Ace, do you have some time today to chat about something? I was thinking about our efforts at work and wanted to run some ideas by you around the larger scope.
I'm just heading in for a meeting right now. Would you want to meet up somewhere special around Belle Ville in about an hour? I can show you the preliminary work I've got going on for those lockers, too.
[ At the least, her message is received: the status indicates Ace had read it, though no answer arrives for an hour at minimum. As quickly as he'd hashed out the details with Mel, he's gone.
He manages to keep his appointment with her, though. Only a few minutes late, he ambles through the park in the direction of the fountain — looking drawn and tired, but capable of a smile all the same when he spots her. He lifts a hand in greeting, though the effort seems tiring, and presses on as if glad for something else to focus on. With him, a mangled wire cart filled with some additional scraps of metal and one very tall single, hammerpoint-finished locker.
he looms like a hobo...... a himbo hobo... ]
Hey, Miss Mel! Sorry I'm late, I left the stuff I wanted to bring you behind and had to double back for it.
[ She's waiting when he arrives, and she hasn't been waiting long when he makes his appearance. Her eyebrows shoot up at what he's brought and she stands to greet him better. He looks tired and worn, and she can't guess at where he's been, but her assumption is that the cart is, more or less, a chore to lug around. ]
Here, you can set it down. You shouldn't have had to push that all of the way here.
[ She could've met him closer, at least! Hazel eyes flick over the items he's brought, landing, of course, on the locker. ]
[ The cart he's rigged together for ease of lugging his work back and forth from the scrapyard to the small apartment he shares with Sabo is dragged up alongside of him, tipped forward to park it as he reaches out to steady the short locker with the flat of his palm. ]
For the most part, yeah. Metal's not hard for me to work with —
[ The ends of his fingers ignite, into flames that he holds up before him. A simple explanation, before he shakes them out. ]
And it keeps my mind off of things I don't want to waste my time spiraling about. Do you like it? You can look it over, feel free.
[ The flame produces a brief startle-response, the soul inside of her waking up with a start. It's gone before her heartbeat can get to racing, and despite the surprise, there's still an intense curiosity in her gaze that she can't disguise. Her eyes return to the locker, looking at it anew. ]
That's quite the skill. But you shouldn't need to be the only one making these.
[ ...Not that she can help, but it's the principle of the thing. Mel reaches for the locker, looking it over, fingers pushing in places. It's sturdy, enough to satisfy; it means it can stay upright, and is less likely to be easy to break.
Don't think she didn't catch the other comment, though, Ace. ]
Far be it from me to pry when we don't know each other, but...I'm happy to listen if you wish to speak on it. Holding things in can-- [ Well. ] It can fester. And I wouldn't want that for you.
[ But that's on his terms. Mel values her own privacy, and she's sure others do too. ]
Your work is very good, though. This feels like it could stand the test of weather and potential thieves. Or sabotage.
Honestly, after we all agree on it: this could be the prototype for others to follow when constructing more lockers.
[ Whatever tweaks to the design and structure that need to be made, he can do, but he'd like to turn it over to Mel and Texas and the others to bring to the people in need of work ( like the people of East Sophia ) and see if the gap between labor and wages could be bridged between them. It's rapidly becoming a bad idea for him to be the face of anything, as he grows sicker and more eerie by the month; ailing of some invisible sickness that he can't find a way to stop, even though he claws at every survival instinct to stave it off, if he can't halt the sinking suspicion he has.
She offers to be an ear, and while he doesn't leap to divulge every concern or emotion he's feeling/has felt, he does respect her position with a tentative offer: ] I wouldn't be able to make as many as we might need all on my own, anyways. My Natural Soul's making me real sick. It's not getting better, so I'm worried about how it'll impact the Steel Wing and everyone else.
[ ( And Sabo, too. ) That's all, really. He can be up front about the obvious: he's ailing, from the Corruption, and doing his best to keep in front of it for as long as he can. ]
You don't seem to be going through the same thing as me, though. You look strong.
Agreed. Let me take some pictures. Once we have Texas' weigh-in, we can move the proposal forward. I can't imagine any board will have much to say about changes.
[ Especially when they couldn't offer them initially as it is. If they want tweaks, she also imagines they can probably make them fairly easily with Ace's abilities and some other helpers. Mass producing them is going to be the difficulty, especially with what he tells her.
