rockymountaindie | ic inbox (balance)

...

[Yeah, she gets it.

Whatever he lost is too horrific to speak of.

The nauseous feeling in her stomach intensifies with the sharp stab of pain in her chest.]

I can come see you. In person. [Once again, worded carefully, though not as carefully as the last, the concern too obvious in her wobbling voice.]

[ It's impossible to ignore that slip, but oh, part of Alex wants to. If he can just package that part away, maybe, maybe it won't ache every day. If he can just never talk about it, maybe the overwhelming guilt will stop.

That's foolish, and he's known this whole time; nothing, not a single thing, will ever give him that relief. ]

I'm not-- [ No, it sticks in his throat, a wet and sticky sound as he coughs. It's like he's choking on black sludge all over again. ] Don't... Sayori, it's gonna--

[ His voice catches and skips, from a low, scratchy voice close to the regular register, to a cracked squeak that would probably be funny, in other circumstances. ]

Room. [ It's the closest to a verbal agreement he can get out. A mumbled, muffled word, hidden by his hand as he pinches the bridge of his nose, tight as possible. ]

[She's braced for him to say no before he starts speaking. And in the middle, she's already deciding whether she's going to ignore his "no" because he obviously shouldn't be alone with this.

Thankfully, she doesn't have to make that decision, because he changes his mind.] Okay. I'll be right there.

[Good thing Wash has made her do her cardio.

She doesn't waste any time, jumping whole flights of stairs with Feather Fall and probably reaching floor Prosperitas in record time. It's only a few minutes between her sending her message and her arrival.

She knocks when she reaches Alex's dorm, and at the same time:] It's me.

[ Honestly? Alex was going to say no. He's sort of shocked he didn't, but the guilt's really the tipping point, isn't it? Keeping quiet isn't easy. He hates it, honestly.

So, the guilt, that's something he can very quickly interface with and understand, something that pushes his severe desire to not talk about it aside.

Does he really want to let more people down?

That knock's sooner than he expected. He jumps, from where he's standing, by that...strange, ugly amalgam of scrap metal that he'd been toting around last month. Something to make the room less drab, less rambles and notes taped to the wall above his bed.

(God, he's glad his roommate's out--)

Alex wets his lips. His eyes are locked on the sculpture instead, one finger tapping its question mark shaped head. It bounces back and forth lightly. ]

Ye- yeah. It's open.

[She lets herself in and remembers, too late, her plan to announce her arrival with less sudden sounds. She'll apologize later. She's not sure even the gentlest approach would have helped with Alex in the state he's in, though.

She didn't even put shoes on. The steps of her bare feet are distinctive as she crosses the floor to approach Alex. And she sees the notes, the things scattered around that make this room his and the strange sculpture she'll ask about later, but she's focused solely on him as she tentatively reaches a hand out to brush it against his shoulder.]

[ Alex doesn't pull away. When Sayori touches him, though, she can hear a deep intake of breath. He doesn't turn to see her, yet.

The shoulder Sayori doesn't touch is occupied by Beaky, who is preoccupied preening his hair, like a good bird. Her human's distressed. She'll do what she can. She glances at Sayori and clicks her beak gently. This is good. This is good for her to be here.

...However, it doesn't seem like he's going to say something. Not yet, at least. What to say, what-- ]

I really didn't wanna hide it. [ Ah. Maybe starting there. Maybe-- ] I jus' didn' wanna think about it.

[ His voice is all air, no substance. Like it's impossible for him to force sound through his throat. ]

[Sayori peers over at Beaky. She's not an expert on bird body language, but she does figure that animals, especially magic soul animals, tend to know the score. If Alex didn't want her here, it would be obvious.

She extends her hand further to lightly skim her knuckle over the feathers at Beaky's neck in thanks. And then she rests it on Alex's other shoulder properly. Her expression is soft and searching, just the slight downward tilt of her mouth showing her concern, but her grip is firm with assurance.

It's not like his reasoning is crazy. That was part of it all, when she kept what Miss Zarves told her under lock and key until Wonderland dragged it out in the worst way. She gets it, really.

But...]

...did it work? [There's no judgment in the question, only gentle, genuine curiosity.]

[ There's no verbal response. Alex just shakes his head with a loud, rough sniffle, not looking at Sayori.

No. It could never work. To not think about it would mean to not feel guilty, every second of every day. Even with part of his very soul removed, the guilt festered, just...differently.

Alex will always carry the guilt with him. Always. ]

[Yeah. That's what she thought. Even when she's able to find distractions from her own darkness, it always creeps back in again the moment there's space in her mind.

She wishes she could have been there for him earlier.

She doesn't ask permission out loud this time, but the motion of her hand towards his waist is tentative, her offer of a hug silent.]

