baby bird fly

[raw_angel_power]

Who: Pit and anyone.
What: Heartbroken angels mourn dead mothers.
Where: Around campus.
When: Time spanning the 27th of August to the 8th of September.
Warnings: REALLY REALLY SAD STUFF. Death.

There was an angel ghosting about campus lately. A wretched and hollow sight. He's drained of all pallor and his eyes are like unpolished Christmas ornaments that had been boxed up for a decade in the attic and put out on hasty display with the thick coat of dust drying out the lively sheen that rightfully belonged to it. There's no skip in his step. He drifts like a lost sheet in the wind without willing its direction.

He stops at one of his favorite haunts, the door labeled TD-11. Stock still he stands there, staring at the room inside though he could not actually see it. Besides, the contents he was imagining to be inside were packed up and long gone by now. He knew that. Pit's mouth hangs open for an extended pause, and out comes the wispiest sounding croak of a voice.

"Mom..."

She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. The same hard-hitting reality pounded inside his skull again and again like a tribal drumbeat.

How could she be? She was here before! Vibrant and alive with dancing movement- the last mental snapshot he had of her surviving. Animated at one mnemonic junction of his mind when he left her, devoid of life and spirit when he found her again at another. At that critical moment he kept waiting breathlessly for her to open her eyes again, to spring out of Byrne's arms with a wink and confess that she'd been joking the entire time, and he wouldn't care at all about how tasteless and cruel that kind of joke was as long as it would bring her back and they could laugh, just laugh it off and he would get the chance to hear that again too, but...

her laugh was so far away now.

Pit was sure he'd never cried so hard in his life once the grueling battles were over and he could finally crumple up in the solitude of his room and feel like his hot tears were melting him into a sad puddle of feathers and bones that would never get up again. For a long time, he didn't. He fell asleep where he lay and woke the next morning with an unforgivably heavy head and lay there some more, not caring that the sun was out when his heart felt like winter, not caring that it was noon, not caring that noon turned into twilight, not caring that he didn't get dinner because no amount of eating could ever fill the crushing emptiness he felt then.

He didn't get the chance to grieve at the time when the world around him spun with danger, so he had to pick his feet up like a good soldier and press forward. Back then, he'd been so wrapped up in his heartbreak that the only way he could break the spell was to vow with a seething, angry determination that on his watch, he'd make sure no one else had to lose their mother that day.

Was this... what death felt like? Losing someone you loved? Why was it so brutal? He was no stranger to the concept of death but up until now it was nothing more than a sad notion only the mortal world below him experienced. Any of his fellow troops up in the clouds could be revived with a pinch of divine magic. Gods and goddesses alike could be resurrected like new. All these immortals had their heads stuck up in the clouds, and it suddenly made Pit simmer with private rage- how could they turn a blind eye and let people suffer like this? Why was death even an acceptable condition? Cycle of nature, balance of life, that didn't matter: what was the POINT? Magnus had lost his own child to Underworld monsters. Countless people lost their entire families during the wars waged over the false prospect of a wish concocted by Hades, the lying, cheating, stealing god of the very subject he hated more than anything right now. All around him it reeked of death and destruction, but that was hardly even a teaspoon's worth of a taste. Now he knew. Now he knew what they must have been feeling.

How did they do it? How did humans ever do it? How could they keep going after they'd been eaten alive from the inside out by their own sorrow? How? How? It wasn't fair that they had to.

In troubled times like these, he'd ask Palutena to shed some light on the subject. But she wasn't here. He was unable to go home right now. As his adopted mother, Nabooru had taken him under her wing and served as a compass for him in her stead, so he never really felt lost after that. Whenever he came to a crossroads and needed to make difficult decisions, she was always there to offer guidance and motherly wisdom. And now, at a time when he needed her guidance more than ever, she couldn't be there. Not even for a hug.

Like a brittle snag that cracked under a weight too big for it to support, he collapsed to the floor and broke down in a fit of sobbing, feeling strayed and overwhelmed in a way he'd never dealt with in all his years, clutching the jewel she had so playfully tucked behind his ear that day close to his heart.

"I... I need you but... there's no you anymore..."