Mel listens, but she is taking out her device to snap those pictures while she does so. It allows her to better disguise her concern, give her the space to properly digest what he's telling her. But the device goes away and Ace gets her full attention now. ]
Mine is simply different. It's a bird. [ She brushes up one of her sleeves, letting him see the long line of dark feathers beginning to cover her arms. Her nails have been clipped today, or she'd show those too. ] And while it isn't making me ill, it's started to become painful in places I wasn't expecting.
[ With the feathers coming in, they disguise all the cracks in her skin and muscle as new flesh appears, and she'd like to not show those off. ]
Not that I would want to suggest it, but have you asked Patho-Gen why this is happening? What kind of Soul do you have, if you're all right with sharing?
[ He doesn't have to, but it just feels...wrong for these people to have given him a Soul that would hurt him as much as it is. ]
[ He takes a step away from his handiwork, to better allow her to snap pictures of it without running the risk of capturing his image in any of them. It's been frightening enough, seeing himself in the mirror and having to immediately think of scary stories whispered in groups around the fires — the dread atmosphere arising off him in reflections might translate to images, and it's just not something he's willing to inflict on people. Holding his coffee to his mouth, he continues to sip at it dutifully and watches her move — she's graceful.
It makes sense, then, when Mel shows off the feathers covering her arms. It's a sight that actually makes him smile, loose and fond. ]
— my crew's doctor was a phoenix. [ It's an easy way of summarizing the whole story. ] We have this thing called Devil Fruits, back home. You eat one, you get a unique power. His was to take the shape of a phoenix, to various degrees. Birdy legs, wings for arms, or even a full form. I always thought he was cool.
[ It's his way of explaining that he doesn't find her body disturbing. More familiar, comforting. ]
If it's muscle that's hurting, I give a mean massage! Come with my own warming system, too.
[ At the least, he can get the eager offer out before she asks him about his own Soul. It's an elusive thing, but he's noticed some similarities between himself and others. The dread aura, the draw to death and dead things. The steadily intensifying sickness within him. ]
I think it's dead. My Natural Soul, I mean. Patho-Gen's had me in check-ups since arrival, 'cause I was dead, too. And all the things that are happening... they make sense if it's dead.
[ In Mel's silence, she turns his way, and her expression softens ever so imperceptibly. Ace offers her a kindness she hasn't earned and yet it is offered just the same as every other piece has been given to her since her arrival — freely given, unfettered, and it makes her heart ache in her wretchedness. She hears all of what he is saying and what he is circumventing by inference: he has seen such a thing before and it doesn't frighten him, and maybe does not need to hide herself from him as they continue to work together.
(And the offer is more than she can ask for, though it still is nice to hear.)
It's an uplifting thought. Mel offers a faint smile that, for just a brief moment, warms her expression.
And that shatters with his response. ]
What?
[ She heard him. He doesn't need to repeat himself. Mel's eyes are wide and horrified. ]
Why... I don't understand. Why would they do that to you, or to anyone? That's— [ It's cruel. It's utterly, despicably cruel. And for him to be dead, just like Silco and Vander, to be brought here just to be used... The anger is blinding for a moment, seizing up her golden spine, and Mel has to keep her lips pressed so firmly that she says nothing else for several seconds.
And then, only then: ] Ace, I'm so sorry. Are they offering anything to help you? Do they have any kind of plan?
[ Uniting his little tail about Marco and his mention of massage is the intention behind it: familiarity with bird-like anatomy, and a lack of horror at seeing what is becoming of her. Only concern that it may cause her pain, and the idea that he has both a familiarity and a heat-generating power that could be put to great use. He used to take care of other members of his crew, like that; especially Pops, when he was too sick from the medication but too agitated to rest. It had been Ace who had put his fire-warmed hands to the worst spots and left them there until Newgate had settled, had softened, had praised him and thanked him with all the love in his elephant-sized heart.
Being of service, taking care of people — he wants to, so badly. Especially now, as the changes overcoming him leave native Karterians wary and frightened. Something about him is wrong to them, and there's some innate fear they possess when they look upon him. ( He'd always known he was a monster, but this? This is just the truth manifesting for everyone to formally see, even without the context of his filthy bloodline. ) ]
Nah, they just want to watch it happen.
[ And strangely, he seems fine with that. There isn't any energy in his admission, nor resistance. Like he's already come to terms with it all, even if his mouth strains to find that easy, warm smile. Even if his expression twitches, like he's holding more at bay. ]
Patho-Gen said me getting sicker isn't Corruption, it's my Natural Soul doing what it needs to do. "Perfectly normal", they called it. I got a doc I trust helping me through it, gathering data. We're trying to do as much as we can, in case it means the worst.
