reflectionsofdestiny | Christmas presents... [RP scene: DR continuity]

Entry tags:

Christmas presents... [RP scene: DR continuity]

While in many worlds, this is the time for festivals celebrating the rebirth of the year, calling forth the sun again, remembering ancient traditions and ancient myths... there's no sign of any of that here.

It's Xeha's laboratory. A crisp, clean place, though one with the odd sign of human personality stamped on it. Photographs and a toddler's plushie with a missing eye sit on a desk alongside any number of notes and a tablet computer. Plenty of work seems to have been going on around here: things produced, things trialled. A familiar black coat and a white labcoat hang together on a stand.

More important than all that at the moment, though, is something currently set up in a side room. A forcefield of soft red light screens it from the rest of the world, and the walls seem to be crossed with lasers.

An ornate blade set on a simple stand, with equipment around it.

Its creator's waiting just outside the doorway.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's a relief for Xeha, too, to see that Braig's unharmed. Calibrating such an intense light flow for a heart like that had been difficult. Precise. But, ultimately, necessary to pick up all the details needed.
This is not a time to dwell in the light or the dark alone, given what they seek to create.

"Very good. I'm going to intensify this flow for a short period - it may be uncomfortable, but nothing worse."

And he does just that.

In front of them, the blade starts to glow.

"Sure thing."

It's odd, really. Mentally, he's all but fretting himself silly, but physically? Physically it's more like he's simply a little too warm, or sitting a little too close to a fire. Nothing he can't handle, and so he does the mental equivalent of sitting on the part of himself that's trying to worry itself to death.

Besides, the blade is actually starting to do something, and that's more interesting than just about anything else, at this point.

It's faint. Just a shimmer, just a hint - just a suggestion that something is being stored within it, some kind of connection is being made. But in a darkened room like this, that faint and growing glow is enough for a thin smile to cross Xeha's lips.

"The impression's taking. A little longer and I think we'll be able to switch to the darkness imprint."

A subject which, if he's honest with himself, he's more than a little worried about. He's spent so long trying to avoid working with the dark more than he has to - and this is one of those subjects for which he's had to.
(And it's felt too easy to do so.)

The fact that the blade is doing something it's supposed to be doing is more than enough for Braig, and he can't keep from grinning slightly as he nods at the comment. He doesn't have anything to actually say, but if he can weather the light this well he'll have absolutely nothing to fear from the darkness. It's an old friend, by now, and he can handle a little more of the same as far as he's concerned.

For now, however, he simply waits, and watches.

The light flow grows, the blade's shimmering intensifies, and Xeha looks between the outputs on his equipment and the sights in front of him. Looking good.

"Switching in three - two - one."

He catches himself holding his breath as he flicks a switch. The pure glow flickers out of existence, to be replaced by what could only be its opposite, faint ethereal curls drifting away from the focused beam - a mutter and a little adjustment, and they're gone.

"This will take a little longer."

But not a second longer than he has to be around it for.

Braig won't lie. It's a relief to have the light switched over for darkness, even despite Xeha's displeasure. He knows the darkness, welcomes it as if it were an old friend and so this time being caught in the beam is comfortable. He'll wait as long as Xeha needs to now.

It's the least he can do and they have to imprint the darkness somehow.

It's a little more complex for Xeha to fine tune the darkness flow, and anxiety shows faintly on his face. Braig, he's sure, will be just fine during this stage. But even with the familiar black coat's protection, he's more than a little worried that some exposure is going to backfire, will start pulling at what lies beneath his heart.

The blade's glow is changing, now. Dark and light ripples: irregular at first, but settling into a smooth pulsing, up and down. Colours are starting to shine in the metal; a tight knot of light and darkness is forming by the pommel.

He realises what it is. His heart leaps, his pulse races.

"... the chain!"

He's taken every reasonable precaution, and for all that Braig is well aware of what lurks inside Xeha's heart, he's pretty sure that a little darkness probably won't have much of an effect. What's one drop, in what is likely already an ocean bounded around by light? He doesn't know to ask though, and even if he did, the various glows that are running through the blade are more than enough to keep his attention.

He can't help but grin at Xeha's surprised comment. He'd noticed the little knot of light and darkness, but up until Xeha had said something he hadn't really realized what it was.

"Heh. Now we're getting somewhere."

"We are, indeed."

Xeha's smiling, now: he checks between the blade, Braig, and his readouts with evident pride beginning to show. This is real. It's happening.

(And no-one's been hurt, he quietly thinks, before dismissing the thought.)

The light and dark pulses over the blade are becoming smoother still, blending into each other, making the blade itself look almost liquid: what has he made here? he wonders. Is it truly a keyblade of the light - and he's finding himself willing to use the word, now - one of the dark, something else, given whose influence was in its creation?

The chain, though: he's a little concerned, there. It doesn't seem to be settling down as easily. "Are we missing something?"

There's a moment of silence as Braig considers. Though he's seen more than a few keyblades in his time, he's not anything like an expert on them. They've got both the light and the darkness, so the only thing left is... well, he's not sure. Unless it reacts to intent as well, which is so far out of his realm of understanding as to be entirely incomprehensible. But well... there's one thing that might work, odd though the idea is.

"Ah, hang on. I wanna try something."