---

CONDENSED VERSION: Nabooru, his adopted mother, had perished in the midst of fighting robots on the 26th. Pit is the opposite of his bright and upbeat self and spends his time alone and too downtrodden to do much of anything, sitting on a bench or a couch or a chair or anywhere looking vacant, maybe crying, wandering aimlessly, or holed up in his room, for example. YOUR OPTIONS ARE NUMEROUS. There's... definitely something wrong, and anyone is definitely capable of crossing his path. The later on in the allotted days, the less likely he is to be teary and mournful- he might even be more resentful than sad and find solace in beating up sandbags instead.

Comments

Waaahhhh - Let's say the 30th

[rivalsolarbeam]

Perhaps selfishly, Bulba had spent the first few days following the predicaments making sure those within his immediate circle were all right. That Jolt was Jolt. That nothing had happened to Char or Nyx. That Vinnie was fine. That Green was safe and that he could at least stand on his own two feet. Those sorts of things, though many of them were emotionally pending to be sure.

Whatever he was doing, it took him a bit longer to spread himself back out and account for the rest of his friends. It wasn't something he felt badly for until he noticed there was a distinct lack of angel bouncing around like there should have been. When he angel was finally spotted it was one of the moments out on a bench, looking very much like... Bulba couldn't put his finger on the exact emotion he was searching for, but it was one he knew. One that drove him straight to Pit's side, to take a seat, to gently clasp his hand against the angel's shoulder.

"...Pit?"

[raw_angel_power]

His touch broke his fragile state like glass and he erupted into a tearful wail, scrambling to cling to Bulba's shirt and huddle against him like he were taking shelter from some internal storm. His tightened throat wouldn't allow any words to push through, just sounds.

[rivalsolarbeam]

Oh god he has broken him. In the instant the transition happened, Bulba was stunned, almost afraid he had done something completely awful. It was like a punch to the heart and he was frantic in that he had no idea what was going on.

The answers could come later. For now he'd just be the shelter Pit sought, shifting and carefully wrapping his arms around the angel to hold him close against his chest in a tight embrace. There weren't any words, just a sudden calming sweetness in the air surrounding them as the Venusaur tried to ease the trembles of his shaking friend.

Sept. 5

[operatingbuddy]

R.O.B. had his mind weighed down in thought for several weeks now, ever since his incident. Now that he had his body back, he could resume his patrols of the grounds. It was comforting not to have to worry about a curfew or a robotic militia monitoring them, but the air was still heavy. He could perceive it in the behaviour of those around him.

And so when he found Pit sitting alone at a bench, hovering in a terrible funk, the robot decided to try and talk with him. He hovered up to the bench. "Hello, Pit."

[raw_angel_power]

"Hi, R.O.B.," was Pit's listless reply. His posture was slumped and his face worn with the bouts of crying that gripped him lately. Right now, he was all cried out.

Sept. 3

[givemeyouranswerdo]

Things were finally going back to a state of normalcy, a fact Daisy was relieved for. There was still the matter of getting back at Bowser for insulting her on his private broadcast feed, not to mention holding Peach hostage AGAIN, but revenge was a dish best served cold. She could properly plan her vengeance.

What stopped her now was seeing her friend Pit, alone, devoid of his usual good cheer and upbeat nature. Something had to be seriously wrong for him to look so forlorn. She tried to break the ice, hopping up onto the bench with him. "Coin for your thoughts?"

Re: Sept. 3

[pitticus]

"Keep the change," he replied halfheartedly, not even removing his eyes from his lap to set them on his company. "I'll spare them for you no charge. It's just..." His eyes grew an extra layer of moisture. Before it could get hard to speak, he quickly added, "Someone I loved very much is gone now."

depressing benchtimes on the 4th

[will_be_god]

Cyrus was known for wandering aimlessly as well, though in his travels he would at times come across lost souls. Though it had been some time, but it didn't hurt matters any that Cyrus knew what Pit had lost.

He approached the young winged man in a direct line, as if drawn magnetically. "That which has been lost from the beginning of time. We were born, we live, we die, we are forgotten, and so on. Those sorrows of the world...they continue, leaving disaster in their wake...yet if one could end that cycle, if one could put an end to strife... Feel no sorrow, young one. There is only peace in what I offer."

[raw_angel_power]

It was as though he could sift through his mind and recover the pith of his vexations. Pit was astonished and rose from his personal turmoil to stare at Cyrus with wide eyes.

