today in more zolu thoughts: yet another thing I find fascinating about zoro and luffy's relationship, which I believe the LA managed to capture pretty well despite the differences between it and the og source material, is that while zoro's capacity for loyalty and devotion where luffy's concerned are insane (the all-encompassing, heartfelt, lay down my life and dreams for you, follow you until death or the very end of everything kind of crazy), they're not entirely unconditional per se. the condition here being that he has to measure up to zoro's standards - that luffy has to prove himself a man worthy of following.
there are plenty examples of this in the manga, but I'll stick to where it and opla intersect. so manga!zoro pretty much stands firm with this condition when he agrees to follow luffy, warning him about not getting in the way of zoro's dream right away. opla zoro is a lot more reluctant to join in comparison, and he just seemingly goes along with the whole thing in a more "might as well" manner; even so, there's these few subtle moments where you can see him being struck awe by luffy's faith in himself/his dream (the dinner at kaya's) and showing exactly why he's a "different" kind of pirate (ie freeing the folks from orange town).
still, the most pivotal moment is zoro's fight with mihawk in both cases. this is where luffy has to really prove himself to zoro, for the first time. because talk of dreams and promises and not hindering them is nice and all, but can luffy really stand by what he says when push comes to shove? when the life of someone he cares about is on the line? and man. the answer is yes.
in the manga, by stopping johnny and yosaku from intervening and refusing to do so himself as well, even though he was deeply upset by zoro getting hurt, luffy proved he wouldn't go back on his word nor betray zoro's trust and the faith he had placed in him. in a similar fashion, opla luffy letting zoro go ahead with the duel despite his own apprehension/doubts and nami questioning both of their choices, is what finally led to zoro recognizing him as his captain out loud and accepting his role as a first mate.
I just think it's interesting that these two kind of make each other walk on a tightrope. only the world's greatest swordsman can stand by the pirate king's side. the pirate king can have the world's greatest swordsman by his side, if he proves himself worthy of it. but the best part? for me, it's that zoro and luffy are able to challenge one another this way (or set the bar that high) because they absolutely believe the other can rise up to it and beyond.
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I keep thinking about Durge, who, even after defying Bhaal, is never truly free from their father's legacy.
Because yes, the Urge is gone, the cursed blood of Bhaal doesn't call to them anymore. But body remembers, even if mind doesn't. Body knows what it did, it knows what it was created for. It's instinctual, bone-deep reflexes of a person raised to be the perfect murderer. It's little twitches and how easily opponents fall: foes and former allies alike.
It's small glimpses of the past, because mind doesn't remember, but the body DOES. It's the eerie familiarity of darkest corners of Baldur's Gate, it's people recognizing Durge on the streets, people they don't remember but who remember THEM.
It's the feeling of being haunted by your own self.
It's the body of Ketheric, the bloody mess left of Orin, Gortash's lifeless frame. It's the knowledge you're the last one, what this tragic story of conquer started with you and ends with you.
It's the feeling of emptiness where bubbling joy once was, the blood on the blade what brings no feelings. It's being charming, or kind, or honest, or gentle, or honorable, but at the end of the day still being the best in the art of murder - and who are they if not Bhaal's unholy blade?
Godless and fatherless, struggling to reimagine themselves.
Especially when memories come; they never return fully, never in the whole picture. But glimpses, the shards of existence what was once theirs cut deeper than any ritual blade would.
I keep thinking about Durge weighted down by the grief of the world, guilt of the world.
Alone: without a god, a father, a sister, a partner (Gortash, bc these two were absolutely insane for each other).
Alone and with whole life ahead; lost and confused and with hands bloodied.
Hero, people call them. They don't feel like a hero.
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PLOTTED STARTER ⇢ @diademreigned
When the battle had begun, it had been no secret that the area they found in wasn't well-suited to one. The sharp drop-off nearby, the cracked edges of the cliffside... it was a deathtrap and they were fools to take on an army there with the machina they so commonly used.
So it made sense that he'd have a run-in with misfortune when he made the mistake of engaging a man with striking blue eyes and brown hair. When the glowed blade of a rapier stung the edge of his lance, it should have been obvious what was going to happen.
Something is said between them, something about his preference for a lance over a gun, over a piloted mech that would make shorter work of most Eorzeans.
Most Garleans couldn't, after all, use aether. But X'kijin was certainly no pure-blooded Garlean and anyone with eyes could see as much by the ears unobscured by his helmet and the tail that lashed irritably behind him.
He didn't answer their goading—if it could even be called that.
Rather, green eyes that were shielded by the helmet he wore focused on the twirl of his rapier and the focus crystal in his other hand. It was a style that he recognized, if vaguely, from back home.
X'kijin had heard of the Crimson Duelists as a boy, of the style they used, though this man in particular was hardly dressed in the red they were said to wear. Was it a coincidence, then, that the way he fought seemed reminiscent of those old stories?
When first they started to cast, when the swirl of aether in the air signaled the collecting fire in his hand that raised the temperature of the air around them, he had been prepared for something like a fireball.
The sound of the earth cracking under his feet, however, was not one he expected. Shit, was his first coherent thought, the second was that the Eorzeans had orchestrated it somehow, though anyone with eyes could see it the cracks stemmed from the heavy machine the Garleans themselves had brought.
If he was still determined to blame the Eorzeans, he would have been convinced of their innocence when eyes of brilliant teal caught his own. The way they went wide, it was so obvious—so, so obvious—that nothing about the earth falling beneath their feet was expected.
There was a moment where they both froze before came the desperate scramble of the both of them clambering to the broken edge of the cliffside. They'd drop down into the ravine. If they survived the fall, they'd be crushed under the debris—
He felt the ground slip from beneath his feet. Jump, he bid himself, though his heels found no traction in the air, jump.
A hand caught his wrist, words spoken—yelled—over the din of noise as teal caught plain green again. Something was being shouted at him, his feet met the ground, they started to move. Together.
And then came the sound of another crack. He could hear it in the sound, the finality of this one as it separated fully from the rest of the cliffside, carrying both the Eorzean and the Ala Mhigan Garlean as they descended into the ravine—
When he woke, it was to the unpleasant sound of pained gasping, followed by a curse in a voice unfamiliar to him. Green eyes blinked open as he raised himself from the ground, nursing the pain on the side of his head as he did so, not to mention the ache through his entire body.
Fogged vision eventually cleared and he was met with a familiar face a few paces away.
Green eyes set on his leg and the way he moved it with his hands, the bone clearly broken by his few, pained attempts to move the limb.
"Hey..." he started as he pushed himself up, watched the man startle at the sound and make a sound that verged on a sob. The short-lived attempt to move away from him, from the enemy that could clearly stand when he couldn't.
How quick he'd gone from being bold enough to take his hand and keep him from dropping into the ravine to being afraid of what he might do with the opportunity, now that he was injured, now that fighting back would prove even more difficult.
"Don't—" He started, when they moved again, this time giving them pause. "You're gonna make it worse."
It was the first time he'd spoken since their fight had initially begun. As he approached, he pulled away the helmet, longer hair escaping from it confines as he did so.
"Broken?" he asked as he pulled the gloves off next. He'd set plenty of broken bones, splinted them often enough that he might be able to do the same here.
He'd grabbed him, after all, prevented him from tumbling first, from possibly being clocked by the very ground they stood on when they fell. In some, small way, he may owe him that, at least. And a quick glance around told him that they were at the bottom of the ravine they'd been fighting near, that not another soul was around.
If push came to shove...
No, no, that was treason. Then again, taking the man's hand probably would've been considered siding with the enemy, as would the mere consideration of repaying the offer of his hand. Still...
"... Let me look at it."
