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damned_lounge2007-10-30 07:54 pm
spandexorgtfo.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_lounge2007-10-30 07:54 pm
Entry tags:
Oktoberfest '07 Entry, Repetition, by Tiki
Title: Repetition
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kranna_tiki
Beta (if applicable): None
Word Count: 2,170
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Kratos Aurion, Doyleton NPCs, mentions various Landel's staff (oh god new mun fails at writing others)
Pairing(s) (if applicable): N/A
Summary: As most would do, Kratos makes a run for it during the Doyleton trip. What he doesn't realize is that he's destined to do so again...and again...and again.
Notes (if applicable): Oops bad summary and title. Uh, if this doesn't make any sense at all I apologize. Lots of strange strange repetition.
Kratos Aurion had decided that he would escape. Although he had only been at Landel’s Institute for a grand total of one day (yes, a terribly impressive figure, but he didn’t exactly want it to go any higher.), he knew that deep down he didn’t want to wait for X amount of time to pass before he could somehow walk out of Landel’s—if that was even possible.
Eternity he could deal with. Eternity within a place that existed to try his limits was another story. Killing himself seemed a crude way to escape- after all, he would only be running away from everything else he had done. If Lloyd’s twin blades had beaten anything into his head, it had been that living was worthwhile. He could not- would not- run away from life. If anything, he would try to make the rest of eternity his turnaround. He would backtrack through the past four thousand years up to the point where time had stopped for Kratos Aurion.
And there he would restart. No, he would never be able to erase the memories of countless millennia, but he could make up for them.
However, staying in a mental institute was not figured into the picture. In fact, there had been no mental institute at all. He was perfectly sane- in fact, perhaps a little too sane. Too wise to the ways of the world, too experienced and tested…that was him. There was no reason for him to be in such a place, none at all. From what he had gathered, Landel’s Institute wasn’t even within Sylvarant, let alone Tethe’alla. (Heaven forbid that it was actually on Derris Kharlan. What a horrible twisted mockery of Yggdrasil that would have been.) That alone didn’t make any sense, because no one in either world had the power to control time and space. Only Mithos did, but he existed only as a Cruxis Crystal, a consciousness locked within a parasitic rock. The only other person who could possibly use the Eternal Sword was Lloyd, and he could see no reason for his son to subject him to an institute that as far as Lloyd was concerned, didn’t exist.
Logic lost out in this strange new world, and “uncomfortable” barely described Kratos in a setting that left him lacking in both strength and familiarity. He could not survive for long in such a place; eventually he would be eroded away, too far for even his son to bring back. Kratos had always known that he would one day lose it, and he did not want to do so while Lloyd was fighting the war for him. This wasn’t the end he deserved, even if he had been responsible for a myriad of the twin worlds’ troubles. When he considered it, Kratos had to agree that not even Mithos deserved to wither away in Landel’s Institute.
It was with that in mind that he made his escape plan- which in more detailed terms, was essentially him ducking quickly into the backstreets and running like mad. Not terribly detailed and highly risky, but there seemed to be no time to create a more intricate one. After all, who knew when they would get a chance to leave the institute? Hopefully, the field trip would provide enough cover. Although the Head Doctor had affirmed that there would be staff on hand to control the patients, he doubted they could keep up that thing called “constant vigilance” at all times. It would mean blending in with the crowd, eventually making him seem so obsolete as to be passed over. He would play the part of the obedient, dazed Kurtis Clarke, too caught up in trying to remember the events of his past to actually consider causing trouble. All it took was a matter of slowly drifting away, and he would be gone.
---
Looking back on his assured rate of success from the morning, Kratos Aurion wryly wondered why, now sprinting through a backend alley, he had even considered the idea. He’d managed to duck into one of the stores for a while before slipping into the darkened side streets. Off he’d gone, now completely-human body begging him to slow down. He had been too dependent on the endurance of an angelic form, too comfortable…to be put at such a disadvantage hurt him more now than it would were he still within the twin worlds. At least in Tethe’alla or Sylvarant he actually knew where he was going…
It seemed as if the Institute had almost already known what he was thinking. Already there were the shouts of a retrieval squad dogging his footsteps, and they were only supposed to depart back from the institute not more than ten minutes ago. One man, even if said man was a seraph, could not possibly succeed against an unknown number of armed foes with what sounded like a pack of especially excited dogs. Dogs…the idea that Noishe would be very convenient were the protozoan nearby floated through his brain. Kratos desperately tried to ignore it. He couldn’t afford to dwell on “if only”’s at the moment, although if there were any time he actually wanted- needed- the cursed wings of Cruxis, now would be it.
