Fragment's Story

"I do not currently require any service, thank you." the man said softly to Fedelia when she asked. He blinked slowly at the elf from under the brim of his hat, his illuminated eye flickering mischievously. Something had to be done about this young journalist's self-aggrandizing antagonism. Someone was liable to get hurt. He weight several options for trying to draw the Myles' attention away from his assignment and onto himself, where his aggression would be wasted. Gauging his behavior up until this point, he decided the following comment would suffice.

Responding as calmly to Myles' comment as he had before, he simply said. "You are not very smart, are you?"

The young man's eyes narrowed for a moment. He was not overtly surprised that his subtle overtures to avoid such base conflict had been completely wasted. This type of behavior was something he could tell he was going to have a problem with in the future. A pity he wouldn't be able to retain such information. With a dejected sigh, the young man closed his eyes slowly.

As he did so, the power in the bar would cut out for a moment, plunging the room into absolute darkness for a split second. Just as suddenly as it had cut out, the power came back, lights snapping back into life and various cash registers and appliances beeping in protest as the rebooted. As soon as the lights snapped back on, the young man was gone, only a cool breeze left in his place...

^ rather, did that

A cool wind would blow into Gambit's bar, and with it, a sullen looking young man. He was dressed rather stand-offish, toting a black biker's jacket with dark grey khaki cargo pants. He wore a lowly drawn newsboy cap pulled tightly over his dark brown waves. It was hard to get a direct look at his face since his gaze was cast downward, but those who did might not the strange ultraviolet light his right eye seemed to glow with every now and again.

With silent, determined strides, the young man walked towards the bar and took a seat next to the young woman on the laptop, leaning forward on the counter and pressing his face into clasped hands. He made no initiative to make an order of any kind, nor acknowledge the bar maid. He simply sat furtively staring off into space...

A cool wind would blow into Gambit's bar, and with it, a sullen looking young man. He was dressed rather stand-offish, toting a black biker's jacket with dark grey khaki cargo pants. He wore a lowly drawn newsboy cap pulled tightly over his dark brown waves. It was hard to get a direct look at his face since his gaze was cast downward, but those who did might not the strange ultraviolet light his right eye seemed to glow with every now and again.

With silent, determined strides, the young man walked towards the bar and took a seat at the far right end of the bar, leaning forward on the counter and pressing his face into clasped hands. He made no initiative to make an order of any kind, nor acknowledge the automated service. He simply sat furtively staring off into space...

The heretofore silent young man at the bar turned slightly to regard the new woman entering the bar, peering at her with hollow ultraviolet eyes for a moment, his face stolid and calm. Normally it was not his penchant for taking interest in people in the bar, but no one he had met there yet had done to him what she had just done. She had made him remember something, which simultaneously notified him to the fact that there may have been other things he'd forgotten. He was aware of what he was, and vaguely had an idea of who he'd been, but beyond that any introspection or self recognition was vague. Scattered.

Fragmented.

The woman looked relaxed, relieved to be in the bar. It was a behavioral pattern he had not seen before, at least not often enough to be considered normal. There would grow a schism between him and the object of his fascination, this girl. All at once, one might blink and realize that he was no longer at his seat at the bar but now sitting across from Ilyana at her table, looking directly at her and leaning in to inspect her closely. He was aware that this was a social faux pas, but he was also aware he was not necessarily an entity of logic at the moment, let alone a being concerned with social bearings. But above all else, his stalwart silence remained.

As soon as Ilyana's eyes left him, the young man would disappear again. The air around Ilyana would grow cold, and stale for a moment, before he manifested once more sitting directly next to her, mere inches away from the left side of her face. He would seem to sigh softly, a recognition and catharsis finally coursing through his being.

"I...knew...I...knew...you..." he said with some curiosity. The boy's face would be clearly visible now, the face of the first foul person to ever ruin her life. The one who had set her on this path of losing her soul to no one in particular, becoming a hollow, passionless woman of fear and paranoia. It was the face of Jules Restlin...but it was not the voice. Whoever this was, his voice was soft, unaggressive, soothing, even. His eyes did not glow with an acidic, bilious glare. but instead with a soft ultraviolet luminosity. His right arm twitched, and hesitated as if he meant to touch her, but thought better of it.

