[IC] Amygdala Circuit

[Mcmolly]

Don't let anyone else die because of me.

Dahlia felt like she might be sick, had she not already emptied her stomach in Dragon’s cockpit. For the briefest instant, every ounce of guilt that Quinn harbored washed through her, and it made her soul heavy, made her into an anchor with the entire, crushing depths of the ocean pushing down above her.

“You didn’t…” she started, only for her voice to peter out. What could she say? What assurance could she give that she hadn’t already? Or that wouldn’t be a lie? She wouldn’t lie to Quinn, not ever. She’d promised.

Quinn wasn’t a killer. That was the truth. The only thing Dahlia could do was prove it.

She let Quinn go, gently. “Stay here,” she said, and then darted for Dragon’s body as if every bruise and sprain and cracked bone had been forgotten.

“Stay where?” Besca asked over the comms. “Where is she staying? Where are you going? Dahlia?”

“Probably fifteen minutes ‘til the head’s too mulched to get into. Convoy won’t be fast enough, you said so.”

“Because there’s not point. Deelie—Quinn, did she—Deelie! Listen to me. She’s gone, it’s too late. There’s a lake of ichor around her and that’s not including what might have leaked into the cockpit!”

“Don’t know that.”

“I know it’s not worth you!” Besca shouted. “Neither of you! Deelie, get back there and wait with Quinn! Dahlia!”

She didn’t get an answer. From where she sat, Quinn would be able to see Dahlia’s form half-limping, half-jogging towards the hill Blotklau was crushed against. She had a small bag slung over her shoulder.

“God— Someone, hey—ETA? Extraction, ETA? No, I don’t care if the path is burnt up, you have four-wheel-drive for a reason! Pick up the bloody pace! Quinn, honey, Quinn—can you hear me? Don’t—don’t let her go. Don’t—someone get me eyes out there! Please!”

Besca’s voice grew distant, like she’d stepped away. Quinn could hear her yelling, giving orders, scrambling around inside the pavilion alongside a dozen other people desperately trying to figure out what their pilot was doing.

In minutes Dahlia had scaled the hill. She poised herself behind Blotklau’s head, and then leapt out of Quinn’s view. There was a hard thumping sound over the comms, a grunt, then—

“I’m on. Damage was mainly to the front of the head. Back skull has been cracked open. It’s a mess. I don’t see—ah, there.” Bootsteps on flesh and metal as Dahlia traversed the giant’s neck. “I can see the access port—it’s been impacted, I’ve gotta…”

Another sound crept into the comms from Dahlia’s end. It was foggy at first, so quiet it might have just been the elevated wind, but as she kept going it grew louder and clearer.

Screaming.

“…It’s Tormont—hey! Hey! I can’t…I’ve gotta squeeze in. God, the smell…so much ichor…”

Quinn listened as Dahlia pushed through metal and matter, and as she passed into a cavernous space, the screaming pitched. It wasn’t merely pain or fury, but an amalgamate whorl of rage, and terror, twisting in a boiling sea of agony.

“Oh god…”

Gradually, words began to bubble to the surface, never halting the screaming, only caught in its riptide current. They were brief and bitter. “No!” “Fuck!” “Get off!”

Eventually Dahlia spoke again, though it sounded like she was fighting through an urge to gag. “She’s alive, she’s…the seat’s been wrecked, it’s got her pinned to the floor. There’s ichor everywhere, the whole leg’s submerged. I can…I can see growths. God.”

More steps, more screaming, and then splashing. Dahlia must have stepped into the pool with Roaki.

“Wh-who the f-fuck?” Roaki choked, voice quivering. Whether it was from the cold or the pain was impossible to tell. “Y-y-you’re…the…”

“Stop thrashing, I…” A loud grunt, she was pushing something—or trying. Roaki shrieked. “I can’t move the seat. I can’t…”

“Who the f-f-fuck are you ta-talking to?”

“Her leg’s all sliced up. The ichor’s in. The growths…they’re bone-deep, and rising. They’re gonna spread. I’m seeing some above the hip, and…shit. Besca! Is medical with extraction?

A scrambling sound as Besca returned. “What? Yeah!”

“They’re gonna have to cut.”

“What?”

“And I’m gonna have to remove the foot first if I want to get her out. They can get the rest on the way.”

“What?!” Roaki screamed. “No! N-no! You can’t! You can’t take it! I-I’ll fucking k-kill you, you hear me? I’ll f-fucking—”

“It’s your leg or your life. I’m getting you out—you can live if you want.” Dahlia set down something heavy, zipped it open. A few moments later there was a sound like a torch igniting. “Here, bite down on this.”

“Don’t! Don’t cut me! You can’t!”

“Bite down!”

