[He's had a lot to think on, lately. His thoughts a convoluted mire that have sucked him down and dragged him in and left him struggling to see outside of himself. In the wake of his network post, something that leaves him feeling faintly embarrassed and ashamed and yet which has, for all that, given him so much to think about, he's continued to shun the rest of the crew in favour of trying to establish his own feelings. To attempt to discern what he wants to do from here, how he ought to approach things. And he may well have continued dwell and run over all the details of said communication and the events leading up to it like a broken record playing again and again inside the dark cavern of his own head, if the message hadn't come through when it did. If their briefing hadn't reopened one very specific wound.
But it had, and it accelerates things. Pushes him towards a step he was half-way towards taking anyway, but which now also holds the appeal of a greater practicality. His self-awareness may be a tenuous thing, but he knows enough of himself to realise that he can't always hold on to reason in the midst of a volatile situation. And he's going to need to, this time, he thinks.
Wants to.
And so he ends up at Scott's door. Knocks three times, clear and sharp. Knows he's there, thanks to those heightened senses of his, and takes a step back as he waits for him to answer.]
[Compromise is a big part of being a leader. Scott knows that he's had to compromise countless times before, but there have been moments where his show of "compromising" is just that. He wants Mavahari out of where she's trapped. He wants to make sure they get through this mission without slaughtering every part of Zymandis. If one person from their group is good, there may be others.
He's not naive. He knows that there are likely individuals who aren't good. Enough people have reminded him that Woodhurst happened. But that's the thing: even there, it was one person. They have to remember that. He has to remember that, or they might go in there and make some mistakes. He knows he has a couple of battles to fight on this front, and he knows he might end up losing them. But he has to try. That's something, right? Trying?
As it is, it's the very nature of compromise that's on his mind, keeping him distracted from the book and notes in front of him. He can't help but see meaning in the book (some Victorian novel) that links back to what he's about to fight about with his teammates. The parallels aren't even anywhere near exact, but there they are.
The knocks serve as a bit of relief for him. He can relieve himself of trying to study, and—well, it's obvious rather quickly as to which person is standing at the door. He leaves where he's sitting to open the door soon after, offering a faint smile to Giovanni.]
Hey, uh—[Their last conversation had ended on a note that meant they would talk again soon. Or less than soon, depending on where Giovanni stood on matters.] Come in? [The little upswing of his voice makes the question mark of it obvious.]
[Compromise is something they're all having to learn, it seems. If what Giovanni is doing, what he's feeling, can be wrapped up in so neat a term. It's more of an adjustment perhaps, a slow and subtle recalibration to the needs of a situation so far outside of any he'd previously known. One that's taken time and a good deal of confusion on his part, a good deal of pain.
But change, in his experience, is always a hurtful thing.
Whatever the case, he's here now, and though he smiles his usual uneven smile, there's something in his bearing that telegraphs tension. A tightness in shoulders and jaw perhaps, the slight shadow of wariness around the edges of his expression.
What he's doing here, it's difficult for him.]
If you don't mind.
[His voice is as smooth and cool as always, despite those other signifiers of something close to discomfort.]
Yeah, we do. [Scott allows him to pass inside, and then he pushes the door closed. Both of his arms come to cross as he considers the situation. Everything here is different from how it was back home. Getting a pack there had been easy, almost unnaturally so—in part because so many people were willing to fall in step with someone who happened to be the true Alpha. Scott doesn't think he deserved that kind of following, but he did his best.
He does his best.]
We have a mission coming up. A pretty big one, it seems. I can't say that I'm surprised that you're here. [The offer he gave Giovanni is one that might not stand after such a mission. He figures that that goes without saying.]
[And Giovanni enters, moves further inside, before standing straight and still within the hush of Scott's room, eyes concealed behind their orange lenses and expression a blank, impassive mask despite those small signs of tension in him. His hands slide into the pockets of his suit-trousers, and when his teammate speaks, he subtly cants his head.
Not surprising for him, perhaps, but it is a little so, for Giovanni. That he'd agree to something like this, with someone not of his own dark little world, so soon on the heels of believing himself done with forming connections here. But he's had time to think, to dwell, sees the need for this. Can at least frame it, now, in terms of the purely practical. Verbally sidestep his own, more deep-rooted, needs.]