Braig takes a deep breath before very carefully moving his hands down the blade until one of his hands reaches the hilt. The blade's made, more-or-less, but it's not yet his, and really what better to claim a weapon than by making as if to use it; his fingers close around the hilt without a moment of hesitation, though he doesn't lift it off the floor. Instead, he rests his other hand along the shaft, very much as if he were holding it in his lap.

He's got no idea if it'll work, but it certainly feels right.

Edited 2012-12-23 17:46 (UTC)

"You-"

Xeha's momentary worried exclamation is cut short as he realises that Braig's impromptu movement isn't hurting the energy flow - a momentary ripple, but easy enough to compensate for.

In fact, it seems to - he can't quite believe it. It seems to be the right thing. The energies moving over the blade expand for a moment, and with a shimmer on the air not unlike a conventional keyblade summoning, clamp back down onto the weapon. It's solid again, now. Substantial, real. And the knotted scarf-like keychain - yes, he can call it that, now - speaks of whose heart was the catalyst for all this.

He cuts the darkness flow and just stares for a moment.

"... We did it. Braig, we've done it!"

For once in his life, Braig is honestly without words. He'd dreamed, yes, but the dream pales in comparison to reality.

He waits until Xeha cuts the flow of darkness, and then he carefully lifts it off the floor, testing the weight and heft of the blade now that it's real and solid under his hands. It suits him, even though he's not really much of blade user, and he can't say that he's surprised.

He doesn't find his voice in time to answer Xeha's comment, but he's very obviously over moon about the whole thing.

Edited 2012-12-23 21:14 (UTC)

A silent Braig says as much to Xeha as any words could have. He's quietly rejoicing, himself - this has worked. All that study, all those sleepless nights, all that worry: it's all paid off. How long has it been since a truly new keyblade was created? Before the wars, at least... but here, now - it's done. And it looks, to his eyes, perfect.

There'll be time for testing later. Time to make sure that what they've got here is truly functional, that it's not just some - replica. But for the moment, he shuts down the console - light flickering back on around the room, the grid on the floor fading - and steps over to his brother's side with a warm smile.

He's not sure what to say himself for the moment, either...

Maybe there isn't a need to say anything at the moment. Braig certainly doesn't seem to be up to saying much of anything at all as he finishes taking a few practice swings with it. Admittedly, he doesn't let it go, but that's mostly because it's still too new for him to want to let it disappear into other-space that Keyblades go when they aren't in use.

Eventually he manages to find his tongue again, although he's still nowhere near as talkative as he normally is.

"...Thanks."

"You're welcome," Xeha says. "I made a promise. Or the old man did, at least. It was time one of us kept it."

With that, he starts to unzip his coat, dropping it to the floor and stepping over it to pick up. Damn, it feels good to be out of that thing again, put aside his counterparts' mark of shame.

"I'll need to run a few tests, of course, at some point. But there's no rush. I'd suggest you just practice for a while."

Braig's never really seen the coat as a mark of shame, but even he has to admit it's nice to see Xeha out of it again. It's always a little weird, after all, given that he's far more used to seeing Xeha in other things.

The mention of tests is honest unsurprising. It's so new that of course there's going to need to be tests.

"You got it."

Stating the obvious, he might be, but better confirm the expectations early on. A present like this doesn't come without conditions - even if these are far more minor and manageable than those the old man would have given.

Xeha leads the way out, hanging the coat up as he goes. "I don't know about you, but I could use a rest," he says a little dryly. Some time off - yes, that sounds good. As much as he's loved every step of the blade's production, the idea of downtime has its appeal. Time to just think, spend time with other family and friends... get out of the laboratory.

Far more manageable indeed, for all that Braig knows nothing of what the other conditions might have been. Instead he nods, and lets his new blade vanish away.

(He does immediately resummon it just to prove to himself that he can, but after that he lets it disappear once again before following Xeha out of the lab.)

"Y'know, I think we've earned it after this."

Edited 2013-01-02 04:43 (UTC)

Heading out, back upstairs, he can't help but laugh a little, catching what Braig's doing out of the corner of his eye. "Indeed."

A little later, after a brief thought, he adds: "Are you expected anywhere any time soon? I was considering stopping somewhere to ... celebrate." He's smiling, here. The weight of the worlds off his shoulders.

It's no less than Braig would expect anyone else to do, and though he notes Xeha's laughter he doesn't comment on it. He can't think of anything that doesn't sound needlessly defensive, and so he focuses more on what Xeha's actually saying. It's more interesting anyway.

"I could find some time, if you're offering."

Xeha'd set enough time aside for things to go wrong, made sure that his daughter had a sitter for long enough, that a diversion's far from out of the question.

"Tifa's bar, perhaps?" he suggests, with a slight shrug.

"Sounds like a plan."

There's enough to celebrate here that a drink or two won't go amiss. Besides, it's not as if either of them will need to worry about vehicular transport afterwards. They may need to walk as opposed to simply take advantage of Braig's habit of teleporting, but that's really only of minor concern.

Smiling, he just reaches out: "A ride, then?" he asks, though he'd be greatly surprised if a quick journey down there wouldn't be an option.

"Sure thing."

There's not any problem with getting them there, and it's only a moment later that the familiar twist and pull of Braig's teleportation lands them outside the bar in question. Let the celebrations begin!

And still happily, he'll head on in, waving to whoever's behind the bar and head for his usual table.

"Anything you're after?" he asks, idly, not entirely judging his abilities to order something suitable by Braig's standards.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject