001 — handwritten [scrap] & action.

[argents]

( HANDWRITTEN )

[ Banagher's found himself a little bit of free time at the library on Pierre-Simon, meaning he's taking a break from sorting through the insanity of the return bin to card through a few old books in search of some kind of meaning to assign to the words he can't seem to keep quiet in his head.

On the back of a forgotten, yellowing library punch card he finds tucked away in a book, he starts copying down things in no order, just to remember—first up is the sequence of numbers that's equally persistent. He'd never thought to put them down physically before, here or otherwise, by the virtue of the fact that he doesn't feel like he'll forget them anytime soon. Thusly: ]



[ Sorry, network denizens, for the nonsensical scraps of texts, notes, and printings you may receive as a result. Also the disconcerting doodles. ]

( ACTION )

[ It's early evening, the time when all the streetlamps begin to wink to life outside and natural sunlight is exchanged for halogen. He's currently seated in the lower level of the library at one of the broad cherry wood tables, chin in hand, mindlessly scribbling on the punch card. There's an assortment of papers spread across the table's corner, dotted with books and pens, suggesting he's been at this for a bit. While usually a diligent worker, he seems pretty distracted.

Don't happen to need a book or the use of a computer, do you? ]

(ooc. this is his first use of the network, but if you're going for action and your character is a frequent visitor to the library or a high school/uni student, you're welcome to assume cr!)

Comments

[argents]

Char... Aznable? [ The Red Comet. Banagher repeats, as if to try and disassemble the concept of the name syllable by syllable. All it does is sound foreign, a broken link—if a link at all—in the complex sequence that somehow spans between them. In that moment, he's caught unaware of just how much a difference in demeanor something as simple as standing can make, especially when your company stands a good head and shoulders over you.

Frowning, Banagher tries to settle on what to say. What can he even say? From that little tirade alone, he can tell this was an impenetrable wall to tear down, not a distant flicker to reach for. ]

You've felt it too. That heartbeat. The things that rush in to take its place.

[ Words. Words that aren't in his own voice. Static on a forgotten radio. ]

[secondcomingof]

[ Casval guides a hand to his thrumming heart and clutches firm, as if to say yes, inside here. Inside there, he felt it, confused and lost and alone with not a thing to answer for it and now, this name. This name to guide him through the darkness. He would cling to it without shame and follow it all the way through, to wherever it led.

Now more than ever, he knows it will lead him to the truth. Perhaps the only truth he won't shy away from. ]

The name that isn't and the things that shouldn't be. The empty space where someone once was.

I will find it and I will fill it. By any means necessary.

[argents]

[ Compelled by the gesture, one that reminds him of what it was that accompanied his own set of numbers, Banagher averts his gaze to Casval's own, scrawled out in the dust. If he's intimidated by the single-minded path Casval speaks of and intends to walk with all his bearing before him, he does a decent job hiding it. ]

Maybe it's not really empty.

[ Of course he felt it, despite his answer. The kind of literal emptiness that rippled through him: that, for a brief moment, had made him privy to what seemed like the sound of someone else's heart rooted deep in his chest. In its place rose knowledge without origin, and from there, something like a tree with so many branches. Convoluted, difficult to navigate, and undeniably linked at some kind of center. ]

[secondcomingof]

It is empty for me and that is enough.

[ Another reply fired off resoundingly, unflinchingly. If Banagher wished to simply pay the situation no mind, so be it. But it wasn't the same for him. It couldn't be the same for him. He felt too much of a connection to a name he should never have known and that's exactly what compels him to know. It's a beacon for someone hopelessly adrift at sea and he would be a foolish man indeed to choose drowning over rescue.

He's not through on this planet yet. And until he was, until that day when the responsible were made to answer for their crimes... he'd keep on living.

The undying, unyielding Red Comet, blazing a trail endlessly through the skies. That is the being that stands before Banagher Links now. ]

[argents]

[ ...Hidden. Was going to be his next guess. Maybe it was just hidden. The best sounding of the lot, perhaps the most hopeful.

But Banagher doesn't know what he expected, exactly. Why he had any expectation at all, in light of all the questions that arose from something with no definitive answers. Only that it prompts something akin to a flash of disappointment that he quickly leverages with movement. He wipes the dust off his hands and shoves them in his hoodie pockets, cleanly avoiding that hammer coming down. ]

I should get going.

[ Banagher breaks away from the piano and from Casval. ]

Thanks, for the song.

[secondcomingof]

[ The footsteps are hollow in their retreat, and proud and blustery as he was mere seconds ago, Casval finds that he's swept up in the descending calm that rushes in to take the place of bull-headed drive. What had this boy heard? What had this boy seen? More importantly, what did he know, and what had he left behind? What laid in store for him?

But it's too late to ask those questions now, he senses; the opportunity's passed. When Banagher slips by, he softens his tone some. One last bit of advice, for the road. He's sure their paths would cross again. ]

Even when your heart stops, Banagher, don't forget. It's still inside you. Beating, within your chest. Strong. Alive. There.

[ His eyes narrow. ]

Don't let anyone or anything take that away from you.

[argents]

[ Banagher stops in the doorway, lingers for a half-second more. Enough to cast a glance over his shoulder, inquisitive, but also puzzled by the advice that sounds so profound, when really... ]

Isn't that true for all humans?

[ He says it like it's the most basic thing in the world, a building block that even a child could grasp the definition of. Stack them and they tower. But he doesn't wait for an answer. It's obvious neither of them had that, yet, and he's not sure he'd know what to do with his even if he were to find it. ]

It was nice meeting you.

[ One step forward, then two, until he disappears from the doorway. ]