Is that so.
[But he nods, just once, regardless.]
It's a big mission, yes. And one that I have...concerns about.
They probably aren't the same as mine. [Scott's talked a lot about the circumstances that bring people to killing others. He's realized how little he's experienced in Beacon Hills, even if it's been a great deal in terms of the bigger picture. He knows that what lies ahead is a battle, and not one between a few werewolves and an even bigger, scarier werewolf, or a chimera creating a pack of his own, or someone creating a hit list while trying to turn him into a berserker. All of these things have prepared him to some degree, but he knows this is different.
He's saved the world. He's saved his friends. He's done a lot. But at the end of the day, his picture has always been so small. He can't really help it.]
[And he flashes one of his glacial smiles, all teeth and no feeling, or if the feeling is there it's a concealed thing, lurking somewhere beneath the false front of that sharp and empty expression. It winks out of existence almost as swiftly as it had shone, and there's a silence in its wake, something subtly vibrating with tension. He wants to do something, to convey something, a slither of greater understanding perhaps. But he never has been good at giving any true parts of himself away. Not for the longest, longest time.
His own picture, in many ways, has also always been small. Tight and constricting yet somehow large enough to swallow him whole.
He takes a breath.]
I'd like to tell you a story, if you will. One that leads in, in some respects, to my current concerns.
[A story? It's not where Scott thought this would start, but he realizes that it's a good place nonetheless. The two of them might know the basics about one another, but their bond has been made via other circumstances. For one, Scott knows that his howl changed things. Then again, there's nothing new about that, exactly.
After a beat, he only nods toward Giovanni, inviting him to speak more. His gaze is intent on the fair-skinned man, waiting to hear what he has to say.]
I apologise sincerely for his incredibly long-winded explanation ;_;
[There's one moment of visible hesitation before he looks away, begins talking, the lines and angles of his body hard and stiff and cold. Prepare yourself, now-- it's probably the most anyone will ever have heard him say, all in one go.]
I've told you a little of the place I'm from. Of the Below, the monsters created therein. Monsters that are thrown into death matches against others of their kind, or of earlier models considered to be failures now used as little more than canon fodder. A place where there is no room for personal connections besides allegiance to one's creator, because anything else would only end in betrayal, as we shall see.
This creator, the Professor, She was able to construct a entity of pure chaos, a veritable incarnation of violence-- the Kerberos Spine. Initial experiments intended to implant it into human hosts were of limited success-- they became more violent, more powerful certainly, but all of them ultimately lost their minds or physically mutated beyond recognition, monstrous hulking beasts that were nothing short of a horror to behold. It became clear enough that She'd need to start from the ground up, create an artificial lifeform capable of high resonance rates with the Spine and the nightmare held within it.
And so, the Rammsteiner series came into being. Again, She had varying levels of success, some more able to withstand Kerberos' corruptive influence than others. Some began to come apart at the seams, their minds slowly corroded by the thing that resided in their backs, others...failed to respond at all. But ultimately, She only ever needed one-- intended to be a Master, She would choose the best of them to connect with the original Spine, to create a being capable of controlling and commanding an army of loyal dogs, also in possession of the Spine. And when it became clear to Her which of Her creations was best suited to this task, when this specimen came to Her and requested the very thing She was offering...well. The others were no longer of any use to Her.
And so, by setting loose the beasts in their Spines, ensuring they could no longer control themselves, She set them upon one another, had them tear each other apart. This series of beings, who saw each other as siblings. Spurred them on with the promise that, should any of them survive, She would love them with all of Her heart.
[Again, the briefest of pauses, a moment to gather himself for this dark twisted episode from his own past that he's never before put into words. When he continues on, his voice is cool and detached, as though he truly were telling a story, something quite apart from himself.]
But something went wrong. The one chosen to be the Master broke free of his connection with the original Spine, with Kerberos fully awoken in him now, and descended into that sea of blood and carnage in order to tear one specific sibling apart - one of two who he had promised to save - before fleeing the facility and making his escape. And the other to whom he had extended that promise...well. He abandoned it, buried beneath the corpses of its massacred siblings. Buried, but still alive.
And just as the Professor had promised, She kept the one that lived. Even though it was faulty, had never manifested the abilities associated with the Spine. Even though it was never the one She wanted, the one least likely to succeed. And in an effort to make it match up to the prodigal son, the one that got away, it was subjected to one experiment after another until it not only manifested the abilities associated with the Spine, but surpassed them-- whilst all the others could heal from any wound bar a direct shot to the head, her remaining Rammsteiner was now able to survive even massive brain injury, was almost impossible to kill.
Only, in this too, Her creation was once again flawed. It could survive such an injury, yes, but the price was the degradation of its memories. A complete loss of self. And so, eventually, it would end up nothing more than an empty shell of itself, destined to become just another failed experiment, canon fodder, like all the rest. A fate far worse than death.
[He looks back at Scott finally. Flashes his crooked-pin smile.]
And so you see, this issue with the taxara which I'm sure you've heard about by now-- it's something I take a tad personally. A point on which I fear I won't be able to act with rationality. Hahah.
[Every piece of it falls into place for him. From Scott's perspective, the Professor isn't unlike the Dread Doctors. So caught up in experimenting, they tried everything they possibly could to recreate the Beast, bringing it back to life. Their first goal had been to trick an evil child into killing his sister, and when that child grew up, they let him believe that he had a pack of his own, that anyone could follow him. But instead, he had to see them die around him, and he gave them life, believing that they belonged to him. Theo (the evil child in question) had ended up being just like the Dread Doctors: entitled, believing that he could treat lives as if they belonged to him, and desperate to become powerful, to achieve something great. He failed, just as the Dread Doctors succeeded and then failed, creating the Beast that would eventually die when weakened by the memories of a hunter.
Midway through the explanation, Scott's head tilts downward in thought. It's clear, somehow, that his attention remains on Giovanni. But he needs to process everything he's being told. Giovanni hadn't been the "chosen" one. He hadn't been the special one. He was meant to be one of the two saved, ultimately left behind to be experimented on until he began to lose his sense of self. Even in his narration, he refers to himself as an It.
The fact that he feels abandoned makes sense. The fact that he doesn't want to be left behind makes sense, or why he would see nothing but pain in it. When someone experiences so much of it, the trauma obscures everything else that might be immediately visible.
Scott hasn't made it a secret that one day, he'd like to go home. He knows that day will come eventually. He doesn't know if it'll come because his timeline is messed up without him, or if he'll just be given a chance, or whatever. It's hard for him to say. But he does know that it's going to home. He made that clear to Giovanni, that their bond might not last forever.
For this mission, though, Giovanni wants to give it a shot. And it makes sense that he does.
His head lifts, eyes meeting Giovanni's—or, rather, the where his eyes would be.]
I get it. [It's a short statement after all of it.] You don't want to lose yourself. Like them. Because if you do, they can't be helped. And I've helped you with that before.
[It's hard to describe the bond of the pack, but he knows that if these taraxa were responsible for the Oska destruction, then Giovanni might get hurt and might lose it in turn. It makes sense. He'll need someone to pull him back, and Scott will be able to help.
Scott closes the distance between them, extending his right hand toward Giovanni.]
I'll help you as many times as you need. While I can.
[And it's true enough, Scott's assumptions-- being left behind is all he knows, and what he sees as Heine's catastrophic betrayal has left him detached and dissociated but desperately afraid of ever forming any such connections again, expecting them only to end in violent dissolution. And thus far, he's been proven right, even if - after everything people here have said to him, after some time spent in trying to process it - he is at least beginning to see that it's different. That it isn't necessarily him his teammates were leaving behind when they transferred out.
And at least Scott has made his position clear. Has already said that he means to leave him. A warning, then, something he can try to harden himself against in advance, mentally prepare himself for. It's not ideal, perhaps, but all of this, the taxara, everything they've come to symbolise for him-- this is something that he needs to do, needs to put to rest, and chances are he'll be unable to do it alone. It would be all too easy to let himself slide the moment Kerberos rears up in him, the moment it whispers yesyesYES, go on and hit the switch. And he can't have that, here. Not this time. Not if he wants to see an end to all this.
And so when Scott advances with his hand extended, Giovanni moves to take it, shows only the most fractional of hesitations before his fingers curl around his teammate's palm. His skin feels dry, abnormally hot to the touch.]
