2018-04-26: Allochthon
- Cutscene: Allochthon
- Cast: Loren Voss
- Where: Outside Meribia
- Date: April 26th 2018
- Summary: In a strange place, a bit of the past comes back home.
"Hold on a sec, before you go--"
The comment, coming at the tail-end of a frankly awkward rendezvous with Bergenholm et al outside Meribia cut short what otherwise would have been an equally frankly welcome escape from the intelligence exchange.
The ensuing bundle -- if it can be called that when it's an about four feet long narrow object in a cloth bag -- is thrust into his hands before he can protest otherwise or refuse it.
"They were cleaning out some of the junk in storage back on the ship. I saw this one with your name on it, so I figured, 'shame if it got tossed'." Ever the happy-go-lucky (emphasis, perhaps, on the lucky) sort, Bergenholm is the picture of earnest innocence. Loren, meanwhile, glances down at the bundle, and in particular at the tag with certain surname, stamped with things such as 'confidential' and 'destroy'.
Even just from holding it in his hands, he knows exactly what it is. There's no mistaking the shape of it. And thus, there's no way it would have possibly belonged to him.
He doesn’t actually look inside until he’s well away from the temporary encampment.
As he slowly slides the weapon free -- gingerly, as if expecting it to shatter in his grasp, or bite his fingers -- one fact becomes plain: it's intact. Blackened, half-melted in places, but improbably intact. Behold the majesty of our craftsmanship, runs that bitter thought. He stares at but half the length of it, unwilling to pull the entire thing from the bag that's likely been its home for the last half-decade.
It's his brother's blade. Couldn't belong to anyone else. ...Belonged, runs the belated correction.
They had never received anything of his. Probably, he'd always thought, because there had been nothing to send home.
And yet, something had survived after all. Just evidence. Now released. ...It makes sense now. His hands shake.
You idiot. You absolute complete fucking idiot!
With sudden force he shoves it back into the evidence bag. He should destroy it. Bury the pieces so it can't ever be seen again. His breath catches, tight; he clenches the bag. As if that would be enough.
It wouldn't change anything.
He takes a breath; he exhales, pulse pounding in his ears.
Overhead a bird titters, far too cheerfully. Leaves rustle, stirred by a passing wind. All around, the forest, the trees. A silence without silence.
His grip eases on the bag.
It's also all there is left.
He still wants to break something, anything, just to watch it shatter. But maybe... not this. In spite of everything.
There's nothing else for it. He shoulders the bag, making certain to tear the tag with the family name on it free, crumpling it up to shove deep into the safety of a pocket. It's too far and far too impractical to turn back for the encampment, particularly for something as minor as returning a 'piece of equipment'.
He casts one glance over his shoulder before heading out. He'll just have to carry this with him, too.