Now also happened to be the time where they were rendered conveniently useless. And Lloyd had told him that people were supposed to keep living no matter what? If life had it in for him (and it most certainly did now), logic neatly dictated that by all rights he should be dead. Dead he was not though. Perhaps Fate was just jerking him along for the fun of it? Blame your fate…how he loved it when his own words came flying back to hit him in the face.
Skidding through a puddle, Kratos neatly swerved into the entrance of the nearest building and found himself in the grimy kitchen of a diner apparently closed for the day. A tattered curtain had been all that blocked him from entry. Almost too easy…was this another part of Landel’s plan to retrieve him?
He had only five seconds to duck down under the nearby stove before an overzealous member of his assailants came running in, waving about a strange looking machine. Apparently the man wanted a good deal of glory, for he hadn’t thought of bringing any others with him to back him up. Kratos peered up from his location behind the stove, but immediately ducked back down as the man let out a yell of triumph. There was an audible click before a spray of bullets (wait- he hadn’t known that word before…) sent sparks from the stove showering down upon him. A fire erupted to his right side- his attacker had apparently hit a gas outlet, and now smoke was pouring into the kitchen. The sounds of bullets hurtling through the air were only drowned out by the sprinklers (he…hadn’t known that word either.) from overhead, sending a stream of water coursing down on the people inside. Cursing softly, Kratos crawled to his right.
There was another spray of bullet fire, scattering utensils from the countertop above onto the floor. A frying pan nearly brained him. Some inner impulse made Kratos snatch up the flat pan, and yet another made him stand up. Smoke was now filling the entire room; the water from the sprinklers wasn’t doing much to help the situation.
It was as if he was being controlled by some other force that told him words, told him what to do even. If that was going to be the case, well, he’d let it take its course. Quickly running to his assailant’s left side, Kratos paused as the man reloaded his hand gun before creeping forward and—
“Alright Clarke, there’s no sense in running. Now come out before you burn—oof!” The man collapsed with a thud as Kratos neatly smacked him hard in the back of the head with the frying pan. His gun went skittering onto the floor.
Gun…
As if on cue Kratos dropped the frying pan onto the floor to stare blankly at the weapon through a haze of smoke and steam. No one else seemed to be coming. It was just him and…
"Your family was very concerned about your health, especially after that gunfight."
He stiffened as the memory of the nurse’s concerned face as she spoke came back. The pieces were coming together now.
Kratos Aurion was slowly but surely transforming into Kurtis Clarke.
It made sense: his sudden knowledge of unknown words, his actions…everything was done because of this “Kurtis”. Who the man was Kurt- Kratos wasn’t sure of, but one thing he knew for sure: “Kurtis Clarke” was taking over.
And I haven’t even gotten into a gunfight yet, whatever that—Kratos’s mind stopped as “Kurtis” quickly filled him in. …On to the next order of business then. I need to get out.
He snatched up the gun and quickly exited the now blazing kitchen. One exit had been sealed, meaning that there was only one way out left- the front do—
“Oh for the love of—what the hell was Kirkpatrick doing? Look at all that fucking smoke!” Kratos sprinted behind the bar, aiming the handgun at an angle at the kitchen entrance. It was strange, this odd familiarity with a different kind of cold steel in his hands. His fingers curled comfortably around the trigger.
“I can’t see shit. Get out front and go in that way. I don’t give a damn if they sue. We’ve got a dangerous criminal in here, got that?” Kratos swiveled around just in time to see the nearby windows break in a shower of glass. The gun came up in a fluid motion. Aiming calmly (how in the world did Kurtis Clarke learn all this?) amidst the flurry of shards from the windows, he fired into the gap produced, taking satisfaction in the pained yell his shots created.
“He’s armed! Get away from the windo—” Another shot silenced the speaker.
Outside, officers quickly conferring with institute staff came to a decision: Clarke had to be put down. “Whatever force necessary” was the verdict.
