doesn't know the space. She'll get stuck. All she can do is sit here, and try not to be too much trouble.
She hopes that Sayoko is all right.
(And not just Sayoko.)
She listens to the radio, when the broadcast isn't cut off. There's little she can do to help; little she can do to participate. She tried to fold their laundry, once, only for Lelouch's coat to slip from her fingers. She couldn't reach it. She could feel it, when her chair drove over it, but she didn't have the balance to reach down and get it. She doesn't try to fold their laundry, any more.
She just smiles, when he comes home. When he comes home. The times he does comes home. (Home; this place where she can feel the violence, in the walls. The radio doesn't paint a good picture. The yelling doesn't, either.)
Giving her tired big brother that cheer... is all she can do.
And as she waits for the spaghetti to cook, she folds a crane from paper, in her lap. She knows it must have been difficult for Lelouch to get it, for her, and her fingers are reverent in their folds. She doesn't make mistakes, with her cranes. She keeps folding them, and folding them, and folding them. One day, her wish...
"It smells good," Nunnally smiles, face lifting as she hears his voice. "I'm so glad my big brother will offer me home cooking! I must be special, huh?" She giggles, and positively sparkles, as her head cants to one side.
If her hair is a little untidy, as it lolls with her, it's just because it's been difficult to brush it out properly.
<Pose Tracker> Lelouch Lamperouge has posed.
It's easier, he thinks, to keep pretending like that - to drink sugar water and pretend it is, in fact, honey. Maybe if he convinces himself enough, maybe if she convinces herself enough, it'll be more like honey for real. Wouldn't that be great? Wouldn't that be easier? ... No. No, not for him. Maybe not for her, either. Easier? No. Great? No. Safer, at best, to drink sugar water and pretend. Bees sting, you know. It's his fault. He knows that. It was a mistake. He knows that. But it doesn't matter if it was on purpose or not.
His response is lagged, to stir the pot a little more. Blinking, he remembers. That's the dominant hand. Obviously; who would stir with their off hand? Stopping, he grimaces, and slides the pot over. Kills the gas. Nails dig into the palm of that hand; that hand.
Who shoots with their off hand? Ah, yes. Monster that you are, feed your sister the fruit of your murderous labor. You created this. There is no one else in the world to blame but you. If there was ever a hope for 'something better', you killed it. Just pretend, but don't act like you don't know what you're doing.
Start over. Breathe. She's different, you're going to upset her if you get too upset. Another mask. The glossy black of a murderer. The kind smile of a brother. The joking smirk of a student. What's another mask? It's fine. Never take the mask off, and you can pretend that you actually look like that, you know. You can fool them all. Perfectly, brilliantly, you can fool even your little sister into believing that you aren't a monster.
"Ah, come on, I don't get enough chances to cook for you, but it isn't that big of a de..." He trails off. The neighbors are screaming again. Nunnally knows the full story, by now; one of them is a gambling addict, or somesuch. They'll probably be gone, soon, when they can't pay anymore. What'll happen to them after that? Lelouch tilts his head to listen, hand - the red right hand - hovering towards the cooking knife. He's not a killer, but it's natural. 'It's natural', he insists. It's normal. After all, it's to protect someone he loves, so it's natural to go that far. The yelling dies down, after a moment. "... Ah, yeah, no big deal, Nunnally. I do like this sauce, though. I'm going to bring your bowl over in a second." At least, this ritual is the same as always. She can't take care of it herself, so he does it for her. That - is actually natural.
A well practiced routine. A tragedy utterly unrelated to this one, but just another layer, compacting and crushing and reminding him, both of them, that this is scary. On some level, he thinks he understands her, if she's scared of the world. The things he doesn't understand, can't see, terrify him too. But for her... isn't that 'everything?' A bowl, a fork, a table. It's good enough. The spaghetti isn't bad. But it isn't good, either. And her brother is, tonight, a poor dinner mate. After all, he can't even bring himself to ask her how she's doing.
Not here. Not when the answer is either a lie, or obvious.
<Pose Tracker> Nunnally Lamperouge has posed.
