PRE FIC RANTINGS AND A SPRINKLE OF DISCLAIMER: Though
Xenosaga was painfully short, it got really, REALLY good near the end. Who
DIDN'T get chills during all those scenes involving Albedo? ^ ^ Oddly enough it
was Kirshwasser who tickled my fanfiction muse, during that creepy scene at the
end of The Song of Nephilim.
The title of the fic comes from a Vivaldi Opera called, I do belive, Scipione Maffei. It means 'a soul weighed down'.
Whee. Burgeouis Legalities apply here. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alma Oppressa
Izzy Girl "I want the me that's inside of you..." She never had a thought for herself until then, because it was always for him. The 'him' was interchangable, of course. It didn't matter who she was living for, only that her life was meaningless without his prescence. Once, Daddy would talk to her and tell her stories about his daughter- how she would laugh and skip and play just like a real girl and she was envious, for she could do none of these things. She could only stare ahead lifelessly with her glassy, mechanical eyes, unblinking in her obidence. Her steps were heavy and clumsy but her limbs were functional none the less. But then, of course, she was not made to be envious so instead she wished she could be like the other one- the one father loved, for she was destined for things like emotions and affections and joy. The other one slept, pale skin clad forever in the aquamarine glow of the preservation fluids, dark eyelashes brushing perfect, little girl cheeks. She wondered if the other's eyes were gold like hers. She wondered if the other's eyes were eternally pulled open against the world but never really seeing anything and for a moment, she nearly felt envious again, until she remembered that she was not programmed to do so and erased the erroneous thought from her mind. She never really lived and always wondered what it felt like to breathe like a real human, to feel the air press against her skin. She wondered what it would feel like- those subtle sensations when a careless hand brushed against her body, or pulled her hair out of her face. She never asked Daddy, because he would never understand. She was the perfect little doll, the perfect little puppet. She wasn't designed to wonder or want for such things and she realized this. She was only a place holder until the other was ready- until the other could take the place of Daddy's beloved Sakura... When Daddy was gone she was alone for a long time. She receeded into the depths of the melody of Nephilim, clawing herself into a cozy corner of oblivion that was personally hers. Here it was dark and quiet and lonely but she was the only one there and her thoughts enveloped the place. Here, the swing of things hinged on her very whims and for once in her existence she almost felt credible. For at least a span of time she could feel significant. Then he came. Slow movements and quiet footsteps coupled with the muffled cackle of a dieseased mind. He stumbled into her dream and cracked her vision wide open with a quick flick of his slender hand. He was only half grown, and in a way he was only half a person. Because of this, he reminded her of herself. Daddy had taken the other and without the other she would never be whole. His eye twitched, a confusing and unstable movement that caught her attention as he titled his head and seemed to watch her for a few moments. She was slumped over, stuffed into a corner with her limbs all sprawled out around her. She raised her face emotionlessly and two sets of souless eyes met. 'Alma Oppressa da sorte crudele
Pensa invan mitigare il dolore
Con amore, ch' è un altro dolor
Deh raccogli al pensiero le vele,
E se folle non sei, ti dia pena
La catena del piè, e non del cor.' She didn't understand the words but she swayed a bit at hearing them anyways, rising as if on entered command and reaching out her hand towards him. For her efforts she recieved only a swift and sharp slap to the face. Her face snapped to the side, but she felt nothing. "You don't feel anything." he said. She brought her head back to face him and opened her small mouth. No words came out and when she thought hard about it, she couldn't really rememeber speaking to anyone or anywheres except in her mind. "You want to feel it, don't you?" he said. More than anything, she cried, except that she wasn't really speaking. She wasn't sure she knew how, wasn't sure if she was even forming her lips into the proper shapes to produce those sounds. He smiled. "Very well then." She didn't understand it, but the next time he slapped her she felt the pain. It was shooting/burning/writhing/cutting/slicing sensations and she fell back. A cry fell from her bottom lip and shattered the silence about her and she grasped at her cheek with her strong and delicate hands, noting that if she were human it would bruise. Pain was a horrible feeling, but she loved it. She raised her eyes demurely, understanding instinctively that this would please him. He studied her with a raised eyebrow and what appeared to be mild interest, then laughed. It was a wrenching, tearing sound that made it seem like something very important inside of him was tearing open with each strangled noise thrown from his mouth. He leaned forwards and in one fluid, violent motion cupped her tiny chin in his calloused hand. His breath was hot anc spicy on her face and she was excited and interested in everything she heard and saw and felt. It was as if he had opened up an entirely new world to