[ For weeks, Alex has tried to hold it in. Since that first time he awoke and realized what was missing. But, now? He simply can't anymore. That gentle touch is all it takes for him to choke out a sob and sink to sit on the bed they're standing by. It means he can all but bury himself in Sayori's embrace. ]

[It's a distant thought compared to the instinctual concern that overwhelms her, but in the back of her mind, she remembers thinking the first time that she could give him a better hug if only she were a little taller.

She shuffles closer to the bed and tucks him into her arms, resting her chin on top of his head and running her fingers through his hair. There's no Oath connecting them, but she'd have to be numb not to feel the rattle of this raging storm. A deep breath fills her lungs and she counts to three, boards up the windows and grabs her flashlight...

She'll keep standing for this one, she thinks.]

[ To give Sayori more room, Beaky leaves Alex's shoulder and sets down carefully on the top of the sculpture, making its spring sway back and forth. She watches over them as Alex's arms wrap around Sayori with an almost guilty cry.

He's had a lot to think about, hasn't he? It's kind of nice to just cry...but it still hurts, all the same. ]

[How many times will the world rip this gash back open, she wonders? How many times will Alex have to grieve anew at the whims of things like the Raven Queen, or Adrian, or a gunman with no empathy? How many times will this ice cold wind shake the battered foundations of his being?

Another deep breath. One, two, three.

She strokes her hand through his hair in a soothing rhythm and closes her eyes.] It's okay.

[Not his situation, but this. His grief. The tears he needs to shed for all the things carved out of him. At least she isn't projecting the dull, thudding ache of her own heart onto him. She repeats her words to him from Shadowdale—softer, and yet heavier.] ...feel what you need to.

Edited 2019-11-08 05:55 (UTC)

[ I'm sorry, he wants to say. For keeping all this inside. For taking too many chances with himself, even though he knew what it'd do to the people around him. For the way what's hurt him...seems to keep hurting all of them, too.

But he can't. He can just breathe, and cry, and frankly he barely has the energy for even that.

Eventually, he'll let a word slip from his mouth, something... A pained admission. ]

I can't... I can't remember... [ It feels horrible to be mourning this, to Sayori of all people. But, perhaps... There's something she might be able to understand. ] I lost them.

[ If he can just find a moment's peace to explain. ]

[Her heart drops into her stomach.

The sound of static, blurry faces, her own voice distantly in her ears: Why can't I remember? Her understanding of her life before the Bureau crumbling before her, amongst the uncaring currents of the sea, inside of a jellyfish that held everything.

When she opens her eyes, her vision has blurred with gathering tears.

At least the way she's holding him, Alex can't see them. There's a wobble in the breath she takes, but it's the sacrifice of steadying her voice before she speaks.] All of them?

[Vague, but encompassing multiple questions: which people? Which pieces of those people?]

[ He shakes his head. This is a conversation in half-filled jigsaw puzzles, and Sayori's got so few pieces. But he's trying, he's trying very hard to give her the rest of them. ]

I- when I... When made that thing mad...and I didn't die. [ His heart's pounding. Sayori can definitely feel him trembling. His hands dig into the back of her shirt. ] I saved...six other people. But...two-hundred...eighty-seven others, they still... [ Burned, fried, fell. ] Some of 'em were...my... My classmates, my friends, I didn't- I didn't know, I woulda tried harder, if I knew they were going to--

[ Not important, not important not important not important-- He chokes in trying to take a breath to calm himself down. ]

But... But when I woke up, after- when I tried to- all except four of 'em, I can't- [ He doesn't like thinking about it, that day, gathered at the airport with a gaggle of people who don't exist for him, anymore, don't exist except- ]

The only thing I can remember is how they died.

[Two hundred eighty seven.

Two hundred eighty seven people, all wiped away from the only person left to remember them.

Her stomach turns as the weight of this sinks into her shoulders. Her voice is barely a whisper, raw, horrified words that slip out without her realizing.] Oh my God.

[This is what he's been dragging around for the better part of a month. Has she even met two hundred eighty seven people? Does she have that many faces in her own memory? He said they weren't all his friends, but—

Her arms around him tighten and she turns her head to bury her face in his hair.] I'm so sorry.

What if it happens again? What if I lose the rest of 'em, Tod, or Clear, or fucking Carter, fuck, I keep trying but everything- everything's static, the names, the faces, my whole... just about my whole fucking French class, and Tod's- s-something, someone important to him, but I can't remember how, and she- there's no way to get it back, I asked, not unless I wanna go- go hunt down people like me, people who...who made fate mad, not unless I wanna do that for the rest of my ff- fucking life--

[ Though it's centered at his hands, his whole body's shaking now. And he's rambling, unable to stop the thoughts spilling out his mouth. He doesn't remember who he's talked to Sayori about. She has...so little context for all of this, and he's sorry for pouring it all onto her, breathing heavily at her stomach. He really is.

