maskormenacelogs | [CLOSED] the creator had a master tape

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[CLOSED] the creator had a master tape

WHO: Kylo Ren and Woden
WHERE: De Chima 008
WHEN: Right now, baby
WHAT: Woden showed Ren his, so it's only fair Ren returns the favour.
WARNINGS: It's Kylo Ren. It's also Woden. Gore. And delving into secrets and memories, so DEFINITELY spoilers for WicDiv!

Kylo Ren was not a patient man, he never had been- but there was something very different about waiting for the last pieces of a plan to fall into place. It transformed impatience into something far more satisfying. Anticipation, he had learned, could be delicious.

It wasn't that he disliked Woden. Truthfully, he had enjoyed their conversation, and he was still oddly grateful for the experiences he had been granted- from the power and perspective of becoming a god (however briefly) to the strange music he'd introduced him to. No, he wasn't interested in destroying the man. But he was interested in his secrets. Ren understood masks and what they were for.

And so he waited for the bright, whirling light that would herald Woden's arrival from the comfort of his living room couch, entirely confident he wouldn't be waiting for long.

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Ren was correct, that he wouldn't be waiting. Woden was a prompt sort, eerie for someone who was supposedly a teen, but he was also a producer, someone who wheeled and dealed, and represented his own interests well enough. Prompt he could be, and Ren's own room lit up with a burst of a rainbow -- although it wasn't...

The Bifrost looked and felt different. It wasn't quite as deep, as unknowable. It was still a psychedelic swirl of rainbows and color, the sparkles were still true, but it didn't have the same weight. The same presence. Not without Woden's amped up powers. He stepped through it, and stood in his living room, before the portal closed behind him.

Woden had come prepared. He had a sneaking suspicion -- he'd mentioned it, hadn't he? Reading minds? He was tempted by the idea of seeing just how people had reacted to him, and he kept his mind on certain thoughts. You are of the Pantheon. You will be loved. You will be hated. In two years, you will die. The mantra was in his head, over and over. He needed to just stay on task.

"Kylo Ren," he greeted, and held out a metal-laced hand. "Feel good to be back?"

Well, now that was interesting- and not exactly unexpected. Ren stood to shake Woden's hand, a little distracted by the difference between this and the last time they'd met.

"As myself?" he smiled, the slight edge of bitterness impossible to miss. "It's more comfortable. Familiar. How are you finding the readjustment?"

"Emasculating," he said, with a wave of his hand, once their handshake was done. Woden spoke with his hands a lot, didn't he? At least it was one way to express himself without the aid of a face.

"I'm sure comfort is nice, right about now. After... the past few weeks. Not that I regret a moment of it. Do you?"

Ren had noticed that. Woden certainly didn't wear the mask because he wanted to be hidden. He wanted to be seen- but as something his face would not allow. Ren found it fascinating.

"Regret? No." He'd rather enjoyed it. And it had certainly been better than the alternative- sitting there on that couch, waiting, not certain if the Porter would ever return her gifts.

"As I told you. You have nothing to fear from me."

"So you said," he pointed out. Woden wasn't stupid. He -- he knew that there was a mystery to be unraveled with him. Batman had gotten so very close to ripping the mask off -- to peeling back the layers that kept him hidden from the rest of the world. The sort of thing that protected him, but also...birthed him into something else.

He knew that it wouldn't be the same, if he didn't have his mask -- his face now. He turned the helmet to look directly at Ren. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, but let's be honest, if there wasn't a little bit of fear here, this wouldn't be very fun, would it?"

He moved to the couch, slowly. "Mind if I sit?"

"A risk taker," he murmured, amused- and gestured to the couch freely. "Be my guest. It's been some time since anyone considered testing my abilities for their amusement. I'm almost flattered."

He sat, one ankle over one knee -- seemingly casual. "I've...been known to take some risks from time to time," the memory of -- no -- he concentrated on Ananke's speech. Nothing more.

He didn't need to think about the risks he took. Is taking. Constantly. That was unending, it seemed, but then again, he was a god. He had to take them. "I hope it's not presumptuous, to ask to see it. I don't want you to get the wrong impression."

