Chapter Text
Impulse ought to retreat to the roof terrace more often.
The terrace was rather small, barely big enough to pace in it. All kinds of colorful flowers stood in flower pots, getting more than enough sunlight and waiting for the next rain to drop. Grass stubbornly tried to grow - hopefully, the person that suggested adding this feature was proud of themselves. A single bench stood to the side, and currently a single red rose rested on it, deliberately placed there.
Every time Impulse visited, he’d leave with a calmer and more relaxed demeanor. That had to be the effects of nature within a city that wasn’t built to accommodate for it, False would say. Though all the trees were bound to where they had once been planted and the city gardens were better-kept in comparison, Impulse liked this little hidden treasure. Even if it truly wasn’t all that impressive.
Today, he gripped the iron railing and watched. The terrace wasn’t the highest point in the city per se, but it still allowed him a near-unobstructed view of the harbor. Down there, people had already gathered. They were early. A sea of people that each year grew smaller and smaller. If he angled himself right, he could even catch a glimpse of a corner of the expansive flower market that was always set up on the main road. Yet, he paid no attention to the market, to the crowds, or even to the statues that flanked the main pier.
No, he looked at what lay beyond.
It had to be enormous, if it stood that far away and still details were visible. In the far, far-off distance stood a gigantic Monolith. A piece of stone, dark as the night and jagged at the sides, almost as though it had splintered from something even bigger. Golden lines raced around the edges like veins, leaving the central surface open. Almost like a blank canvas, upon which the number ‘34’ had been painted almost exactly one year ago.
Below it sat the Paintress. Her knees were pulled up and Her head rested atop it. Her pale blond hair obscured most of her. Unmoving, from this distance, but just as enormous and just as uncaring.
Without giving it much thought, Impulse turned and picked up a rock from the small pile that sat tucked away to the side. Nobody but Impulse really used it. Then again, why would they?
Impulse took aim and launched the rock in the direction of the Paintress. It would never reach Her. With a bit of luck, he still used as much force so that the basin he installed on a lower sitting roof a few years ago would catch it. It wouldn’t do much good if he didn’t have the resources for this hobby.
Then again, he wasn’t the one who refilled his pile of rocks.
“You know,” the youthful voice of a good friend pierced the silence, “when you’re planning to give someone a flower, you should probably do it before they wither away.”
A smile appeared on Impulse’s face.
“Hi, Gem,” he greeted his friend. “I’m well aware. I’ve got some time.”
Gem stood next to him. The breeze played with her ginger hair while her gaze traveled from the single red rose to Impulse himself and eventually to the Paintress. Every time he looked at her, his heart was filled with pride. They may not be related by blood, but Impulse wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to count as family. He’d given her a stable home for the past five years - significantly better than she had before. She was young still, a teenager, yet she watched the world with such a mature gaze. Perhaps he was more a brother to her than a father, but that swelling of pride did not go away.
“The sun’s about to set, though,” Gem pointed out. “Yet, you’re here.”
Almost as though to make a point, Impulse picked up another stone and threw it.
“Have you hit her yet?”
“I’d need to get a bit closer than this. But those are worries for tomorrow. Today, I’m trying not to be.”
Not even Gem’s presence could undo the knot in his stomach. Perhaps another stone and another throw could quell his thoughts a little.
“That makes one of us,” Gem commented.
“What, you’re worried?”
She shook her head. “I know what it looks like when you’re trying to calm your nerves.” She glanced at the stone in his hand. He was grasping it more tightly than normal. “You don’t normally throw your rocks on the day of the Gommage.”
There’s a first for everything, Impulse supposed.
“Well, today’s a little different.” Today was a bit more personal.
Each year, fewer and fewer people gathered at the harbor…
“Go find Skizz,” Gem said. “He’d be happy to see you. Have you even talked to him today yet?”
Not yet. It was difficult, somehow, to see him. Even if he still had a rose to give.
“You’re going to run off again, aren’t you?” Impulse asked, partially to change the subject.
“It’s not running off when there’s work to do,” Gem reminded him. “I’ve volunteered to help gather up the children who haven’t found a foster family. I’m taking them to an orphanage that isn’t yet filled to the brim.”
Impulse nodded. “That’s very noble.”
“Indeed,” she said. “In fact, some of them are just waiting on the street. I couldn’t pass an opportunity to see whether you’d be up here or not, and I was right. So… you really should find Skizz–”
“Alright, alright!” Impulse said. “I’m going, geez. Don’t worry.”
Gem smiled, as though she had just won a friendly duel. “I’ll see you at the festival.”
“See you there.”
As quickly as she’d appeared, Gem had left. Impulse was alone in his garden yet again.
With a deep sigh, he placed the rock back onto the pile and picked up the rose on the bench instead. A single, delicate flower, yet to be gifted. The knot in his stomach tightened once again, yet he could no longer ignore it. He could not delay the inevitable, for the inevitable worked on a consistent schedule.