her. All around her that had once been blurred shadows, melting together and indescribable was now focused in sharp technicolor. She wanted to laugh as well, but the limiting of her program forbade her. "My dear, dear Kirshwasser..." his voice was a whisper- a dangerous, secret sound that she enjoyed. Kirshwasser... she rolled the title around in her mind, for Daddy had never named her and she had never had need to name herself. She took in all the details of this strange man who had broken her solitude- the sunken eyes, feathery-gray hair, dainty features, careless movements- and considered in the way computers do (quickly and efficiently) that he was her savior. She felt as if she had beeen rescued from the abyss and into her new life had been breathed. He had given her touch and named her and for that she loved him. (dite almeno all'idol mio la mia pena, e la mia brama) It wasn't until the twilight of her life that she met his other. She was tired then, her long lifetime of a few years devoted to the love of him having worn her through many bodies and many hardships. She was wearing a mask and felt the irony of her situation when she watched (through eyes not belonging to her) him swoop down in front of her with his eyes full of life. She felt moved by the way he looked at her with those wide, blue eyes. A slight quiver in his lips and such concern on his face that her artificial heart leapt with a feeling of validation. "Are you alright?" She understood the moment he swaggered through Nephilim's entrance with such purpose and the way he dropped all those self confident pretenses at the sight of her wearing that ridiculous mask that this was the part that he was missing. Perhaps it was the similarities in their face and mannerisms, or maybe it was just that he was so much a part of her that this new boy had become a part of her as well. "Are you alright?" Maybe she would have found her voice again and answered because she now loved him a little too, but she caught herself a moment too early. Her eyes travelled over her hand and traced the fake veins beneath her white palm. Her own hands were cinnamon-dark, as if she had been rolled in dirt, and her hair was gray and used like an old man's. She was wearing this beautiful body that wasn't her own, a body that he loved that held a person that he loved. She knew that no one would ever love her because Daddy didn't and he never could. (Dite, oimè, ditelo al fine: Deggio vivere o morir?. Sta mia vita in sul confine, pronta è già l'alma ad uscir.) She finally understood at the end of her life. She watched them all, her other and him and his other and she understood. She understood life and love and loss and emotion and everything, all those things reserved for the "real" humans. For the second time in her life (but could it really be called a life?) she wanted to laugh because she watched the game, observed the dance and finally the answers had come to a girl who was not even rightly alive. She remembered a story Daddy told her once. An old human tale, warped and revised over the years, about a little robot boy. A scientist had made him before android technology had been perfected and gone out of fashion, so he was primitive. Clunky and misbegotten with faulty interface and a horribly ugly body but the scientist had been lonely and wanted a son very badly. The robot boy wanted more than anything to please his creator and realized that nothing would please him more than the robot boy becoming a real boy. So he ran away from the laboratory and set out on a quest to understand humanity so that he could become a "real boy". When he finally learned everything he could about human nature his wish was granted by a creature from a high plane of existence and he became a true real boy, in flesh and blood. She had always wondered why Daddy had told her this story. Was it a tale that he had favoured as a child, or if he had meant for there to be some deeper meaning? Now that she understood, did it mean that she was human? If Daddy were alive, would he be proud? Would his expectations have been fufilled? Would he have hugged her like a daughter and kissed her on the forehead before he went to bed? She saw her answers in the eyes of the other. She had always believed that there was nothing more special about her 'sister' other than a more complicated program, but when the other bowed down teary-eyed with apologies on her lips she saw something flicker in the other's liquidy gaze. The other truly was different, a machine like the others yes, but life was not passing her by. It was not simply a backdrop to her bland functions, but instead a enviroment she thrived in. Life slowed down around her and she lived it as it acknowledged her reference. The other had a soul. She was "real". In her final moments, Kirshwasser raised her weak arm and chanced to ghost three fingers down her sister's face, noting that her Realian skin was the same as her own. She wanted to smile, or frown, or cry or at the very least call out to him, but all she could do was force out the few precious words residing in her heart: "We all wished we could be you..." Gelido in ogni vena
Scorrer mi sento il sangue
L'ombra del filgo... E N d . "Frailty, thy name is woman..." POST FIC REFLECTIONS: Are you confused? Excellent, that's what I was aiming for! And it didn't help that I spent the entire writing period of this fic listening to Malice Mizer. ^ ^
Anyways, for the REALLY lost of you:
she= Kirshwasser
other= MOMO
he= Albedo
he= Jr.
