Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-04-13 00:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !narrative, aspel cassul |
"I've tried to be better inside,I've tried to heal myself many times,But we both know I'm still ill"
Who: Aspel Cassul (Narrative! - Mentions of: Ari, Seloria, Rictor, Mag, Vivi, Jareth, Li, Drake, & others I'm forgetting.)
What: Falling down.
Where: Various places - but mostly her apartment and The Armory.
When: A series of events: Beginning of Jan to April 5
Rating: R (Language, self destructive habits, addictions, self blame, depression, sex, drug use, other issues.)
Status: Complete!
The Valendian New Year always seemed a queer thing. Yet, regardless, Aspel found herself out, wandering about the streets and attempting to take in the sights. Maybe if she acted like one of them enough, she could be part of this city, part of their beliefs and ideals. Maybe if she wandered these streets alone she could become lost and revive from it anew. Maybe..... Fingers curled upon the sides of the jacket that Ari had bought her, tugging it a bit tighter around her body. It was cold this time of year, but further darkness would come before the dawn of this winter yet. Did darkness not always proceed dawn...? Darkness did not hide, it did not end, it... The thought was shaken off. Emillion was not as cold as Kerwon, and Aspel reminded herself of that. Yet, perhaps, it was a coldness that if she focused on, would distract her from the soon coming sunset, and the darkness that night would bring. Inside of herself she trips, she stumbles, but quickly she stands. Even if the reality was, there was nothing that could protect her from the darkness clawing at her insides, trying to dig its claws into anything it could grasp and hold. No, Aspel Cassul, and the dark would always - in some way - regardless of the joy around them, be one. While Dullahan had had his way, forced her to summon him - thankfully he was small for a summon, and the ceilings in The Armory were quite tall - that night, it did not mean that she would have to give in to the other parts of herself she still resisted. The tingle of a dark spell lingering over her fingertips, the joy it would bring, the chill, the thrill… No. That would be a step too far, a point the smith feared she’d never return. If she engaged in that sort of behavior again what could be next? Though… Hadn’t she thought the same of drinking? Of using her hammer? Of sex? Of…. Look where her life had been lead. She feels like she’s tripped again, this time the stumble is harder to recover from, but she does with arms flailing to gain her balance once more. Though, the deep seated longing, the pull of yearning within her chest was…. Difficult to resist. Painful to a degree. Fingers flexed, eyes rolling over them. There were no dark magicks there, there would be no dark magicks within this house, she could not, would not fall that far again, she…. Fingers rolled in on themselves. Aspel had to be stronger than the pull in her stomach, the constant thought and tingle on her skin of what it would feel like, what it would taste, smell, and surge through her, what it…. No. The thought was pushed away. The smith had vowed to herself, had promised, had begged, pleaded and bargained within her own head to never go there, to never do those things once more. Her word was not to be given lightly, it had to be upheld, it had to be stuck to. It…. She had to. Darkness chews at her insides. It’s a beast that never tires, never fills, never gives up regardless of how hard it is pressed down, or pushed back. It is relentless, it is powerful, it is forever. It will never leave her, no matter what she does, and this perhaps is the most frightening aspect of what is inside of Aspel, what she knows to be true. Sometimes, in rare moments, the smith manages to forget just how dark her mind, how twisted her thoughts, how her insides are, how her soul is. Aspel clings to others, to the light they bring her, to how they prove a soothing balm to frayed nerves, and a wounded heart. Ari is light. As is Drake. And Mag, and Vivi too. Each one in turn eases her away from the darkness, the venom filled bile pit that feels to have wrapped its way around her center, her heart and very core. She doesn’t feel like she trips as often when they are around…. Tonight is no exception. Everything in her screams, it claws, it strains, nips, and rips at her, trying to turn her inside out with the tension, the strain, the addiction of what she was, of who she should be… At least, that’s what it tells her. What the darkness whipsers in her ear in the night. Yet, there’s a laugh, a smile, and, for now… Aspel is able to repress those thoughts, those urges for just a little more. Her points of light pull her away, they save her for snippets at a time. Perhaps, this is the best she’ll ever be able to hope for. Jareth is difficult. He is soft, and hard, and light and dark. There is much of him that Aspel wishes she could be, reliable, strong, obedient. How much easier would her life have been if she had simply obeyed? Yet, he also is a mixture, somewhere crossed between light, and dark, between the past, the present, and the future. Aspel knows she’s failed him. She’s failed him