As soon as his full consciousness started to rise high enough for him to not only wake up but feel himself waking up, know he was waking up, with the pain of the injury that had killed him leaving him with a bright, cool feeling in its absence (a new one - this was no memory), something not quite hope but anticipation flared in his chest.
Into the Sea -- Irikah... Irikah. Irikah is waiting here. If he could ask her for forgiveness to her face, after all these years, hopefully share pride in the path that their son's moved himself onto...
The flare solidifies and starts to coil, twist, and wind around itself, reliving all-at-once everything, everything, good and bad, that's happened since her death.
And then he opens his eyes, and things become strange. Jarringly so - at the sort of point where it doesn't disturb him - it simply leaves him... hanging in the air, so to speak. Neither grounded nor obviously plummeting to his death.
When he gets up, sees and parses his bearings...
Now he's not hanging. He still isn't plummeting, but - he's in freefall, mentally. With no bottom in sight.
He's not... he's not helped.
He's confused, if anything. And some part of him isn't sure if he really is disappointed by this fact, or of exactly why he would or wouldn't be disappointed. Is it really disappointment? Or is it a -- lapse in the validation of expectations? Would be fair enough...
Except that he's in a garden... of Earth plants, as far as he can distinguish. And not too far away is a similarly human-architecturally-built manor that he has not seen before.
Maybe he's not dead yet, after all...
Whatever that might mean for him, he takes a moment to rest on hands and knees in the garden, muttering (audibly, but to himself) a prayer of hope. Of rightness, in whatever's going on.]
B. Library.
[It's interesting - knowing that it is really over now. That there's no going back. He thought he'd made peace with death already, but...
Having crossed the threshold, so to speak? It's something no one can be entirely ready for. It's something no one's come back from and can't describe for anyone looking to become ready. It occurs to Thane to think - if there is an afterlife for everyone, is this the mental place everyone he's killed has entered into?
Either way, the sense of stillness bothers him. Animate creatures aren't meant to be idle.
And so to occupy himself, he's moved into taking a lay of his surroundings.
He's touring the premises. Quietly - not talking to anyone else, moving about as subtly and efficiently as he can.
Eventually, he happens on the library, and... pauses there.
It's enormous. Larger than the biggest he's seen across space. Stories high, countless shelves full of books with and author credits to some familiar but more thoroughly infamiliar names.
He takes a sample inventory. Steps up to one shelf, inspects some glossy embossed text. Runs a couple of fingers down a couple of spines.
And then steps back a moment, hands clasped behind his lower back. Looks up, takes in and tries to weigh the scope of the place.
He says, quietly, and without a smile or any touch of judgment or irony:]
Enticing.
[The thought that in whatever part of an eternity one spends here, they won't be quick to run out on tools for personal enrichment, that is.]
C. Wildcard.
[If you'd like another prompt, don't hesitate to either make a request or hit me with one of your own!]
Thane Krios | Mass Effect
[He knew that death wasn't going to be the end.
As soon as his full consciousness started to rise high enough for him to not only wake up but feel himself waking up, know he was waking up, with the pain of the injury that had killed him leaving him with a bright, cool feeling in its absence (a new one - this was no memory), something not quite hope but anticipation flared in his chest.
Into the Sea -- Irikah... Irikah. Irikah is waiting here. If he could ask her for forgiveness to her face, after all these years, hopefully share pride in the path that their son's moved himself onto...
The flare solidifies and starts to coil, twist, and wind around itself, reliving all-at-once everything, everything, good and bad, that's happened since her death.
And then he opens his eyes, and things become strange. Jarringly so - at the sort of point where it doesn't disturb him - it simply leaves him... hanging in the air, so to speak. Neither grounded nor obviously plummeting to his death.
When he gets up, sees and parses his bearings...
Now he's not hanging. He still isn't plummeting, but - he's in freefall, mentally. With no bottom in sight.
He's not... he's not helped.
He's confused, if anything. And some part of him isn't sure if he really is disappointed by this fact, or of exactly why he would or wouldn't be disappointed. Is it really disappointment? Or is it a -- lapse in the validation of expectations? Would be fair enough...
Except that he's in a garden... of Earth plants, as far as he can distinguish. And not too far away is a similarly human-architecturally-built manor that he has not seen before.
Maybe he's not dead yet, after all...
Whatever that might mean for him, he takes a moment to rest on hands and knees in the garden, muttering (audibly, but to himself) a prayer of hope. Of rightness, in whatever's going on.]
B. Library.
[It's interesting - knowing that it is really over now. That there's no going back. He thought he'd made peace with death already, but...
Having crossed the threshold, so to speak? It's something no one can be entirely ready for. It's something no one's come back from and can't describe for anyone looking to become ready. It occurs to Thane to think - if there is an afterlife for everyone, is this the mental place everyone he's killed has entered into?
Either way, the sense of stillness bothers him. Animate creatures aren't meant to be idle.
And so to occupy himself, he's moved into taking a lay of his surroundings.
He's touring the premises. Quietly - not talking to anyone else, moving about as subtly and efficiently as he can.
Eventually, he happens on the library, and... pauses there.
It's enormous. Larger than the biggest he's seen across space. Stories high, countless shelves full of books with and author credits to some familiar but more thoroughly infamiliar names.
He takes a sample inventory. Steps up to one shelf, inspects some glossy embossed text. Runs a couple of fingers down a couple of spines.
And then steps back a moment, hands clasped behind his lower back. Looks up, takes in and tries to weigh the scope of the place.
He says, quietly, and without a smile or any touch of judgment or irony:]
Enticing.
[The thought that in whatever part of an eternity one spends here, they won't be quick to run out on tools for personal enrichment, that is.]
C. Wildcard.
[If you'd like another prompt, don't hesitate to either make a request or hit me with one of your own!]