I wrote this fic strangely because I wanted it to have atmosphere. First of all, you'll notice the writing is, erm, strange. I was trying to make it almost childish because I thought it would communicate her thinking processes better. I used all the funky formatting above because I wanted to underscore the importance of others in Kirshwasser's life and the insignifigance of herself. MOMO is underlined because she was always the one Mizrahi was paying attention to, therefore was IMPORTANT. Albedo is in bold because he was strong, commandeering, controling and abusive. Jr. is in Italics because, although having very little influence in the grand scheme of things, his was a calming sort of influence. It wasn't violent and it validated her. Yes, I had fun writing this. _____________________________ Translastions (everything here is Vivaldi stuff. I'm going through a Vivaldi stage) 'A soul weighed down by cruel fate in vain thinks of lessening it's grief with love, which is another grief Collect your thoughts, and if you are not foolish then let your pain come from chains round your feet, not your heart.' (at least tell my beloved of my suffering, and my longing) (tell me, alas, tell me at least, must I live or die? My life stands on the brink, my soul is already prepared to depart) I feel my blood like ice
coursing through every vein
The shade of my lfieless...
_____________________________ And, of course, 'I want the me that's inside of you' and the Shakespeare quote 'Fraility, thy name is woman!' were taken straight from the game. _______________________________ *sincerely
Jenn Sparky Young
aka Izzy Girl
aka Cephied Variable
[email protected]
ff.n ID# 12217 (Izzy Girl)
fp.n ID# 12217 (Cephied Variable)
The title of the fic comes from a Vivaldi Opera called, I do belive, Scipione Maffei. It means 'a soul weighed down'.
Whee. Burgeouis Legalities apply here. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alma Oppressa
Izzy Girl "I want the me that's inside of you..." She never had a thought for herself until then, because it was always for him. The 'him' was interchangable, of course. It didn't matter who she was living for, only that her life was meaningless without his prescence. Once, Daddy would talk to her and tell her stories about his daughter- how she would laugh and skip and play just like a real girl and she was envious, for she could do none of these things. She could only stare ahead lifelessly with her glassy, mechanical eyes, unblinking in her obidence. Her steps were heavy and clumsy but her limbs were functional none the less. But then, of course, she was not made to be envious so instead she wished she could be like the other one- the one father loved, for she was destined for things like emotions and affections and joy. The other one slept, pale skin clad forever in the aquamarine glow of the preservation fluids, dark eyelashes brushing perfect, little girl cheeks. She wondered if the other's eyes were gold like hers. She wondered if the other's eyes were eternally pulled open against the world but never really seeing anything and for a moment, she nearly felt envious again, until she remembered that she was not programmed to do so and erased the erroneous thought from her mind. She never really lived and always wondered what it felt like to breathe like a real human, to feel the air press against her skin. She wondered what it would feel like- those subtle sensations when a careless hand brushed against her body, or pulled her hair out of her face. She never asked Daddy, because he would never understand. She was the perfect little doll, the perfect little puppet. She wasn't designed to wonder or want for such things and she realized this. She was only a place holder until the other was ready- until the other could take the place of Daddy's beloved Sakura... When Daddy was gone she was alone for a long time. She receeded into the depths of the melody of Nephilim, clawing herself into a cozy corner of oblivion that was personally hers. Here it was dark and quiet and lonely but she was the only one there and her thoughts enveloped the place. Here, the swing of things hinged on her very whims and for once in her existence she almost felt credible. For at least a span of time she could feel significant. Then he came. Slow movements and quiet footsteps coupled with the muffled cackle of a dieseased mind. He stumbled into her dream and cracked her vision wide open with a quick flick of his slender hand. He was only half grown, and in a way he was only half a person. Because of this, he reminded her of herself. Daddy had taken the other and without the other she would never be whole. His eye twitched, a confusing and unstable movement that caught her attention as he titled his head and seemed to watch her for a few moments. She was slumped over, stuffed into a corner with her limbs all sprawled out around her. She raised her face emotionlessly and two sets of souless eyes met. 'Alma Oppressa da sorte crudele
