[center][h1][color=f26522]Bad Memories[/color][/h1][/center] [center][i]Starring Banjo & Kazooie’s [@Dawnrider], Pit’s [@Yankee], and Yuri’s [@Gentlemanvaultboy][/i] [b]Word Count: [/b] 1716 (+3) [/center] [hr][hr] Nico, at Nero’s demand, put the pedal to the metal and with surprising power the van jolted forward. It paid no mind to the uneven rocks it thundered over, but the same could not be said for its occupants. As the van lurched from side to side like a ship caught in a storm Yuri tried to keep hold of her senses as she held close to one of the front seats for security. It was hard, and after a few seconds she was shuttering from more than just the bumpy ride. Each jolt that shot through her body called up memories best left buried. Screams. The crunching of metal. The sickly scent of gasoline and unmoving shapes of people that used to be her family. She tried to readjust her hold, tried to keep the bumps to a minimum, and when she did Nico rolled over a particularly large rock and the jolt caused Yuri to lose her grip and be thrown backwards toward Pit. He was shorter than her, and doing a poor job of trying to stabilize himself with all six of his limbs spread out, but when Yuri pitched towards him the angel held his arms out to catch her and set her upright again. His mouth was moving, asking if she was alright, but— [hr] [i]—agony was spreading throughout his body, quickly eclipsing the worry and pure desperation that had filled him prior. His whole body, his whole [b]being[/b] was lit with pain. Fire coursed through his limbs and he struggled to reach out his hand. His vision was blurred from flames and tears, but still firmly fixed on the shape in front of him, a figure like a dark mirror. He kept his eyes open as best he could, even while shadows crept into the edge of his view - steadily growing larger. He wasn't free falling anymore, he was flying. And it was getting hard to focus on anything other than the intense anguish that radiated from his wings. He could feel each individual feather burn, the muscles and tendons being incinerated, and his very bones melting away. With every little piece of his wings burning up to ash and blowing away, he could feel his life force diminishing and he cried out. It hurt. [b]It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt[/b] but he had to hold on just long enough. It already felt like his wings had been burning forever, spreading the blaze through his back and into his brain, but it wasn't enough yet, [b]not yet[/b], just a little more—[/i] [hr] —Too much! Far too much. The world around Yuri came back into sharp focus. She glanced around, wide eyed and ashamed. The entire vision lasted no more than an instant, leaving only a phantom agony in wings she didn't even have. One more pain she had engraved upon her soul. One more despair she had no right to share. The moment that the angel had caught her, touched her, she had seen into a dark crevasse in his soul. She hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t something she could completely control. She had tried, really tried, to avoid it the whole trip. She had been very lucky up until now, but misery must call to misery and in her agitated state… He was saying something, asking about her, and she could only look down and shake her head before pulling back far too quickly for fear of seeing more of Pit’s worst moments. “I’m sorry,” she muttered as she stepped out of his grasp before another jolt sent her barrelling over. She bounced off the counter, real pain blooming in her chest this time, before spinning and tipping backwards toward the bear and bird. Banjo--thicker, broader, heavier, more dense than Pit--was better able to catch and stabilize the petite human girl, if only physically. He could do nothing to abate her negative empathic response as-- [hr] [i]--A grayscale vignette of still imagery depicted Banjo and Kazooie, shaped differently from their normal selves, leaving home off of an extensive hiatus to… enter the garage? And embark on a vehicular adventure? Pictured was an abridged retelling of an off-beat installment in the bear and bird’s lives that marked a stark departure from form where they seemingly appear to be enjoying themselves all the same... [i]trying[/i] to, anyway. Picture came into color and motion, albeit with film grain, artifacting, and crushed audio to match, with a dramatization of the aftermath… An indefinite period following the anticlimactic conclusion to what they now realized to be and could finally admit to themselves being a decidedly disappointing affair, Banjo had been trudging through the rain on a stormy evening along the trail leading back to their home, [url=https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/banjokazooie/images/8/8c/MagicWrench.png]Wrench[/url] in hand to limply toss into the industrial-sized waste box that sat overflowing outside their house with the accumulated refuse of irresponsible consumerism. Banjo