[The trip was forgotten the moment it ended with him laying on the bed. He's staring out at nothing again, watching the world through distorted eyes and odd noises that shouldn't have been there, but were anyway.
He doesn't see a nice, cozy little bedroom for him to sleep in. He doesn't see Rin's shattered smiles or reassuring words as anyone - himself included - tried to make sense of this situation at all. And once the boy leaves, he spots a small, yellow bundle of fur crawling up under his arm once again, bright green eyes pleading for attention.
He moves his arm around the tiny form and the infant Lombax plops down on its posterior, moving into a position where it could better climb up the Elder, and settle itself on his head. But even though the child was there, he felt no warmth, or content purrs from the little kit. No, the room was as silent as it had been, and for some reason he can't move his arms to make sure the little infant doesn't somehow topple off.
The room shifted to something a little more stable, this time.
Bright desert sunlight and odd asymmetrical doo-dads littered the small room, making it near-impossible to see the walls. Though taken into account, he would have half a mind for not finding a better spot to put the little kit's crayon drawings other than the bedroom walls. Pictures of a tiny gold Lombax, and a taller white one holding hands under a smiling sun, and the Elder feels his heart wrench a little, knowing that he was doing good, but... it'd been his fault to begin with.
I don't have a father because of you.
Suddenly, it's not so peaceful.
Black tar drips down from the windows and leaks into the room, obscuring the carefree drawings and little mechanical whats-its, until nothing remained. A hand to his head revealed the absence of the young toddler as well, and that hand quickly goes down to be strapped upon a table, two sets of eyes leering down at the old Lombax.
Tachyon. And...
Ratchet?
It... was, but... he never remembered the other Lombax in such regal attire. And the smile he held now was not one of companionship. No, a bloodied knife was in the other hand, tilted slightly to the General's exposed organs and still-throbbing heart.
"Emperor, just give the word."
He couldn't speak. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he couldn't say how wrong wrong wrong this all wa--
"Oh, I think we've dragged this on well enough. If you would do the honours, son?"
action;
He doesn't see a nice, cozy little bedroom for him to sleep in. He doesn't see Rin's shattered smiles or reassuring words as anyone - himself included - tried to make sense of this situation at all. And once the boy leaves, he spots a small, yellow bundle of fur crawling up under his arm once again, bright green eyes pleading for attention.
He moves his arm around the tiny form and the infant Lombax plops down on its posterior, moving into a position where it could better climb up the Elder, and settle itself on his head. But even though the child was there, he felt no warmth, or content purrs from the little kit. No, the room was as silent as it had been, and for some reason he can't move his arms to make sure the little infant doesn't somehow topple off.
The room shifted to something a little more stable, this time.
Bright desert sunlight and odd asymmetrical doo-dads littered the small room, making it near-impossible to see the walls. Though taken into account, he would have half a mind for not finding a better spot to put the little kit's crayon drawings other than the bedroom walls. Pictures of a tiny gold Lombax, and a taller white one holding hands under a smiling sun, and the Elder feels his heart wrench a little, knowing that he was doing good, but... it'd been his fault to begin with.
I don't have a father because of you.
Suddenly, it's not so peaceful.
Black tar drips down from the windows and leaks into the room, obscuring the carefree drawings and little mechanical whats-its, until nothing remained. A hand to his head revealed the absence of the young toddler as well, and that hand quickly goes down to be strapped upon a table, two sets of eyes leering down at the old Lombax.
Tachyon. And...
Ratchet?
It... was, but... he never remembered the other Lombax in such regal attire. And the smile he held now was not one of companionship. No, a bloodied knife was in the other hand, tilted slightly to the General's exposed organs and still-throbbing heart.
"Emperor, just give the word."
He couldn't speak. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he couldn't say how wrong wrong wrong this all wa--
"Oh, I think we've dragged this on well enough. If you would do the honours, son?"
His eyes widened.
"Gladly, Emperor Tachyon."
The knife comes down.
And that scream wasn't just in his mind.]