Even though he usually didn't take Cyrus's pontificating seriously and normally couldn't even maintain focus for more than a few sentences, the angel was intent on finding answers to the problems he couldn't solve on his own, and Cyrus did seem to know a lot as the ethics teacher. In his state of utter loss, he wasn't opposed to taking him up on food for thought.

He let his sights sink back down to the ground. "Whose idea was it to invent death, anyway?"

CRIES. Let's say the 2nd. (hope this is okay!)

[thereyouare]

Vivian hadn't had a chance to experience winter's harsh bite since her rebirth, though she wouldn't really know much about that. The closest she had come to having her skin pinched by frost was when opening a freezer door or huddled in the cold, air-conditioned chambers that were buried beneath the academy's floors. It was a sensation to which she had no real interest, knowing that her body was simply reacting to the change in temperature from what she had studied. The shivering, the stiff fingers, the clacking of teeth; all uncontrollable but otherwise not a very profound subject.

Yet when she found herself approaching the angel fixed to his seat, it wasn't his wings that drew her in or even the thick locks of chestnut hair that looked soft to the touch, but the shock wave of pain that rippled across her given flesh as if ten thousand freezer doors had all blown open at once and were aimed right in her direction. The stains on his face, the water that leaked from his eyes; it all drew her in with the gravity of its very existence.

She wasn't entirely paying attention to whether or not he was offering any thought to her and reached two open palms forward to press cool hands to his cheeks.

(sho is)

[raw_angel_power]

If question marks were verbally possible, one would have popped out of his mouth. Who was this, and what was she doing this for? Blue eyes searched her expression for the answer. As his sights lingered on her, he slowly started to feel recognition settle in, like he knew this person from somewhere. Vivian? The dutiful hall monitor? She seemed so different... Pit wasn't even completely sure she WAS Vivian.

the 29th.

[kuragekasa]

"Huuuh...?"

Well, not only was that a face he'd never seen before, but it was also a face in a very somber state. Clear recognized the sound of wailing anywhere, and when he heard the sobs echoing through the halls from far, his supernatural hearing and quick feet lead him here. This boy, he wore wings, likely to be costume wings, and he looked so eclectic. He looked like the type of person that he'd expect to be so upbeat, and yet... he seemed so upset.

Clear's lips squeezed together at the sight. How depressing was that? That was enough to wretch anyone's heart and make it pucker like lips to a lemon. It was painful to see and hear, and he wanted it to stop. He never liked seeing this sort of thing. All he wanted was happy, smiling faces.

Cheer him up. That's all he knew to do.

"Hello," he spoke up, stepping behind him and peering curiously at him through his gas mask. "Something is wrong, isn't it? What happened?" It must have been something terrible, given the way the poor person was reacting.

[raw_angel_power]

Being steeped in one of his more despairing modes of grieving, it was hard to admit to Clear his reason for being so obviously dejected. To prepare himself for speaking, he hiccuped, and turned around to see the owner of this unfamiliar voice, only to release a pathetic scream and jump right off the bench with a flap of his wings boosting him to the ground in front of it.

"Whoa!"

PROTIP: DON'T SNEAK UP ON SOMEONE WHILE YOU'RE WEARING A GASMASK.

"Oh, jeez! You scared the daylights out of me!" So much for having trouble speaking. "Is there a real reason you're wearing that?"

The 8th or so - I am so sorry I practically wrote a novel

[dothelokomotion]

Byrne barely knew Pit. He had absolutely no idea that the boy was so very close to Nabooru - her son for Goddesses' sake - until out of the blue she had introduced the two of them one day. At that point Byrne had no idea that Nabooru was going to die in cold blood like this - at the worst he figured she would go off and resume being a Sage, leave the two of them behind. But that wouldn't mean her death - not for a while. Not for several years. What did that mean for himself and Pit? Byrne would never think of the boy in any sort of familial manner, but they'd be united by their common bond with Nabooru. They'd put up with each other, he had supposed at the time. He could handle it. There were worse things than his lover having an adopted son. Pit was old enough to handle himself - he wasn't a baby that had to be cared for in the absence of a mother.

But all of that was hypothetical. All of that would have been the best case scenario. What had happened now was that Pit and Byrne - two completely different people - were united in the fact that a woman they both loved had been robbed from them.

