Not much, certainly, with its collapsing infrastructure and economic shambles, even while on life support from the Moralintern. Still, he'd hoped to allay that end as long as possible, or to at least stand in tacit defiance of it. To protect Revachol's people from the worst of it, somehow. He'd promised himself to make it to seventy, as little influence on that outcome as he might actually have. His willpower accomplished more than he thought it would already.
Now, though, standing at what looks like the edge of the universe, he can only fall to his knees in awe, pushed forward by the deep sense of loss settling in his chest. Not just Revachol-- everything. Was it the Pale, suddenly advancing? He'd expected a fiery end, nuclear, more than likely, in the repetition of past revolutionary mistakes. The cosmic spectrum above him, though, looks like neither. It's too beautiful to be the end, to take the lives and dreams of billions and shatter them into crystalline nothing.
A voice slips into his ear, faint, but familiar enough to jolt him back to his feet. It's the voice he would pretend not to hear on the wind when standing near the sea, the voice Harry told him isn't him, a woman, a concept-- La Revacholiere.
Kim stares down the two paths, the weight of grief in his chest magnetizing to the dark, but she says again what he pretended not to hear in the abandoned Martinaise church:
Stay vigilant. I love you.
He steps towards the light. Her voice is soon joined by others as space and the darkness fade away. Harry, the people of Martinaise, his comrades in the RCM both alive and dead, and the smallest sounds of what he knows in his heart are his mother and father, the whole history of the Insulinde beckons him to finally lower his guard and rest. Kim doesn't realize that he's no longer walking, as much as floating through light, as tears well up in his eyes. Everyone seems to reach out with one hand, and just as he reaches for it, brushes its fingertips, another, cold and giant, wraps around him like a vise. The voices go silent, and Kim replaces them with a strangled yell of despair as something drags him away.
The scream is still in his lungs when he awakens, but his mouth won't open to release it. White hot panic spreads across Kim's body as he twitches every muscle, only to be met with rock solid resistance.
Somehow, he could still breathe through his nose, and with that scrap of a chance, Kim starts to struggle. Bit by bit, the pressure around him starts to shift, until his arms are able to push away whatever is around him. With more space to move, he can better reach forward, though it takes a mind numbing amount of time until his palms brace against a smooth surface. It doesn't seem as malleable as whatever he dug through so far, and Kim claws at it in desperation. It splinters between his fingers, then finally gives way to what feels like cool, open air.
His arms are already exhausted, but Kim blindly beats and tears until more of the smooth surface starts to collapse. He can just hear the dull sound of what could be glass shattering, followed by a sudden rush in his ears as the pressure as everything above his waist spills out of the hole he's created. He gasps as his senses are returned all at once, trying to regain some of his strength so he can pull his legs free.
It's a quicker process with his hands free, but the silence around him makes it just as torturous, until he slips out of crystal and falls to the cold, hard ground. Without his glasses, anything more than a foot from his face is a blur of vague shapes, though a milky beam of light catches his attention. He tries to at least crawl forward, but the exertion of escaping the crystal causes him to sink back into a heap after moving more than a few steps. His chest heaves, but he still manages to tense up at the sound of anything moving nearby.]
Who's there?
II. WAITING
[Kim had fought like a starving, stray cat when the military arrived-- which he only recognized by the sound of their boots. Once the whip wraps around his neck, however, he knows he was in deeper shit than he first imagined. Though he considers biding his time for a later escape once he's wrapped in a robe and thrown into a cart, the sheer number of other of both troops and captives gives him greater pause. Rash actions were out of the question if they would endanger others.
As the journey goes on, he still can't make out much of anything without his glasses. When he stumbles or goes in the wrong direction, the overseers merely jeer at him or push him back where he needs to go. Kim holds his stoic front as valiantly as he can, but these were the depths of humiliation-- the sort of thing he had nightmares about as a child.
That orphan's resilience, however, allows him to share his rations with those who clearly need it more, and to lend a sympathetic ear to anyone else nearby. When they reach the edge of the forest, Kim looks out at the vast, blur of green, any admirable details completely lost on him. As others marvel at the ruins, Kim just squints.]
Quite the view.
III. WILDCARD
(Hit me up with whatever you'd like, or PM me if you want to hash something out!)