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The appeal of starting from the ending and working back is that you put a cap on every Might Have Been, every wandering tangent, etc. that your drafting mind might otherwise wind down. And there's nothing more irritating then having a good idea when wrapping something up only to realize you didn't have time to foreshadow it like you did the other 2 or 3 recurring consequences (TV writer woes).
Everything in the final conversation Abernathy has with Valentine has to be doing the work of two or three callbacks. Right now I've only hit the initial callbacks, and as I sketch out the ideas mentioned her in passing, which evoke certain strong emotions, then I know I need to do something with V's work involvement with Biotechnica, with some sort of clash with Jenkins, with what Valentine is like when she loses her temper. And I know that because it's what Abernathy is fixated on trying to control this breakup conversation, and also reveals what Abernathy herself is concerned about, and perhaps has been concerned about for a long time and never shown. (Or has she?)
Anyhow I love talking process, so this is the kind of skeleton script I'm going to be working backwards from. It will most certainly not survive exactly like this, but it's a good anchoring point:
<>
“If you tell anyone about anything, I’ll have you removed and handled as a double agent. You have been awful involved with Biotechnica lately.” - “I’m not going to warn you again. Do you understand?”
(dully) “You do that and they’ll know I was telling the truth.”
“It doesn’t matter what they know, it matters what they can prove.” (you know this. we've talked about this. don't be stupid.)
“I suppose next you’ll be asking me to use my new position to spy on Jenkins for you.” (petulant. bitter. a tool, you were always a tool, do you understand?)
“No. I know how you get when you’re angry.” (thinking. malicious. flippant.) “Besides, I thought you’d enjoy a chance to get your claws into him.”
(silently angry. is the implication that she’d do for him what she’d done for her? that she’s just a dangerous beast? that she knows her and her anger so well?)
“Well?”
“What do you want me to do? Beg for leniency? Make some emotional plea? You want me to ask if you ever even gave a shit about me? You want me to put on a show?” - “You wouldn’t believe a word I said anyway. Give me a cigarette.”
(hands one over, lights it. finally makes eye contact. this is real.) “Don’t look so glum. You wouldn’t have gotten half as far as you have without my help. You can cry into your bank account if you want, but it’s not like I’m kicking you out on the street.”
“Alright.” (inhale. peace. emptiness. drains her drink. drops the cigarette into abernathy’s.) “It’s done.”
<>
Re-reading this I already know I need to work in some reference to Valentine's mother and some warning/advice/celebration they have near the end of this reverse story. Something that ties back to her own failed marriage and divorce and dashed expectations. Something about finding a reason to keep going on until you can't bear to any more. Something that echoes the familial stubbornness which means Valentine in the damn things overlap will endure anything so long as she knows the expiration date.
The most fascinating part of writing these two to me is that Abernathy has this very strict rule about never admitting guilt or regret directly, but she'll say something like "I'd apologize but it's already done, isn't it?" and it's like YOU COULD STILL SAY IT! But she sees that as weakness. And Valentine picks up that same attitude here "What do you want me to do? Beg for leniency? Make some emotional plea?" They're mocking each other for the very normal human desire for acknowledgement. They're intelligence agents who think they're just making sure they're not fooling themselves (they're fooling themselves). Sincerity is only useful for pre-empting someone else trying to expose your vulnerability.
Anyway, they're operating on a certain set of fucked up toxic social rules that are in some respects even harsher than the normal corpo set. They're self-policing, because Abernathy is obsessed with gaining favor with someone who is a misogynistic homophobe, and she's playing for keeps against people who aren't reviled by this person. The idea might also come up that she doesn't NEED to be doing it to this degree, but she's warped her own idea of what she needs to do, and what kind of person she needs to be, and applied that to Valentine as well. The tragedy is that they love each other. They work well together. It's never going to work out. It didn't work out. But look at what they had, and how fucked up and funny and exciting it all was before it went to shit.
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