He waited until Woden was settled and sat down across from him.

"My power?" he asked, lightly. "What is it you would like to see? Parlour tricks?"

He paused, watching his reflection in Woden's helmet.

"I owe you no less. Or shall we move to the main event."

"I don't need parlor tricks. That's for the easily amused," he said, his tone level, the vocoder kept his voice level. Still british, of course, that was something that couldn't be changed, but he always sounded digital -- like a robot more than a human. The level tone belied the nervous energy that ran through him.

You are of the pantheon, he repeated. That was going to work, right? It had to work. He wasn't sure if the man would be able to see his thoughts, but...just to be on the safe side, right?

"Why don't we get started?"

"You are afraid," he remarked- a low murmur. "Yes, I feel it. You fear me. But it excites you."

He leaned in, eyes steady on those reflected back at him in Woden's helmet.

"I will give you what you want. But you will need to open yourself to me. Without compliance, there will be pain. Shall we begin?"

"Very well," he said, and stilled.

How did he even open himself? Was it like the floodgates? Did he just... think that Kylo Ren was allowed? Would he be given these memories without a price? He severely doubted that, but he also didn't know quite what to expect. His hands on his thigh, he lowered his foot to the ground, and leaned forward.

"Go ahead." He was still afraid, that wouldn't change. Ren was imposing, in his own way. Certainly, Woden had his own presence, but it was nothing compared to his very real, very present power.

Ren didn't need much assistance being imposing- he was built like a wall and had very real, very dangerous powers- and the costuming helped. Never underestimate the power of a pair of black leather gloves. But while the gesture helped to focus his mind, he had to admit that part of the thrill of reaching out with his hand towards Woden's hidden face was the theatricality of it all. The way he could sense Woden's anticipation rising.

He breathed, closed his eyes, and pushed, sliding inside- just the surface, for now.

"I'm looking forward to seeing --"

Woden didn't get much further. The breath caught in his throat, and the thought -- Oh god -- crossed his mind. He may have made a very real, very clear mistake. You are of the Pantheon -- the thought crossed his mind, like a fleeting thing, a quick burst, and his thoughts turned to chase it.

Keep that in his mind. You are of the Pantheon, You will not be loved. You will be hated. You should be hated -- no, that was wrong. You will be loved, he repeated, and breathed in, and out. How would he even be able to see these memories?

The weight of Ren's presence was easy to place in his mind. That was the interesting thing. He could feel him, real and present, like a lead blanket over his mind.

"Breathe," Ren murmured, his tone low and soft, but a far cry from soothing. "You feel it. Yes, you do. I am there."

The fear was real- palpable- and Ren knew immediately that he had been right to imagine Woden as a creature almost built of lies. Only such a creature would fear exposure so much... and yet...

Did he desire to be seen? It seemed almost as if--

"Good. Now reach for me. What you want."

He did. He reached back at Ren, the words in his mind. "Óðr," he said, Kylo could feel the beat of his heart, the anticipation mixed with fear. The feeling of being out of control, the sweat that moved down the back of his neck, over his brow. The dryness in his throat, the heat of his suit, of his helmet.

The sharp intake of breath. "Show me Óðr," he repeated. The digitization of his voice made it sound so much stronger than it was, weak in his throat, almost a rasp.

His fingers shook. I like to watch, his mind helpfully supplied, a flash of memory -- women kissing -- one an import here, another firey red. The view of them real and present in his room. No, his mind helpfully redirected. Óðr.

While it hadn't been his intention to give Woden anything at all, he had been curious as to the extents of his abilities- could he press his thoughts into Woden's mind?

He pushed aside the memories of the women kissing each other carelessly- neither he nor Woden had any genuine interest in that. No, Woden's consuming hunger was for something else.

"Focus," he directed, coolly- and simply because he had nothing to lose in the attempt, he brought forward the surge of power and wild, released joy he had felt in his rebirth as Óðr and slammed it into Woden's head.