_{“Please…”}

There were a few, quiet moments. Panicked breathing. The burning of some horrible tool. Dahlia took three deep breaths, shaky, like she was on the verge of fainting.

“I’m gonna mute myself for this.”

Then the comms went silent. Whether it was the wind carrying it to her ears, or just her own mind filling in the gaps, Quinn might have sworn she could hear screaming from the skull of that distant Savior. But it was quickly overpowered by the rumbling of tires on fire-packed earth, and the sight of a half-dozen vehicles rolling up to her. A man stepped out, saw her, and waved towards Blotklau. Three of the vehicles sped off that way, the rest stayed behind.

The man climbed up to her, pristine white coat smudged with ash and dirt just from a few moments in the air. He knelt down beside her, out of the glare of the sun, and she saw its light reflected off his glasses.

“It’s alright, Quinn, darling,” Follen said. “It’s all over. Lets get you home.”

[Mcmolly]

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[Mcmolly]

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[Mcmolly]

Two days had passed in what felt like moments. Besca had taken Quinn back to the Aerie, and on the ride up everything had just blurred. They’d taken her to medical straight away, run more than a dozen tests on her, taken blood and saliva and more blood. There seemed to be a general surprise that, aside from some bumps and bruises, she was entirely okay. Exhausted, and in need of food and rest, but her system was clean and there wasn’t a single new growth on her body.

Nonetheless, they kept her in medical at Follen’s request. He saw to her examinations personally, monitored her. He seemed pleased, and told her again and again how happy he was that she was okay. How strong she was. How brave. He was very proud of her—everyone was, he said.

Besca confirmed as much. She came in whenever Follen wasn’t around, and stayed with her for hours until someone dragged her away to handle some urgent matter or another. But she always came right back. They ate their meals together, and in between her assuring Quinn over and over again that Dahlia was okay, just resting, she told her what else was going on.

The singularity openings were a mystery, still. The best guesses were that the swordsman had, somehow, redirected the openings to the dueling field. They hadn’t been particularly far, all things considered, and had only managed to squeeze in three Modir.

They didn’t talk about how it had spoken to her. They tried. Besca didn’t know what to say.

Instead they talked about the duel. Helburke was refusing to acknowledge the loss, and demanded not only that they be allowed a rematch, but that they be compensated for the loss of Blotklau. To hear them tell it, Quinn had ensured its destruction by how severely she’d disabled it, rendering Roaki unable to fight back against the Modir. They couldn’t have it both ways, though; either Blotklau was too damaged to continue the duel, or she wasn’t. In the end, Casoban agreed to void the results, but only agreed to a rematch on the condition that there be no bans, and Runa be allowed to champion them again.

Helburke accepted the voided results, and withdrew their claim to the disputed area.

So, in the most technical sense, Quinn hadn’t won the duel, but the only thing that truly changed was her record. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, she had pushed Blotklau into the dirt, and, more importantly, had refused to finish the kill.

Opinions were…mixed, she’d said.

Helburke’s thoughts were known. Casoban was decidedly unhappy with the fact that they’d lost two pilots for none, but the fact that they’d come out with the land secured meant that, really, they’d gotten what they wanted. The pact between them and Runa remained, but Besca didn’t sound certain for how long.

Eusero was in a fit, almost worse than Helburke. She said that wasn’t surprising—they’d been depending on Runa’s loss to close their deal with Casoban. Not only had Quinn spoiled that, but she’d done so by sparing a pilot from their biggest rival on Illun.

To hear it told, there were a great many news stations in Eusero suggesting that RISC was working with Helburke, and that they’d fielded Quinn specifically so that Dragon wouldn’t sweep the duel. They didn’t mention that Dahlia had been banned. They just asserted that Runa injecting themselves into the conflict with a brand new pilot was inappropriate at best, and conspiratorial at worst. Some even stated that “Quinnlash” being a Helburkan name was hard evidence of the collusion.

Apparently people were eating it up.

Runa was split. There were people who supported her choice, certainly, with consideration borne from a national history of nonviolence—or rather, the inability. Others weren’t happen to see a Helburkan spared. Many Runans still considered the lack of aid during Westwel’s fall a betrayal of the Illun Accord, and would take every opportunity to get back at those who had stood idly by. However, hearing Eusero was not pleased did sway some to her side.

Regardless, over the course of a few hours, Quinn had become a very popular topic across the world. RISC had become inundated with interview requests, most of which the Board had approved until Besca told them point blank that Quinn was hospitalized and could not attend. That had stalled them for a time, but she made it clear they couldn’t put it off forever.

Another matter had come up, regarding Hovvi. Or rather, regarding Quinn's life there, before...what had happened. Quinn had made a realization in Casoban, about something her parents had done. About the water. It had taken some time for her to put it into words, but eventually she got there.

It had been modium.

