[ why. it was a good question. it was a legitimate question. and after all he's put the kid through in these last few minutes, it was one they deserved an answer to.
for that alone, he wished he had an answer.
one that kino would be able to understand, at least, because there's a reason it wasn't them he sought out. life was a very different beast in the hands of someone who hadn't yet learned not to value it. kino's hands would not have let him fall, even when he already had two feet in the ground.
why.
it's almost funny, really. it's not the sentiment he'd expected in his last few moments; years had been spent quietly, unconsciously preparing for a finally or good riddance, and if he were any wryer, that might have been answer enough, really.
but it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter that fighting is all he knows; fighting is why he'd been born, why he'd been kept alive, and thus fighting should be why he dies. it doesn't matter that in that last hit, he'd never seen hibari's eyes light up so bright before. it doesn't matter that miles and miles and miles away is the one man who might have been able to drag his sorry ass back from the grave he's already settling himself into (time and time and time again).
and it doesn't matter that he'll never get to say any of this. this isn't really about him anymore.
There is not always a reason. Master had told them that at least once, an answer presented for some of Kino's endless questions—she had weathered them without complaint because it had been apparent that Kino hadn't been allowed them in the past. The Land of True Adults didn't offer too much in the way of information about their country, their world; it didn't pertain to them, and the adults particularly didn't care about anything past their own subsistence. So Kino had been endlessly curious, and sometimes Master had no answer for them. There is not always a reason. Not even when you desperately needed for there to be.
The CDC had shown Kino this even better their own world had. They had no reason for what they did—none presented to them, at the very least. Would an answer have made it any better, though? Destroy this world so that you might save another. Would something like that make it easier? Kino can't be sure. Life is something one cannot quantify; lives were equal in importance, all lives, but they were not interchangeable. One could leave the world and pass Kino by like a cold wind and nothing else. Another could leave with what felt like a piece of them in tow, just as Nic did, the seep of his blood slowing. Kino knows that his heart rate is slowing. He would not last too much longer, no matter how tightly they clung to his hand.
A reason might have been nice, a shiny bauble to distract their attention momentarily, but it didn't change anything.
He was right, and Kino knows it. As they hear his words they can't stop their head from falling, shoulders rising up in the same moment. A light shudder of them, but otherwise silence.
Running out of time.
Kino didn't know what to do. They so rarely stuck around long enough to see someone pass—they were too busy passing through, a transient presence no matter where they went. The permanence of the CDC crew still felt strange.
It is still, quiet. Kino can hear his breathing continue to slow, ragged and wounded like the rest of him. The wind in the trees. The rustle and call of birds as they lifted off from branches above-head, fleetingly visible before disappearing above branches and leaves.
Something does form in their mind, giving them enough reason to look back up once more. They struggle to lift Nic's hand slightly once more, hoping that he can see the signs that they try to piece together but also making the gestures against his palm so he might be able to compliment it with that as well. It might be a little disjointed, some of the words either being estimates or not jumping to mind as easily as they might have in any other situation, but they hope the meaning is clear enough.]
A man once told me that seeing the birds fly made him want to go on a journey.
[The man that had given Kino the inspiration for their new life, their new persona, the man who had saved their life. It's apparent in the gravity with which Kino presents the words that it's something important to them. They had nothing else to offer him—they had no idea if it would mean anything or if it would help or do anything at all, but it was all they had. They were a simple traveler; they had little belongings, only stories and the words of people long since dead.
It's all they have. The hand drops to hold onto Nic's once more, clasped between both as Kino's shoulders bow over him.
They have nothing else to say, but there's something in the action and how tightly they cling to his hand that seems to say, almost ironically, "So go."]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hello clarice...
for that alone, he wished he had an answer.
one that kino would be able to understand, at least, because there's a reason it wasn't them he sought out. life was a very different beast in the hands of someone who hadn't yet learned not to value it. kino's hands would not have let him fall, even when he already had two feet in the ground.
why.
it's almost funny, really. it's not the sentiment he'd expected in his last few moments; years had been spent quietly, unconsciously preparing for a finally or good riddance, and if he were any wryer, that might have been answer enough, really.
but it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter that fighting is all he knows; fighting is why he'd been born, why he'd been kept alive, and thus fighting should be why he dies. it doesn't matter that in that last hit, he'd never seen hibari's eyes light up so bright before. it doesn't matter that miles and miles and miles away is the one man who might have been able to drag his sorry ass back from the grave he's already settling himself into (time and time and time again).
and it doesn't matter that he'll never get to say any of this. this isn't really about him anymore.
why?
why not. ]
wOUld aNY aNSweR ReAlLy hElp?
deletes you
There is not always a reason. Master had told them that at least once, an answer presented for some of Kino's endless questions—she had weathered them without complaint because it had been apparent that Kino hadn't been allowed them in the past. The Land of True Adults didn't offer too much in the way of information about their country, their world; it didn't pertain to them, and the adults particularly didn't care about anything past their own subsistence. So Kino had been endlessly curious, and sometimes Master had no answer for them. There is not always a reason. Not even when you desperately needed for there to be.
The CDC had shown Kino this even better their own world had. They had no reason for what they did—none presented to them, at the very least. Would an answer have made it any better, though? Destroy this world so that you might save another. Would something like that make it easier? Kino can't be sure. Life is something one cannot quantify; lives were equal in importance, all lives, but they were not interchangeable. One could leave the world and pass Kino by like a cold wind and nothing else. Another could leave with what felt like a piece of them in tow, just as Nic did, the seep of his blood slowing. Kino knows that his heart rate is slowing. He would not last too much longer, no matter how tightly they clung to his hand.
A reason might have been nice, a shiny bauble to distract their attention momentarily, but it didn't change anything.
He was right, and Kino knows it. As they hear his words they can't stop their head from falling, shoulders rising up in the same moment. A light shudder of them, but otherwise silence.
Running out of time.
Kino didn't know what to do. They so rarely stuck around long enough to see someone pass—they were too busy passing through, a transient presence no matter where they went. The permanence of the CDC crew still felt strange.
It is still, quiet. Kino can hear his breathing continue to slow, ragged and wounded like the rest of him. The wind in the trees. The rustle and call of birds as they lifted off from branches above-head, fleetingly visible before disappearing above branches and leaves.
Something does form in their mind, giving them enough reason to look back up once more. They struggle to lift Nic's hand slightly once more, hoping that he can see the signs that they try to piece together but also making the gestures against his palm so he might be able to compliment it with that as well. It might be a little disjointed, some of the words either being estimates or not jumping to mind as easily as they might have in any other situation, but they hope the meaning is clear enough.]
A man once told me that seeing the birds fly made him want to go on a journey.
[The man that had given Kino the inspiration for their new life, their new persona, the man who had saved their life. It's apparent in the gravity with which Kino presents the words that it's something important to them. They had nothing else to offer him—they had no idea if it would mean anything or if it would help or do anything at all, but it was all they had. They were a simple traveler; they had little belongings, only stories and the words of people long since dead.
It's all they have. The hand drops to hold onto Nic's once more, clasped between both as Kino's shoulders bow over him.
They have nothing else to say, but there's something in the action and how tightly they cling to his hand that seems to say, almost ironically, "So go."]