For a moment -- brief and real -- he could feel it. Ren's joy in his ascension, the white-hot fire of his passion and frenzy, the feeling of loss and having more all of the sudden, and --

His hands gripped his knees, his helmet tipped back, and he hissed, his breath caught in his throat as the white-hot fire of his joy spread down his shoulders, his back, and hit his fingers and toes. He felt it, intimately, his body arched and he wanted to beg him to stop, but he couldn't not without admitting defeat at Ren's hands, and the thought of not getting what he wanted and instead leaving empty handed made him feel like there was a rock in his stomach.

But the pain was too much, and he could feel that. He kept silent, at least, but through the pain he could only think of one thing: was this what it felt like? For him?

Now that. That, was interesting.
It was always interesting, what people turned to in their pain.

Him.

He let go of Óðr and chased that thought, plunging after it- the relief from the pain was more than likely going to be sufficient to make resistance impossible- if Woden could even sense what Ren was doing.

Him.

Woden's memories were a crash-course of searing light and what could only be called smoke, when the pixels of light seeped away from the form -- boyish, really -- and the memory turned away from just the brief glimpse of him.

He gasped, loud and sharp, he heaved gulps of air when the sweet relief from the pain came, and he could only focus on that, on breathing, on taking in as much as he could. His fingers dug into his knees, helmet bowed forward slightly, and Woden rasped in the helmet, sweaty and all-too hot. He wanted the helmet off, but no, he couldn't. Not like this. Not with someone around.

And the memory of him that Ren was finding was scattered, haphazard. Him. Him him him him himhimhimhimimimim --Mimir.

A head. A knife. An old woman. A boy. Brief succession. A phone conversation. -- He is quite...unsuitable. ...But there are other options to consider."

Other options. A knife.

Usually, Ren already knew the outlines of a lie or a secret, and the challenge lay in prying it out from its hiding place, breaking it open. But this was something completely new. The challenge here lay in piecing it all together.

It was fascinating.

"Too much too quickly," he murmured. "Your mind resists me. Let me try again."

But he didn't push Óðr forward again- he followed the scattered debris of Woden's secret. The old woman. Mimir.

"No," he murmured, but it was his lips, and no sound. Nothing came from his voice, but it was felt, all the same, token resistance. Woden didn't want this secret pried out, this was a secret and lie upon which the others laid, the foundation for everything else, and it was clear. Shaky, the rest of it, his identity, everything else, it rested on this.

But Kylo's knife cut deep, and true, and he couldn't resist. This was power like he hadn't felt, this was real power, not the token, tarnished power he had. This was real and vibrant, imposing. When faced with real, true power, Woden did what he always did. He buckled, well and true.

But this memory had little to do with the real Mimir -- It was dusty, sunlight outside, bored faces stared back at him, and pacing back and forth. "To understand the Pantheon, we must understand the origins," he said, and was that really his voice? Older than the rest of the Pantheon, he turned, and began pacing the other direction. It's not clear if this is a real or true memory, but there's truth to this.

"For example, let's look at the legend of Mimir, the rememberer. We don't have many examples of him in the context of the Pantheon, but... that does not mean that he cannot exist. There are theories that the members of the pantheon are chosen by compatibility, gestated from how they will manifest. There's nothing to say that he couldn't appear.

"So what's the story? Taken by the Vanir in the trade after the Aesir-Vanir war, he was beheaded and Returned to Woden, where the allfather used his magic to preserve his head. He whispered knowledge to the allfather, yes?"

Woden looked up, the faces weren't bored students, but the same face, all one face -- laced with circuits and his hair spiked up. Each one had a red line along their neck. They lifted an eyebrow, in unison, each one a movement that sent Woden stumbling back.

"No," he said again, and shook his head, this time. He tried to push Kylo out, but it was weak, ineffective, like his limbs had just woken up from a long sleep, unable to do more than weakly beat at the presence that kept slicing deeper.

Edited 2017-12-19 01:19 (UTC)

"You knew," Ren reminded him smoothly, sliding in further. Deeper. "You knew this would happen. Isn't this what you wanted?"

He delved through the thoughts, the memories, the disjointed imagery of hopes and fears effortlessly. Without focus of will, there was little Woden could do to deny him.

"I see you. Yes, I see you... so teach me."

