Deoxys [OC] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
villainousvirus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sayitwithpocky2011-09-17 09:53 pm
villainousvirus) wrote in sayitwithpocky2011-09-17 09:53 pm
I am a visitor here, I am not permanent
Warnings: Strong death themes! (Context!)
[He couldn't have been prepared.
No matter how many times you see it in films or hear it on the radio—no matter how many times it's played-out in reruns running through your mind, it's no education. It doesn't matter how many times you watch frame by frame in even the most heart-rendering acting—you can't learn death the way you learn Earth culture. No. It doesn't help at all the day you have to live out this plot-line for yourself and one of the lead characters in your own life is killed off. The writers know he had hoped not to have had to so soon.
Nothing he's learned of death from films can console him or guide him as Shaymin screams and sobs at him that Jirachi, her sister, his daughter is dead. Gravity is suddenly too much and Deoxys sinks to his knees without a word, death and blind to his living daughter's despair. He doesn't acknowledging her even when she screams at him and shakes him. For him to provide some response, comfort, anything!
He notices her agonised departure just as little. He knots his fingers into his hair, staring with wide-eyes at nothing in particular. She's not gone, no, she can't be, she's not gone, no—]
[He couldn't have been prepared.
No matter how many times you see it in films or hear it on the radio—no matter how many times it's played-out in reruns running through your mind, it's no education. It doesn't matter how many times you watch frame by frame in even the most heart-rendering acting—you can't learn death the way you learn Earth culture. No. It doesn't help at all the day you have to live out this plot-line for yourself and one of the lead characters in your own life is killed off. The writers know he had hoped not to have had to so soon.
Nothing he's learned of death from films can console him or guide him as Shaymin screams and sobs at him that Jirachi, her sister, his daughter is dead. Gravity is suddenly too much and Deoxys sinks to his knees without a word, death and blind to his living daughter's despair. He doesn't acknowledging her even when she screams at him and shakes him. For him to provide some response, comfort, anything!
He notices her agonised departure just as little. He knots his fingers into his hair, staring with wide-eyes at nothing in particular. She's not gone, no, she can't be, she's not gone, no—]
no subject
Throughout Shaymin's screams, throughout Heatran's sobs as he returns home after her first day as an attendant at the cities spa. It was supposed to be a good day. A day a lot of things got done.
Arceus and Deoxys would be off to work that night like every night before. It wasn't glamorous, their work, but their daughters didn't mind.
Shaymin spent her time in her gardens, reading and doing her homework. Heatran was more adventurous, she liked to gaze through her telescope and explore around the house, get into every little thing she could to figure out how they worked. An inside-adventurer- unlike her vegetarian, outdoorsy-fraternal twin, Heatran enjoyed the inside more than out.
Jirachi liked to read, write, and paint. The only isle in the house was hers to use alone, and every bit of her artwork was hung on the walls around the house by herself. Her family would praise her when they got a chance- weren't too busy. She was part of the book club, but was always so busy that it was hard to find the time to gather her own mail. Jirachi was the most mature of her sisters, she wanted to be on the honour role, and did her homework straight after school. She wasn't pressured to get a job like her sisters were, since she would write novels when she had the time. So she always came straight home.
But why wasn't she home yet?
Arceus stares vacantly down at a small grey tin on the ground that Shaymin had brought home with her. It was a very tiny tin, it wasn't very pretty- it looked like something she would make on her crafting table. Out of little bits of scrap, like the mooing cow toy or the little device that made scents when you walked over it. Those always made her family happy. A little boost for a hard day at work or school. ]
Where is Jirachi?
no subject
He doesn't move to meet her nor open his mouth to answer her, twisting his fingers tighter into his hair and pulling until his scalp screams with pain. He doesn't care, not focusing on anything than the black-hole of emptiness ripping his insides to shreds. His girl...his little girl...this shouldn't be happening, can't, wouldn't, isn't. Sh-she should be here with her sisters! She should have strolled through that door, dodging his classic 'welcome home hug' that she'd learned by now was more of a sneaky attempt to steal her journal to see what delightful new things she'd imagined and sculpted so painstakingly out of words in the mere space of a lunch hour.
Once, he'd succeeded. Prose was new to him—everything flowed and linked together in the most flowery and complex ways—it wasn't structured and to the letter like a script. But the description, and the characters, the whole worlds— Jirachi had been furious, snatched back her book and yelled and ranted at him about privacy and how he was a cruel and terrible dad. But the satisfaction about his approval had been etched far too obviously onto her face; the way however much she shouted at him, all the while she couldn't stop her eyes gleaming and the corners of her mouth twitching upward. From then on, more fleshed-out, carefully revised drafts had sneaked their way among Deoxys' own possessions—though his daughter would always fume when her work was returned covered in red markings on how to write scripts and how to change the plot so it would be better suited for theatrical production.
His whole body shakes as memories of her swarm him, and the need to laugh, cry, or scream fight each other and cancel each other out, dying in his throat in a choked sob. He's hoping and praying for Arceus not to find him, not yet, but as silent as his body is being, he can't stop the psychic outpouring of grief. The screaming in his head breaks loose into telepathy. It's not voice, nor coherent words—there is no translatable meaning to speak of—what comes is raw channelled emotion. Like the electric drone of static from a TV that has been robbed of reception.]
no subject
[ Shaymin is trying to explain, Heatran is crying at the small grey tin. She wonders why she's crying instead of simply picking it up. If she wants it so bad she can have it, she can have anything she'd like.
Shaymin says that Jirachi is dead- gone. In front of the school, and she was the only one there aside from some girls from school. She saw her go.
Arceus continues to stare at the tin, her eyes vacant as usual- unfocused. Her voice is as light and airy as it usually is: ]
When will she come home?
[ Shaymin looks shocked, and Heatran is the tough one now- she puts her arm around her sisters shoulder and leads her up the stairs out of their underground home, up above ground so she'll feel better (even if being in such a wide-opened space unnerved her herself). As they leave, Arceus continues to stare at the tin, before looking around for Deoxys. Normally he'd run on the treadmill a bit before work, or talk to his daughters, or things like that. Maybe he would do laundry that the maid left behind. She goes through each room, one by one.
He wasn't in their bed, wasn't in the girls bed. Wasn't playing with the old dollhouse she demanded they keep so she could play with it. He wasn't on the laptop. It's only after a good few minutes that she stops and threads her hands through her hair, she stares down at the ground below her feet; suddenly she's angry. Her tempers flare and she's yelling unintelligibly and crumpling into a mess on the ground and holding her head.
Where was Deoxys? He had to go find Jirachi before curfew. ]