Pensa invan mitigare il dolore
Con amore, ch' è un altro dolor
Deh raccogli al pensiero le vele,
E se folle non sei, ti dia pena
La catena del piè, e non del cor.' She didn't understand the words but she swayed a bit at hearing them anyways, rising as if on entered command and reaching out her hand towards him. For her efforts she recieved only a swift and sharp slap to the face. Her face snapped to the side, but she felt nothing. "You don't feel anything." he said. She brought her head back to face him and opened her small mouth. No words came out and when she thought hard about it, she couldn't really rememeber speaking to anyone or anywheres except in her mind. "You want to feel it, don't you?" he said. More than anything, she cried, except that she wasn't really speaking. She wasn't sure she knew how, wasn't sure if she was even forming her lips into the proper shapes to produce those sounds. He smiled. "Very well then." She didn't understand it, but the next time he slapped her she felt the pain. It was shooting/burning/writhing/cutting/slicing sensations and she fell back. A cry fell from her bottom lip and shattered the silence about her and she grasped at her cheek with her strong and delicate hands, noting that if she were human it would bruise. Pain was a horrible feeling, but she loved it. She raised her eyes demurely, understanding instinctively that this would please him. He studied her with a raised eyebrow and what appeared to be mild interest, then laughed. It was a wrenching, tearing sound that made it seem like something very important inside of him was tearing open with each strangled noise thrown from his mouth. He leaned forwards and in one fluid, violent motion cupped her tiny chin in his calloused hand. His breath was hot anc spicy on her face and she was excited and interested in everything she heard and saw and felt. It was as if he had opened up an entirely new world to her. All around her that had once been blurred shadows, melting together and indescribable was now focused in sharp technicolor. She wanted to laugh as well, but the limiting of her program forbade her. "My dear, dear Kirshwasser..." his voice was a whisper- a dangerous, secret sound that she enjoyed. Kirshwasser... she rolled the title around in her mind, for Daddy had never named her and she had never had need to name herself. She took in all the details of this strange man who had broken her solitude- the sunken eyes, feathery-gray hair, dainty features, careless movements- and considered in the way computers do (quickly and efficiently) that he was her savior. She felt as if she had beeen rescued from the abyss and into her new life had been breathed. He had given her touch and named her and for that she loved him. (dite almeno all'idol mio la mia pena, e la mia brama) It wasn't until the twilight of her life that she met his other. She was tired then, her long lifetime of a few years devoted to the love of him having worn her through many bodies and many hardships. She was wearing a mask and felt the irony of her situation when she watched (through eyes not belonging to her) him swoop down in front of her with his eyes full of life. She felt moved by the way he looked at her with those wide, blue eyes. A slight quiver in his lips and such concern on his face that her artificial heart leapt with a feeling of validation. "Are you alright?" She understood the moment he swaggered through Nephilim's entrance with such purpose and the way he dropped all those self confident pretenses at the sight of her wearing that ridiculous mask that this was the part that he was missing. Perhaps it was the similarities in their face and mannerisms, or maybe it was just that he was so much a part of her that this new boy had become a part of her as well. "Are you alright?" Maybe she would have found her voice again and answered because she now loved him a little too, but she caught herself a moment too early. Her eyes travelled over her hand and traced the fake veins beneath her white palm. Her own hands were cinnamon-dark, as if she had been rolled in dirt, and her hair was gray and used like an old man's. She was wearing this beautiful body that wasn't her own, a body that he loved that held a person that he loved. She knew that no one would ever love her because Daddy didn't and he never could. (Dite, oimè, ditelo al fine: Deggio vivere o morir?. Sta mia vita in sul confine, pronta è già l'alma