"N -- No," he mouthed again, still soundless, while his mind whispered yes. Somewhere, Woden wanted the alcolades, the praise for what he was doing. Two years from the latest was far too long to wait before he would finish this all. He would be the one to last through all of it -- He would be the last one standing through it all.

But why was that?

Kylo's words resonated, somewhere deep. Who was he? "I doubt you thought of me as anything other than an academic," the words escaped with bitter resentment. A flash of heat, desire. He wanted her, clearly, but she wouldn't have him. Not like this, and not like -- who else she knew him as. He swiped the photograph from her, and looked down -- it was... a family? A woman, a baby, and...a man. Just a normal man. "But yes. Jon. He's at...a boarding school. He's gifted. Trouble, but gifted." A fleeting thought -- another rabbit hole, a machine -- large and lit from every corner. A whisper of parts, a whisper of words, and directions on how to build it. No, no, not that. "His mother left us when he was young. I raised him."

A knife. Cold, ancient metal in his hand. His heart beat fast, wickedly. A sickening knowledge slid through him.

This would be it.

"No turning back," Ren agreed softly, one monster to another- his words humming through Woden's mind as he followed that blade. The moment was here- this was the crux of it.

"Show me," he murmured, hypnotic and almost, oddly, soothing. "Show me what you did with the knife..."

A chill settled over him -- not like fear. It was a chill, like the stillness of a frozen tundra, a heaviness and a weight that settled over his shoulders, held him there, left him feeling still, obedient. His breaths slowed, soft and calm, the force of Kylo's presence enough to make him more pliable. Compliant.

"You have to know...I love you." something sharp and cold against his back, tucked into the line of his slacks. He reached back, and started to slide it out. In front of him was that by again, looking away, the lights on his own clothing were so similar to what Woden wore -- a blue sheen opposed to his technological green.

"Of course, I love you too." the boy replied, still facing away. Was it trust, was that annoyance in his voice? The weary promise of a teenager when his father was just a touch too overbearing. He started to walk away, but the blade slid free, and he -- Woden, no, not Woden -- David lifted the blade, ancient, old, sinew under his fingers wrapped tight around it, trembling.

"Good," he said, his voice didn't waver. He couldn't believe how still his voice was, how reassuring it seemed.

He put his hand over his mouth, he moved faster than he'd ever thought he could move. He reached out, and silenced his son -- unwilling to listen to his cries, his pain, pleas. He didn't want audible proof of his deed --

When he placed the knife to his son's neck, and slit his throat. The audible gasp when the air escaped the lesion, as his own son died in front of him, his body going limp, before he pressed up against him, and he sunk to the ground with him -- and the knife did not stop cutting.

He kept cutting.

And cutting.

His hand gripped into his son's hair, and he cut more, until he could pry his son's still-warm head from his body -- where it fell with a thud against the ground. His other hand still gripped the knife. He couldn't let it go, even though his hand trembled.

"Murderer," he named him- absolutely nothing warm in the low, thrumming hum of his voice as he held onto that memory, not letting Woden turn away from it. No shock or surprise, no disgust, no contempt. Simple, unflinching observation.

"I am a murderer, too. Did you know that? We have something... no, don't, don't try. You can't look away from this. You did this. You are this. Forever."

"I'm not," he said, his voice low and hard -- his hands soaked with blood, it was in his clothes, the dagger, even his son's head and neck were covered in it. It dripped from his neck, congealed in a pool beneath them. Drip -- Drip -- Drip -- each one the passing of a second, and David looked away from his son, his head -- eyes wide and with a spark of betrayal in them, as he looked on his father's dark deed.

David didn't look at him anymore, he looked up, and away. Directly for Kylo Ren, his face resolute, anguished, angry, and proud. His fingers trembled, his lip trembled, before it formed in a hard line, and then it curled. Fury this time, and he held the head out to Kylo, not a memory but Woden's own story -- the justification of what he did. "Didn't you listen to the goddamn story?" He shook Jon's -- Mimir's -- head at him again, his fingers a death grip into his hair.

