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BUT HE COULDN'T BE SAVED | open + search party - BASTILLEPAW - 04-12-2018
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She was in his room.
Bastille stopped short as he entered, his door clicking shut softly behind him as he simply stared at her. His head had been throbbing with a viciousness all day, energy vibrating through his veins, an agitated worry eating away at him as he fretted over another day with sign of Luna, but it all simply faded away -- as if the door has closed on everything that wasn't her.
It was impossible. He knew it was impossible. He knew she was dead, that years and years stood between their lives. It had been so long that not even their history keepers would remember her; she was the past now, his past, and yet... And yet she was the same as ever, staring back at him expectantly, challengingly. The same sleek blue tabby fur marked with scars (he saw the one indicating her rank as leader, the one of her throat from where he'd nicked her during tryouts, the one on her shoulder from that fall). The same slender, dainty build and mocking green eyes -- eyes that looked amused and cruel all at once, as if she were both glad to see him and just waiting for him to slip up. She was... exactly as he remembered her.
"Indi," he breathed, stilted. This wasn't right. He knew it was wrong -- she wasn't his, she didn't belong here. He did not remember a thing about this vicious leader, had never known her; Bastille could feel the wrongness of it settling into his bones, but he couldn't... he couldn't move. He was rooted to the spot, transfixed, struck with just how vivid she was. He could touch her if he wanted.
"Hi, boo," she drawled, smirking at him, and something in him lurched at the pet name, the trademark phrase of the Tribe. It hit him all at once: Dawn, greeting him on the border with that same snide endearment; him, whispering it in Indigo's ear as he brushed past; Indi, mocking him even as she promoted him and assigned him as her body guard in the same breath; the kits, tossing the word back and forth between them gleefully, taking pride in who could one up the other most. Boo was all it took to slam him into the past, trapping him in memories.
"No," he said quietly, shaking his head slightly. "No, I'm not-- You know I'm not him. You don't belong here." Panic. He should be feeling panic, but there was nothing. No confusion, no alarm, only the ice in his veins and the force holding his paws in place. Only the faint push telling him that she wasn't real, that this wasn't happening. That she was just... Imagined. Memories, superimposed onto the present.
(No, that was wrong. That was wrong. Superimposed memories -- that was Pollutedsoul's problem, not his. That was never something Bastille had seen before, never something he'd had to deal with. Nor had Echo. It didn't feel right, seeing Indi and such memories together; the two didn't go together, didn't match. The boundary between those two souls should not be crossing like this.)
"Oh, baby," she laughed, mocking, and prowled towards him. Bastille swallowed, bristling at her presence even as something deep in him screamed that this was right. That he should be welcoming her, teasing her back, nudging up against her shoulder playfully. "You and I both know that's not true. Don't be so dense, boo. We both know you aren't stupid like the rest of them."
There was that familiar scorn, the disdain for her followers and Tribe members alike. How many patrols had they spent making fun of their members together? It ached with familiarity, but Bastille simply shook his head, gritting his teeth slightly as he tried to focus. She wasn't real. He just had to focus, and the memories would vanish. "Shut up," he breathed, weakly.
Bastille was not weak. He did not back down, did not cave under measly pressure -- but he felt weak now. It was as if the second he stepped into his room, something had flipped inside of him, breaking his usual backbone. He was... stricken. He couldn't muster the energy to fight her, too enthralled by her spell as he stood perfectly still, meekly trying to shove the memories away.
She laughed. Laughed and laughed, cruel and lilting, and he loved that laugh -- loved the sharp edge to it, the ice in her tone, the way that he knew she was just like him. That she too harbored a harsh, brutal love deep in her dark little heart.
"You are going to tell me to shut up? That's cute, boo. Real cute," Indi said, taking another dangerous step closer. His throat felt tight, his heartbeat fluttering unevenly in his throat. Something in her gaze was just a little too cold now, accusing. "You forget that you owe me."
For a moment, he was at a loss. But he could feel the guilt, there -- the twisting, angry guilt that ate away at him, kept him awake at night, dug its claws into his chest and screamed in his face. The same throbbing guilt that reminded him over and over and over that he--
Oh.
