reasons to cup a face / always accepting / @gloryseized ( Shion )
GROUND, during a moment of intense emotional stress, the sender gently takes the receiver's face in their hands to ground them until they're calmer again.
It happens in snapshot moments.
As he registers the feel of a palm between his fingers, somehow heaving against him without toppling him over, Kane opens his eyes. He blinks — blinks again, and the inside of the Temple of Time comes into focus: a muted colour to the light that pours in through its stained glass windows as if the very air has mildewed. There's a silence here that unnerves him. He realises, at once, three things.
Kane is in a body he does not recognise but knows, deep down, is his.
He is holding onto someone he does not recognise but knows, deeper down, is his brother.
This is a Dream. Which is different from a dream, 'cause this is the type — the only type — he can still vividly recall after waking, like echoes bleeding into reality. He's been getting these recently.
Almost as though he's been waiting for these things to connect, the likeness of Shion wrests his hand from Kane's. He steps away. He's— so tall like this, figure looming, shadows on his face that can't be cut through, but so is Kane; so is the form he's been warped into, and they are two brothers divided by a space that shouldn't be making his breath quicken so hard.
"I promise," Shion's image signs, a bold declaration with bold movements, and Kane — for the same reason he knows without recognising — wants to scream at him. What are you promising? Do you have any idea? You can't promise me something like that. You can't promise me something you've already broken!
Don't leave me!
The quiet stretches. He can't move. He's stuck in a moment he doesn't know how to break out of, hand vainly outstretched and wide eyes pinned on a face he can't see. His skin feels one touch removed from splitting apart the way his heart feels one nudge off from falling over the precipice of some knife's edge, yet he aches anyway, willing to be ripped open if it means his brother will be there.
His brother will not be there.
Kane watches in helpless horror as Shion turns, boots tapping out a decisive farewell march. He's distantly aware of the little light following after him — Navi, it takes a second to place, blue and a perfect fit and so out of place at the same time. They're going ahead without him, approaching the pedestal made for the sword on Shion's back, and Kane is struck with such a sudden desperation that his body, frozen as it is, trembles. Convulses.
Stop, he can't cry. Don't leave me, he can't plead. It's only when his brother raises the Master Sword high, about to return it to its resting place, that the stone Kane's trapped in releases him. He stumbles forward — forces himself to keep stumbling forward, throat strained raw as he calls for his brother, but he can tell— he's too late. He's too late. The Dream stills, suspended on knowledge he can't look away from—
Kane wakes up to arms binding his hands to his sternum and a hot face pressed into the back of his neck.
For a second, the change thoroughly dazes him. He blinks, capturing nothing, and in its span: the world rearranges itself. Pain flares from his chest, throbbing in time with the harsh, too-fast breaths strangling him. The night is lit by firelight, casting a dim glow over cave walls and along the things in a campsite for two travellers. With how sticky his nose and cheeks and eyes feel, he thinks he's probably been crying. His brother is here.
His brother is here.
"Shh-ii—" he starts, and finds he won't complete the name.
Shion jerks against his side, inhaling so sharply it sounds like it'd hurt before hurriedly pulling away from where he's curled around Kane. The motion has him nauseous with a fear carried over, snatching at a forearm the right size with hands the right size, but his brother isn't— isn't going away. He moves until they're facing each other, gaze searching for Kane's. This up close, he can trace every contour. He can delineate every crease, put an emotion to every feature — helped by a nearby fairy's shine. Yellow. Tatl.
He— lets go. "Shion," he shakily, unnecessarily, forms with his hands. It's too cramped for brother to be signed well, so he repeats it again, and again, and again. The shape falls apart further each time, until it's little more than his left hand knocking atop his right.
Don't leave me. Don't leave me. Don't leave me. If he could carve this into his skin so Shion can see and understand it when his voice and fingers are as useless as they are now, he would. And maybe some part of him really tried, maybe that's what the twinges running along the lengths of his arms are, but— his brother has never needed Kane's words to know what to do.
Shion holds him gently. Carefully, palm and fingertips assured in their own tenderness. He presses a different message into the skin of his cheeks, the answer to all that goes unsaid but not unrealised.
Don't leave me, Kane begs with a bitten lip, heaving shoulders, and a weird, awful certainty that he'll be ignored.
I'm here, Shion swears with circling thumbs, eyes that reflect his twin's pain, and a steady, near irremovable warmth.
Kane's voice trips over an ugly sob. He pushes his hands over his brother's, drinking in the touch with an overwrought exhaustion, and tries to match his breathing to the slow cadence of that terribly profuse love.
( What a strange Dream, he will later think as they drift back to sleep. A strange fear, he will correct, squeezing-hand-in-squeezing-hand. Shion would never leave him. )
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If you don't find harrow as interesting to discuss as the other characters I totally understand, but I have been dying to find meta from people much smarter than me about the paragraph from Crux in NtN: "Lady,..you've gone away again, my lady; where have you run?...Who are you this time, if not my Lady Harrowhark?" (pg 459, hardcover) Have you seen any? I'm surprised I haven't seen it mentioned more, but the NtN has a ton to talk about so
oh! well, i certainly do find harrow, gideon, ianthe, and so on very interesting. i just happen to have a specific illness that makes me very sure i remember almost everything mercymorn and augustine & co have said, and much easier to discuss.
that is a fascinating little moment! it strikes me as something that is hard to write meta about, per se, because it refers to something concrete that the author clearly knows but hasn't quite surfaced in the realm of the novel. it's harder to analyze, though potent for speculation! depending on how much you trust crux and his read of harrow's childhood, it certainly suggests a pattern of dissociation or hiding. (again, not enough there for me to call it evidence, but it feels in line with, say, discussions of harrow as a person with schizophrenia? i've seen some thoughtful pieces on that before, though i'm not able to link to any off the top of my head.) it's a brief window into harrow's childhood that harrow herself may not be able to recognize and gideon, in gtn, certainly would not have been privy to. crux's rhetoric, though superficially soothing, is also, perhaps, a way of seeing the different ways harrow came to understand her profound duty to the ninth.
i think what i feel certain about re: that moment is it very clearly sets up context for crux's interactions with gideon/kiriona, which strike me as the primary dramatic purpose for crux's return. the comparison between moment of (as best as he can manage anyway/undeniably twisted) tenderness and reaffirmation and the way crux treats paul (crotchety/resentful to outsiders) and gideon (undeterred, spiteful hatred) remind us a) the initial dynamics gideon/harrow were steeped in (and possibly how far they have or haven't come?) and b) how lmao deeply vile and personal crux's hatred for gideon is. it's that "why doesn't it feel good" that is, within nona, still the showstopper for me. (crux being a mutation of a father figure is important there, for sure.)
if there was something more you had on your mind, i'd love to hear it! but considering those paragraphs without any further context... to me, they're wonderful bits of colour, but not necessarily enough on their own to suggest much. possibly there will be more to them in alecto -- also possibly it refers to something that will never make the narrative!? however, if people have cool thoughts please link them in he replies.
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The champions of the digital adopt an absurd line of argument (absurd in the sense of Freud's story of the kettle): 1. It is a revolution, an absolute advance. 2. At any rate, we have no choice, the process is irreversible. But it must be one or the other: if it is inevitable, there's no point representing it as an ideal dimension. And if it's destined to win out, there's no point claiming it is best.
Jean Baudrillard, Cool Memories V
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