Your name is JADE HARLEY. It is the 1st of December, which just so happens to be your birthday. The dog beside you is BECQUEREL. He was the best friend a girl could ever ask for. He never left your side, and now, you will never leave his.
You are DEAD.
>Jade: Pull the trigger
You had been nervous before- stomach knotting itself to sickness, fingers anxiously holding to the comforting weight of a gun. Maybe it’s being back with Bec, but you feel at ease by the time you’re done greeting the skeletal pile dog. You don’t think you’re afraid of dying…up until a few days ago, you had just never put any serious thought into it. It felt…surreal.
From memory you know exactly how the tip of a shotgun parts through fur, smooth and almost kind in its grace. You aim the muzzle, skin brushing cool steel as you exhale quietly. You have to realize your hand has started shaking again before you force it to stop, eyes lowering to Becquerel’s permanent grin. Breath in again.
You’ve been holding your breathe. A year of forgetting to breath in. Nearly- 10 months, give a few days by now- forgetting what it felt like to let go of the air trapped inside your collapsing lungs. Inhaling wood and paper, you had signed away a different future months ago (-feri, don-) and nothing would ever be so easily restored. You didn’t make the right choices, you followed the wrong directions, you were never smart enough to get the proper answer in time.
If dying meant the chance of coming back a better person- you were ready to bite the not-so figurative bullet. You needed to be better (not for yourself) but to find her again.
You needed to be better and the thought of death didn’t scare you at all if it meant being able to help the ones you loved.
You catch yourself thinking about your last conversation with Eridan. You idle over how nice it would have been to talk and say goodbye to everyone else, where-ever they were, and quickly shove the thought aside. Just this body, just this version of you. You’d promise you’d be back soon. Inhale.
Index finger hovering over the trigger, you count the pulse of your thumb pressing against the wooden handle. You think about Aradia’s tiny New Orleans apartment: the smell of burning mac ‘n cheese and bad horror flicks and cramped couch seating. Summers beside the ocean and wagging tails and extraordinary adventures. Ice cream and clubs you’ve never even been to. You think about Dallas and confusing street signs and local coffee shops and terribly endearing sea-themed puns.
You miss everything so much, and you’re ready to move on.
SF: hi, boy
You promise to return as soon as you can, and head down the spiral basement stairway. With the door shut behind you it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust in the dimmed light.
>Greet the dog
You feel a quick stab of guilt. After your childhood friend had been put to rest you had been meaning to perform some sort of proper burial. You had gotten caught up in chasing ghosts instead.
Soon. As soon as this was over with, when things were back to normal, you would do it. For now- what you were about to do would have to suffice as some sort of whispered apology, another reassurance of your love, to the creature.
If you were to die, momentarily, it would be at Becquerel’s side. The one memory that refused to leave you- loyal through life and nightmares and dreaming- remaining as strong as he could even after finding peace through the Knights sword- it was your turn to give in and lie with the corpse of your oldest friend.
>JADE: okay. ill be back in hopefully no time!!!! :)
Fingers tracing along the faded wallpaper, you guide yourself through the hallway entrance. You pass the old wooden stairs heading upstairs, and need to lift your hand as you pass the door-less opening to the living room. Too dark to see inside, you continue forwards.
Your Grandfathers shotgun waits were you remember it would be. The weight of it familiar- and in a way, like always before- comforting in your grasp. The scribbled signature on the stock has been eaten away as much as anything in the house, the name unrecognizable but in your memories vision. Your fingers curl against the firearm, squeezing tight into another hand to hold. Nervousness rises in your throat, and you fight it by walking stubbornly forward.
SF: i always preferred rifles to shotguns but this one seemed really important to my grandpa
SF: he used it when he went away to fight with the resistance!
That was a long time ago, but you had always enjoyed his stories once he returned home. For a while things had been simple. Blood rushes loudly in your ears, swallowing as the door you have been heading for comes into view. Another plain, oak door, with nothing remarkable or noticeable about it. It has not been that long since you have encountered this door. You shift your head, smiling down to Mado,
SF: hey, mado…..
(Source: esejenesaisquoi)
i think im running out of ways to say i miss you. i still really do though, and im sorry if you get tired hearing it (if any messages ever do make it, i mean). im sorry for a lot of things. im sorry i didnt listen to bec if it meant helping you months ago and im sorry…just about how things turned out, you know??
im still trying to save you and im going to do anything i possibly can until youre back here!! when were all together again eridan is taking us out for ice cream!
once i god tier i might be able to see clearer where you are. the process of it sort of scares me….but im ready. even if it takes me months after that to find you just remember that theres someone out there thats looking and really cares about you and just hold on okay?
i cant not remember you. i really like you and i sort of hope you wont forget me, either.
jade
窓付き: > Wait
SE: we can try.