Nunnally never told him about the time she was stung, feeling the flowers on the grounds of Ashford, did she? She didn't see the bee, and Shirley was busy weaving a crown of them for her, so when she reached to grasp another flower she didn't realise what else her hand was closing around.
Ouch!, she'd cried, and they'd put ice on it, and laughed about how their floral empire was already under attack. She didn't have a reaction; she was fine. She promised to brush down the flowers to let the bugs know what she was planning to do, next time.
And the flower crowns really felt very pretty.
... is Shirley okay, too?
There are questions she asks -- and there are questions she doesn't. She asks herself whether her big brother is okay; she doesn't ask what he does, when he leaves so often. She doesn't examine the weight which presses down on them, so much like guilt or horror or regret, because she knows her big brother would never do anything bad.
He's her beloved big brother. He's just trying to protect them. And Nunnally has no reason to examine that story any further.
(Her eyes shut long ago.)
"Ah..." Nunnally starts, when the screaming interrupts him. Her fingers rub, against her crane. If her smile falters, it's surely a trick of the light, and not the way her heart quickens to feel the argument echoing through the building. She tried to open the door to go next door and help them, once -- but all those ledges. It's too frightening to move about, in a building which is bare-minimum accessible. The yelling is frightening, too, but she knows they're in pain; she knows they're in pain, and she wishes she could help them.
"... it's a big deal if I say it's a big deal!" She crows, cheer returning to her voice, as she puts her crane to one side and claps her hands together. "I can't wait. It's exciting...!!"
And she brings her chair to the dining table, but she needs his help with the particulars -- where things are placed. Her fingers trail over the cutlery and the bowl, feeling the edge of the table, making a mental map of it all inside her head. She can't see, but she hasn't been able to see for years and years; she's gotten used to it.
She spins up some spaghetti on her fork, and takes a big bite, and declares once she's swallowed it all down: "I love it." Not that it's great; especially compared to Sayoko's meals, it's positively middling. But Nunnally isn't lying, either. She loves Lelouch's not-bad-not-good attempt at cooking, on that stove which only sometimes cooperates with their hopes and dreams.
And Lelouch can't bring himself to ask -- but his little sister is bolder, in this respect. "You know, big brother, I was thinking the other day... I never got to sit my final exams. Do you think they'll keep me back a grade, when we go back?" To Ashford. She's talking about going back to the gravesite of Ashford. "Or are they going to close Milly's school for good...? If they do that, where will everyone go? Rivalz, and Shirley, and Nina... and Arthur, too." She and Euphemia have long agreed on the fact that 'Arthur' is the best name for a cat; that's why she's named Arthur, despite being a lady.
Of course the cat has that connection.
<Pose Tracker> Lelouch Lamperouge has posed.
Maybe it's true that, despite all he can see - pay attention to - notice - care about - observe - watch - reconnoiter - spy on - interrogate --- that he has always missed the things that actually matter. How could he pretend that's not true? How can he a good brother if, instead of actually dedicating his time and attention to her, he did it for some other reason? How long can he pretend(lie) that this is just for her benefit? If it was just for her benefit, then doing nothing is better than doing something. Obviously.
... and, yet, he selfishly decided that she was the reason to do this. That shield would protect any crime he commits. Up until now, he could keep her isolated from the cost, the recoil, of his terrible decisions; and that could be justification enough. 'Eventually, Nunnally could be happy, if only I win'. What an idiot. If he just stopped before, if he just never started, then he could actually just focus. And, yet. ... and, yet, here they are. Maybe he even could've stopped before he got on that stage. The Black Knights would be crushed without him, but if his priority is where he claims, then who cares?
He does. A catch-22. He can't pick who dies like that. But his indecision dragged her into this. If he was stronger, he could just decide to bring her into the shadows for real; there are safer, more comfortable places than this. Where dedicated killers would protect her, like a princess in a castle, from any threat. It wouldn't be ideal, but it would be better, right? ... Right? But that wouldn't help, either. He can protect her from the non-physical, he realizes. He always has been. By hiding that truth, that 'my older brother is a murderer', then he can keep protecting her. The recoil reverberates and echoes across the world, and also inwardly. There's a breaking point. He doesn't know where it is.
"Sorry, sorry," he laughs, managing a smile that looks wrong. But that's fine. She can't see it anyway. But he falls silent at her question. 'I lost all of this, because of you.'