in the past, she’s failed him now, it is likely - she muses - that she will fail him again. She stumbles more, feeling a lost cause, a toxin to him. It’s hard to recover here... Where she seeks to bring him comfort, a possibly vague feeling of contentment, she has no doubt that she fails. It hurts. If the smith had had any wisdom in her early, mid, late twenties, she would have taken Jareth, and ran. Moved away from the Guard, from their promises, from their lies, from their murder, and their pain. From what addiction they caused within her, within him. Yet, she was not wise enough, was not strong enough, was not careful enough back then, just as she is not now. No matter how much she wishes for Jareth’s wellness, no matter how much she wishes for his betterment, Aspel knows she’s sick. She’s contaminated, tainted from her past, from the dark as it’s taken root in the truth of who she really is. The dark has made sure of that when it started ripping pieces of her away. No matter how she loves him - and she does in some way - she can never save him. Aspel Cassul only knows how to destroy. Using Unholy Sacrifice, and summoning Dullahan to rescue Vivi had been a mistake. Yet, time after time, Aspel’s justified their uses to herself. It was needed, they had to save Vivi, she had to keep everyone safe, they had to, they had to, she had to… Yet, like a junkie, now she itches. Perhaps just one more use, another fix. Then, she can quit again, she can stop all of this. That insatiable urge, that nawing away at her insides, that craving can be ignored for just a bit more, then a bit more after that, and even more. If she could feel the cool welcoming feel of Darkness, the way it wraps itself around her, the way it makes her feel as though she is filled with strength, filled with warmth, the acceptance it gives her when nothing else in her life ever had….. No. No. That’s a lie. It’s a lie. She can’t do this. Can’t live like this. Won’t live like this. She’s become more distracted, other people will notice soon unless she quits. Stumbling again. Will she trip and stumble more? But yet, she finds herself in this fight more and more. A constant internal argument in her head. Just like a junkie, trying to talk herself out of one more hit. A low groan slips past her lips, eyes turn heavy with lust as blackness seeps out around her fingertips, slowly beginning to envelop them as Dark begins to be summoned from her ability to cast. No, she hasn’t forgotten how, it comes back naturally. Just as natural as breathing, as eating, as sleeping, as fucking…. Darkness isn’t simply a skill, nor an ability she’s able to call forth from practice, it’s part of Aspel’s very being. It is a part of who she is, who she was, and who she shall forever be. It’s her affinity in life, and it will be the one thing that sees her through in death. “Faram.” It feels just like she remembers. A rush, a thrill. It makes Aspel feel good in a way that nothing else short of orgasm, and drugs ever had before. Eyes slide closed, savoring the feeling. Why hadn’t she done this before? Why has she refused the Darkness within herself for so long? Why had she… A memory of Rictor flashes to life, and the spell flickers out. Aspel’s jaw locking, and a low whimper like noise seeping out. No, no, she can’t, she can’t do this, she can’t give in, she can’t take all this back, and she can’t just go back to how she was before. She stumbles again, but keeps refusing to fall, even as her fingertips skitter across the ground before she manages to push herself up, and continue to shakily walk. Fists clench, and she punches her own leg, teeth grit, there will be a bruise in the morning from that strike. Right now, she’s struggling in a losing battle, and it’s beginning to feel like there’s no way to ever win the fight. Dullahan is the most intimate partner she's ever known. He is inside her mind, a part of her thoughts, and - at times - Aspel wonders if he has become a part of her soul. Dullahan is always with her, in every moment of every day. He can comment on the things she thinks, he can direct her, can advise her. He knows not only what she shows, but what she hides, what she keeps. He does not judge, does not dissuade or condemn her. Dullahan does not hurt her like the people of her past. He accepts her, he supports her, he…. There is no lust here, there is no love, but a companionship of sorts that she’s never shared with anyone else. Not Mag, not Ari, not Drake, not Vivi, not Jareth, not Li - a man who she’d fallen into a sort of love with for two people who did not know how to love -, not…. That is why at this late night, all of the blinds have been drawn and shut about The Armory, and he has been summoned. Dullahan is not as big as other summons. He does not tower above people making them feel like ants. He fits inside the shop with his cold metal plates, and massive sword. He stands there, actionless, wordless, but at least he’s there. It’s something she’ll take. “Faram,” She wants to have more words, wants to ask for forgiveness, to beg to be saved, but none make sense, none come out as she lays her forehead against the beast’s cold metal chest before her, and silently begins to sob, curling on herself, and pressing more against him. Stumbled again. She stumbles now more than she walks… With newspaper raised, she sinks into her seat at the cafe. There’s talk here, about how the councilors went with the bard back to her apartment on Ivalian New Years Eve, and then the next morning they all left from the same place. The rumors they provoked, and circulated for sake of amusement have now become true. ‘Faram. Now they are true.’ The realization dawns on her. How did she get herself into this? Aspel’s doing her best not to give herself away, her best to pretend like she isn’t hearing the absent talk - clearly they don’t that she is one of the councilors they speak of - amongst those here. How did she get here? How has Aspel ended up sleeping with two people at once? The last time she…. Oh dear sweet Faram. Ajora on a cracker. No. This trip is hard, it nearly sprawls her on the floor. She nearly falls. Nearly is unable to rise. It frightens her more than any other moment of stumbling she’s ever had before. And suddenly she feels sick. How did she get so far into her addictions once more? Has she been breaking apart all this time? Has she…. The paper is folded, and with gil left on the table for her bill - too much - she exits as a prickling of skin begins. She wants them both, now, in Ari’s bed again, or Dark, or Dullahan, or a drink…. Have her points of light also become pieces of her downfall - just like the Guard felt in a life long past - once more? Again Aspel finds herself here, in her apartment, late, alone. A soft moan rises, her eyes darkening slightly with desires as a Dark spell plays across her fingertips. Maybe… Maybe she can live like this, maybe no one needs to know. There would simply need to be nights where she locked everyone out, where she just…. There’s Darkness on her fingertips…. ….And Dullahan urging Aspel on in her heart. ‘It will destroy you.’ Comes the whisper in her mind from the part of her that knows better. That earns a whimper, yet the spell on her fingertips - not yet cast - does not flicker. What will happen when they find out? What will happen to Rictor? To Seloria? To the Fighter’s Guild? To…. “Fuck.” A word incredibly uncharacteristic of the cool, collected councilor, and smith that so many know slips out. Fingers curl into a fist, the spell dismisses, and Aspel hangs her head in shame. Stumbling, stumbling…. But barely, oh so close, but barely, not falling down… The smith has to do better, has to be better. There is no redemption in what she’s doing, what she’s done…. Yet each battle she feels like she’s losing but perhap, maybe, just maybe, there’s still something for which she can cling to for hope... The war isn’t over yet. She has no one she can talk to. No one that would listen as far as Aspel’s concerned. No one that can understand. Every single person she knows has their own problems, and all of them bigger, more important than her own - she should be there for them, not them here for her - , every single group she knows would not accept what she is, what she’s become, every single…. Her thoughts darken. She could run. Yet she’s so tired. Aspel’s exhausted all the time. She’s fighting herself, fighting Dullahan, fighting what people think she should be, trying to be what people need, trying to…. Eyes close tightly. “No.” Her voice is a whisper, but firm. “No, no, no, no.” However, it cracks quickly, and her throat tightens as she bends in two, hands covering her face, trying to fight back the tears. She has tried to be the Knight in shining armor so badly all these years, even created a physical manifestation of the concept in the suit of Mithril which she wears upon the field but…. Aspel’s dying inside, she’s losing, she’s been fighting for so long, she’s kept up so well, it’s been so hard, it’s been such a struggle, it’s been killing her inside, it’s been making her wish for things that perhaps she ought not, but she’s…. A choked off sob is muffled by her hands. No, no, she just needs to keep it together, needs to not let everything that’s happening break her apart more, needs to not break, needs to not let this addiction over take her, not let it control her, not let it seep its way into everything she’s struggled so hard for, not let the imagine she’s strived for, grasped for come to an end as that is now how people know her, how they trust her, she must remain that way, she must not give in, she must… Must stop…. She must not lose, she must not become the Dark knight she knows herself to be, the wolf in sheep’s clothing she has always been, she must not forsake all that she has established, all that she has become yet… Nothing inside of her can stand anymore, nothing of her insides feel as though they can keep up this fight. Even as she continues, even as she marches on to the sound of what assuredly is the tolls of her own death bells in her head in this persona she knows not. Who is she? What has she become? A woman lost between a world she tries to be a part of, and the shadow of who she likely really is…. Aspel can’t help herself as she slides down to her knees off of the bed she’d been sitting on in her dark, quiet apartment, all alone. Her body heaves, hot tears beginning to stream down her face. The stumbling has turned to crumbling, and now she's caving in…. |