Your Name is Eridan

Divine Omens

Eridan opened his eyes to see a familiar gray ceiling. He was lying on his back, arms and legs splayed out as if he had passed out from another round of intense FLARPing. Lights flickered on and off in an algorithmic fashion, giving him the visual stimuli that probably roused him from his unconsciousness in the first place. Every part of his body was aching, but the area around his lower torso was searing in pain.

Groaning, Eridan managed to drag himself up to a sitting position and looked around. He was on the meteor, alone. A stab of pain forced his attention back on his current state, and the troll looked down, lifting his shirt up.

It looked like someone had stitched him up after Maryam's Chainsaw Massacre on his abdomen. His torso and legs were neatly sewn together with some sort of black thread, crusted with his violet blood. Well, that would explain the pain...

Did that mean he was alive?

Painstakingly he shifted to a standing position and walked to where the remains of his Science Stick laid. Gingerly picking them up, Eridan examined the broken pieces before pocketing them. Looking around, he decided to search for any other people that might be around. As he passed an empty ectobiology container, he caught sight of his reflection. His cape was gone (damn that Maryam, she made it into a sash, didn't she) and his eyes were a milky white.

Not alive then.

Eridan continued walking, noting in irony that this was the same route he had taken when he had decided to confront Feferi on joining Jack Noir. Speaking of which, where was she now? If he was dead, would he see her in this recreation of the meteor? Would she hate him?

That was a stupid question, of course she would. Everyone probably hated him by now. Eridan knew that everyone had a lower tolerance for his personal brand of bullshit for some stupid reason, and even though Makara would get off relatively scot-free, he would be persecuted to oblivion. Vantas had written him off as dead, he had blown a hole in Peixes, he had permanently blinded Captor, if Maryam ever found him again he would be double dead, Serket was a bitch anyway, and the other trolls had always considered him strange and creepy.

Why bother finding people that hated you? He had ruined his life, both living and dead, with the shit that he had pulled. Nobody would probably even talk to him, never mind welcome him with open arms. Did he have any friends at this point? Eridan tried to find one, but his mind came up empty.

Now what? If he bumped into someone they would probably try to kill him and, knowing his luck, the news of his misdeeds would have spread through this afterlife like wildfire already. There was nothing for him here, nothing to hold onto. No reason to stay. But where would he go? Was he able to leave this place? If only he could get away from this place, away from his ex-friends and this world that had royally fucked him up physically, mentally, socially.

The shards of his Science Stick started vibrating, and the dead troll quickly scooped the pieces out of his pocket. From the two snapped halves to the small splinters covering his grey, four fingered hands, the shards of the stick started to glow. They began to float up, flying to a place that was five inches in front of his face before merging in a flash of light. Eridan's vision was momentarily compromised, and when the spots in his sight finally dissipated, he was met with a floating solid replica of his Aspect.

The white wings of Hope rotated slowly in front of his face, as if waiting for him to take it.

What did this mean? Was this supposed to be Hope for the future, Hope for the trials he would have to face in the future? Was it courage to face his old friends, the nerve to be able to talk the again? Or was this entirely different? Was this, instead, a Hope for a second chance? Eridan narrowed his eyes in determination before his hand clasped around the floating insignia.