#might be incoherent or repetitive at times but in my defense 1) its late 2) talking abt dreams

[randomwriteronline]

Pohatu's dreams are messy.

Anybody's would be, if they had been alive and conscious for nearly one hundred thousand years without ever losing their memory.

In his nightmares he hears the howls of many Av-Matoran as the storm descends upon them far too fast for him to drag them away in in time, and he feels Hydraxon's hand yank him from the shoulder where it hurts most to set him back on his feet because training isn't done yet, it never is, not for a failure like him; he sees his siblings, and that's enough to make him squirm.

In his dreams, most often, he sees the Makuta.

He sees their laboratories, their viruses, their experiments - he used to run from one to the other all the timeto look at them work, because he had no duty nor destiny left to his name, and their tireless tinkering was so mesmerizing, and he was allowed to loiter around them so long as he did nothing except what he was told, which usually meant not touching anything.

But sometimes, sometimes they would let him help: they would let him fetch them components, or give his two widgets worth of an opinion, or they would explain to him the creation process to find the errors in their thinking.

In his dreams he conjures Rahi coming from the vats that would perplex even Mutran. You and horns, he would grumble - he used to grumble - what is it with you and horns?

Who knows what it is, with Pohatu and horns. He just likes them, or so it would seem.

He still remembers when the Vako were created. He likes the Vako: they are fast, and strong, and they have a big horn right in the middle of their heads. It's a shame they can't be tamed, really.

He still remembers it because it was a gift, in a sense. The Makuta that created them (who were they? He can't figure it out: their name, their mask, their appearance were washed away a long time ago, and all he remembers are the long claws, like those of all Makuta, capable of such terrible harm and yet so careful and precise) had called him to see the very first one, and had told him he'd been the inspiration for such a beast. The surprise had caused something warm and good and pleasant to spread through him, a sensation akin to a joyful, beautiful, prideful embarrassment.

He's forgotten a lot of Makuta with time. A lot of them have died, after all - maybe it's for the best, since the living ones have grown so cold towards him.

He doesn't even remember the Makuta who found him heaving loud sobs as he laid pitifully in a tunnel outside of Karda Nui and trying to bend his body to produce tears so that some of his shame could at least leave him. He remembers she'd been a female, because in his dreams her role is often filled by Gorast: he remembers her voice as she'd called him little Toa whilst towering above him in a way no other being ever had; he remembers her eyes going wide and her posture growing stiff as he'd introduce himself with a full title that sounded as hollow and useless as he appeared, spoken softly as he confessed to her his lack of worth: I am Toa Pohatu Mata and I have failed.

He remembers then her claws on his body - cradling him with a graceless clumsiness typical of someone who has never held anything too kindly (and this, too, is something she had in common with Gorast) that was still sweeter than the closest thing that could have been called a caress from Hydraxon's hand. He'd been so awed by the tentative tenderness he'd been offered despite his failure that he had barely registered their journey.

After that, it's a mess. He was so tired. He thinks he might have been laying somewhere, on his side, curled up pathetically, buzzing in and out of sleep. There were voices talking about him, of course, he knows: the whole Brotherhood must have congregated when their sister had dragged him to their door like that.

He remembers arguments on what to do with him, who should keep him, if he should be assigned to a group, to a team, to a fortress, if leaving him anywhere out in the vast terrible world where so many things could have so easily overwhelmed and killed him when he was so valuable to the survival of the Great Spirit would have been a good idea to begin with.

He remembers a voice saying something loudly, and silence. Then steps in his direction, and then...

Miserix looks strange in his dreams.

Miserix had asked him about his siblings, where they were. Pohatu had answered with the truth: I don't know. They abandoned me.

Miserix had thought over it, and decided that it was too dangerous to leave a Toa Mata - possibly the last of them - to fend for himself, alone in the universe; so, the Brotherhood of Makuta welcomed him.

Miserix was nice, despite it all.

It's a shame he didn't follow the Plan.

The Makuta had all been nice to him at first, despite it all.

He'd never been this small before. Hydraxon was tall enough, and his siblings were taller than him as well, but until then he'd been sorrounded by Matoran that barely reached his hip; now he had to twist his neck to look the beings around him in the eyes, and they had to hunch their back to look into his. And there was their awkwardness, too - they had no clue what to do with him, especially at first, when he was barely anything more than a sad sack of depressed rocks sitting in the corners of their labs.

They had little to talk with him about, little for him to keep busy with. But it was very nice, when they did acknowledge him, when they did allow him in their lairs, when they had him test the Rahi to see how they reacted.

They were polite, as he was to them, and he liked their company, and - it seemed - they did not mind his.

He is a fast learner: he knew what to do and what not to do in no time, and what to expect too. For example, you can laugh at Chirox and Mutran's spats but only very quietly, and you can touch anything in Antroz's lab so long as you do not lift any of it from where it sits; you need to steer clear of Tridax because he hates visitors, and if you absolutely have to go to Kojol or Gorast you need to send a message at least half a day earlier so neither will accidentally try to vivisect you for spooking them; neither Vamprah nor Krika will say a word to you but they will know if you leave anything a single centimeter out of place, and so will Icarax - though he will tell you as much, asking if you're looking for a fight, and if you're not careful he will land a punch; Bitil usually has at least one time clone at the ready to keep you out of his face at all times, Miserix is never in the mood for fooling around, and Spiriah is very, very fun to bother without suffering repercussions.