And who knows? I might stick around for longer. Saving the multiverse means saving my mom, my friends ... I can do both. [Some part of Scott wants to do both, as he's not one to run away from responsibility. There's a part of him that wants happiness and a future. He's not opposed to that. He craves it. He just also knows that it's hard to see that when there's so much that's been left unfinished.]
But for however long it is, I'll be here for you. You can count on that. We're bonded now, you and I. Like brothers. I'll have your back, and I know you'll have mine.
[Scott knows he won't always be happy with how Giovanni has his back. But that's not new, either.]
[The words come a little wry, a little sharp, past implications rising up in him, the promise of someone he still thinks of as his brother and how it had been more than broken - shattered, obliterated - the moment Heine had torn Lily apart and left Giovanni himself there for dead. But there are other feelings in him, something sharp and hot that threatens to steal his breath, an open wound behind his ribs that he doesn't quite know how to name. Because there's something in it, even now, despite everything. Despite losses past and current, his own sense of wariness. There's still something to hearing someone say they're here for him, that they have his back, when it's a thing he's desperately longed for but never believed he can have.
He withdraws his hand, slowly. And though his heart thuds a little hard in his chest, his exterior is smooth and collected as ever.]
And that's all there is to it, as simple as that? I don't have to do...anything?
[Not that he has any idea what one would do to cement a pack bond.]
[The thudding in Giovanni's chest is hard to avoid. When it's that noticeable, he can't just shut it down, turn it off, and look away—he processes it for what it is, inhaling deeply as he accepts it. This is a big deal. Giovanni had explained every aspect of why, and Scott understands. He's never had a lack of support. Maybe it started with just his mom and Stiles, but he's always had someone there for him.
What if Theo had fully succeeded? That's the only way he has any sense of what could be different. That's the only way he'd understand Giovanni entirely.
That doesn't mean he won't try.]
No. It's more—mystical than anything, I guess. If you need me—call. Even if you're somewhere I couldn't possibly hear. I'll know. [It's all about conscious absorption into the pack, rather than someone slipping in unknown. It's always been about that, right from the very beginning, long before he was Alpha in the first place.]
[Again, there's something subtly wry in his tone, as though it's something he doesn't completely understand. What he is, it's a 'triumph' of science and technology, not a trace of mysticism to be found. But he's been here long enough to know that there are things and experiences that exist outside of the bounds of reality as he used to understand it. Is coming to accept more of it, day by day, the longer time passes and he remains with ALASTAIR.
And he wants this, to be part of something bigger than himself. He does. Regardless of whether it's something he completely comprehends. There's nothing new for him, in that.]
And would it work in reverse? Should you require my assistance?
Honestly ... not to the same degree. It's more like—[Scott tries to put it into words, knowing that he's failing.] Do you remember my howl? The one I made before. [He means when the riot started, when everything became chaotic. Scott knows Stiles could hear him. Even if he hadn't been nearby, he could hear him. But the news of the riot itself should have been enough information to clarify exactly why Scott chose to howl.
Times like that can bring about different actions and decisions.]
If I do that, you'll be able to hear it. It's more ... dependent upon that, honestly.
[Of course he does, despite the redblack haze that had descended on him in the heat of the fight, the way Kerberos had risen in him and corroded his ability to maintain control of himself. There'd been the sound of it, like something reaching down inside of him and gripping tight, shaking him loose. A moment of clattering clarity. Not something he'd easily forget because there have always been very few ways to bring a berserking Rammsteiner back under control, the only other being besides his creator he'd known to be capable of it was Heine, the very best of them.
He still doesn't really understand. But perhaps he doesn't need to.]
I see. And then, don't hesitate to use it, should you need me.
I can do that. [One of Scott's gifts as a leader is getting people to rally around him, and seeing the strengths of everyone involved. He isn't always good at being unbiased. At the heart of things, he's still human</>. He has moments where what he believes blinds him to what needs to happen.
Having his pack has been important to him. Scott can't act without them. There are times when it's hard for him to put a burden on the people around him, but he knows better than to keep them in the dark, and to suffer on alone.]
I will do that. You're as much my strength as I'm yours. Remember that.