Inside, it was eerily silent as Kratos slumped wearily against the bar top. He hadn’t been He glanced down at the weapon in his hands. Four shots left. “Kurtis” told him that this was plenty. One’s enough too, if all you’re looking for is ending life. There was a clinking noise as a small round capsule sailed in through one of the smashed windows. Kratos ducked under the bar top just as it exploded, its gaseous contents now spilling into the room.
“Damn…” Kratos coughed weakly before firing at the shadowy shapes entering through the now smashed door. One shot. Two shots. Three.
I’m down to my last one. He stopped cold and slowly brought the muzzle up to his temple. His fingers shook as they slowly gave the trigger the hug of death. Time to leave.
And then the world exploded into a palette of red and orange.
The kitchen. He’d completely forgotten about the kitchen. The fire having rioted through most of the room, it’d finally found a little more fuel to its flame. Angelic reflexes kicked in, and Kurtis threw himself to the side as a jet of flame shot from the kitchen entrance. Staggering to his feet, the red head barely dodged another stream of fire- the flames had found the alcohol behind the counter. There were yells from outside, but Kurtis paid them no mind. As smoke slowly filled the room and his lungs, he collapsed, hacking. So this was how he was going to die? Slowly to the end- perhaps life just liked hanging onto its favorite chew toy.
At least he would be…dying…before Lloyd…whoever that was. Sometimes his mind seriously liked playing too many tricks on him.
The last thing Kurtis Clarke felt before the world faded to black was regret for not figuring out who this “Kratos Aurion” guy was.
“Damn…”
---
Kratos had told himself the next day that he would do something worthwhile. He would not simply mope around Dirk's house waiting for Lloyd; that would be counter-productive. In his current state, he didn't know how far "worthwhile" could go when applied, but he had resolved to do something that did not involve him mentally kicking himself.
That something had not involved waking up in a hospital bed. Nor had it involved a woman peering down at him. (Martel forbid it was Dirk.) A million alarms went off instantly in his head, but Kratos's brain somehow ignored them all. In fact, the only impulse that carried through correctly seemed to be one that told him to blink. So blink he did.
"Oh, you're awake, Mr. Clarke! Thank god- we were all wondering when you'd come round." The woman- he could see now that she was a nurse- stood up from the bedside, smiling.
"Your family was very concerned about your health, especially after that gunfight."
Author:
kranna_tikiBeta (if applicable): None
Word Count: 2,170
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Kratos Aurion, Doyleton NPCs, mentions various Landel's staff (oh god new mun fails at writing others)
Pairing(s) (if applicable): N/A
Summary: As most would do, Kratos makes a run for it during the Doyleton trip. What he doesn't realize is that he's destined to do so again...and again...and again.
Notes (if applicable): Oops bad summary and title. Uh, if this doesn't make any sense at all I apologize. Lots of strange strange repetition.
Kratos Aurion had decided that he would escape. Although he had only been at Landel’s Institute for a grand total of one day (yes, a terribly impressive figure, but he didn’t exactly want it to go any higher.), he knew that deep down he didn’t want to wait for X amount of time to pass before he could somehow walk out of Landel’s—if that was even possible.
Eternity he could deal with. Eternity within a place that existed to try his limits was another story. Killing himself seemed a crude way to escape- after all, he would only be running away from everything else he had done. If Lloyd’s twin blades had beaten anything into his head, it had been that living was worthwhile. He could not- would not- run away from life. If anything, he would try to make the rest of eternity his turnaround. He would backtrack through the past four thousand years up to the point where time had stopped for Kratos Aurion.
And there he would restart. No, he would never be able to erase the memories of countless millennia, but he could make up for them.
However, staying in a mental institute was not figured into the picture. In fact, there had been no mental institute at all. He was perfectly sane- in fact, perhaps a little too sane. Too wise to the ways of the world, too experienced and tested…that was him. There was no reason for him to be in such a place, none at all. From what he had gathered, Landel’s Institute wasn’t even within Sylvarant, let alone Tethe’alla. (Heaven forbid that it was actually on Derris Kharlan. What a horrible twisted mockery of Yggdrasil that would have been.) That alone didn’t make any sense, because no one in either world had the power to control time and space. Only Mithos did, but he existed only as a Cruxis Crystal, a consciousness locked within a parasitic rock. The only other person who could possibly use the Eternal Sword was Lloyd, and he could see no reason for his son to subject him to an institute that as far as Lloyd was concerned, didn’t exist.
