IC CONTACT (futuro & prisma)

[heavyhitter]

username: TARANTO

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[heavyhitter]

Yeah, yeah, same thing, I mean back to your world — jesus, tomorrow? Seriously?

[ She's already on her feet and getting dressed, but it doesn't feel fast enough. She tosses out some idle nonsense as she goes, because she can't not. ]

They must really like you back at Rift Headquarters. What'd you even do to get this?

[heelies]

[But it is not the same thing - for in returning home he would live long past the age when his hair silvers, and in returning to Troy he would be struck down by Apollo in the apex of his glory.]

I chose this path, Ramir - years ago when for Troy I set sail with my fleet of fifty ships manned by my thousand Myrmidons, my Fate was all but decided. I cannot forever stave this off.

[heavyhitter]

I know, I know, you only talk about it all the fucking time. [ Okay, not all the time, but enough ... and it turns out she's actually usually listening to the many, many things he says. ]

Just shut up for a second, I'm on my way over. Be there soon.

[heelies]

[There was a time when such a flippant response would have stirred his ire; yet now, he allows her her anger, for what else can he leave her with?]

Very well - I shall await you.

[And so he does. When comes her knock on the door, he opens up to her.]

Welcome, Jolanda's daughter - come sit, and I shall pour the wine myself.

[For the first time in a long while, the room he keeps in the castle is all his own: none with whom to share his bed, and none to make lively the space. By the door stands his gleaming armor and shield, which once Koltira had rent and tarnished in single combat, and by these same hands the forge god's craft was restored too. Atop the wooden dresser sits the golden urn his mother had gifted him, which in its belly holds the bones of Patroclus, and beside it sits as a memorial the intricately carved music box he himself had once gifted his dear companion. Past all of this he leads her, to the small wooden table around which are placed two chairs.]

[heavyhitter]

[ She doesn't sit, though. At least, not yet. First, and nearly as soon as the door opens, it seems tantamount to lean in and throw both arms around Achilles's neck and shoulders for a tight hug. It'd be a little too tight on a normal person, but she's sure he can take it.

Muffled and buried against him: ] This sucks.

[ Obviously she didn't really think they were all here forever, and the thought of going home again is incredibly important to her and never too far from her mind ... but she'd somehow failed to consider anyone else leaving her before she left them. It turns out it feels pretty damn bad, especially considering his circumstances. ]

[heelies]

[He had begun to turn that he might shepherd her further into the cramped room, but then she throws her arms around him and his feet fall still, his strong arms wreathing her waist. He has no words with which to comfort her, and so he is quiet for a long moment. ]

I am sorry, but such is my duty.

[Perhaps such reasoning is flimsy to her, no sturdier to set upon than the boughs of a willow tree, yet in his estimation it is that to which he is bound.]

[heavyhitter]

I know.

[ Ugh, does she ever. A sense of duty will literally be the death of him. She pulls back with a sigh but leaves her arms flung around his neck, the better to keep him in place for a good look at him. ]

How're you doing?

[ Because, you know, this isn't exactly a light matter, here. She's got to ask. ]

[heelies]

[He looks down at her with his countenance placid but touched by melancholy, as a pond in spring is touched with ice just at the edges. How strange it is to know that you are seeing someone for the last time, but he wonders if it is better to know in advance or only in retrospect, as with Patroclus, his father, his son.]

No longer do I fear death, if that is what you ask. I would think it a far unhappier fate if I were to creep into old age without Patroclus, dearest and most faithful of my companions, by my side - cursed to a life long but empty. Jason met his life's end when the bow of his rotting ship, the vessel by which he gained glory in the bygone days of his vigor, collapsed atop him. But I shall meet death at the hands of a deathless god and a mortal both, there in the bloody jaws of battle, as befits a warrior of my status.

[heavyhitter]

[ She doesn't think she can agree. That's not bad, going out in a blaze of glory doing what you're best at — but Ramir doesn't want that for herself. Maybe that's the difference in the worlds they came from, maybe that's just the kind of guy he is. Whatever it is, she's glad his take on it is what it is. She's not sure she could stand it otherwise.

She pulls back a little more from him, growing a little more serious. ]

No one's ever gonna forget you. Not here, not in your world. Hell, not even in half the worlds out there.

[heelies]

[Despite the heavy pall of melancholy that drapes this final meeting, a smile shadows his lips.]

Then all shall be as I wished. Man is mortal, but his name need not be.

[It is this that had stoked the fire deep in his breast, and this that had lashed him onward to Troy despite all that he was made to surrender in exchange.]

[heavyhitter]

[ Well, at least she could get a smile out of him, even if it's small and pathetic. She meets it with a warm one of her own, even if it's a little shaky around the edges, then reaches to grab and squeeze one of his hands. ]

Let's do that wine you mentioned.

[heelies]

[He squeezes her hand in return and leads her thus to the table, upon which sits the wine. This he mixes and pours in the tradition of his people, the ways of whom he has faithfully followed through every strange land. One cup he passes to her and another he sets before himself, but before he will drink of it he must pour the gods' portion: a small vessel sitting by the fireplace receives his libation.]

May Zeus who bears the aegis, bright-eyed Athena, and Phoebus Apollo grant us their benison for as long as they may.

[Well does he understand the irony in praying to the very gods who would and could do nothing to prevent his death, but what he does not know is that it would be Apollo himself, the far-shooter, who would guide the fatal arrow to his flesh. Then he returns to sit across from Ramir and take his own cup.]

How strange it is to remember now, as we come together in friendship to share wine, that once you vexed me as fleas vex a dog. Why, we once boxed and wrestled there on the beach of the Nalawi's land, so intolerable we each found the other!

[heavyhitter]

[ She's uncharacteristically patient as he pours and libates, content just to watch. Well, not content — resigned, maybe. All his ritualistic religious stuff suddenly seems nostalgic, like she's already missing it.

His comment gets a quick laugh, quiet and a little subdued. ]

Right on the beach, yeah, in the fucking storm. God, there's a good memory. [ She wipes a hasty hand under one of her eyes, staving off tears that haven't quite gotten around to falling yet. ] But come on — I was more than just a flea to a dog to you. I almost kicked your ass that first time!

[heelies]

[He frowns, his pride seizing him as so often it does, but he cannot help but laugh too for the memory.]

Indeed, I was shocked to find a woman not only so rude, but of such sturdy stock as well, touched by the strength of Pallas Athena, so it seemed to me.

[He drinks then of his wine, and his voice softens.]

So too, I was surprised by all I might learn from you, dear Ramir.