[And Giovanni, if nothing else, is someone who knows how to carry a burden. To live with the weight of it, no matter how crushing it may become.
But the response is one that, once again, strikes a certain chord in him, leaves him with a strange bright sensation at the centre of himself which - like so many feelings - he wouldn't know how to express or explain in words. But there's a solidity to the promise, this way. Something to keep him tethered to the here and now, a small spark of purpose. Even now, so far away from that place, it's something he longs for-- to lend himself to someone else, to find a place for his loyalty to reside.
And so there's the quick beat of his heart, that bright widening feeling, at odds with the relative coolness of the exterior front he portrays. He nods, just once.]
[Knowing what he knows now, Scott understands that moving forward with Giovanni will require some delicacy. He recalls Isaac's trauma of being abused and locked in a freezer by his father, forced to deal with the punishment of being the only son who managed to live. The anger Isaac felt as a result of that was blistering, and he wanted nothing more than to be strong, to act out—because those things made him feel powerful.
In the end, it was really that he needed a place to belong.
Giovanni's experiences aren't unlike Isaac's, but they are, as well. If Isaac hadn't been freed from his father's abuse, but had continued as a werewolf, where would he be now? Where would he be without Scott to help him? The world of the supernatural was known for its violence, especially in the wake of what Gerard did to Deucalion. Scott's been lucky not to have faced something like this before, at least on this scale, but he's ready for the challenge.
He wants to help. It's not a challenge in terms of competition. It's a challenge because he wants to meet this head on. If anything, that's something that will make him stick around, to help Giovanni see that people can come and go, but the bonds still matter. Just as he had been left and it left a scar, future bonds can leave different marks.]
Good. Good. [He glances toward the door.] I think we're set for now. Check in with me after we rift in. I'll want to know where you are.
[Scott's eyes flick towards the door, and Giovanni takes the hint. Nods once, even as something tight-wound and tense seems to subtly drain from him in the wake of the conclusion to this meeting, the most fractional signs of something settling, smoothing over. As though this has taken something out of him, given him something else in return.
A sizable step, considering their recent network conversation. The decision to put this level of trust in someone, despite everything.]
I'll be sure to do that. Chances are, it'll be needed.
[Needed, because it'll be a challenge to him, he knows, to keep from giving in to the impulses that have been ingrained in him, beaten down into his bones, branded into the centre of himself. To undo all of that violence, it's going to take a good deal of effort and will and work. This much he knows.
And yet, in some respects if not all, he's willing.]
For now then, adieu.
[He turns then, heads towards the door, and there's one discernible moment of hesitation as he stands there with his hand on the knob, half-turned, as though there's something else he wishes to say. But then he turns it, exists the room. Closes the door behind him.
Thank you always has been a difficult thing to say.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
In person - the day after Crowley's network transmission
But it had, and it accelerates things. Pushes him towards a step he was half-way towards taking anyway, but which now also holds the appeal of a greater practicality. His self-awareness may be a tenuous thing, but he knows enough of himself to realise that he can't always hold on to reason in the midst of a volatile situation. And he's going to need to, this time, he thinks.
Wants to.
And so he ends up at Scott's door. Knocks three times, clear and sharp. Knows he's there, thanks to those heightened senses of his, and takes a step back as he waits for him to answer.]
no subject
He's not naive. He knows that there are likely individuals who aren't good. Enough people have reminded him that Woodhurst happened. But that's the thing: even there, it was one person. They have to remember that. He has to remember that, or they might go in there and make some mistakes. He knows he has a couple of battles to fight on this front, and he knows he might end up losing them. But he has to try. That's something, right? Trying?
As it is, it's the very nature of compromise that's on his mind, keeping him distracted from the book and notes in front of him. He can't help but see meaning in the book (some Victorian novel) that links back to what he's about to fight about with his teammates. The parallels aren't even anywhere near exact, but there they are.
The knocks serve as a bit of relief for him. He can relieve himself of trying to study, and—well, it's obvious rather quickly as to which person is standing at the door. He leaves where he's sitting to open the door soon after, offering a faint smile to Giovanni.]
