Shattered remnants of a broken man

[Guest]

It was funny, not matter how much Ike wanted to die, he never seemed to get such a pleasure. No, instead he would be left with the alternative. The horrible, horrible alternative.

Drachma was cold. God damn it was freezing. The cold would have frozen Ike to the bone, and it probably was. The large bottle of vodka in his hand was the only thing providing him warmth. The only thing he could think of.

He had lost probably the greatest thing to himself, twice. It wasn’t friendship, or love, or alcohol or any other addiction, no matter how much these trivial things filled up his life...life. That was it. He had lost himself. No, the first time he lost it on purpose, yet it still hurt. It ached amazingly; he lost everything he wanted and more. He lost things he wanted to keep, and instead of letting himself feel that pain, he kept it inside, waiting to be felt at the best possible time.

In essence, he lost himself the second time because he casted the first life away. His new life was built upon the dead body of the first, and it couldn’t support it for long, without the wrenched smell of the decaying rotten past driving people away until it collapsed. That’s exactly what happened.

Ike wouldn’t have mind if he had died properly at this point, but no, life is much more cruel, death was an escape only for those who deserved it, or for those who had it thrust upon them from someone stronger and, in a sense, merciful. Life allowed you to lose.

So, sat outside upon a bench in the cold night of Moscow was what was left of Ike Harvard. He was nothing like the Ike Harvard that was born in West City, and lived in Central city in Amestris. This was a monster, similar to that of Frankenstein’s. He had the memories of that Ike Harvard, which was insulting to the man.

Yes he had memories, and his heart yearned to connect to them. To the people in them, but he could not allow it. That Ike was gone, he was dead, and he shouldn’t pretend to be him, or else he’d just hurt those who knew him. He had to be someone new, even if he was similar to the old Ike, he had to be someone different, just until he died.

Maybe that was why he was in Drachma. A seemingly distant place that didn’t seem like somewhere Ike Harvard would visit.

Ike took another swig of Vodka, not caring to seem elegant or appealing, because he wasn’t either of those things. A chimera was not a nice thing to be. He was neither human nor any of the blasted animals that he had merged with. He was chimera. The two lumps on his waist were a constant symbol of that. He had to accept that he wasn’t Human. He didn’t want to be a chimera anymore; hence he didn’t go looking for other things like him. Being alone suited him, or at least he wanted it to suit him.
Damn it. That feeling. It was still there. He wanted to feel it again. It was sort of like a drug, and Ike knew he didn’t need another one of those, but he couldn’t help it if he was already addicted. He knew it was only a matter of time till he succumbed to the temptation...conversation.

He hadn’t talked to anyone in months. He still had the riches that was left to him from the Harvard family. He used it to live secluded in Drachma, sleeping through the day and spending the nights drinking alone. The only person he’d talked to in the last week was the person he bought his alcohol and cigarettes from.

He hadn’t even eaten these last two weeks. Yet he didn’t feel hungry, only thirsty.

Another drink of Vodka.

Ike sat up and leaned forward, facing the group. Just in case he threw up. It had been getting harder and harder to tell when he was going to throw up. Maybe it was a false alarm this time. He leaned back, slouching on the frosty wooden bench. He scratched his chin, and the stubble that was growing. He sighed. What was the point in shaving, he didn’t have to impress anyone, besides, a old timer like him was supposed to have a bit of stubble on him. A beard showed wisdom, or some crap like that.

Ike didn’t seem to have the energy anymore. Maybe it was because he wasn’t eating. He slowly got up, resting his hands on his legs. He dropped the bottle and it smashed. It was empty, so he simply had to go get some more.

He may be a drunk, but he was a rich drunk.

Has he slowly started to work, he asked himself a question he kept asking himself. Why? It came in all situations, for both negative and positive emotions. He liked the word why. An explanation gives an action meaning to those who watch said action take place. However he preferred it when he was asking himself why, because it showed not all of him was happy with what was happening. And with the knowledge that some part of him wasn’t happy as a lonely, washed up drunken man, well, that could get him through the days.

This time it was...Why can’t I become human again?

Surely it was only himself that was truly secluding himself from everyone else. Maybe be some people would accept him for what he is. Maybe he could achieve happiness.

“...What a stupid idea.” The words came out lazily and without any real sense of direction or being. He simply continued walking and would do so until he found the place he was looking for. Somewhere he could fuel any of his addictions.

