She was a robot? She was a ROBOT? (mithrigil) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2007-09-06 16:48:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | a: mithrigil, f: gankutsuou, p: edmond/gankutsuou, september 06 |
Fic -- Gankutsuou, Gankutsuou/Edmond
Title: such a lovely word
Author: Mithrigil
Fandom: Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo
Characters: Edmond Dantes and Gankutsuou
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Manipulation, mindsex - Can you see in your mind/ The revenge of the spirit of wisdom/ Inside the mirror of soul/ You'll find the reflection of your life.
such a lovely word
Chained to the wall is more insult than necessity. Where could he go? He hears the halls of this place, chateau d’if, a strangulation of even treads and joking guards. He pictures them, their staid patterns, their rhythmic grins and faceless heads.
And then there is the darkness. They have light out there. He does not in here. The darkness of an encroaching beard, of a shadow past the bars, of his own skin ensconced in years of grime—there are shades in it, not levels but contours of darkness, like the vibration of a string.
He’s gone mad here, he is quite certain. The voice that accompanies him, that burns his forehead, speaks of escape in a language he only knows through practice. It relates an old man, wise and devious, dead of age and boredom and then shoved out of his own body-bag. This would work for Edmond, they agree, if there was a prisoner as wise and vengeful beside him. There isn’t. For all he knows, there is no one but the frame-cut guards.
The heat patterns across his brow again. The voice sings louder, that same vowel-less language, all schwa and consonant. “My friend deserts me now?” Edmond thinks it says. “Where does he run?”
“To despair,” Edmond mutters, through his tangle of beard.
“But, revenge,” says the voice, and it’s such a lovely word in that tongue, vengeance, “on the men who made you this. They are the same as those who ruined me, and I bested them; you will destroy yours.”
“Look, I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Of course not, friend—nor did I, until I escaped.” The ghastly burning sinks, but Edmond won’t open his eyes to it, or raise his hands to follow the obvious light that spirals down him. His skin burns, but his blood his cold, asleep and needled. “And you shall do this also.”
“Can you show me how?”
He understands fewer words now, but is pulled to stand, the voice shivering through his fingertips, elbows, the color-stars that swirl in the black behind his eyes. He slams his nails into the sides of his face. Everything freezes.
Ridden, he thinks.
“Not quite, my friend,” the voice says, tender-sharp. “More driven. But the beast is the same.”
Oh. Chains. Reins. Weapons.
“Yes, friend,” it agrees.
.
.