Hey, uh—[Their last conversation had ended on a note that meant they would talk again soon. Or less than soon, depending on where Giovanni stood on matters.] Come in? [The little upswing of his voice makes the question mark of it obvious.]
no subject
But change, in his experience, is always a hurtful thing.
Whatever the case, he's here now, and though he smiles his usual uneven smile, there's something in his bearing that telegraphs tension. A tightness in shoulders and jaw perhaps, the slight shadow of wariness around the edges of his expression.
What he's doing here, it's difficult for him.]
If you don't mind.
[His voice is as smooth and cool as always, despite those other signifiers of something close to discomfort.]
I believe we have something to discuss.
no subject
He does his best.]
We have a mission coming up. A pretty big one, it seems. I can't say that I'm surprised that you're here. [The offer he gave Giovanni is one that might not stand after such a mission. He figures that that goes without saying.]
no subject
Not surprising for him, perhaps, but it is a little so, for Giovanni. That he'd agree to something like this, with someone not of his own dark little world, so soon on the heels of believing himself done with forming connections here. But he's had time to think, to dwell, sees the need for this. Can at least frame it, now, in terms of the purely practical. Verbally sidestep his own, more deep-rooted, needs.]
Is that so.
[But he nods, just once, regardless.]
It's a big mission, yes. And one that I have...concerns about.
no subject
He's saved the world. He's saved his friends. He's done a lot. But at the end of the day, his picture has always been so small. He can't really help it.]
So—let me hear them. I'm curious.
no subject
[And he flashes one of his glacial smiles, all teeth and no feeling, or if the feeling is there it's a concealed thing, lurking somewhere beneath the false front of that sharp and empty expression. It winks out of existence almost as swiftly as it had shone, and there's a silence in its wake, something subtly vibrating with tension. He wants to do something, to convey something, a slither of greater understanding perhaps. But he never has been good at giving any true parts of himself away. Not for the longest, longest time.
His own picture, in many ways, has also always been small. Tight and constricting yet somehow large enough to swallow him whole.
He takes a breath.]
I'd like to tell you a story, if you will. One that leads in, in some respects, to my current concerns.
no subject
After a beat, he only nods toward Giovanni, inviting him to speak more. His gaze is intent on the fair-skinned man, waiting to hear what he has to say.]
I apologise sincerely for his incredibly long-winded explanation ;_;
I've told you a little of the place I'm from. Of the Below, the monsters created therein. Monsters that are thrown into death matches against others of their kind, or of earlier models considered to be failures now used as little more than canon fodder. A place where there is no room for personal connections besides allegiance to one's creator, because anything else would only end in betrayal, as we shall see.
This creator, the Professor, She was able to construct a entity of pure chaos, a veritable incarnation of violence-- the Kerberos Spine. Initial experiments intended to implant it into human hosts were of limited success-- they became more violent, more powerful certainly, but all of them ultimately lost their minds or physically mutated beyond recognition, monstrous hulking beasts that were nothing short of a horror to behold. It became clear enough that She'd need to start from the ground up, create an artificial lifeform capable of high resonance rates with the Spine and the nightmare held within it.
And so, the Rammsteiner series came into being. Again, She had varying levels of success, some more able to withstand Kerberos' corruptive influence than others. Some began to come apart at the seams, their minds slowly corroded by the thing that resided in their backs, others...failed to respond at all. But ultimately, She only ever needed one-- intended to be a Master, She would choose the best of them to connect with the original Spine, to create a being capable of controlling and commanding an army of loyal dogs, also in possession of the Spine. And when it became clear to Her which of Her creations was best suited to this task, when this specimen came to Her and requested the very thing She was offering...well. The others were no longer of any use to Her.
And so, by setting loose the beasts in their Spines, ensuring they could no longer control themselves, She set them upon one another, had them tear each other apart. This series of beings, who saw each other as siblings. Spurred them on with the promise that, should any of them survive, She would love them with all of Her heart.
[Again, the briefest of pauses, a moment to gather himself for this dark twisted episode from his own past that he's never before put into words. When he continues on, his voice is cool and detached, as though he truly were telling a story, something quite apart from himself.]