"No...I'm not..." the figure said sitting back slightly. He hunched forwards, clasping his hands together on his legs, staring off at the far end of the bar with his dimly glowing eyes. His mouth twisted into a frown, and he cocked his head to the side, gritting his teeth. "My name...was not gregory...and I know you Ilyana Maric. I hurt you. Tortured you...we went to hell together, on a train fueled by the death of an innocent boy..." the young man said, his eyes flickering to Timothy for a moment. The boy looked similar to the one he'd mentioned.

His form would flicker for a moment, as if he were on a reel of film that had just been nudged as it fed through a projector. "I remember that...I had locked away empathy, compassion...love. Friendship. I remember that too. I remember lots of things...and I had no regrets. But that me isn't me anymore. I'm...separate now. Somehow. I'm...I don't know. I'm something else. Actually, I know what I am..."

Whatever this incarnation of Jules was, it turned back to face Ilyana, a grave look of regret and sadness worn on his face.

"I am...sorry."

"I...I...uh..." the young man faltered, shaking his head and bending the light around him as he did so. He flickered and disappeared then re-manifested all in the breadth of a second. When he reappeared, he looked to be in pain, gritting his teeth and gripping the seat tightly. When he next spoke, many of his words were spoken frantically, some sentences spoken all at once, some quieter than others.

"Sorry I tricked you? I'm sorry that I hurt you...hurt you so so many Sorry that any of this happened SORRY I LIED! so many times and sorry you had to meet me, sorry for myself, everyone...sorry you hate me I'M SO SORRY! PLEASE DON'T I'm sorry that I made you murder a boy...HATE ME! I'm sorry for...I'm sorry for..."

Jules, or whatever he was, took a deep breath, focusing inwards and closing his eyes. He exhaled slowly and spoke softly, as a single luminescent tear rolled down his face and dropped onto the seat between them, where it continued to glow.

"Everything..."

The tear would be ice cold to the touch, and as she pulled her finger away it would begin to tingle slightly, and the urge to weep might arise in her as well. "What?! How can you say that?!" the figure shouted, turning to face her again. His blank eyes glowed softly still, though his face was twisted into an anguished snarl. "I ruined you! I made you regret living! Look at you! Where is your camera, even? Why aren't you taking pictures of me?! If you won't forgive me than at least be angry at me! Let me know you're still capable of feeling something, Ilyana!" he shouted, quite loudly at the expense of all the other patrons present. The air in the room would grow a tiny bit colder as he did so, and his form would flicker and shift slightly.

"You have to feel something towards me...something I can understand and accept...otherwise...I don't know..." he said, growing slightly reclusive once more. Tears were rolling down his face freely now, rivulets actually, so much so that his face looked to have long glowing lines painted on it, dripping almost like a leaky faucet.

"But you don't belong in Hell!" the figured roared. He went to slam his fist on the table, and when it would have made contact, it slipped straight through with a slight hissing sound. Immediately, cowed into silence, the figure clutched the phantasmal hand out of Ilyana's sight and turned away from her, growing silent for a time. It was almost a minute before he spoke again.

"Maybe you think you do...because I convinced you that you deserved it. Or maybe you just hate yourself that much. Or maybe you do belong in hell for reasons I don't know...the point is...Ilyana...that I dragged you there, unknowingly. You're a...good person. At heart. I could always see that. Maybe that's why I hated you so much. That's why I probably hated everyone so much, because even the lowliest child-sucking vampire might still have some good in him, some ability to love or empathize with another even on a fleeting level."

The figure took a deep breath and sat up a little bit straighter, but still did not look at Ilyana.

"No, I'm not going to try and make you feel sorry for me. I don't deserve that. But to answer you're question...I'm sorry now...because I actually can be. I can feel that way. For once in my life-" the young man hesitated, and let out a slow breath...

"The irony is astounding..." he muttered to himself.

[color=teal]"But..." the figure said, his form flickering again slightly. His entire body blinked, and he whirled around facing Ilyana again, the tears completely gone from his face, the expression placid again. "...I'm scared. And..." he looked to the side for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"And I don't know how to get his forgiveness. I don't know that I could even try. I don't know a lot of things and it scares me." he said. There was no sort of naive quality nor timidness in his voice. Only honesty and a pleading sense of guidance. Indeed, the figure seemed to have become very attached to Ilyana at this point, as if she were his only anchor back to a life he'd once had, and a life he needed to make amends for.