While Pit might have handled all of this with sadness, Byrne didn't take the time to feel such a thing. He didn't want to stop and feel sadness because it was weak, unproductive... No, he couldn't feel sad because he was completely, utterly enraged. Eggman had ruthlessly killed her without a second thought, showed absolutely no remorse for his actions. (But how many times had Byrne done the same thing in the past? No, that wasn't even on his mind right now.) He deserved to pay. He deserved to suffer completely, to have a slow and painful death. Make him feel even the tiniest fraction of the internal pain that Byrne himself felt. And that was what his mind was focused on at the moment - it was easiest to simply hone in on that one thought like a bullet, drowning out anything else.

Because if he actually thought about it, then he'd have to realize that Nabooru was gone. He'd have to realize what that meant. And he didn't want to, because he didn't want to face his emotions. He never wanted to face them at all. It took him nearly a year and a half to admit to anyone even a modicum of the guilt he struggled with every day, and he had wanted her to hate him. Instead she loved him. Or at least that's what she had said.

He didn't want to be involved. The moment they had met, he had seen a stunningly attractive woman teaching a dance class, and he was intrigued but scared, as if he knew what this whole thing was going to evolve into. And it only got worse from there because he came to feel something for her, came to want to protect her, want to have her in his life. And then he finally realized he loved her. When was the last time he had loved anyone, be it romantically or platonically? A long, long time ago - so many years or even decades ago. He thought he had blocked that part off, shut it down so that it wouldn't happen again, but it did. He had feared that it would happen, tried to prevent it from happening, because he knew it would make him weak. He knew it would only bring pain in the end. But Nabooru had surpassed those walls he put up, worked her way into his cold heart so that he had someone to care about. Someone to protect. Someone else in this cruel world other than himself. Maybe it was his way of atoning for what he had done in his homeland, but perhaps forcing him to fall in love and then snatching her away was a trick by the Spirits or even the Goddesses to pay him back for his betrayal.

Well, are you happy then, Goddesses? Spirits? Haven't they toyed with Byrne enough?

It would have been better if he had been in her position. He didn't have loved ones depending on him. Nabooru would have grieved, but would have moved on. If he had gotten there sooner, it could have been him. Why couldn't it have been him? Maybe then he could have killed Eggman and stopped this whole mess. Or simply died right then and there, because in the back of his mind, he knew that's what he deserved. Behind the anger, that was truly what plagued him. Byrne didn't want to die, but... Nabooru had more to live for than he did.

After a few days of this concentrated anger, of the plotting of how he was going to kill Eggman, the rage subsided slightly. It would come in waves, of course. Kubler-Ross's stages of grief could switch around in any order, but it was mostly the "Anger" stage that Byrne experienced. However, after a little over a week, he was found on a day when he was simply more empty than anything. When he had tried to numb any sort of emotion that he felt about the whole situation, because that was easier than thinking about it.

Byrne had dared to venture outside. He needed to grab groceries, after all. Or something. Not that he felt much like eating. The only reason he did eat these days was to keep his strength up, to keep his training up so that he could successfully kill the one who took Nabooru from him. There was a cold, albeit empty stare affixed to his face as he tried not to focus on anything. But he couldn't help but notice the sad boy sitting on the bench. Pit.

Suddenly the emotions came flooding back in an instant - all of the pain, all of the sadness, the memories of that very day of when he had held the dying Nabooru in his arms, when both he and Pit watched her simply fade away... Byrne wanted to hate Pit. Part of him did. He wasn't her son. How did he even know her? He was just a nuisance. He wanted to hate him because now every time he looked at the boy, he would think of her. But then, when wasn't he thinking of her? He was trying not to right now, but there he was, and suddenly he was in grief again. A brief moment of sadness rather than anger - a sort of numb sadness that made him wordlessly take a seat next to Pit. Maybe the closest thing he could show in sympathy.

[pitticus]

He'd been finding himself sitting on this bench a lot lately. Maybe it was because of the balmy comfort of waning summertime, or the peaceful scenery of the courtyard that appealed to a part of his soul that needed it. Maybe it was because it was the perfect mix of solitude that was out in the open- a quiet space for him to deal with his inner turmoil that was out in the open, where anyone could stop by and offer their arm to him.

