[The hat falls, Manwol blinks -- barely registering it. It falls like Mandricardo fell, in this memory that she's now seeing.
The only reason she recognizes that it's him is that white streak in his hair -- everything else practically feels like a different person -- and his own feelings. Failure. Grief. That slow sickening realization of what your life meant, right at the end. ...Is this why Mandricardo thinks so little of himself? Hates himself? She thought it was funny before -- a little like seeing a depressed teenager, like all children are at that age. Maybe at some point Manwol forgot how old Mandricardo truly is, and how long all the lives he's lived are.
...Manwol picks up the hat, but she doesn't set it back on his head yet.]
...Did they bury you after?
[did he get a memorial? a grave? was he truly forgotten? that seems too much, but Manwol knows that life is never truly kind.]
[To live, and die again. He is already dead. This existence is similar to a ghost, and even then, what is he? Just a copy? A perception among many? But the memories are real.]
[He just looks down at the hat in her hands, grimly, before he gathers his thoughts for an answer.]
I don't think so. I was an enemy, after all, and I wasn't a Christian. So...
[He wouldn't be surprised if they just left him to rot.]
[A nod - he's looking at the hat, but he's still distant, thinking over the memory.]
The Throne of Heroes is a place that stores many figures of legends and history. I think...I got swept up in it, because the horse I stole when I was alive had a name, and belonged to one of Charlemagne's paladins. I don't...think I got in because of my own victories, or anything. I was just...there because of association.
It's damp, cold. Your hands are numb from the ropes around your wrist, and your ribs ache from the repeated beatings. All you want to do is lie here and never get up again, but then that voice you know so well echoes around the prison, and you know that you have to get up and look at your failure right in the face.
He looks pristine. Unaffected. He tells you that he's received the award he's always wanted. He thanks you for leading him to your home, where your family and your comrades were. All of the elderly, young, and infirm. People who are all dead thanks to your idiocy, your foolishness for thinking that... the person standing in front of you could ever be...
I'll kill you. I'll kill you. No matter what --
You can't hear anything over the rage and terror in your heart. You need to kill him, before you lose anyone else. They were your people and you chose them over him, and now this is how it all ends.
You barely register the hands on your arms as they drag you out after him, to the courtyard where the gallows is set up. Where the others are similarly bound, waiting their turn for the scaffold. These are all your men, but the man facing you is your brother, the person you love most in the world showing you his warmest smile, as if everything's going to be okay. And then he's dead, and then the rest of them are dead too, and you know that it's all because of you. Because of the decisions you made and that person you trusted in.
You did this. Everyone you bled for and protected are all gone. You led your people, and then you let them down so thoroughly. No one's left, except you. Nothing's left, except your life, oh so mercifully granted.
This isn't the first time Manwol's seen this memory, but it hurts just the same. ...Maybe even more considering what she just said. ...Nothing alike, huh?]
[.............The pain feels like an ice cold needle, in your chest.]
[That kind of failure...of having people rely on you, only to be led into a trap with them and have them hurt and destroyed because of you...its so raw, so horrible, that his hands tremble at his sides.]
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[who put the dunce hat on mandy.... this is Rude, manwol didn't even think of it first]
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Well, I put it on myself. I just...felt like I have to.
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Can I at least put a flower in it?
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It doesn't have a hole for that, I think...?
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[let her check the top..... he's wearing a cone isn't he.... maybe there's a hole...]
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[He bends a little too much, however, and the hat falls. It has no hole, sadly!]
[Manwol will get a memory for her troubles.]
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The only reason she recognizes that it's him is that white streak in his hair -- everything else practically feels like a different person -- and his own feelings. Failure. Grief. That slow sickening realization of what your life meant, right at the end. ...Is this why Mandricardo thinks so little of himself? Hates himself? She thought it was funny before -- a little like seeing a depressed teenager, like all children are at that age. Maybe at some point Manwol forgot how old Mandricardo truly is, and how long all the lives he's lived are.
...Manwol picks up the hat, but she doesn't set it back on his head yet.]
...Did they bury you after?
[did he get a memorial? a grave? was he truly forgotten? that seems too much, but Manwol knows that life is never truly kind.]
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[To live, and die again. He is already dead. This existence is similar to a ghost, and even then, what is he? Just a copy? A perception among many? But the memories are real.]
[He just looks down at the hat in her hands, grimly, before he gathers his thoughts for an answer.]
I don't think so. I was an enemy, after all, and I wasn't a Christian. So...
[He wouldn't be surprised if they just left him to rot.]
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Manwol's still holding the hat, but she won't resist if Mandricardo takes it back.]
...Where did you end up? The Throne of Heroes?
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The Throne of Heroes is a place that stores many figures of legends and history. I think...I got swept up in it, because the horse I stole when I was alive had a name, and belonged to one of Charlemagne's paladins. I don't...think I got in because of my own victories, or anything. I was just...there because of association.
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...People are remembered for their failures as much as they are for their successes. Some of them are famous because of that.
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[He looks bitter.]
Would you want to be remembered for your failures, Manwol?
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...I probably would be, if people still remembered. Though I had a very different life compared to yours.
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...How so?
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This isn't the first time Manwol's seen this memory, but it hurts just the same. ...Maybe even more considering what she just said. ...Nothing alike, huh?]
hey yaywon stabs you THIS IS SAD
[That kind of failure...of having people rely on you, only to be led into a trap with them and have them hurt and destroyed because of you...its so raw, so horrible, that his hands tremble at his sides.]
[He bites down on his lip, shaking his head.]
I'm...so sorry, Manwol.