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twistedtalisman) wrote2014-08-27 02:41 pm
twistedtalisman) wrote2014-08-27 02:41 pm
FIC; pianissimo
He visits the music halls quite often. So often that it's no longer a headline to see him there; his patronage to a show is always appreciated, always welcome, and if it seems that the players put just a bit more effort in to their performances it's not really a surprise- but it's to make themselves stand out. To put themselves above the rest, the crowd that Heber has already seen-
He takes it in with a calm, almost serene demeanor- betraying nothing of the storm warring within.
The music halls offer a place for him to cater to the public while perusing far more personal matters. If he closes his eyes and relaxes, they take it as a sign of enjoyment. If he withdraws in to himself, seemingly cut off from the world at large...they assume he's immersed in the music.
They know nothing of the cacophony within him.
He can focus on them, focus on silencing them, quieting them, controlling them- Ori can bury himself in his greatest burden while his bodyguards keep a calm, all-but-bored eye on their surroundings. Even they don't truly know how deep he goes, how much he cuts himself off here- oh, his closest two know him well enough to know that he's not exactly there, but they also know better than to ask where he goes.
For good reason. Here, withdrawn in to his own soul, Ori throws himself in to the maelstrom and rides it. The voices that scream and shriek are echoed by his own, howling for dominance- they wage war and battle in his own mind as Ori tries, again and again, to enforce his superiority. He controls them, never the other way around- conducted by a rhythm he can just barely hear from the outside world, he uses this time to re-establish his holds on them. On himself. Even knowing that they will only hold for so long, he builds up the barriers that will allow him to function for that long without losing himself.
Every night, he tends to this, every night instead of dreaming he spends hours reinforcing the walls- but here, too, is a chance to recover his strength. And with it getting worse as the months turn to years, he'll take any chance he can to stay sane.
It's a slippery slope. There is a part of Ori, deep down inside that he refuses to acknowledge, that does not so much fear as know this is a holding measure. That eventually, like the rest, he will be consumed. Whether it happens while he is still alive or slipping off in to death, one day, he will be like them- trapped in chaos over which he has no control whatsoever. One day, he will be the one controlled, used, made to fuel another's goals-
He cannot acknowledge this, because if he does that is the first step of his true defeat. So long as he takes these steps, repetitive as they may be, so long as he builds back those walls and cowers the others and holds his ground- so long as he does that, he has not lost. So long as he does that, he will not be lost.
So long as he does that, the song will continue, but every time there is a touch on his shoulder to help pull him back to the true world, the players gazing up at his box seat in expectant-fearful hope for judgement-
His smile at them and gesture for an encore is, too, a holding measure.
Begging for a little more time, so that he may have a little more time in this damned and doomed lifetime.
He takes it in with a calm, almost serene demeanor- betraying nothing of the storm warring within.
The music halls offer a place for him to cater to the public while perusing far more personal matters. If he closes his eyes and relaxes, they take it as a sign of enjoyment. If he withdraws in to himself, seemingly cut off from the world at large...they assume he's immersed in the music.
They know nothing of the cacophony within him.
He can focus on them, focus on silencing them, quieting them, controlling them- Ori can bury himself in his greatest burden while his bodyguards keep a calm, all-but-bored eye on their surroundings. Even they don't truly know how deep he goes, how much he cuts himself off here- oh, his closest two know him well enough to know that he's not exactly there, but they also know better than to ask where he goes.
For good reason. Here, withdrawn in to his own soul, Ori throws himself in to the maelstrom and rides it. The voices that scream and shriek are echoed by his own, howling for dominance- they wage war and battle in his own mind as Ori tries, again and again, to enforce his superiority. He controls them, never the other way around- conducted by a rhythm he can just barely hear from the outside world, he uses this time to re-establish his holds on them. On himself. Even knowing that they will only hold for so long, he builds up the barriers that will allow him to function for that long without losing himself.
Every night, he tends to this, every night instead of dreaming he spends hours reinforcing the walls- but here, too, is a chance to recover his strength. And with it getting worse as the months turn to years, he'll take any chance he can to stay sane.
It's a slippery slope. There is a part of Ori, deep down inside that he refuses to acknowledge, that does not so much fear as know this is a holding measure. That eventually, like the rest, he will be consumed. Whether it happens while he is still alive or slipping off in to death, one day, he will be like them- trapped in chaos over which he has no control whatsoever. One day, he will be the one controlled, used, made to fuel another's goals-
He cannot acknowledge this, because if he does that is the first step of his true defeat. So long as he takes these steps, repetitive as they may be, so long as he builds back those walls and cowers the others and holds his ground- so long as he does that, he has not lost. So long as he does that, he will not be lost.
So long as he does that, the song will continue, but every time there is a touch on his shoulder to help pull him back to the true world, the players gazing up at his box seat in expectant-fearful hope for judgement-
His smile at them and gesture for an encore is, too, a holding measure.
Begging for a little more time, so that he may have a little more time in this damned and doomed lifetime.