But something went wrong. The one chosen to be the Master broke free of his connection with the original Spine, with Kerberos fully awoken in him now, and descended into that sea of blood and carnage in order to tear one specific sibling apart - one of two who he had promised to save - before fleeing the facility and making his escape. And the other to whom he had extended that promise...well. He abandoned it, buried beneath the corpses of its massacred siblings. Buried, but still alive.
And just as the Professor had promised, She kept the one that lived. Even though it was faulty, had never manifested the abilities associated with the Spine. Even though it was never the one She wanted, the one least likely to succeed. And in an effort to make it match up to the prodigal son, the one that got away, it was subjected to one experiment after another until it not only manifested the abilities associated with the Spine, but surpassed them-- whilst all the others could heal from any wound bar a direct shot to the head, her remaining Rammsteiner was now able to survive even massive brain injury, was almost impossible to kill.
Only, in this too, Her creation was once again flawed. It could survive such an injury, yes, but the price was the degradation of its memories. A complete loss of self. And so, eventually, it would end up nothing more than an empty shell of itself, destined to become just another failed experiment, canon fodder, like all the rest. A fate far worse than death.
[He looks back at Scott finally. Flashes his crooked-pin smile.]
And so you see, this issue with the taxara which I'm sure you've heard about by now-- it's something I take a tad personally. A point on which I fear I won't be able to act with rationality. Hahah.
no subject
Midway through the explanation, Scott's head tilts downward in thought. It's clear, somehow, that his attention remains on Giovanni. But he needs to process everything he's being told. Giovanni hadn't been the "chosen" one. He hadn't been the special one. He was meant to be one of the two saved, ultimately left behind to be experimented on until he began to lose his sense of self. Even in his narration, he refers to himself as an It.
The fact that he feels abandoned makes sense. The fact that he doesn't want to be left behind makes sense, or why he would see nothing but pain in it. When someone experiences so much of it, the trauma obscures everything else that might be immediately visible.
Scott hasn't made it a secret that one day, he'd like to go home. He knows that day will come eventually. He doesn't know if it'll come because his timeline is messed up without him, or if he'll just be given a chance, or whatever. It's hard for him to say. But he does know that it's going to home. He made that clear to Giovanni, that their bond might not last forever.
For this mission, though, Giovanni wants to give it a shot. And it makes sense that he does.
His head lifts, eyes meeting Giovanni's—or, rather, the where his eyes would be.]
I get it. [It's a short statement after all of it.] You don't want to lose yourself. Like them. Because if you do, they can't be helped. And I've helped you with that before.
[It's hard to describe the bond of the pack, but he knows that if these taraxa were responsible for the Oska destruction, then Giovanni might get hurt and might lose it in turn. It makes sense. He'll need someone to pull him back, and Scott will be able to help.
Scott closes the distance between them, extending his right hand toward Giovanni.]
I'll help you as many times as you need. While I can.
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And at least Scott has made his position clear. Has already said that he means to leave him. A warning, then, something he can try to harden himself against in advance, mentally prepare himself for. It's not ideal, perhaps, but all of this, the taxara, everything they've come to symbolise for him-- this is something that he needs to do, needs to put to rest, and chances are he'll be unable to do it alone. It would be all too easy to let himself slide the moment Kerberos rears up in him, the moment it whispers yesyesYES, go on and hit the switch. And he can't have that, here. Not this time. Not if he wants to see an end to all this.
And so when Scott advances with his hand extended, Giovanni moves to take it, shows only the most fractional of hesitations before his fingers curl around his teammate's palm. His skin feels dry, abnormally hot to the touch.]
Whilst you can, then.
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But for however long it is, I'll be here for you. You can count on that. We're bonded now, you and I. Like brothers. I'll have your back, and I know you'll have mine.
[Scott knows he won't always be happy with how Giovanni has his back. But that's not new, either.]
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[The words come a little wry, a little sharp, past implications rising up in him, the promise of someone he still thinks of as his brother and how it had been more than broken - shattered, obliterated - the moment Heine had torn Lily apart and left Giovanni himself there for dead. But there are other feelings in him, something sharp and hot that threatens to steal his breath, an open wound behind his ribs that he doesn't quite know how to name. Because there's something in it, even now, despite everything. Despite losses past and current, his own sense of wariness. There's still something to hearing someone say they're here for him, that they have his back, when it's a thing he's desperately longed for but never believed he can have.