Byrne wasn't the type of person who seemed like he would. But Pit understood that no matter how gruff and standoffish he carried himself, he knew his hidden ache better than anyone else. There was some surprise at his taking a seat next to him, but he said nothing about it and sunk back down into his resentful gloom, but this time with an affinity for the man beside him linked to his heart, like a chain.

Wordlessly, he sat there, cycling backwards in his memories to the terror of that moment. He hung there stewing until he finally spoke up. "How are you holding up?" There was a distinct tone of defeat carried in his voice.

I'M FLEXIBLE a date that has not been taken yet also I hope lakes are okay I got an image in my head

[icequeen_aran]

In the days following the terrible fighting and tragedy that swept FDC, Samus spent her time patrolling around in the Power Suit. It seemed like a foolish idea, but it actually worked to great benefit. Any loose badniks didn't think twice about opposing someone that resembled one of their own. During the heat of the battle cases of mistaken identity inevitably (and painfully) happened. Samus bared it. Over time people learned the mysterious person in bright orange armor was on their side, and Samus said nothing to it. Let those of flesh and blood draw their own conclusions. They possessed an ability the badniks couldn't ever hope to learn; compassion and understanding.

The implications behind the fighting were dire, but ultimately she had hoped it would result in just another pointless, recoverable scuffle. Smash Academy was always very resilient like that, but there was a terrible whisper on the wind, something beeped and booped by any lingering forces...

Something she wished she didn't have to confirm on her own. Her patrol today took her around the outskirts of campus by the lake. The weather was changing, cooling. Gray, somber clouds hung over the sky and promised rain. Rain would be of no consequence in her suit. To the lone, winged figure standing aimlessly in the grass, it would be. It wasn't typical behavior of him, this was obvious.

She approached Pit's side like a ghost, for how clunky and cumbersome the armor otherwise looked. She peeled off the helmet and tucked it under her arm, following his eyes out to the lake. For a while it was silent and still, until a breeze disturbed the reflection and the clouds shattered like glass. Whatever was bothering him wasn't out there.

They are definitely okay! EHEHEHE

[pitticus]

No, it was inside, an invisible demon that hadn't stopped snacking on his heart since the war had ended. The clouds he stared vacantly out at complemented his expression and the deep sadness exuding from those eyes. Strangely enough, he didn't shift them over to check his new company.

The breeze that disturbed the lake's reflection whispered past the two figures standing solemnly by the lake.

"When you're really depressed and feel like... you'll never be happy again." His voice was uncharacteristically sober. "What do you do?"

the 1st? I'm sorry for being horrible

[caincarnate]

Unfortunately for Pit, TD-11 was only two doors down from Naoya's dorm. It was the sound of sobbing that drew him at first, but once the computer recluse ventured out to see where it was coming from? Oh, it was like Christmas. If he celebrated Christmas.

It wasn't all that difficult for him to suss out the cause of Pit's tears. The teacher that used to reside in that room was killed in the warzone of the city, after all. So, they must have been close - how cute. An angel, actually feeling emotion for some fallen mortal.

Naoya leaned against the doorframe of his room and watched with a snide, sick smile on his face, drinking the sight in. Just this once he wanted to thank that blighted God above for his immortal memory, so he could remember this for all of eternity.

[raw_angel_power]

Pit didn't even look up from his knees to see who was coming. Not yet, anyway. He drained out a few muffled whines before choosing to see who he was making a scene in front of. He blinked and wiped his face across his knee so the world didn't look like it was underwater.

Oh. The last person he wanted to see right now. Scowling, he dropped his head in his lap so he wouldn't have to look at his smug face.

"What do you want?" he demanded to know through his waterlogged voice. He could probably guess Naoya's purpose here was nothing short of mocking his sadness, so he was prepared to get kicked while he was down.

A DAY AT A TIME

[raced_god]

As the news rolled in, it wasn't hard to see why Pit is upset. Falcon really only knew Nabooru in passing, wasn't close with her, and was desensitized enough to this kind of thing to just sort of feel nothing about it.

What concerned him, then, was Pit. He didn't know much about the extent of the angel's relationship with her, but it was difficult to stand by and do nothing while he was clearly distressed.

Falcon happened upon him on the main quad, and after a few long moments of consideration, decided to sit next to him.

What he didn't do was say anything--the Captain didn't find it necessary. If Pit wanted to talk, he would.

