Contrary Natures [Mene/Sparrow]

Most things were forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through was now simply something of the distant past. Humanity was caught up in their everyday lives that events of the past were no longer in orbit within their minds. There were simply too many things one had to think about during the course of the day, too many new things one has to learn. But still, no matter how much time had passed, no matter what had taken place in the interim, there were some things one would never assign to oblivion, memories one could never rub away. They remained alongside a being forever, a remnant of the former life. Tears, idle tears, were something of which he knew not; tears from the depths of some divine despair, for whilst having experienced sorrow in perhaps its greatest form, oddments of abandonment and resentment, he had yet to truly regret. Long since having been moulded into one who refused to love anything for the fear of losing everything, he had long since buried the notion of affection deeply within him, restraining himself, restricting himself from the simple complexity of a free heart. And, ultimately, perhaps that had been what cause the fact that he was here, not alongside those he once held dear. Virtue was lifeless and of no value, life yet to reveal any form of beauty it possessed.

Droll thing life was, that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose, the most one could hope from it being knowledge of oneself, a crop of inextinguishable pains. Strange as it seemed, he was grateful for all those dark years, in spite of, in retrospect, seeming akin only to a long, bitter prayer, only answered upon severing all existing ties with that which he once knew, voluntary or not. There was no second left spare to regret; regret was counterproductive. It was looking back on things that could never be changed, questioning things of which would never be answered. Why was it that he'd been thinking lately about a such things? Friendship that sought only to fall apart with time, with distance, the misunderstanding of youth, the severed bonds once strengthened by acknowledgement alone. Why now did he find it within himself to hold remorse for years gone by? It was pointless to think how those years gone by could have been put to better use, for he could hardly have put them to worse. There was no recovering them now. He could grieve endlessly for the loss of time and for the damage done therein, and yet there would be no change. It was worthless to even throw consideration to times long since passed, he knew that. Why exactly his mind insisted on it, he would never know.

He had always prevented himself from indulging within the sorrow of mankind, protected himself ever laying eyes, or rather eye, upon it. He refused to desire to crumble in death as a pose to rot, refused to want to be trapped within an immobile prison of stone as a pose to being reduced to an immaterial shell. He refused entirely to feel even the slightest fear, anxiety, only revealing his true colours to the one he was willing to relinquish his heart to. Within each moment spent with her, the rule book of his universe was rewritten. He couldn't breathe without her, without Eponine, though he had quickly found that breath was of little consequence when compared to even a second spent within her presence, spent staring into those vibrant blue hues upon her face. But if there was one thing he hated above all about her, corny as it might sound, it was when she cried. It was a notion that wielded the ability to completely undo him, prompt him to discard everything he was simply with the urge to be of comfort to her. Perhaps that was half the reason why he had been driven to leave her there in that house, with Clementine and Teuiec. Did he have no right to be angered, though, by the notion that she had withheld crucial information from him? That he would be completely fine with the fact that she was a fucking stripper? It was all just a mess as of current, that was the basic bottom line.

His singular operational iris blankly surveyed the terrain below his feet, surveying the blades of greenery with a faked interest, pacing aimlessly. There was no form of destination in mind, far too caught within his thoughts to take note of direction, to consider navigation of any form. Momentarily, he wondered how exactly he would've turned out under a different family name, without his sister, without the fuckup of a father they had. Though, he promptly dismissed the thought; there was no use dwelling upon what could, perhaps even what should, have been. What mattered was the situation at hand. Eponine. God, what was he to do with her? She didn't know what the hell she was doing for a job, nevermind anything else. How could she appear so innocent, and yet hold such a disgrace without uttering a word of it? Why had he not thought to inquire? He was an damn fool... But he loved her. Somehow, while such an excuse might have been appropriate for most other men, he questioned it, its meaning, the truth behind it. She was beyond lovable... Though did he wield the capability of truly loving, having cast the notion aside long before even knowing of her existence? What was he supposed to do..? Was he supposed to trail after her and mimic a lost puppy with the faintest hope of a home? Was he supposed to allow her to come to him? Was he supposed to abandon the proclaimed love and bury it beneath the ground? He didn't know. But he loved her regardless, and wasn't it humanity that stated love conquered all?

God knows how the hell he got in the orchard, though wrapped within his thoughts, a deep huff left the man. Without considering whether or not anyone was within the area, he allowed his frame to slump on his back, dragging his hands down his facials in annoyance. "Fucking hell..." he mumbled incoherently, paying no mind to the abruptly darkening skies. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to talk to his bitch of a boss, whom also happened to be the employer of the feminine? Hell if she'd listen. She was too caught up in believing herself to be the sexiest piece of shit on earth, and while she didn't exactly look like she'd been pulled out a cow's ass, he liked to think that she did. However, his thoughts were dismissed upon feeling the faint beginnings of rain droplets falling upon him, prompting only more frustration from the man. Was there not a moment of peace to be offered? Paying no mind to the abrupt nature of the weather change, he forced himself to pick his frame back upright and keep walking, though promptly halted by the sight of a woman. His singular operational iris narrowed, observing her carefully for a moment, her behaviour. Everything seemed... Brighter within her presence. And not in an emotional way, though physically; colours seemed more vibrant, foliage seemed to flourish... Rolling his shoulder blades in a prompt dismissal of the odd thought, he took another hushed step towards the woman, tipping his head slightly on one side, making no effort to hide his dangerously inquisitive curiosity. "Ma'am?" he questioned, the hushed nature of the surroundings pierced by his sharp words, considering extending a hand to give her a light nudge. Though, upon zoning his single eye upon her facials. Fuck, that looks almost like... His breath abruptly caught in his throat, backpedalling the step he had taken previously, near enough stumbling away from her. "... D-Del?" The world blackened once again, everything came crashing down on him. This was his Delilah. This was his sister. Here. After all these years, she was here.

 

W O R D S
1346

T A G
@delilahhenson played by Insight.

N O T E S
God I'm so friggin sorry that this is so late </3

M U S E

Go To Hell, The Story Left Untold.