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[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.

[ It's convenient, that Sayori's not looking at him completely, because partly as she sweeps a tear away, partly because of what she says...Alex finds himself glancing off to the side too, now that they're able to look at each other.

His eyes fall on the sculpture that Beaky still rests atop of. It keeps his gaze, and he swallows. ]

I... Yeah, okay. Thanks, you- ...You're a good friend.

[A good friend.

She turns her head a little, unable to resist the urge to follow Alex's gaze to the sculpture. She looks to Beaky, too, the look in her eyes searching.

Sans said that was just the kind of person she was, too. It would be nice to believe that. That this is just who she is, and not a part of the act she's always put on so that no one would waste their time worrying about her. It feels natural—but so does the act, most of the time.

Then again, maybe delineation is a pointless endeavor when it's all just programming. It's all part of the file that the Director lifted from that digital world in the end.

She turns back to Alex with a wide smile and helps herself to the spot on the bed next to him.] Ehehe~ I'm just me. And the me that I am cares about you, so I'll always do my best for you!

[Is that enough to make her a good friend? Who knows. But she'll do her best anyway.]

[ Whatever's swimming through Sayori's head, Alex is oblivious to it. But, if he weren't, if he was privilege to her thoughts through an Oath or a feeling or something of the sort, he'd tell her she's a better person than she gives herself credit for. That the sadness, the pain, all of that's real. But so's the love. There's no way it can't be.

She's so much more than programming. ]

No just about it. [ Glancing, turning his head back from the sculpture despite it pulling his eyes. Just a moment. She's the type of person to understand. ] ...Not everyone would be this understanding. Not everyone would be this... [ There's no word to encompass it all, and- ] ...I'm really glad I met you.

[The way he watches the sculpture isn't lost on her, but she's not sure if it's the right time to ask. She just peeks at Beaky like the familiar might give her the answer, at least until her eyes are drawn to Alex in turn as he speaks.

Her hand comes to her chest to rest over her heart like that might alleviate the way it squeezes at Alex's words. It's not like it's the first nice thing he's ever said to her, but there's something raw and vulnerable still inside of her, torn open by Wash's dishonesty, by Ogata's crime, by Mista's words of love.

She blinks to clear the sting from her eyes and finds a few tears, and she laughs in bashful surprise as the other hand comes up to wipe them away.] Geez, s-sorry. [Her next breath results in a small sniffle, and then she leans over to bump her shoulder affectionately against his.] I just— y'know.

[On an Earth where he lived to see her world programmed into existence, would he feel the same way? Would her story still mean something to him if they hadn't met here?]

I'm glad I met you too. It turned out to be lucky I couldn't fall asleep that night, huh?

[Lucky they were both kept awake at camp. Lucky they're here at this place and time, a dead boy and a digital girl, meeting only by the serendipity of Lucretia's outstretched hand.]

[ While Sayori looks at her, Beaky simply tilts her head. She has no answers, no hidden solution to this riddle. Alex is a simple boy, though. It's not hard to puzzle out, if given enough pieces.

Funny, Sayori's mindful of her tears and here Alex had been just about bawling. It seems only her addressing her own crying clues him in, and he ducks away to rub his cheeks with a sleeve. The more he time spends here, the more he's worrying less about the pang of embarrassment that comes with...what, showing vulnerability? Something like that. He can't analyze that right now--Sayori's nudging him, which is actually funny, given their height difference.

It'd be worse if he weren't slouching. ]

Lucky. [ There's something light under those words. Something accepting. Mista'd asked him about fate. Alex still hates even the thought of it. It sets pins to his skin and fills his veins with fire. But luck... Luck, he thinks he might be able to coexist with that. ] Yeah, sure is, isn't it? Hip hip hooray for insomnia.

[This is just the life she is resigned to by surrounding herself with tall friends. She doesn't mind, anyway. Tall friends give good hugs.

It's not so much the vulnerability that she tries to avoid by wiping her tears (though there is still the instinctual reaction to shy away from that.) She just doesn't want to bring her own feelings into this too much when Alex is the one having such a hard time. He doesn't need to be worrying about all the stuff swimming around inside of her, not right now.

Man, she should have brought tissues. Maybe she should put together a friend emergency kit.

She tilts her head a little as she looks back at him, once she's reasonably sure her eyes aren't going to start leaking again. Her fingers lace together as they come to rest by her knees.] You know, you can always message me if you're ever having trouble sleeping and wanna talk. I'm...

[It feels silly to hesitate in saying this, because it's not like he doesn't know, but.] I'm still up late a lot too so I don't mind.

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