[ He gestures to her, trying to move the topic away. ]
Who knows, maybe this will help us find better care for you and the other Augmented.
[ It spills out too fast, her hammering heart flooding out the pragmatism she clings to so fiercely. It's impulsive and messy, and she can't stop the initial word that makes its way past the horrified lump in her throat. 'They just want to watch it happen.' All of this is 'perfectly normal'. She feel like she might be ill. Is it not enough to give someone an experimental soul to begin with, a dead one, but to be so unperturbed by the outcome?
They knew. They had to have known. And here is Ace, this man who has spared no thought for himself but for the people of this city and for the Augmented besides, who just smiles and insists that maybe it will help.
She can't. She can't accept it. It's just too cruel. ]
It's not worth it. Finding any of that out... Ace, that isn't worth your wellness or your life.
[ Her fingers flex. The anger is blinding, terrible, as painful as the horror that accompanies it. Before she can stop herself, she's reaching gently for his shoulder, fingers spread so she isn't touching his skin but nor are her claws so close to harm him. Her eyes search his face.
How can you offer me such kindness and then act as though it'll all be okay? ]
Please, there has to be something. What can I do to help you? What can any of us do to help you? It's not right that you go through this on your own—
Edited (nope I lied ONE MORE THING) 2025-06-21 22:42 (UTC)
[ Once again, he's stricken dumb and frozen in place by the vehemence in her tone; she's not angry, not at him, which is confusing and surprising. Even years later, it muddles the lessons inside of him — the comfort of the Whitebeard pirates and their love already a distant thing he'd spend more time being lost to than ever having ( by killing them in piles and heaps and droves just because they wouldn't let him GO; by dying, insulting all their hard work and mocking their devotion and loyalty forever — ), and the way some people were just hardwired to care.
What can she do, though?
The question sits tense and sickly inside of him, a kernel of resentment that he's done his best not to taunt or feed: why does he have to feel this way? Why was he brought back, if only to feel like this? To have to think about how miserable his end was, how miserable his life was save for a few shining moments where he'd been happy and loved and free. What was it worth, if this is what he has now? A foreign world he can't chase his dreams in, can't see his brother in, has to imagine that — if he wins, if he goes back... won't he just be dead again? And if so, what's the point? ]
I don't, [ he sounds smaller, younger. A twenty-year old kid who'd already died violently and is trying to outrun everything that that means. ] Know. I don't know.
[ His mouth quivers, momentarily. The bravado's a lie, apparently. ]
I guess, we could be friends? Until whatever happens, happens? That'd be nice. I don't really... have anything else I could ask for.
[ Of all the things people have requested of her, she will never understand why friendship is what's desired. And from her. It'd be laughable in any other instance. Here, with Ace, it simply strikes her as an incredibly upsetting desire — because it means there really may be nothing that she or anyone else can do. It simply doesn't feel fair (and she has long grown out of the thought that there is something 'fair' or 'righteous' in much of life).
And yet, hadn't she just been telling Gale something similar, that it can be difficult to know how to help someone's darkness — and that sometimes, one can only offer to stand beside them?
Mel's eyes are on his face, searching. And then, softly, she lets go of the breath she was holding. It's impossible to deny him, not like this, and not when he looks so incredibly forlorn, just shy of hurting. Her hand closes gently around his shoulder, squeezing. ]
Of course we can be friends.
[ Leaving out that she doesn't know how to do that properly... He really is just a kid, isn't he? Only a little older than she was when she was exiled.
What would she have wanted people to tell her when she was all alone? ]
I'll be right here with you no matter what happens. I promise you. Whatever you might need. [ It's genuine. But she knows, too, that she wouldn't have believed such an assertion once upon a time. So, she adds: ] Only you can walk this path, unfortunately. But I can still walk beside you for as long as the time we have.
[ In silence, in sharing, in strength, it doesn't matter to her. So long as he knows he isn't alone and needn't bear the suffering by himself. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text. @medarda
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I'm just heading in for a meeting right now. Would you want to meet up somewhere special around Belle Ville in about an hour? I can show you the preliminary work I've got going on for those lockers, too.
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And don't worry about snacks for me, they're feeding me during the meeting. I'll catch you there in an hour, leave a message if you change your mind!