Kim Kitsuragi | Disco Elysium | The Martyr
[Kim really thought Revachol had more time.
Not much, certainly, with its collapsing infrastructure and economic shambles, even while on life support from the Moralintern. Still, he'd hoped to allay that end as long as possible, or to at least stand in tacit defiance of it. To protect Revachol's people from the worst of it, somehow. He'd promised himself to make it to seventy, as little influence on that outcome as he might actually have. His willpower accomplished more than he thought it would already.
Now, though, standing at what looks like the edge of the universe, he can only fall to his knees in awe, pushed forward by the deep sense of loss settling in his chest. Not just Revachol-- everything. Was it the Pale, suddenly advancing? He'd expected a fiery end, nuclear, more than likely, in the repetition of past revolutionary mistakes. The cosmic spectrum above him, though, looks like neither. It's too beautiful to be the end, to take the lives and dreams of billions and shatter them into crystalline nothing.
A voice slips into his ear, faint, but familiar enough to jolt him back to his feet. It's the voice he would pretend not to hear on the wind when standing near the sea, the voice Harry told him isn't him, a woman, a concept-- La Revacholiere.
Kim stares down the two paths, the weight of grief in his chest magnetizing to the dark, but she says again what he pretended not to hear in the abandoned Martinaise church:
Stay vigilant. I love you.
He steps towards the light. Her voice is soon joined by others as space and the darkness fade away. Harry, the people of Martinaise, his comrades in the RCM both alive and dead, and the smallest sounds of what he knows in his heart are his mother and father, the whole history of the Insulinde beckons him to finally lower his guard and rest. Kim doesn't realize that he's no longer walking, as much as floating through light, as tears well up in his eyes. Everyone seems to reach out with one hand, and just as he reaches for it, brushes its fingertips, another, cold and giant, wraps around him like a vise. The voices go silent, and Kim replaces them with a strangled yell of despair as something drags him away.
The scream is still in his lungs when he awakens, but his mouth won't open to release it. White hot panic spreads across Kim's body as he twitches every muscle, only to be met with rock solid resistance.
Somehow, he could still breathe through his nose, and with that scrap of a chance, Kim starts to struggle. Bit by bit, the pressure around him starts to shift, until his arms are able to push away whatever is around him. With more space to move, he can better reach forward, though it takes a mind numbing amount of time until his palms brace against a smooth surface. It doesn't seem as malleable as whatever he dug through so far, and Kim claws at it in desperation. It splinters between his fingers, then finally gives way to what feels like cool, open air.
His arms are already exhausted, but Kim blindly beats and tears until more of the smooth surface starts to collapse. He can just hear the dull sound of what could be glass shattering, followed by a sudden rush in his ears as the pressure as everything above his waist spills out of the hole he's created. He gasps as his senses are returned all at once, trying to regain some of his strength so he can pull his legs free.
It's a quicker process with his hands free, but the silence around him makes it just as torturous, until he slips out of crystal and falls to the cold, hard ground. Without his glasses, anything more than a foot from his face is a blur of vague shapes, though a milky beam of light catches his attention. He tries to at least crawl forward, but the exertion of escaping the crystal causes him to sink back into a heap after moving more than a few steps. His chest heaves, but he still manages to tense up at the sound of anything moving nearby.]
Who's there?
II. WAITING
[Kim had fought like a starving, stray cat when the military arrived-- which he only recognized by the sound of their boots. Once the whip wraps around his neck, however, he knows he was in deeper shit than he first imagined. Though he considers biding his time for a later escape once he's wrapped in a robe and thrown into a cart, the sheer number of other of both troops and captives gives him greater pause. Rash actions were out of the question if they would endanger others.
As the journey goes on, he still can't make out much of anything without his glasses. When he stumbles or goes in the wrong direction, the overseers merely jeer at him or push him back where he needs to go. Kim holds his stoic front as valiantly as he can, but these were the depths of humiliation-- the sort of thing he had nightmares about as a child.
That orphan's resilience, however, allows him to share his rations with those who clearly need it more, and to lend a sympathetic ear to anyone else nearby. When they reach the edge of the forest, Kim looks out at the vast, blur of green, any admirable details completely lost on him. As others marvel at the ruins, Kim just squints.]
Quite the view.
III. WILDCARD
(Hit me up with whatever you'd like, or PM me if you want to hash something out!)