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sycamour; xy spoilers all up in here
[Lysandre doesn't remember much about what happened in Geosenge, the period of time after the weapon went off lost to blackness and a strange, unfaltering sense of calmness after he realized what was about to happen. It wasn't that he thought there was still a chance that he could destroy the world and all who inhabited it, except for his promised few; that goal had been abandoned as soon as he'd seen Yveltal free of the machine. But perhaps the power remaining would be just enough to do some damage, to do something, to cause just enough of a tragedy that what happened here wouldn't be forgotten for a long time.
He knew enough about the pain caused by just existing in this world; it felt good, in some sick way, to inflict some pain back.
He doesn't know what saved him, and if he doesn't, then it's doubtful that anyone does; if he had to guess, it was that strange primal urge that kicks in and shuts all other function off in favor of survival, no matter how little survival had interested the person in question before that moment. All he knows is that he comes to eventually, some vague, blurry period of time later, in a room that is most definitely not the one he passed out in, and one of his Scientists is there, though if he were to be asked later he couldn't identify which it was with complete certainty (he can't really shake the thought that it might have been Mable, however); the only thing he manages to ask her is completely inane before he blacks out again.
In that one hazy moment, all he wants to know is how many survived.
The Scientists are good to him, for the next long period of time; he hates relying on them. Surviving the initial blast seems to have been the easy part, and he's not exactly going to argue with receiving assistance simply because he's not in any condition to; at the same time, he finds the sheer number of pins involved in that assistance to be utterly unnecessary, and while it's longer than he'd like, it isn't nearly long enough before he's developed a tendency to scare Aliana half to death by being up when he definitely shouldn't be. After a while, they listen to his assertions that they need to return to the labs in Lumiose City; he's content to stay well below ground for the time being, in the lower laboratories, though he's less than pleased with the discovery that Xerosic has (admittedly unsurprisingly) been making a godawful fuckery of things there in his absence.
He'd left his Holocaster behind when he'd gone to deal with the children, down in that lowest level of the Geosenge base; it'd been...salvageable, kind of, despite the fact that someone had gotten to the labs and disabled large portions of what he'd been able to make it do for him previously. He's taken to playing with it once in a while, now that he's recovered some and can actually focus on things; he doesn't know what to think of the sheer number of missed calls he'd received, data of their existence still present on the device - and the largest concentration of them all from one ID, pinging his personal line over and over again until well after the weapon had gone off.
He doesn't listen to whatever messages may have been left; just the same, he can't bring himself to delete them from existence, either. It isn't a whim that eventually leads him to follow through, to finally place a call to that too-familiar ID, the day he decides to; it's more a sense that he can't avoid it any longer. Something that was simply going to happen one day, for a reason he doesn't entirely understand. Perhaps it's through some bizarre sense of duty, a desire to explain what all of that was because he owes the man at least that much; perhaps it's due to some sort of inherently selfish, childish desire to see the person he's considered his best friend for years again. He can't be sure, really; he just knows he needs to call.
And Augustine had never believed in ignoring one's intuition.]
He knew enough about the pain caused by just existing in this world; it felt good, in some sick way, to inflict some pain back.
He doesn't know what saved him, and if he doesn't, then it's doubtful that anyone does; if he had to guess, it was that strange primal urge that kicks in and shuts all other function off in favor of survival, no matter how little survival had interested the person in question before that moment. All he knows is that he comes to eventually, some vague, blurry period of time later, in a room that is most definitely not the one he passed out in, and one of his Scientists is there, though if he were to be asked later he couldn't identify which it was with complete certainty (he can't really shake the thought that it might have been Mable, however); the only thing he manages to ask her is completely inane before he blacks out again.
In that one hazy moment, all he wants to know is how many survived.
The Scientists are good to him, for the next long period of time; he hates relying on them. Surviving the initial blast seems to have been the easy part, and he's not exactly going to argue with receiving assistance simply because he's not in any condition to; at the same time, he finds the sheer number of pins involved in that assistance to be utterly unnecessary, and while it's longer than he'd like, it isn't nearly long enough before he's developed a tendency to scare Aliana half to death by being up when he definitely shouldn't be. After a while, they listen to his assertions that they need to return to the labs in Lumiose City; he's content to stay well below ground for the time being, in the lower laboratories, though he's less than pleased with the discovery that Xerosic has (admittedly unsurprisingly) been making a godawful fuckery of things there in his absence.
He'd left his Holocaster behind when he'd gone to deal with the children, down in that lowest level of the Geosenge base; it'd been...salvageable, kind of, despite the fact that someone had gotten to the labs and disabled large portions of what he'd been able to make it do for him previously. He's taken to playing with it once in a while, now that he's recovered some and can actually focus on things; he doesn't know what to think of the sheer number of missed calls he'd received, data of their existence still present on the device - and the largest concentration of them all from one ID, pinging his personal line over and over again until well after the weapon had gone off.
He doesn't listen to whatever messages may have been left; just the same, he can't bring himself to delete them from existence, either. It isn't a whim that eventually leads him to follow through, to finally place a call to that too-familiar ID, the day he decides to; it's more a sense that he can't avoid it any longer. Something that was simply going to happen one day, for a reason he doesn't entirely understand. Perhaps it's through some bizarre sense of duty, a desire to explain what all of that was because he owes the man at least that much; perhaps it's due to some sort of inherently selfish, childish desire to see the person he's considered his best friend for years again. He can't be sure, really; he just knows he needs to call.
And Augustine had never believed in ignoring one's intuition.]