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He manages to keep his appointment with her, though. Only a few minutes late, he ambles through the park in the direction of the fountain — looking drawn and tired, but capable of a smile all the same when he spots her. He lifts a hand in greeting, though the effort seems tiring, and presses on as if glad for something else to focus on. With him, a mangled wire cart filled with some additional scraps of metal and one very tall single, hammerpoint-finished locker.
he looms like a hobo...... a himbo hobo... ]
Hey, Miss Mel! Sorry I'm late, I left the stuff I wanted to bring you behind and had to double back for it.
no subject
Here, you can set it down. You shouldn't have had to push that all of the way here.
[ She could've met him closer, at least! Hazel eyes flick over the items he's brought, landing, of course, on the locker. ]
...Did you do all of this yourself?
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For the most part, yeah. Metal's not hard for me to work with —
[ The ends of his fingers ignite, into flames that he holds up before him. A simple explanation, before he shakes them out. ]
And it keeps my mind off of things I don't want to waste my time spiraling about. Do you like it? You can look it over, feel free.
no subject
That's quite the skill. But you shouldn't need to be the only one making these.
[ ...Not that she can help, but it's the principle of the thing. Mel reaches for the locker, looking it over, fingers pushing in places. It's sturdy, enough to satisfy; it means it can stay upright, and is less likely to be easy to break.
Don't think she didn't catch the other comment, though, Ace. ]
Far be it from me to pry when we don't know each other, but...I'm happy to listen if you wish to speak on it. Holding things in can-- [ Well. ] It can fester. And I wouldn't want that for you.
[ But that's on his terms. Mel values her own privacy, and she's sure others do too. ]
Your work is very good, though. This feels like it could stand the test of weather and potential thieves. Or sabotage.
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[ Whatever tweaks to the design and structure that need to be made, he can do, but he'd like to turn it over to Mel and Texas and the others to bring to the people in need of work ( like the people of East Sophia ) and see if the gap between labor and wages could be bridged between them. It's rapidly becoming a bad idea for him to be the face of anything, as he grows sicker and more eerie by the month; ailing of some invisible sickness that he can't find a way to stop, even though he claws at every survival instinct to stave it off, if he can't halt the sinking suspicion he has.
She offers to be an ear, and while he doesn't leap to divulge every concern or emotion he's feeling/has felt, he does respect her position with a tentative offer: ] I wouldn't be able to make as many as we might need all on my own, anyways. My Natural Soul's making me real sick. It's not getting better, so I'm worried about how it'll impact the Steel Wing and everyone else.
[ ( And Sabo, too. ) That's all, really. He can be up front about the obvious: he's ailing, from the Corruption, and doing his best to keep in front of it for as long as he can. ]
You don't seem to be going through the same thing as me, though. You look strong.
no subject
[ Especially when they couldn't offer them initially as it is. If they want tweaks, she also imagines they can probably make them fairly easily with Ace's abilities and some other helpers. Mass producing them is going to be the difficulty, especially with what he tells her.
Mel listens, but she is taking out her device to snap those pictures while she does so. It allows her to better disguise her concern, give her the space to properly digest what he's telling her. But the device goes away and Ace gets her full attention now. ]
Mine is simply different. It's a bird. [ She brushes up one of her sleeves, letting him see the long line of dark feathers beginning to cover her arms. Her nails have been clipped today, or she'd show those too. ] And while it isn't making me ill, it's started to become painful in places I wasn't expecting.
[ With the feathers coming in, they disguise all the cracks in her skin and muscle as new flesh appears, and she'd like to not show those off. ]
Not that I would want to suggest it, but have you asked Patho-Gen why this is happening? What kind of Soul do you have, if you're all right with sharing?
[ He doesn't have to, but it just feels...wrong for these people to have given him a Soul that would hurt him as much as it is. ]
1/2
It makes sense, then, when Mel shows off the feathers covering her arms. It's a sight that actually makes him smile, loose and fond. ]
— my crew's doctor was a phoenix. [ It's an easy way of summarizing the whole story. ] We have this thing called Devil Fruits, back home. You eat one, you get a unique power. His was to take the shape of a phoenix, to various degrees. Birdy legs, wings for arms, or even a full form. I always thought he was cool.
[ It's his way of explaining that he doesn't find her body disturbing. More familiar, comforting. ]
If it's muscle that's hurting, I give a mean massage! Come with my own warming system, too.
idk why i separated this save for tone
I think it's dead. My Natural Soul, I mean. Patho-Gen's had me in check-ups since arrival, 'cause I was dead, too. And all the things that are happening... they make sense if it's dead.
you did it to hurt my heart specifically
(And the offer is more than she can ask for, though it still is nice to hear.)
It's an uplifting thought. Mel offers a faint smile that, for just a brief moment, warms her expression.