had skipped checking the mail, as he had stopped doing some time ago, him and Kazooie having all but relinquished any hope of ever receiving the one letter they thought could save them from their now apparently depressive life’s circumstance. Rainwater dripped from Banjo’s fur and threads onto the hardwood floor as he entered his dwelling, unlit save for the fireplace he left burning, absent of means or mind to dry himself off. He hung his backpack like a doffed raincoat on the rack next to his bed, from which Kazooie emerged slowly to look upon her partner with a somber expression of concern as he haphazardly swept the unstable headboard shrine of defective consoles into a waiting cardboard box on the floor in a single, languid dragging motion. He proceeded to drag his bare feet to the center of the room where he dropped down half slumped into his chair, Kazooie tracking him for every step with the eyes of a sad dog. After a moment of staring absently into the crackling fire, at no point returning eye contact with his concerned partner, Banjo heaved a deflating sigh, and Kazooie likewise quietly hung her head. Normally, through good and ill alike, they would stick together, back to backpack. But normally, they were in better spirits, and for the first time, neither could think of a good reason to stay living, working, or hanging out together. Neither one of them had anything to say about it. Neither of them had to, for they both knew, always, what and how the other felt and thought. Where else would they go? What else would they do? What did they have left besides each other, now that their good name had ceased to mean anything? That much they had come to realize. Short of the conscious realization, they were questionably lucky to have no mirrors in their house, if only because it saved them failing to recognize themselves in their own reflections, and not liking what they see in them. Such an otherwise immaterial fact would bring them no solace in the face of the subjective truth that had well and truly set in for them: that they had officially, certifiably, with no conceivable recourse, or foreseeable opportunity for redemption, become… [b]has-beens[/b]. Life for them now, as they knew it, was as good as it was ever going to get for them again. Their time was over, and their legacy deemed worthless. The past had passed, and forlorn continuance, devoid of direction, purpose, or excitement, had become their new reality…[/i] [hr] ...A reality that Yuri found herself back in, the shaking of the van dying down as Nico took them farther and farther from the crater. She looked over her shoulder at the bear holding her steady, a look of despair mirroring what she had felt in that Glance plastered on her face. It was a despair she knew, though she hadn’t felt it in many, many years. She had seen so many visions of the end, violent and tragic and oh so painful that she had built up a slight resistance to it. What she had seen in the two of them, however, had been the pain of having to continue living after your life was over. It was not clear to her what in the vision had inspired such an intense feeling in the pair, but having shared in the despair she could tell it was no less deep than what she had gone through. [color=0aaaff]“Are you okay, Miss?”[/color] Banjo casually asked out of equal parts concern and courtesy, glancing down at the seemingly distressed woman, blissfully unaware that she had just seen him at his lowest, making her now one of only two in existence. “Thank you.” She said, standing on her own and leaning against Nico’s workbench. “I think I’ll be all right now. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t just for what she had seen, but for a misjudgement on her part. She had found the bird quite rude and had tried to avoid interacting with such a bold personality and the bear that she was attached to at the back, not mindful of anything they may have gone through. Soon after the tension of the ride was broken, and while Nico gave out about the awful effects of the rain and Nero pushed his way past to make for the shower Yuri turned back to look at her three backseat companions. She was ashamed of what she had let happen, but in a way she was also relieved. Whatever pain lay hidden in their hearts did not show in their faces, and did not bear out in their actions. Perhaps she had spent too long Glancing the dead. These three had moved far past those awful moments of their lives, something that the dead did not have the luxury of. So long as you were alive, you had the opportunity to get better. She tried smiling, even if she wasn’t that good at it. “You’re all very strong--” [color=f60000]“We know.”[/color] Kazooie offhandedly interrupted in snark concurrence, Yuri’s actual meaning similarly lost on her. Likewise, Pit tilted his head, confused at the obvious statement. Yuri paused, then let out a short laugh. “I suppose you would. Thank you, again. I really appreciate it.”