FACTORY RESET - Tumblr Posts
there's no awareness at first, the puppet too lost in an endless darkness. perhaps even slumbering, just as the creator had forced upon him. it takes several seconds for any life to register behind those unseeing eyes, but ― a slow blink, followed by a couple more rapid blinks. the gaze slowly shifts over to scaramouche.
the puppet doesn't recognize him. should he? there's something so striking about the stranger's appearance.
( HE LOOKS LIKE THE CREATOR. )
perhaps that's why the puppet is now looking upon this new stranger with something akin to hope. he's too new to recognize evil. yet, his whole body feels old and stiff, like he's already suffered from something. the old feels like many, many centuries of discomfort and use, but that's...impossible. it HAS to be. as far as he's aware, he's been here ever since the creator placed him here. he's done nothing to earn this kind of wear and tear. the puppet is chalking it up to a single, idle thought that makes no sense in his brain. he quickly pushes it away in favor of gazing upon his newfound rescuer. "are you here to free me?"
his voice, while a few days ago had been full of malice and hatred, is now so meek and innocent sounding. "i've been in here for so long, i didn't think i'd ever be found." even with the fresh wave of hoping crossing his features, the puppet makes no move to get to his feet. some innate part of him knows how to walk. it would most likely come as easy as speaking currently is, but there's also some fear pushing at him, warning him to stay put. just like that idle thought about how old he feels, he's not sure why he fears this stranger. it's not worth dwelling on for long.
as much as he wants to continue gazing in awe up at the stranger, the puppet gazes around him to stare at the light. it's BLINDING, and almost hurts his eyes, but to him now, it's almost as if he's seeing light for the first time. eyes widen and stare, mesmerized, at the light. it's so bright and beautiful, and yet, again, he feels like there's something horrifically familiar about it. something wrong with being amazed by it.
EVERYTHING FEELS WRONG.
he's too distracted now to disregard all these weird thoughts that keep popping up. they're all useless and mean nothing. what is important is that light from the doorway. the puppet wants to leave this room and see more of it. it's amazing to even imagine an outside world beyond these walls, but it's right there, within his grasp.
with an outstretched hand, he even tries to GRAB the light. it's intangible, and disappointment marks his features now as he stares down at his hands. he's confused all over again. along with the faint light over his fingers, there are things there that haven't been there before. or that he hadn't noticed before.
black painted fingernails. rings on his fingers; strange adornments of metal that mean little to him. perhaps some ceremonial attributes from his creator? he frowns before taking note of what he's even wearing. the light allows him to make note of the loose white and blue cloth draped over his body. once more, he's wondering if it all holds some ceremonial significance he isn't aware about. nothing here makes sense, and he almost doesn't even WANT to know anymore. "mister, where are we?" he looks back up at the stranger. his rescuer. savior? "...and why am i here?"
he leaves him. abandons him — much like THEIR CREATOR before him. locked away in a place where the flow of time itself is rendered utterly incomprehensible, torture masquerading beneath a veneer of condescending kindness. the balladeer fashions it another stepping stone on his path to true DIVINITY; replicating her actions brings him ever-closer to becoming a real god, or so he tells himself. honestly, there is something ever so cathartic about leaving his WEAKER SELF to suffer. his fate is controlled by kunikuzushi's whims.
there is screaming. he can hear it occasionally — it bleeds through the thick door, muffled sounds of abject agony. his underlings scurry by like the frightened ants they are, expressions twisted with discomfort even beneath their masks. that, too, is something kunikuzushi finds cathartic. he offers them no EXPLANATION, and the majority know better than to ask — the balladeer has earned his reputation for cruelty and made his disdain for questions quite clear. ( they won't risk provoking him. they won't even risk meeting his eyes. ) soon the screaming fades and the room goes eerily silent. were the soul inside capable of perishing, kunikuzushi would assume he simply DROPPED DEAD like all flimsy mortal creatures do. yet he knows better, and so he doesn't bother breaking kaminari's solitary confinement to check. there's plenty of work to be done in the meanwhile, after all. getting these idiots to do anything useful often feels as tedious as HERDING CATS — and there is always the tiresome task of paperwork that never quite seems to end.
a few days pass, as promised. such a mundane amount of time, utterly inconsequential in the grand scheme of it all... though he can only imagine what an eternity it must be from the wanderer's perspective.
the door opens with a grating, metallic creak — as if it's reluctant to move. the balladeer's footsteps are soft yet sharp; he strides across the room with clear purpose, gaze sweeping to and fro as he observes the damage. it's pathetic, really; the only notable progress kaminari actually made was removing his bonds. is he incapable of drawing from that innate pool of electro within him or has his PRIDE simply rendered him too reluctant — even for the sake of saving his own skin? ultimately, kunikuzushi supposes it doesn't really matter. heedless of the reason, if he had any intention of doing so, he would have ages ago.
the harbinger sinks to a crouch before him. snapping fingers — trying to rouse the puppet from whatever STUPOR he's fallen into. interesting, interesting. were this an ACTUAL experiment, kunikuzushi thinks now would be the perfect opportunity to take notes. he looks empty — more object than living thing. is this really all it takes to break the unbreakable? ❝ hello. anybody home? ❞ a gentle smile plays upon the balladeer's lips. he looks so innocent, malevolent intentions smothered beneath such a delicate countenance. under different circumstances, one might look upon the scene and misconstrue him for the puppet's savior. ( when in truth, he is more accurately called his damnation. ) ❝ how are you feeling? ❞