But he can't seem to stop. ]

[She doesn't have an answer for any of this, and she's pretty sure Alex doesn't expect one. It's that same helpless feeling as when she held Mista, of wondering just how deep the trench she's staring into goes, wondering if there's even a bottom past the point where even the brightest light can no longer reach.

She forces herself to relax enough to resume the motion of her hand through his hair, just praying that the rhythm will help to anchor him. And even though he's rambling, even though she doesn't understand it all, she listens. Her journal is filled with things like this, especially the pages that document Wonderland, every word of every awful thought scrawled in a frantic, desperate need to let it out without choking on the tar in her soul. She doesn't know what else to do to help, but she understands this.

So she lets him talk for a while, at least until it seems he needs to stop to breathe, and very suddenly, she remembers the one other thing she's good at in this world full of orphaned people. She interjects, but only in the gentlest way.] Alex?

[And continuing, quickly:] You can keep going if you need to. It's okay. [And she means it.]

But, when you— when you need to stop. Do you...want to hear a poem?

[ The second he stops, it's like he remembers just how tired he is. That's always how it goes, in spurts and bursts, and he remembers his mom telling him once, when he was much younger, that looking before he leaped applied to words too.

He misses his mom. ]

Poem? [ Back to short descriptors. It sounds like he's run a marathon, or at least through the woods. ] What... What kind of poem?

[She can't blame him. She's tired too, and she isn't the one who got shot and then lost two hundred eighty-seven people from her memory.

The steady movement of her hand in his hair persists.] An inspiring one?

[She can't take these feelings away, but maybe she can give him enough of a boost so that he can lift himself out of this hopeless spiral. Of course, she'd understand if that's not something he wants right now, so:] Or just a normal one if you want.

I...

[ Beaky caws softly from her perch on the sculpture. It’s a strangely comforting sound, and Alex just feels his shoulders slump. ]

Inspiring. Inspiring sounds...yeah, okay.

[She turns her head just slightly to look sidelong at Beaky, and gives her a small smile.] Okay.

[She takes a deep breath, though this time she doesn't feel like she needs to count to three. She just needs to remember the feelings she impressed upon a page in ink.

Her voice is soothing and airy, well-enunciated but gentle. It sinks with weight in the appropriate spots. And of course, it brims with magic, with bardic inspiration.]

When a little drizzle becomes a storm,
We stop and take a moment to mourn.
And if at the end of the day the storm still rages,
Our only choice then is to be courageous.

And what is rain but a cloud that's too heavy?
You can't drop the weight until you're ready.
Pitter-patter go the drops as the rain falls in sheets
And you wonder, when it's over, will you ever find peace?

If you're out in the rain you're going to get wet
But I can bring you an umbrella whenever you forget.
An umbrella, a coat, or maybe even a towel
But I'd bring sunshine in a bottle if only I knew how.

Eventually, every rainstorm breaks
And the sun comes out, though your heart still aches.
You're soaked to the bone and cold in your soul
And being out in a storm will always take its toll.

You can lay in the sun and hope to dry out
Let the warmth take away some of your fear and your doubt.
Shake out your coat and wrap up in a towel
And get some rest knowing that the storm’s passed for now.

And the sun helps.
But the only way to get nice and dry
Is time.

[ There's a lot of art Alex doesn't really know about. Poetry's included in that. How to write it, recite it, really give it a soul--all of that's lost on him. But, you don't have to be a musician to find a piece of music beautiful, right?

That's the feeling here. His arms slowly drop from around Sayori, partly because it's getting tiring to keep them up and partly because he's a little lost in the words. It could be the magic...but more likely, it's just the melodic nature of Sayori's voice and how practiced she is.

It's hard to tell just what's affecting him most. Already, he's emotionally volatile and crying on and off. But there's something soothing about this, he realizes, as he lets out a deep sigh, a few tears falling as he blinks. There's the physical sensation of her hand in his hair and combined it's like the words themselves are caressing him.

To explain any of this would seem...silly, as he can't put the feeling to words (not like Sayori can, that's for sure), but his breath hitches after she's finished. After he's sure she's finished. ]

...'s beautiful. [ Feels silly to even say. How to express something that doesn't feel possible to express? ] Thank you, Sayori. I... Thank you.

[Even though this is one of the few things she thinks she's pretty good at, she still can't help but be a little nervous in the moments between the last line of the poem and Alex's response. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do. Maybe it didn't make any sense to him. Maybe it didn't help at all and she's just made a total idiot of herself.

But, blessedly, it seems that none of those things are true. Her smile becomes a little brighter as her embrace relaxes, and she pulls back enough to look down at his face. One hand lifts from his shoulder—and hesitates slightly, but the trepidation passes and she wipes the tears from one of his cheeks with a delicate sweep of her thumb.] You're my friend! I know there's not much I can do about... [A slight tilt of her head in the direction that her eyes avert, the corners of her expression becoming more somber.] ...all the bad stuff inside your head.

But I'm here for you. And I've always got a poem if you need one, okay? Promise.

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