And Teridax...

Teridax is kind.

(Pohatu believes in few things strongly: he believes his siblings don't care for him, he believes he loves the Matoran more than himself, and he believes Teridax is kind.)

(He believes Teridax is kind, because Teridax speaks to him kindly: because Teridax always saw value in him and alway told him as much, always reassured him of his usefulness and worth even when he had no unity nor duty nor destiny; because Teridax was always kind.)

(Few beings are born truly, irrevocably, incontestably evil, and despite his reputation Teridax is not one of them. But it has always been in his nature to plan, to consider his options and scheme for contingencies, and a Toa as powerful as a Mata is always better as an assured ally than a distant acquaintance. He just hadn't realized how starved Pohatu had been for attention of that kind, how desperately he craved it: sooner than he could train himself to stop flinching by reflex upon seeing him so suddenly he had the Toa shyly, eagerly trotting after him, anxious to be helpful, to be useful, to be told that he was more than a waste of space, that he had a purpose and a meaning and a reason to be cared about. Teridax gave him everything he needed, everything - at the cost of everything else.)

In his dreams, memories of kindness are muddled. Certainly, he knows, all the Makuta must have been kind and gentle to him; certainly, he knows, they must have all treated him well. But in his dreams the Mask of Shadows is the only one that presses its forehead against his Kakama so very gently.

Teridax visits him often in his dreams when he's had a nightmare, or when he's too worried, as though sensing his distress.

He likes to dream of his laboratory, so safe and welcoming, of his kraata crawling in his hands curiously, of his claws so carefully shifting him in the right place.

Once he dreamed of being a kraata, curled on his father's lap.

It was one of the best dreams he's ever had.

It was so immediately, terribly obvious that Pohatu had a favorite among the Makuta. (So terribly obvious and terribly disquieting, as his dependency on Teridax grew.) Bitil sneers about it still - about the leash tight around that neck of Stone, about his brother being the only one who gets to have a pet. Pohatu never understood the joke he and the rest of the Brotherhood seem to share about him, and has grown to hate it. He has grown to hate -- no, that's a word reserved for his siblings; he has grown to resent the other Makuta.

It's not a stable feeling, it ebbs and flows, depends on the day; but they are not shy about their acquired distaste for him as they regard him distantly, coldly.

In turn, he is not shy about not appreciating their disgust either.

If they had not deserted him all of a sudden, if they had not found his company so bothersome, perhaps this wouldn't have happened.

(Pohatu is a frail thing, so easy to win, so easy to lose: Teridax knows this, and in his wisdom isolated him. So the only love he can gain, the only one that matters, is the one Teridax rewards his obedience with; and in his blind and deaf servitude he is ecstatic.)

Sometimes he dreams of Matoran.

It's much less common, as those can quickly become paralyzing night terrors in little to no time - though the Island of Mata Nui has been calming his fears so far, since it's much easier to beat back a Rahi than it is evading an energy storm.

He's started dreaming of Takua often, in truth.

It was a pleasant surprise, despite the Nui-Jaga and the momentary blindness. He was convinced he'd never see any of the Av-Matoran again, and here is Karda Nui's local troublemaker, all mismatched colors and no memories and still the same exact wanderlust putting his little feet to work trudging miles upon miles. At least the island is big and the Wahi well connected enough for him to go from one place to another without putting himself in too much danger.

It's a shame he doesn't remember him. Takua once asked him for kicking lessons and made a proper fool of himself at the first attempt, but it was good fun. They could have laughed about it again.

He might be the one thing he truly could have missed from Karda Nui. He's glad to see him enjoy himself.

Lewa has started dreaming of him too, he's confided in him, because Pohatu is easy to talk to and everybody confides in him. Gali as well, and Onua mentioned it in passing - even Tahu answered him positively when he asked. Kopaka says nothing if he can help it, of course, but the long sleep must have made him sloppy enough to cave in after only the slightest insistent pestering.

This sort of thing reeks of destiny.

It's not like Mata Nui hasn't had all the time to get on his nerves - for his siblings, for his chosen Toa, for the undeserved zealous idolatry he demands of the Matoran without ever looking at them.

He and the Turaga must have something in store for his little Light brother, he's certain. Something that will drag him to his death.

His muscles seize when he sees the Avohki bathe Jaller in light.

Ah... Of course.

Of course.

His nightmares become bright when Takanuva bursts to smithereens within them, torn apart by his own glow, screaming in fear.

He whispers for Teridax to help him as his heartlight flickers erratically, and when he shuts his eyes he breathes deeply, deeply, until what he sees is Takua and Jaller and Akhmou playing with the docile, gentle kraata on the floor of the Makuta's laboratory, as Teridax soothes the Toa in a kind embrace, like a parent soothes a child: see?, his voice rumbles so gently. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about.