In Mei Memoriam [Cyrus Abaddon/Kira Kira :: Flashback]

Cyrus kept a blank, slightly annoyed expression as Danielle moved his back and joints around like he were some kind of action figure. He had to admire her dedication and rigidness, but at this exact moment doing so was the hardest thing of all. Knowing they’d have to protect the city from attacks from now on, it only made sense that Cyrus, as the physically weakest of the group, would need to exert himself further to keep up with them, but… was this really the only way? In all his life, he had been challenged by very few things: Everything was easy once you figured out the correct procedure and learned all you could about I, but archery… archery required a variable he could not control nor predict, that being his own dexterity. “I keep telling you, that’s exactly what I’m doing!” The young man cried in frustration. How long had they been at this; one, two, maybe three hours? Well, that might’ve been an exaggeration, but from Cyrus’s perspective it really did feel like an eternity. ”Why a bow, anyway? I have my own weapon, don’t I?” Cyrus bitched. He was so done with this… it was apparent to him that he was physically deficient, but it was also apparent to him that his persona powers were built around this fact: he didn’t need to be physically strong, or at least, that’s what he told himself. He lined up his shot as best he could and… missed, of course. In a fit of tedium and frustration, Cyrus threw the bow at the ground, sat down and cupped his forehead with his hand in a display of exasperation. After a few seconds of sitting on the ground, Cyrus felt he had calmed down. Rational thought had returned to him. “I’m sorry… it’s… I’m just not built for this, alright? It’s clearly a genetic lack of dexterity; no amount of training can fix that.”

Cyrus remained on the floor, a sea of self-induced shame drowning out his self-esteem. Yes, logically speaking it was possible for someone with little dexterity to train their way into athleticism: hell, there were cases of people with mental syndromes or even physical incapacitations that still managed to compete with the best of their sport, but… the sheer amount of effort that achieving something like that would take made Cyrus want to off himself just so he wouldn’t have to hear people pester him about how he couldn’t do it. He stood up, gently took the bow from Danielle’s hand, drawing an arrow from the quivered hoisted around his back and drew the string back. “I’m a man of science, Dani, not muscle. If this were only about numbers, patterns and vectors I wouldn’t have a problem hitting the bullseye on my first try; but it’s not. It’s more complex than that. It takes more than sinew; it comes down to what’s in you, and I...” He took aim. “…just don’t have it.” He let the arrow fly to prove his point, expecting it to miss again like the millions of arrows he’d fired before it. To his surprise, however, the arrow curved ever-so-slightly mid-shot – a result of the angle at which he fired and the position of the bow in contrast to it – and hit the outer edge of the target. Cyrus could only stare in disbelief before holding the bow up to his face… and screaming at it. “Oh! Oh NOW you decide to work! NOW when I’m trying to prove a point! Okayyeahthat’sfineidontseeanythingwrongtherenahwhatwouldtherebewrongthere!”

It was fairly hard for Cyrus to focus on the praise being thrown his way when he himself didn't really want to succeed all that much. He knew that it would only be an uphill battle from here on out when it came to his physical training, and he hoped that by showing Danielle that trying to toughen him up is futile she'd leave him alone in that regard; additionally, as long as he showed no signs of improvement and Danielle kept pressuring him, he'd have an excuse to vent at her for upsetting him, if he really needed it (Not that he enjoyed venting his anger at friends, but he also didn't really enjoy being upset himself and his pride wouldn't allow those emotions to simply go away. Simply put, caring as he may be, Cyrus is a bad friend). "I dunno, because it feels good to complain?" This was less of a joke than Danielle would think, but he still hoped she'd laugh from it anyway. He really did like seeing her laugh. Sure, he liked seeing all of his friends laugh, but Dani-

His train of thought was abruptly interrupted the moment Danielle hugged him. His inner dialogue shifted from friendly self-discussion about what Cyrus likes about Dani and in what way he likes her into... a grim, bitter reminder of what Danielle's true nature was. There was nothing that Cyrus could do to blame her for it, of course, since there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, but... that was what made it worse; no one could hear his emotions, no one could understand his emotions, and no one would care about his emotions, and there was nobody to blame for this but himself. As Danielle hugged Cyrus, his hand turned into a fist, his carelessly long nails digging into his hand strong enough to leave a mark... before Cyrus let go. It wouldnt be possible for Dani to see this immediately, as Cyrus put the damaged hand in his coat pocket. He would do nothing and simply stare melancholically at Danielle as she ran off to put the bow and arrow in their storage. "Yeah..." His eyes were devoid of shimmer and half-lidded. "A high note..."