[raw_angel_power]

A lot of people had been sitting next to him whenever he took a break from dragging his heels or taking it out on Sandbag, and Pit knew that he wasn't making much effort to hide his feelings. Not that he was ever any good at it. Pit was a people-person, so he was open to the gestures that friends and strangers alike offered him while he was down in the dumps.

He wasn't openly weeping, just reflecting dismally, legs balled up so his feet were perched on the wooden seat. He was a lot like a burnt-out lightbulb. He could tell Falcon could tell he wasn't himself, that he was gloomy about something hard-hitting.

"You probably know about what happened," he guessed, staring at his own knees with disinterest.

3rd, common room

[monotreme_101]

Knuckles was terrible at grieving. He sucked at it. He was the worst. The problem with being a primarily practical person and having a very solution oriented personality was that when a problem came up that was big, and terrible and absolutely unable to be solved? It was like hitting a wall he couldn't push through. Frustrating. His inability to accept death had seen him remain angry instead of sad this whole time. Where he should have been able to open up, express himself and start in a small way to heal? He was allowing it to swell and fester and grow under his skin.

No matter how strong he was, no matter how much he'd learned, no matter what? Nabooru was dead. And he couldn't fix it. There was no punching death, there was no outsmarting it. There was no fighting it and breaking it and knocking it down. It was the only true certainty in life, after all. It was bigger and badder than him, and he couldn't accept that.

However, he knew there was someone out there that needed whatever strength he COULD provide. He couldn't beat this but he could be there for everyone else who was in the same position. And no-one, by his estimation at least, would be feeling as helpless in all this as Pit. Nabooru's adoptive son.

Living off campus, he didn't have much need for the common rooms. But they were the first place he checked once he found Pit's room uninhabited. He saw the Angel there and entered quietly. Now that he was here, he felt bad for interrupting his friend's private thoughts with his presence.

"Hey, buddy... is.. uh. Is this an OK time to talk or...?"

[raw_angel_power]

It looked as though Pit had set up station at the surrounding couch area for a bit- the TV was on but set to a black screen, a few controllers and a remote sprawled out haphazardly across. A small bag of cheap vending machine cookies sat on the far side of the coffee table, the mouth gaping wide open and with almost every cookie left untouched- a weird sight to see when Pit was right next to it. The angel himself didn't sit at the couch but on the floor, and had been staring a miserable hole through the table at a rutilant gem before him. When Knuckles got his attention, he perked out of it immediately, somewhat startled. It looked like he had been crying.

"Oh! Yeah, have a seat." His sights escaped to another part of the room because what he'd been eyeing before easily reduced him to tears. It was still kind of embarrassing to cry so much in front of other people, especially someone like Knuckles, and he'd been doing it a lot. He had a feeling he would never hold it against him.

Sometime...outside on the benches.

[star_punched]

Mac had grieved before. It was, after all, now seven or so years. Maybe the memory was still fresh. But nowadays, the memory hadn't come up. He shared it with some people. Some people he trusted. Because that was how Mac handled things anymore. But a smile in front of it and suffer later. Preferably not in the eyes of another. See how that worked for him. He wanted to be the positive one, and just move on. Like a twist motor on a toy. Twist it, keep moving. He'd done enough crying after all. And life wasn't like that anymore. He had friends. Friends who were like family. He wasn't alone anymore. He fulfilled his dreams.

Friends who he was checking up on after the robotic mess that just happened.

That was when he found Pit when he was merely going from one place to another.

Pit. A friend of his since the beginning. He knew him well. Daresay...he loved him. He was a brother. If he ever really had one. To him, even as friendly as he was, that meant a lot.

Pit...was crying. Not like he'd seen from him. Ever. It was enough to have him drop everything, have his heart sink, and go to him. He didn't know what happened. He would know soon.

Just help him. There was something wrong enough to make Pit so upset. He sat right there next to him, ready to hear it. He never liked to pry but my gosh, he was too upset. It worried him a bit too much.

"Pit...Pit. Hey, buddy...Hey..."

[raw_angel_power]

Much like when he had seen Bulba, the sight of Mac evoked a great inundation of emotion, and he buried his face in his hands and leaned over to press his head against his shoulder for support as he was swept away. He hadn't been sobbing before, but he was now.