Logic lost out in this strange new world, and “uncomfortable” barely described Kratos in a setting that left him lacking in both strength and familiarity. He could not survive for long in such a place; eventually he would be eroded away, too far for even his son to bring back. Kratos had always known that he would one day lose it, and he did not want to do so while Lloyd was fighting the war for him. This wasn’t the end he deserved, even if he had been responsible for a myriad of the twin worlds’ troubles. When he considered it, Kratos had to agree that not even Mithos deserved to wither away in Landel’s Institute.
It was with that in mind that he made his escape plan- which in more detailed terms, was essentially him ducking quickly into the backstreets and running like mad. Not terribly detailed and highly risky, but there seemed to be no time to create a more intricate one. After all, who knew when they would get a chance to leave the institute? Hopefully, the field trip would provide enough cover. Although the Head Doctor had affirmed that there would be staff on hand to control the patients, he doubted they could keep up that thing called “constant vigilance” at all times. It would mean blending in with the crowd, eventually making him seem so obsolete as to be passed over. He would play the part of the obedient, dazed Kurtis Clarke, too caught up in trying to remember the events of his past to actually consider causing trouble. All it took was a matter of slowly drifting away, and he would be gone.
---
Looking back on his assured rate of success from the morning, Kratos Aurion wryly wondered why, now sprinting through a backend alley, he had even considered the idea. He’d managed to duck into one of the stores for a while before slipping into the darkened side streets. Off he’d gone, now completely-human body begging him to slow down. He had been too dependent on the endurance of an angelic form, too comfortable…to be put at such a disadvantage hurt him more now than it would were he still within the twin worlds. At least in Tethe’alla or Sylvarant he actually knew where he was going…
It seemed as if the Institute had almost already known what he was thinking. Already there were the shouts of a retrieval squad dogging his footsteps, and they were only supposed to depart back from the institute not more than ten minutes ago. One man, even if said man was a seraph, could not possibly succeed against an unknown number of armed foes with what sounded like a pack of especially excited dogs. Dogs…the idea that Noishe would be very convenient were the protozoan nearby floated through his brain. Kratos desperately tried to ignore it. He couldn’t afford to dwell on “if only”’s at the moment, although if there were any time he actually wanted- needed- the cursed wings of Cruxis, now would be it.
Now also happened to be the time where they were rendered conveniently useless. And Lloyd had told him that people were supposed to keep living no matter what? If life had it in for him (and it most certainly did now), logic neatly dictated that by all rights he should be dead. Dead he was not though. Perhaps Fate was just jerking him along for the fun of it? Blame your fate…how he loved it when his own words came flying back to hit him in the face.
Skidding through a puddle, Kratos neatly swerved into the entrance of the nearest building and found himself in the grimy kitchen of a diner apparently closed for the day. A tattered curtain had been all that blocked him from entry. Almost too easy…was this another part of Landel’s plan to retrieve him?
He had only five seconds to duck down under the nearby stove before an overzealous member of his assailants came running in, waving about a strange looking machine. Apparently the man wanted a good deal of glory, for he hadn’t thought of bringing any others with him to back him up. Kratos peered up from his location behind the stove, but immediately ducked back down as the man let out a yell of triumph. There was an audible click before a spray of bullets (wait- he hadn’t known that word before…) sent sparks from the stove showering down upon him. A fire erupted to his right side- his attacker had apparently hit a gas outlet, and now smoke was pouring into the kitchen. The sounds of bullets hurtling through the air were only drowned out by the sprinklers (he…hadn’t known that word either.) from overhead, sending a stream of water coursing down on the people inside. Cursing softly, Kratos crawled to his right.
There was another spray of bullet fire, scattering utensils from the countertop above onto the floor. A frying pan nearly brained him. Some inner impulse made Kratos snatch up the flat pan, and yet another made him stand up. Smoke was now filling the entire room; the water from the sprinklers wasn’t doing much to help the situation.
It was as if he was being controlled by some other force that told him words, told him what to do even. If that was going to be the case, well, he’d let it take its course. Quickly running to his assailant’s left side, Kratos paused as the man reloaded his hand gun before creeping forward and—
“Alright Clarke, there’s no sense in running. Now come out before you burn—oof!” The man collapsed with a thud as Kratos neatly smacked him hard in the back of the head with the frying pan. His gun went skittering onto the floor.