[Spade Aeries]

He was...in disguise. A slick, green-eyed man with shades at night. His hair was pulled up high into a pony tail, brown twirling in frigid wind. Fuck Drachma and fuck having to come here. He stomped through the snow as a man should, clutching an object tightly against the Drachman night. Black gloved hands fitted carefully around a beat up, bruised lighter that was all too frozen. It was cracked with dried blood and looked like maybe a bullet had nicked it and possibly was thrown into a blazing fired and then maybe trampled by the Kremlin when it fell and then-- That was enough. His poor zippo has suffered enough. It was back home now, back in his hands...somehow. That's right, somehow. After losing the precious thing in the war against RIOTE (which they lost), Spade had also lost his lighter. It was...like having ones child die in a hit and r--okay, maybe not that serious, but still! How he had found it was just short of a miracle! He wanted to smoke RIGHT NOW. He just needed cigarettes, which were sort of sparse in Amestris. Fake ID, check. Spade Aeries, for tonight and tonight only, was Drachman. He couldn't speak the damn language to save his life, but he sure as hell had an avid imagination. He was a mute--a poor soldier that had seen too much death to ever not just speak about it, but to speak about anything anymore. If someone ebbed him on, he would whip out his eye drops and pretend to cry as all good detectives could. They would be manly tears too--manly tears of manly proportions. He was also supposed to look poor and war-ravaged. He was wearing a torn Drachman uniform that he stole off some dead guy. Grave robber he was, the guy hadn't even had smokes on his person. He went and died and couldn't even have a cig? These Drachmans were fucking off, man. Spade was in character now though; he couldn't look pissed. He had to look depressed and needy like a neglected solider that RIOTE forgot to feed because they were too busy blowing up Amestris or plotting to attack Fort Briggs. Reila had that shit though. Or last he heard...

Spade shoved the lighter into his pocket, taking care not to drop the blasted thing again. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Went all the way to enemy territory in Drachma to find his lighter midst the debris only to lose it again. Wasn't fucking happening. He looked up through the dark haze of his sunglasses to see the silhouette of a figure standing up from a bench. Shit! He slumped over and tried to do his best down-and-out impression, but he was just too much of a winner to really look the part (despite losing the war, that is). But as he got closer, the prospect of blond hair got larger and then a whack of realization nearly struck him out. Wielding his shot-up arm back to where it was supposed to be in its sling, Spade quickened his pace. That man. That man!! Fuck he knew him. He looked different, but he knew that bastard. The doctor, Ike Havard, who lied about being a doctor. That same Ike Havard that frequently disappeared and reappeared in said Spade Aeries' life. They had picked up chicks together, drank until sunset and then sunrise, got kicked out of the casinos for winning too much--that Ike Havard. Well, fuck! No one else was around. Spade couldn't give himself away for just speaking Amestrian that was for sure. There was like a million bilinguals in the military. He wouldn't get shot outright anyway. ...Possibly.

"...Wsajkfh hfkjashf dhfkja." That was his voice, but it wasn't saying shit that Aeries could tell.... Did he really not notice him crunching through the snow after him? Jesus god, man slow the fuck down! THEN HE SAW IT. Broken glass, no, not just broken glass....BROKEN VODKA GLASS. There...there had been some contents in because the snow was wet. VODKA SNOW! (Note to self: make vodka slushies).

"What have I told you about wasting alcohol, Ike?!"

[Guest]

What have I told you about wasting alcohol, Ike?!

The man froze, in a similar fashion to all the ice around here. Someone call him out. He Called Ike out. He called him with the name Ike, which he didn’t’ tell any of the locals around here. Why should he, he didn’t go by that name in Drachma, he hadn’t gone by that name for a while.

“God? Or maybe Destiny...either way, whatever ultimate force bought this man here best have mercy on his soul, for I may have to try and take it.”

He spoke in fluent Drachman, so that this Spade Aries didn’t understand. After that he placed in hands in his pockets and for the first time in a while, smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile, more of a personal one which could easily be misconceived as arrogant.

“What a stupid Idea, I haven’t partaken in that sort of activity for a long time; I’d probably just die like a dog on the frozen streets.”

He placed his hands in his pockets. He had no spare time to think about attacking this man. This man of Ike Harvard’s past, that had arrived at this very moment in time to meet Ike. The blond simply put his hands in his pockets, and took a couple of steps forward, away from Spade. His actions were cryptic and distant, which was Ike wanted. He turned his head and pierced through Spade with a stare. He had to see him with his eyes before he could truly eliminate the possibility of this just being another drunken illusion.

Why? Why are you here?