And that shatters with his response. ]
What?
[ She heard him. He doesn't need to repeat himself. Mel's eyes are wide and horrified. ]
Why... I don't understand. Why would they do that to you, or to anyone? That's— [ It's cruel. It's utterly, despicably cruel. And for him to be dead, just like Silco and Vander, to be brought here just to be used... The anger is blinding for a moment, seizing up her golden spine, and Mel has to keep her lips pressed so firmly that she says nothing else for several seconds.
And then, only then: ] Ace, I'm so sorry. Are they offering anything to help you? Do they have any kind of plan?
no subject
Being of service, taking care of people — he wants to, so badly. Especially now, as the changes overcoming him leave native Karterians wary and frightened. Something about him is wrong to them, and there's some innate fear they possess when they look upon him. ( He'd always known he was a monster, but this? This is just the truth manifesting for everyone to formally see, even without the context of his filthy bloodline. ) ]
Nah, they just want to watch it happen.
[ And strangely, he seems fine with that. There isn't any energy in his admission, nor resistance. Like he's already come to terms with it all, even if his mouth strains to find that easy, warm smile. Even if his expression twitches, like he's holding more at bay. ]
Patho-Gen said me getting sicker isn't Corruption, it's my Natural Soul doing what it needs to do. "Perfectly normal", they called it. I got a doc I trust helping me through it, gathering data. We're trying to do as much as we can, in case it means the worst.
[ He gestures to her, trying to move the topic away. ]
Who knows, maybe this will help us find better care for you and the other Augmented.
no subject
[ It spills out too fast, her hammering heart flooding out the pragmatism she clings to so fiercely. It's impulsive and messy, and she can't stop the initial word that makes its way past the horrified lump in her throat. 'They just want to watch it happen.' All of this is 'perfectly normal'. She feel like she might be ill. Is it not enough to give someone an experimental soul to begin with, a dead one, but to be so unperturbed by the outcome?
They knew. They had to have known. And here is Ace, this man who has spared no thought for himself but for the people of this city and for the Augmented besides, who just smiles and insists that maybe it will help.
She can't. She can't accept it. It's just too cruel. ]
It's not worth it. Finding any of that out... Ace, that isn't worth your wellness or your life.
[ Her fingers flex. The anger is blinding, terrible, as painful as the horror that accompanies it. Before she can stop herself, she's reaching gently for his shoulder, fingers spread so she isn't touching his skin but nor are her claws so close to harm him. Her eyes search his face.
How can you offer me such kindness and then act as though it'll all be okay? ]
Please, there has to be something. What can I do to help you? What can any of us do to help you? It's not right that you go through this on your own—
no subject
What can she do, though?
The question sits tense and sickly inside of him, a kernel of resentment that he's done his best not to taunt or feed: why does he have to feel this way? Why was he brought back, if only to feel like this? To have to think about how miserable his end was, how miserable his life was save for a few shining moments where he'd been happy and loved and free. What was it worth, if this is what he has now? A foreign world he can't chase his dreams in, can't see his brother in, has to imagine that — if he wins, if he goes back... won't he just be dead again? And if so, what's the point? ]
I don't, [ he sounds smaller, younger. A twenty-year old kid who'd already died violently and is trying to outrun everything that that means. ] Know. I don't know.
[ His mouth quivers, momentarily. The bravado's a lie, apparently. ]
I guess, we could be friends? Until whatever happens, happens? That'd be nice. I don't really... have anything else I could ask for.
no subject
And yet, hadn't she just been telling Gale something similar, that it can be difficult to know how to help someone's darkness — and that sometimes, one can only offer to stand beside them?
Mel's eyes are on his face, searching. And then, softly, she lets go of the breath she was holding. It's impossible to deny him, not like this, and not when he looks so incredibly forlorn, just shy of hurting. Her hand closes gently around his shoulder, squeezing. ]
Of course we can be friends.
[ Leaving out that she doesn't know how to do that properly... He really is just a kid, isn't he? Only a little older than she was when she was exiled.
What would she have wanted people to tell her when she was all alone? ]
I'll be right here with you no matter what happens. I promise you. Whatever you might need. [ It's genuine. But she knows, too, that she wouldn't have believed such an assertion once upon a time. So, she adds: ] Only you can walk this path, unfortunately. But I can still walk beside you for as long as the time we have.
[ In silence, in sharing, in strength, it doesn't matter to her. So long as he knows he isn't alone and needn't bear the suffering by himself. ]