Mimir's eyes weren't lifeless -- they were frightened -- alive, moving around. They met Kyle's gaze, and looked at him directly. David behind him smiled, then. The look of a man who knew what he'd done. He'd guaranteed his son's death, but... "He's my boy," he said, his voice low. His other hand reached up, and pressed against his cheek, and he left a streak of blood in his wake. "This is my boy," he repeated, voice shaky now, and he looked right at Ren with his pale gaze. He smiled. "Mimir's head. Cut off by the Vanir, and sent back to Woden -- he whispered his knowledge to the all-father," his lips curled, almost a maddened smile.

"My boy still lives. He's... A god, after all."

"And that story, does it help you sleep?" Ren asked- the low, soft murmur of his voice unchanged as he focused on the eyes of the betrayed son. The fear, so familiar- and something in Woden-- David's fury, too. The man's inability to face his sins, his weakness- it disgusted him.

He thought of his own father, his hand still reaching to cup the side of his face so tenderly even as the life drained from his eyes, his focus wavering as the wave of loss slammed through him, the pain still so raw.
He had failed so completely to cauterise the gaping wound where the love of his father had once been.

So completely.

"I think... you have shown me enough," he whispered. "Don't you? I think... I have seen all that is worth seeing about you."

"Then you're missing the whole point," David spat out, his fingers still in his son. Mimir looked at David, now, not disgust, but sadness. David pressed a hand to his cheek, he set the head down, and stood up.

This wasn't real. That was true, but David was starting to grasp that. He wasn't strong enough of mind to control this, but he could control himself within the projection. He wiped his bloody hands on a cloth, before he tucked it into his pocket, ignoring the blood everywhere else. His lips curled. "You still lack the context, but I don't expect someone not from my world to understand it."

"My boy is in Valhalla," he said, a voice almost distant, when he said it. "And not the mythical one -- my Valhalla. Even now. And he's mine."

His boy, possessive. Jon had taken the best years of his life, after all. It was only fair that now he contribute to his father's success now.

"Your son is dead," Kylo said softly, quietly. Relentless, as he pronounced judgement.

"Don't lie to me, David, not here... it's beneath you. You know... You know I know far deeper than you ever could the context of your crime.

I see what you did. Yes, I see it. You hollowed him out to use him as a cup to drink from. To contain the power you could not earn alone. And the rest... yes, the rest is a story... though I am sure the ornament you turned him into is far less of a disappointment than the son who was never enough."

He had no desire to remain in David's mind any longer. Slowly, he began to slip away, leaving the father to face the severed head of his son alone. Again.

Woden shuddered when his name was used -- his real name. It felt wrong, with the echo of his breaths in the helmet, the heat and sweat from exertion. He wasn't supposed to hear his name like this -- hell, sometimes... sometimes he almost forgot that he had a real name. Not for long, of course, never for long, but for a moment, he felt revulsion for his name.

And Kylo slipped out, and Jon's face stared back at him, a living reminder of his truth -- one he'd been so eager to forget here. David didn't have any words to fight Kylo, nor did he do much more than try to stand -- and start to trudge away. He had no desire to be here anymore, and his fingers shook with the force of how he needed to get away.

He stumbled, his feet heavy, his limbs clumsy, and in a fearful moment, he wondered if Ren had done something else to him. He could think straight, the sharp memory of his son clear in his mind, the memory of what he'd done -- something he often tried to forget. He'd immortalized them both, hadn't he? This way? Him, at least.

"I'm leaving," he said, the digital voice hiding what Ren now knew. He was the only person who knew what David sounded like. With the digital cover, it was a perfect farce to cover up who he once was.

He hit the bifrost, and trudged toward it -- another stumble, before he turned, as if he could be intimidating now. "If I hear even a word of this, if you tell a soul -- I will kill you."

As if David had any qualms about that.

Kylo didn't even stand, watching Woden with an expression that made it clear just how seriously he took that threat.

"The effects are temporary," he assured him, as if they had shared nothing more than what he had originally offered- a chance to touch the mind of a god. "Most people find it helps to... sleep it off. I'm sure you will recover quickly."

He offered him a smile- or at least, something that resembled one. "You'll be relieved to hear I'm better with secrets than you are- I know how to hold onto what is important. And-- thank you. For the music."

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[CLOSED] the creator had a master tape

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