He withdraws his hand, slowly. And though his heart thuds a little hard in his chest, his exterior is smooth and collected as ever.]
And that's all there is to it, as simple as that? I don't have to do...anything?
[Not that he has any idea what one would do to cement a pack bond.]
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What if Theo had fully succeeded? That's the only way he has any sense of what could be different. That's the only way he'd understand Giovanni entirely.
That doesn't mean he won't try.]
No. It's more—mystical than anything, I guess. If you need me—call. Even if you're somewhere I couldn't possibly hear. I'll know. [It's all about conscious absorption into the pack, rather than someone slipping in unknown. It's always been about that, right from the very beginning, long before he was Alpha in the first place.]
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[Again, there's something subtly wry in his tone, as though it's something he doesn't completely understand. What he is, it's a 'triumph' of science and technology, not a trace of mysticism to be found. But he's been here long enough to know that there are things and experiences that exist outside of the bounds of reality as he used to understand it. Is coming to accept more of it, day by day, the longer time passes and he remains with ALASTAIR.
And he wants this, to be part of something bigger than himself. He does. Regardless of whether it's something he completely comprehends. There's nothing new for him, in that.]
And would it work in reverse? Should you require my assistance?
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Times like that can bring about different actions and decisions.]
If I do that, you'll be able to hear it. It's more ... dependent upon that, honestly.
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[Of course he does, despite the redblack haze that had descended on him in the heat of the fight, the way Kerberos had risen in him and corroded his ability to maintain control of himself. There'd been the sound of it, like something reaching down inside of him and gripping tight, shaking him loose. A moment of clattering clarity. Not something he'd easily forget because there have always been very few ways to bring a berserking Rammsteiner back under control, the only other being besides his creator he'd known to be capable of it was Heine, the very best of them.
He still doesn't really understand. But perhaps he doesn't need to.]
I see. And then, don't hesitate to use it, should you need me.
[That's how it should work, isn't it?]
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Having his pack has been important to him. Scott can't act without them. There are times when it's hard for him to put a burden on the people around him, but he knows better than to keep them in the dark, and to suffer on alone.]
I will do that. You're as much my strength as I'm yours. Remember that.
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But the response is one that, once again, strikes a certain chord in him, leaves him with a strange bright sensation at the centre of himself which - like so many feelings - he wouldn't know how to express or explain in words. But there's a solidity to the promise, this way. Something to keep him tethered to the here and now, a small spark of purpose. Even now, so far away from that place, it's something he longs for-- to lend himself to someone else, to find a place for his loyalty to reside.
And so there's the quick beat of his heart, that bright widening feeling, at odds with the relative coolness of the exterior front he portrays. He nods, just once.]
I shall endeavour to.
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In the end, it was really that he needed a place to belong.
Giovanni's experiences aren't unlike Isaac's, but they are, as well. If Isaac hadn't been freed from his father's abuse, but had continued as a werewolf, where would he be now? Where would he be without Scott to help him? The world of the supernatural was known for its violence, especially in the wake of what Gerard did to Deucalion. Scott's been lucky not to have faced something like this before, at least on this scale, but he's ready for the challenge.
He wants to help. It's not a challenge in terms of competition. It's a challenge because he wants to meet this head on. If anything, that's something that will make him stick around, to help Giovanni see that people can come and go, but the bonds still matter. Just as he had been left and it left a scar, future bonds can leave different marks.]
Good. Good. [He glances toward the door.] I think we're set for now. Check in with me after we rift in. I'll want to know where you are.
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A sizable step, considering their recent network conversation. The decision to put this level of trust in someone, despite everything.]
I'll be sure to do that. Chances are, it'll be needed.
[Needed, because it'll be a challenge to him, he knows, to keep from giving in to the impulses that have been ingrained in him, beaten down into his bones, branded into the centre of himself. To undo all of that violence, it's going to take a good deal of effort and will and work. This much he knows.
And yet, in some respects if not all, he's willing.]
For now then, adieu.
[He turns then, heads towards the door, and there's one discernible moment of hesitation as he stands there with his hand on the knob, half-turned, as though there's something else he wishes to say. But then he turns it, exists the room. Closes the door behind him.
Thank you always has been a difficult thing to say.]