"And you need to understand something...when I...when we...well...this is complicated. I think I know what I am, but I can't be sure. Back before you had met him...us...me...Jules. Back before you had met Jules he was one whole spirit, with the ability to feel regret and pity and compassion, even though I...didn't want to. I fought it. I was good at fighting it. But then there came a time when Jules had to give up our...his...parts of their soul to survive...those parts would become trapped, while the rest would go free." the figure said, pausing to see if Ilyana was following.

"Jules saw that as an opportunity to rid himself of me...of...well...all of me. He gave up his ability to love, care, regret, and nurture. Little pieces at a time, thousands of shards of his soul. Eventually...he didn't have to do that any more, and I...we...I was trapped like I said. But then those who had me trapped didn't need me any more and all of us...those emotions and pieces of his soul...got released. We found each other, and we made me and...I'm not Jules. I'm what Jules should have always been. But I'm just a shade, an echo. Wishful thinking. I'm a motherfucking ghost of potentials and I can't do shit about nothing." Jules said, beginning to draw an angry glare towa

...glare towards the ceiling.

"Because I'm still part of my soul, Ilyana! I l know what we think! But you're missing the point!" he said, clutching his head, causing his outline to shift rapidly. "I know I couldn't control what happened. That I, being what I am, shouldn't have to be regretful about the evil I did. But that logic only works if you think of me...us...I don't even know, it feels right to say 'me'. I'm still Jules Restlin, I am every bit of me that feels regret for what I've done. I don't have a choice whether or not I feel it, because the rest of me..." he said, flinging his finger in some arbitrary direction as if to point out the rest of Jules' malicious persona, "...is emotionally and spiritually incapable of that. I do feel. I do regret and I do love. But now that these parts of me have sentience, a will, I'm only tortured knowing that everything evil about me is out who know's where doing despicable, vile things." he breathed, almost panting at this point.

"But if that's what it takes for me to feel some shred, so miniscule fuck of a damn about the evil that I do, then I'll take it. I have to." he said, flopping back into his chair.

The fragment resisted the urge to put on a hurt face. So that was it then, he was just a fragment after all, a wandering spirit of no real importance. How broken was this woman that she still felt the need to pursue his vile counterpart when he was right here, willing to regret and love and feel? No, he shook his head, that was just his emotional dogma speaking. Her curiosity was well founded.

"I...don't know what the rest of me is doing. Ever since I became able to think for myself I haven't been able to...know...what I'm doing. I'm steadily growing apart from myself...I'm not sure how I feel about that..." he said wistfully, playing with the brim of his cap. "...but I can assure you, the rest of me is sure as hell alive and probably up to something awful. Somewhere." he said, looking placidly off towards the far wall.

"To feel? I always could feel things, Ilyana. Rage, Hate, Greed, Joy, Resentment. The rest of me is as driven by emotion as...this part of me. But I guess...if you mean what it feels like to care..." he reached out with a spectral hand towards Ilyana's face, "...I can show you."

If Ilyana touched his spectral form, she would, similar to when she touched the tear, feel boundless emotion. Love, compassion, joy, regret, a drive for justice and a thirst for understanding. Except this time there would be no resisting it, no suppressing the feelings that would wash through her. All the things she'd been aching to feel for decades would slam into her, if only for a fleeting instant during which she was in contact with him.

"It's easier when you have friends." Jules said, offering her a wan, apologetic smile. He began to close his eyes slowly, and when they were fully shut, the lights in the bar would flicker off for a fraction of a second. When they snapped back on, the apparition would be gone, but the still luminescent teardrops would remain scattered on the table and chair where he had been sitting.

A cool, placating breeze would seem to carry faint words, "Call me, if you need me...I will come, if I can...."

He knew one when he saw one. It was really hard not to considering he was one too. Well...maybe that was a tad melodramatic. There were A LOT of ghosts in Gambit's bar. Not all of them had a strong enough personality to manifest in any way though, even on the ethereal plane as he could. Still, there was potential company about, and he wasn't about to let it slip through his fingers like everything else did (that was a little ghost humor).

The Fragment looked at Memphis with his bleary, ultraviolet eyes and monotone face, cap drawn heavily over his brow. He then proceeded to raise an unseen eyebrow at the...strange being that sauntered over to the mourning shade, and get all up in his face. What was up with that?

"Dude, get out of his face. Dude's pining." the fragment snapped, reaching for a beer bottle he wished was there.