Gun…
As if on cue Kratos dropped the frying pan onto the floor to stare blankly at the weapon through a haze of smoke and steam. No one else seemed to be coming. It was just him and…
"Your family was very concerned about your health, especially after that gunfight."
He stiffened as the memory of the nurse’s concerned face as she spoke came back. The pieces were coming together now.
Kratos Aurion was slowly but surely transforming into Kurtis Clarke.
It made sense: his sudden knowledge of unknown words, his actions…everything was done because of this “Kurtis”. Who the man was Kurt- Kratos wasn’t sure of, but one thing he knew for sure: “Kurtis Clarke” was taking over.
And I haven’t even gotten into a gunfight yet, whatever that—Kratos’s mind stopped as “Kurtis” quickly filled him in. …On to the next order of business then. I need to get out.
He snatched up the gun and quickly exited the now blazing kitchen. One exit had been sealed, meaning that there was only one way out left- the front do—
“Oh for the love of—what the hell was Kirkpatrick doing? Look at all that fucking smoke!” Kratos sprinted behind the bar, aiming the handgun at an angle at the kitchen entrance. It was strange, this odd familiarity with a different kind of cold steel in his hands. His fingers curled comfortably around the trigger.
“I can’t see shit. Get out front and go in that way. I don’t give a damn if they sue. We’ve got a dangerous criminal in here, got that?” Kratos swiveled around just in time to see the nearby windows break in a shower of glass. The gun came up in a fluid motion. Aiming calmly (how in the world did Kurtis Clarke learn all this?) amidst the flurry of shards from the windows, he fired into the gap produced, taking satisfaction in the pained yell his shots created.
“He’s armed! Get away from the windo—” Another shot silenced the speaker.
Outside, officers quickly conferring with institute staff came to a decision: Clarke had to be put down. “Whatever force necessary” was the verdict.
Inside, it was eerily silent as Kratos slumped wearily against the bar top. He hadn’t been He glanced down at the weapon in his hands. Four shots left. “Kurtis” told him that this was plenty. One’s enough too, if all you’re looking for is ending life. There was a clinking noise as a small round capsule sailed in through one of the smashed windows. Kratos ducked under the bar top just as it exploded, its gaseous contents now spilling into the room.
“Damn…” Kratos coughed weakly before firing at the shadowy shapes entering through the now smashed door. One shot. Two shots. Three.
I’m down to my last one. He stopped cold and slowly brought the muzzle up to his temple. His fingers shook as they slowly gave the trigger the hug of death. Time to leave.
And then the world exploded into a palette of red and orange.
The kitchen. He’d completely forgotten about the kitchen. The fire having rioted through most of the room, it’d finally found a little more fuel to its flame. Angelic reflexes kicked in, and Kurtis threw himself to the side as a jet of flame shot from the kitchen entrance. Staggering to his feet, the red head barely dodged another stream of fire- the flames had found the alcohol behind the counter. There were yells from outside, but Kurtis paid them no mind. As smoke slowly filled the room and his lungs, he collapsed, hacking. So this was how he was going to die? Slowly to the end- perhaps life just liked hanging onto its favorite chew toy.
At least he would be…dying…before Lloyd…whoever that was. Sometimes his mind seriously liked playing too many tricks on him.
The last thing Kurtis Clarke felt before the world faded to black was regret for not figuring out who this “Kratos Aurion” guy was.
“Damn…”
---
Kratos had told himself the next day that he would do something worthwhile. He would not simply mope around Dirk's house waiting for Lloyd; that would be counter-productive. In his current state, he didn't know how far "worthwhile" could go when applied, but he had resolved to do something that did not involve him mentally kicking himself.
That something had not involved waking up in a hospital bed. Nor had it involved a woman peering down at him. (Martel forbid it was Dirk.) A million alarms went off instantly in his head, but Kratos's brain somehow ignored them all. In fact, the only impulse that carried through correctly seemed to be one that told him to blink. So blink he did.
"Oh, you're awake, Mr. Clarke! Thank god- we were all wondering when you'd come round." The woman- he could see now that she was a nurse- stood up from the bedside, smiling.
"Your family was very concerned about your health, especially after that gunfight."