He used the walkways on the roofs - sometimes, that was the easiest way to traverse this broken city they call home. Sometimes, Impulse wondered what Lumière would have looked like if it wasn’t a piece of a larger city, ripped apart by the Fracture 67 years ago. With such limited space, Lumièrans have become rather creative in how they use that same space. It didn’t take away the hardened paint growths that block off whole city blocks’ worth of space they could be using. Someday, the miners will break through them.
Perhaps not today. Perhaps when they’ve refilled their ranks with the city’s promising youth.
Impulse rappeled down from the roof via an electric rope; one of the many gadgets that came out of the Expedition Academy. Impulse used it with relative ease, having trained to use them ever since he decided to join the Expedition of his Gommage.
From that point, Impulse ambled through the streets. People stood closely together in smaller groups, saying their goodbyes to one another. Those who would undergo the Gommage wore their leis, red and white blossoms arranged by how many it could fit. Impulse barely paid attention to these groups; he had a feeling about where his buddy may be hanging out.
Skizz had always liked the red and white tree; it had long been determined this was one tree, yet two trunks grew and each produced different colored leaves: one red, one white. A unique landmark of the city - and indeed where Impulse found his life-long friend.
Skizz would Gommage today. Yet, seeing him with his lei and a warm smile on his face, Impulse still felt a shockwave rush through him. However prepared he thought he’d be, he wasn’t. He knew what was coming - he didn’t want it to happen. But the Paintress had other plans, and She did not care about the people of Lumière.
“Impulse!” Skizz exclaimed, the smile on his face growing even wider as he approached his good friend. “I was wondering when my buddy would show up! It took you long enough.”
Impulse nodded. “Well, I’m here now, so…”
“Good, because today isn’t really the day to lock yourself into your workshop.” Skizz put an arm around Impulse’s shoulders. Impulse hadn’t really moved since Skizz had seen him and he wasn’t even quite sure what to do now. Fortunately, Skizz spotted the rose and gave it a semi-quizzical look. “Is that…?”
Impulse glanced at the rose. “Yeah. If there’s room, anyway. You seem to be well-decorated already.”
“Buddy, there’s always room,” Skizz said as he took the rose. “Let’s see where we can put this.”
He let go of Impulse and took a step back so that he could more easily fit Impulse’s rose on the lei. After a little bit of fiddling around, the rose sat among the other red and white flowers. Skizz took a moment to look at it, that same smile still on his face and now also filled with pride.
There. Impulse’s rose on Skizz’s lei. Impulse took a few breaths in an attempt not to let his thoughts run wild. It had become too real. He still did not like it.
“Skizz, I–”
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to say,” Skizz interrupted him. “Or say something just to say something, or because it’s appropriate to say today.”
Impulse blinked a few times. Skizz knew him too well. “But–”
“We’ve only got a little bit of time left,” Skizz said. “I swear, if you start to think about these minutes whenever you think of me instead of the years we’ve had, I will un-Gommage myself and kick your butt.”
Impulse chuckled. He did need his friend’s baseless threats. “You have such a way with words.”
“I know.” Skizz folded his arms, looking quite proud of himself. “Speaking of time… do you want to walk me to the harbor?”
“Of course.”
Together, Impulse and Skizz traversed the streets of Lumière. More sights of groups of people, more folks wearing their own lei. Children hugged their parents, refusing to let go. Partners had one final conversation with one another, while some could still not believe the day of their Gommage had come. Still, this kind of felt like a festival. A ceremony, a celebration of life in spite of the Gommage and what it would do.
Passing by a city square, a young sculptor put the finishing touches on their statue. Impulse had seen this young woman here before, paid by the Council to provide something to replace the old, crumbling statue. Now, another figure graced this town square. The towering figure of a man with a wide grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes, a hammer in one hand and sparkles seeming to shoot out of the other.
“Oh, they finished it!” Skizz said when he noticed. “I’d been wondering if I was gonna see it.”
“And you have,” Impulse said.
“I have now,” Skizz agreed with a nod. He stopped and stared at the statue for a second. “Y’know, I still don’t know if he truly exists or not.”
“Who? Scar?” Impulse said, looking at the statue of this legend, now hewn from stone. “He’s a fairytale. Same with the Gestrals.”
They say that Scar lived somewhere on the Continent. Since the Fracture, however, the Continent wasn’t quite conducive for human life - or any life, for that matters. The Continent was infested with Nevrons, after all: grotesque, large monsters with a taste for human flesh and chroma, their life essence. Since Scar's exterior was rumored to be human-passing, the Nevrons might want to eat his face, too, if they hadn’t done so already. And if Scar was in danger, then so would the Gestrals be. Their silly hair, child-like behavior and love for fighting would not protect them from harm - if they even existed.