He closed his eyes, hoping it would clear his head, which had been infected by the alcohol and self pity. It was hard to remember. In Ike’s memories would be a clue as to why he would hallucinate about this particular man.

He could remember the friendship, just a simple friendship between drunks. Was that it? Did his mind play tricks on him so he could remember a simple friendship? Had he sunk so low? No, he refused to believe that. This man was no hallucination.

“You shouldn’t speak so openly in Amestrian when looking so...foreign, even if you are wearing a Drachman military uniform. Speak Drachman, or else wearing that uniform makes you even more suspicious.”

He paused, giving him time to reply. In the mean time he entered his pockets and pulled out a box of cigarettes and a matchbox. Using a match he lit himself a cigarette.

“What do you want with Ike Harvard?”

This question was sort of a reflection of Ike’s current thoughts, but then again, he hadn’t been confronted with anything to do with Ike Harvard’s past in a long time. For the most part he was simply cursing the fact the Spade had found him. Would he have to confront Spade? Would he have to confront Ike? He personally hated the idea of both of those situations. Living his life as a recluse, shut away from everything, the syndicate, the experiments, and the people, where what allowed the memories to come back in the first place. He enjoyed living a worthless life, waiting for death by drinking, smoking and sleeping. It was easier knowing these memories and then burying the past, or so it thought. But it seemed the past had ways of clawing back into the surface of Ike's mind. In the form of an old familiar face.

[Spade Aeries]

“jdkfhs? fdij fghds fhsdjg...dasfr kdfj, fhjdfhas fhasjdfja dghjasgf skdhfjah ajwgrjqw, jfhdshdhf kdfhakhf dshfgaa.” Ooo scary. Spade flexed his digits and shifted his weight to his heels, watching the man he knew so well yet didn't know at all. Was that shit supposed to scare him away? Oh no, I can't understand what he's saying let me run away home to Amestris now with my fucking tail between my legs. Fuck that shit. Fuck it. He sneered a full show a teeth, green eyes glittering dangerously. Don't fuck with me. That's right, buddy, I'm your friend and you know it so don't go pulling that cold-hearted stare. Drachma was cold enough as it was. They seriously didn't need someone to turn the air conditioning on in the air between them. Come on, now...for real. Spade sighed and yanked out a bent cig, sliding it between his lips. "Have a light?" He asked, blatantly ignoring the Drachman like commercials between football games. He couldn't understand it anyway, so why bother pretending like he knew Ike really wanted him to cease to exist in that very moment? Yeah, in this very moment Spade almost wished his careful deductions of people due to his private eye past would be what ceased to exist. He knew. He knew that fucking look. And...conveniently chose to ignore it.

“You shouldn’t speak so openly in Amestrian when looking so...foreign, even if you are wearing a Drachman military uniform. Speak Drachman, or else wearing that uniform makes you even more suspicious.” Ike was Ike, was Ike, was Ike. Spade glanced down at the shaggy uniform and heaved an exaggerated sigh. Didn't the blond already know Spade couldn't speak Drachman? That was why he was using it before, wasn't it? DUH. (Note to self: learn Drachman). Jesus god what was with all these notes?! He was soon to become his own damn memo pad it was like the personification of death itself!! AHHHHHHHHHHH. Deep breaths, Aeries, deep breaths. Moving on, he really needed a quirky reply that didn't make him sound like an asshole and grate him another one of those Ike-stare-downs. That wouldn't quite earn him the explanation he desired. Also, like...wasn't he being a hypocrite? He looked more foreign what with his Amestrian origins and all that sweet jazz. Didn't he know that Amestris was at war with Drachma? Why wasn't he in chains already?! It made Spade doubt the scrutinizing abilities of RIOTE.

Ike yanked out a box of matches and Spade nearly attack them with eyes. Wantonewantonewantonewantone... His question before remained heavily intact. "I could speak Xingese instead?" It was fuzzy but maybe once before in the long eons in which they went perusing around clubs in central did he hear Ike break out into random language of which one was Xingese. Of course, Spade was fluent however rusty he was. He wasn't sure if Ike was fluent himself, but a simple sentence like this seemed to be something he would understand even knowing just a few phrases. Spade's looks, on the other hand, were heavily Xingese; he was Xingese through and through and would never be mistaken for Amestrian. And yettttt....the Xingese were on Amestris' side sooo...it didn't exactly help much. DAMMIT. Either way, he was in disguise... He pushed up his sunglasses.

“What do you want with Ike Harvard?”

"I want to buy him a drink."

[Reila Tsukino]

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