ad uscir.) She finally understood at the end of her life. She watched them all, her other and him and his other and she understood. She understood life and love and loss and emotion and everything, all those things reserved for the "real" humans. For the second time in her life (but could it really be called a life?) she wanted to laugh because she watched the game, observed the dance and finally the answers had come to a girl who was not even rightly alive. She remembered a story Daddy told her once. An old human tale, warped and revised over the years, about a little robot boy. A scientist had made him before android technology had been perfected and gone out of fashion, so he was primitive. Clunky and misbegotten with faulty interface and a horribly ugly body but the scientist had been lonely and wanted a son very badly. The robot boy wanted more than anything to please his creator and realized that nothing would please him more than the robot boy becoming a real boy. So he ran away from the laboratory and set out on a quest to understand humanity so that he could become a "real boy". When he finally learned everything he could about human nature his wish was granted by a creature from a high plane of existence and he became a true real boy, in flesh and blood. She had always wondered why Daddy had told her this story. Was it a tale that he had favoured as a child, or if he had meant for there to be some deeper meaning? Now that she understood, did it mean that she was human? If Daddy were alive, would he be proud? Would his expectations have been fufilled? Would he have hugged her like a daughter and kissed her on the forehead before he went to bed? She saw her answers in the eyes of the other. She had always believed that there was nothing more special about her 'sister' other than a more complicated program, but when the other bowed down teary-eyed with apologies on her lips she saw something flicker in the other's liquidy gaze. The other truly was different, a machine like the others yes, but life was not passing her by. It was not simply a backdrop to her bland functions, but instead a enviroment she thrived in. Life slowed down around her and she lived it as it acknowledged her reference. The other had a soul. She was "real". In her final moments, Kirshwasser raised her weak arm and chanced to ghost three fingers down her sister's face, noting that her Realian skin was the same as her own. She wanted to smile, or frown, or cry or at the very least call out to him, but all she could do was force out the few precious words residing in her heart: "We all wished we could be you..." Gelido in ogni vena
Scorrer mi sento il sangue
L'ombra del filgo... E N d . "Frailty, thy name is woman..." POST FIC REFLECTIONS: Are you confused? Excellent, that's what I was aiming for! And it didn't help that I spent the entire writing period of this fic listening to Malice Mizer. ^ ^
Anyways, for the REALLY lost of you:
she= Kirshwasser
other= MOMO
he= Albedo
he= Jr.
I wrote this fic strangely because I wanted it to have atmosphere. First of all, you'll notice the writing is, erm, strange. I was trying to make it almost childish because I thought it would communicate her thinking processes better. I used all the funky formatting above because I wanted to underscore the importance of others in Kirshwasser's life and the insignifigance of herself. MOMO is underlined because she was always the one Mizrahi was paying attention to, therefore was IMPORTANT. Albedo is in bold because he was strong, commandeering, controling and abusive. Jr. is in Italics because, although having very little influence in the grand scheme of things, his was a calming sort of influence. It wasn't violent and it validated her. Yes, I had fun writing this. _____________________________ Translastions (everything here is Vivaldi stuff. I'm going through a Vivaldi stage) 'A soul weighed down by cruel fate in vain thinks of lessening it's grief with love, which is another grief Collect your thoughts, and if you are not foolish then let your pain come from chains round your feet, not your heart.' (at least tell my beloved of my suffering, and my longing) (tell me, alas, tell me at least, must I live or die? My life stands on the brink, my soul is already prepared to depart) I feel my blood like ice
coursing through every vein
The shade of my lfieless...
_____________________________ And, of course, 'I want the me that's inside of you' and the Shakespeare quote 'Fraility, thy name is woman!' were taken straight from the game. _______________________________ *sincerely
Jenn Sparky Young
aka Izzy Girl
aka Cephied Variable
[email protected]
ff.n ID# 12217 (Izzy Girl)
fp.n ID# 12217 (Cephied Variable)