“Hey,” Skizz said, “I’m just saying, if these weird Nevrons can exist, then so can the Gestrals. And I guess Scar as well.”
“A mythical humanoid that can create all kinds of things out of thin air is a little more far-fetched than creatures that have the insatiable drive to kill humans,” Impulse commented. “Or creatures that are completely made out of wood.”
“It would be awesome if he existed, though,” Skizz said.
Impulse nodded. “It would be.”
But those were merely speculations about what might be. Instead, reality stared at them from every angle, inescapable. The kind faces people put on only masked their sorrows and reflected the last thing they wished their loved ones to remember before they Gommaged. Impulse knew the smile on Skizz's face to be genuine. Skizz was happy indeed, as well as sorrowful.
As they continued further to the harbor, they finally reached the main boulevard - a straight line to their final destination. Stalls upon stalls flanked each side of the road, selling flowers to anyone who wished to give one last-minute. Some musicians had gathered and were playing, and a group from the Academy attempted to recruit people for one of the next Expeditions. At the end of this road, the harbor - and the Paintress and the Monolith even further than that, still clearly visible.
“She looks so sad…” Skizz broke the comfortable silence between them as they walked down the boulevard.
Impulse gave him an incredulous look. “Don’t tell me you’re talking about the Paintress.”
“I am,” Skizz confirmed. “I mean, everyone here is sad, but look at Her. Actually look at Her and tell me that She isn't sad. She may be an all-powerful being, but She can have feelings, too.”
Impulse could not reconcile that in his mind. How could someone like Her feel any kind of emotion? “Skizz…”
“I'm just saying, y'know.” he said. “You don't have to believe it. Oh, and just like that, we're here.”
The harbor wasn't usually this crowded. Though being here wasn't a requirement for the Gommage, many people still gathered here. With a clear view of the Paintress, they could face the music with dignity, unafraid of what followed. Impulse hadn't thought of any better place for Skizz than the harbor, and he had been correct.
“Let’s get onto the pier. If I’m going to face Her, I want to be as close as I can possibly be.” Skizz looked at Impulse. “You don’t have to come if you–”
“I'm coming with,” Impulse said quickly. He may not like everything about today, but he wasn't abandoning his friend now. “I'm coming.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Together, the friends descended onto the wide pier. Normally, ships moored here, bringing employees to one of the three Aquafarms off of Lumière's shores or off-loading the food produced there. Today, the ships lay silent and unmoving, waiting along with the rest of Lumière.
Impulse and Skizz walked to the very edge of the pier, as close to the Paintress as they could get. Impulse's heart beat in his chest, barely able to contain it. Still, Skizz appeared to be relaxed - only the smallest details betrayed how the nerves finally got to him, too.
The sun was setting. The time had come. Only the heartless could not feel anything.
“Thank you,” Skizz said quietly. “For everything.”
The Paintress moved.
Lumière watched with bated breaths and quiet whispers. Her long pale hair obscured Her face and most of Her body as She stood up. She turned to the Monolith and for a moment, stared at the “34”. She raised a hand and swiped it across. It left only a blank canvas, waiting to be reused. With the same hand, She swiped the other way. In a neat, golden script, a new number appeared and the Paintress lowered Her hand.
A large “33” now graced the Monolith.
The air, already laden with grief and filled with goodbyes, now with desperate cries and silence. Gaps, emotional and physical, that would never be filled again. Impulse didn’t need to turn to know what unfolded behind him. In a crowd of hundreds, a good handful of them spent their last moments. The wind picked up no ash or dust, but red and white flower petals. Already, the first petals lazily drifted past him as the city mourned the deaths of their oldest.
Impulse turned his head. Skizz was staring ahead of him, at the monolith and the Paintress, a satisfied yet mournful smile on his face. He took a deep breath that barely buried his nerves. Tears in his eyes almost rolled down his cheek.
He pulled his gaze away from the Monolith and to his buddy. One final nod at Impulse before the inevitable caught up with him, too. Red and white flower petals flaked off of his skin as he closed his eyes. Not even a second later, nothing remained but those petals, picked up by the wind. Into the ocean, towards the continent - towards the Monolith.
Impulse reached out, grasped one of the white petals before they had gone out of reach. One small, perfect flower petal.
Unthinkingly, he opened a pocket and put it there. He quickly closed it again, as though the wind would steal it if he wasn’t careful.
Tears fell onto the fabric of his clothes, onto the cobbled pier. A deep breath, unsteady, as the realization wouldn’t leave him alone. He looked up. The Paintress sat down again, Her knees pulled to Her chest, Her face buried in them.
Dormant for another year.
Dormant until the next Gommage arrived.
Dormant until She’d awaken once more to paint a meticulous “32” on the Monolith next year and kill more people.
Not anymore. Impulse balled a fist, his sorrow a fuel for anger. Never again.