"Why didn't you save me, Echo?" she whispered, so close to him now, and Bastille shook his head mutely, the words lost to him. He felt desperate, anxious, wanted to plead with her to stop, but there was nothing. Nothing. "Why didn't you save me, Bastille?" A subtle shift, but he felt it. Something in him cracked, and he felt it rush through him: heartbreak.
Bastille had never once been in love in this lifetime, but he felt it. He knew. The second his name -- this name -- left her mouth, all of the protest washed away. He was trapped in this, in the memories, in the reality of it. The guilt washed over him in waves, the pain, the longing. All of it was his, and it always had been.
"Indi," he whispered, taking a step towards her as if there was something he could do. They were never that tactile, not in the sweet way; it was always bumped and nudges and rough play fighting, always with an edge to it. But just then, he wanted to grab ahold of her and show her he had missed her. He had cared. "Indi, I tried--"
"You tried? You tried? You were the only one I trusted. You were supposed to save me. Why didn't you come after me? Why didn't you look for me?" she demanded, stepping away from him now, denying him of her touch. "I was all alone, Bastille. Why did you leave me alone?"
"No, no, I looked-- I looked for you, Indigo," he pleaded, feeling his heart clench viciously at her accusations, her pain. He did this. He should have tried harder, shouldn't have let them give up. "I tried to get them to patrol, tried to make them look for you, too. When they gave up I went alone--"
"Liar," she hissed, tail lashing as she took another step back, and Bastille whimpered. "You could have found me! I know you could have! You could have brought me back. We could have been together, but you left me out there. You let me die alone, just like Dawn."
Dawn. He could hear the roaring of the gorges below him, feel his heart pounding as he raced along the edge, desperately searching for a glimpse of her wild red fur, panicking the longer he went without finding her. She was gone so quickly, just like that, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was no force to fight against, no vengeance to be had-- she was just gone. And a part of him went with her.
She knew. Indi knew, had always known what she meant. And Indi had always know just how to dig her claws in deep and twist when she wanted to. She'd done it to him, occasionally, in those early days -- but never since the tryouts. Never since he suddenly meant something to her, and she to him.
It somehow hurt worse to be reminded of his failings by her.
"Indi," he whispered, broken, staring at her desperately as he insisted, "I tried, I did, I searched for you everywhere-- I left them, left the Tribe, trying to find you. I swear, Indi, I tried--"
"Then I guess it just wasn't enough," she said flatly, cutting him off, and he stood rooted to the spot, stunned, as she turned away from him. "I shouldn't have trusted you to save me, Bastille."
"Indi, no--" he gasped, stepping after her frantically, but she was gone. No, no, she couldn't be gone-- He couldn't lose her, not again, couldn't fail her again. Not again. Not after Dawn-- not after everything-- he couldn't lose her, couldn't felt his blood burning at the thought, his head spinning.
Before he was aware of what he was doing, Bastille was shoving his way out of his room, his heart racing as he made his way to the Great Circle. There was something chaotic about him, his fur throbbing with that black glow, a faint thrumming in the air around him that suggested trapped energy. He was oblivious to how out of it he looked, however, yelling angrily, "Why aren't you all doing anything? We should be looking for her!"
He remembered this, remembered the deja vu of it -- him, screaming at his Tribemates, demanding that they help him; and later, when he finally gave up and came home, the fury he'd felt when they dared to question where he had gone and why, to question his anger at their betrayal. He felt that same anger and desperation now, the gripping fear of losing Indi for good closing around his throat like a noose as he called, "We need to go find her now!"
[ tl;dr: bast's souls have been wocky lately with his powers starting to act up + the stress of worrying about luna's disappearance triggered a vision of someone from his past life. he becomes overwhelmed by echo's feelings, even though he initially tries to remind himself that he's not echo, and ends up breaking down and rushing out into the greater area screaming at people to help him search for indi
eventually he'll come back to himself and switch to wanting to find luna who is you know actually still alive lmao ]