You make sure you enter with her in every way, in step, hand in hand.
With some force the old hunters door opens, its hinges whining in complaint and speckles of moss sprinkling onto your shoes. You step inside with Mado, greeted with the hallway of your old summer cabin. You breath in the stiff rotting smell of the panelled walls and dusty rugs leading down the floor. Looking out the window the scenery of the Nexus has been replaced with grass, the gentle lapping of the ocean rising and falling beyond that. There is a moment to take everything in before you speak,
SF: this is my old cabin. i used to come here with my grandpa. every year if we possibly could
Explaining the place feels important to you. Maybe it is just narrating your thought process for you as much as her.
SF: i missed this place a lot
It’s more of a mumble as your free hand feels along the wall, the vibrant paint job faded to a dreary mix of pink and grey. You guide Mado down the hall, not bothering to shut the door behind you
(Source: anna-chancellor)
窓付き: > Wait
SE: well i didn’t invite you here to sit on my tushie and watch, did i? that’d be poor hospitality.
As you meander slowly, a door draws you in. Or really, draws Jade. or really really, Jade’s signal.
finally, you reach it. it reminds you of a door to a hunting lodge, of solid oak, but one set overlooking or on the coast, the wood hardened by salty sea spray. there is a doggy door, with its own (though decorative) doorknob, made for a very large dog, but it seems unused, a bit of sea-moss grown on the hinges.
SE: This is it…i found the right channel…
SF: heheh, i guess not!
Tugged alongside the younger girl, you can feel the pulling in your chest strengthening in its direction, the resolution of where you are going cementing itself in your mind and legs. Mado is the one to lead you to the door, and as you stop in front of it, you know without question it is the right one.
You smile fondly. It evokes a reminder of the past, a sentimental welcome to a home you have been missing for much too long. There is a burdened sort of despondency that breaks behind the gazing of your eyes- these halls will be empty, and the task waiting before you makes your hands squeeze softly into Mado’s. The scent of the ocean assaults you with another reminder of why you are here, of the voice and its lost owner you would give anything to hear once more.
You reach toward the door. Your palm rests of the flat wooden surface, grains of salt and oak rubbing beneath your nails,
SF: can we go in….?
The question wasn’t for much purpose, as you have already begun to push the door open, keeping a worried hold of Mado’s hand
窓付き: > Wait
you watch her movements carefully, before stepping forward and taking her hand.
SE:your presence here….it resonates, sort of like a beacon…
You let your gaze travel over the doors, and the shadows recede slightly in response.
SE: its like finding the right radio signal…and you’re the sample recording. I just need to twist the dial…
you move forward, tugging her along gently.
You are caught slightly off-guard when she wraps her smaller hand around yours, pulling you forward and going into more detail on how she would locate the proper door. It’s strange to suddenly have to count back the weeks you have been on Derse, the days since you have been in the ‘physical’ location of another person.
SF: ohh. thats really neat mado :)
SF: thanks for being my guide
You keep your eyes on the passing doors, feeling more content then moment before, but still eager to get on with the plans you had with for your doorway
窓付き: > Wait
SE: is it your door that you seek?
You tilt your head, slightly.
SE: that seemed to be what your drawing implied…
You look around, then, searchingly. With her right there, it’d be easy peasy to find her own door if that is indeed what she wished.
a scent….feeling…aura? something. but Jade’s door would be very obvious to you with Jade there.
SF: in a way, maybe!!
You step away from Merinski and Eridans doors, turning to face the rest of the doorways. You cannot count precisely how many other doors lie in the Nexus, eyes trying to move through the cloud of shadow, adding,
SF: i dont know if its mine, or an old friend of mines
SF: i feel like some really important things happened to both of us there…well what ‘there’ would be in relation to the physical location its supposed to represent…and cant tell if the door should belong to me or him!
SF: it could be mine, and just a part thats strongly attached to that piece of memory, too…
Stepping forward, you decide moving might be a better way to search over just looking with your eyes. It is a feeling of memory you are chasing again, a softly summoning call of shotgun slugs and vivid greens, the scent of the ocean and indoor fires, but more so, you are looking for the doorway split between yourself and the friend you had once loved so dearly.