She didn't say it. But that's what's true. He knows it. Somehow, he's terrified she does, too. Ashford is gone. It probably isn't going to come back; no reason for it to come back. Rivalz, Shirly, Nina... are they okay? He hasn't found them, yet. The number of people he can trust keeps falling, and never increases. Maybe Kallen knows. He hopes Kallen knows, and is taking care of it without telling him. That would be best. Milly... would be fine. She's strong.
What about everyone else? Are they alive? "I don't know, Nunnally." His voice is as soft as a confession. As fragile. The air isn't sharp; it's wounded. Bleeding. "I'll try to..." Find out. Figure out what will happen on such a small stage. That's a joke. There's no time or room for that kind of thing. He has to win. There's no other way to set it right. Maybe, before the reverberation of his sin shattered their world, Nunnally could've been happy without the work.
Not anymore. But not never again - not as long as he wins. The exhaustion makes it to his tone, and his voice is heavy. "I'm sorry." Another couple of words. Another confession. Another reminder. It won't get better. Not until he makes it better. If he can cling to at least that delusion, than he can stay sane.
<Pose Tracker> Nunnally Lamperouge has posed.
Of course it's not Lelouch's fault! How could he have done this? He's not a terrorist. Nunnally is aware, in some fashion, of the guilt weighing down the room. She's aware, at least, that he is being too hard on himself.
It's easy for her to believe that. (It's easy for her to believe in him.)
"It's not your fault," she tells him, and her feelings on it are genuine. "It's okay." She's really trying to make him feel better, hearing him apologise out of the blue, like that.
She reaches out with her free hand, through the blood in the atmosphere, fumbling for his. There's a scrap of sauce on her cheek, from where she's been eating; she doesn't realise it's there. It wouldn't be important to her, anyway, in light of the way he trails off.
But even with her strange sense of knowing when he's there, she's going to have trouble finding his hand, on her own.
"It's okay," she assures him, and there's her own flavour of desperation to her gentle tone. (All she can do is smile, for him; all she can do is be a place he can come back to.) "I know it's been hard to figure anything out. The radio's always talking about it... well, they're not talking about it, when they were talking about it, before. The things they don't say are still things they're saying." The empty spaces where an explanation should go -- and there is none. "Just stay out of trouble, okay..? I'm sure all our friends are doing the same. Emilia and Kallen and Milly and Rin, too! Everyone..." There are too many people to name, really, but Nunnally keeps smiling.
"It's okay," she says, third time for a prayer. "We've survived this sort of thing before. I know my big brother will take care of everything, so don't worry about me. Everything... will be okay."
<Pose Tracker> Lelouch Lamperouge has posed.
Somehow, Lelouch finds it in himself to nod again. It's wrong to say he, alone, is responsible for everything in the world going wrong. That's not true. The Britannians - his family - did this, are doing this. The world outside is doing this, too. He isn't the one who did this. He's merely the consequence of their actions. A natural conclusion. It was always going to come around. After all - who's to say he's the only one able to leave echoes, marks, and fragments on the world around him? It's the reverberation of their father's sin.
He did this to them. So, Lelouch does this back. So, the world rattles and shakes and hurts. ... When does it stop? When Charles is dead? When his home is destroyed? When the world breaks? He doesn't know. But - it's fine. Because however it goes, whoever wins gets to decide. So, he has to win. It's simple, as always. It doesn't matter, anymore. He can't undo everything. But he can make things better, still. Has to.
Has no choice but to. And so, he reaffirms his promises:
"I'll do my best to be careful," he says, and means that he'll stomp on anyone who can hurt them.
"And I'll do my best to make things better," he says, and means that he'll melt the world down and reform it, if he has to. If all the world is to be his enemy - so be it.
"I'll figure something out," he says, and means that there's nothing left to figure out. "So, try to rest a little better." This mask is easier to wear. It's more comfortable. Fits better. It's the old lies, but with a newer reason. He'll take care of everything. Everyone. Someone has to catch things when they slip and fall. And it has to be him. For now, and forever.
If you catch every drop of rain, is it raining? It can't be. Not as long as you catch every drop.