They'd been feeding her diluted modium, almost every day, for as long as she could remember. She was certain now, the smell, the taste, it was unmistakable to her.

Besca had gone silent, excused herself. It was hours before she came back, and she did so with a million assurances that what had been done to Quinn back home was wrong. A million more than she had done nothing wrong. That she didn't deserve it.

And one very stern, very serious assurance that it would never happen to her again.

There was more to say—more they’d tried to say—but before long Follen gave the all clear, and Quinn was released from medical. Dahia was still recovering. Her wounds were well-healed, but vidently she’d contracted a mild case of modium poisoning from her stunt on the field, and some bone growths on one hand had taken her two bottom fingers, and three ribs which. They had grown biomatch bones for the ribs, which set nicely, and were fitting her for cybernetic replacements for the fingers.

She had apparently tried four times to sneak out to see Quinn, but was stopped and now there was someone stationed to watch her door.

Upon her release, Quinn made a B-line straight for Dahlia’s room. At her hesitant request, Besca had come along.

[Lemons]

Quinn's head was churning as she walked slowly—slowly—to Dahlia's room. It felt almost odd to be back in the Aerie. Haunting, almost. The cold white hallways felt like an artifact from a previous time, and it didn't feel like anything outside of medical even existed yet. She would enjoy sleeping in her own bed again for sure, but everything just seemed like there was a hazy filter of unreality spread across it.

Perhaps she just didn't want to think about what she had to say.

She'd had two days in medical. Two days of stewing with her thoughts. Two days of the secret burning a hole in her stomach. She hadn't told anybody yet. Dahlia should be the first to know. She was the one that Quinn felt the worst about. Her best friend. Her dad. Her home. Quinn had torn them all from her, just by being there. Her heart hurt more than any time since she'd first woken up on the Aerie all those weeks ago.

She'd thought she'd made her peace with Dahlia hating her after this. With Besca not talking to her. But the more she thought about it, the worse everything grew.

She stepped forward. Besca had never been such a force of anxiety before. When she'd asked her to come to see Dahlia, her voice had shaken so much she could barely get it out. It certainly wasn't any better now.

Knock, knock. "Deelie, it's—it's me. They let me out. I'm coming in."

She opened the door, awkward, quiet, shivering slightly despite the pleasant temperature, and sat down at the foot of Dahlia's bed. She looked at Dahlia. Looked at Besca. The pain in her eye was visible, even from a moderate distance. She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

She'd thought so much about what she could say to Dahlia. She'd spent days thinking about it. And she still didn't know.

"I—"

Another pause.

"...If you hate me after this I won't blame you."

She hugged herself close. "Before you got there, Deelie...the Modir with the sword. It—it talked to me." A shaky breath. "It knew my name." She'd said as much to Besca. She looked at her again. Back to Dahlia. Her breathing accelerated. One breath. Two. Three. Still fast and hard. Wasn't enough. Her vision began to blur around the edges. Her heart was pounding, up in her throat. Her voice sounded like it always did just before she broke into tears. But she held them back. She needed to.

"And it told me...it said it had—"

She covered her mouth. Closed her eye so she wouldn't need to see their faces, forced the rest of it out.

"It had found me there. And—and—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. It was all she could manage. "And that it had found me—in Runa."

She quaked silently. A tear started to roll down her cheek, and she hated herself for it.

"My fault. It was my fault my fault all my fault." The hand over her mouth slid up to cover her eye and socket, revealing teeth clenched so tight she felt like they would shatter like sugar glass. "I brought them to Hovvi. They were looking—hunting me. Everyone who died there—your dad and Safie and—and EVERYONE. THOUSANDS. IT'S ALL MY FAULT."

She stood up violently, revealing an eye puffy and red with held-back tears. "I—I should go," she stammered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so so sorry."

She ran for the door.

[Mcmolly]

Dahlia had spent the past two days begging to see Quinn, and trying to sneak out anyway when she wasn’t allowed to. The promises that she was okay weren’t enough, Follen’s personal visits weren’t enough. She needed to see her, needed to speak with her, and tell her how glad she was that she had made it, how much she cared.

She needed to tell her sister that she loved her.

But when the moment finally came, and Quinn—and Besca—arrived in her room, it was…off. Not bad, it could never be bad, but she knew immediately from Quinn’s face that something was wrong. So she contained herself, winced as she sat up and her new ribs very politely reminded her that they were resting.

“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to sound more comforting than concerned.

“...If you hate me after this I won't blame you.”

Dahlia felt her stomach drop. She felt a deep and potent revulsion at the mere idea.

But she said nothing. Quinn needed to speak, and she needed to listen.

So she did. She listened, and Quinn spoke about the swordsman. She claimed it had spoken to her, and though she found the idea absurd, Besca very clearly did not. She’d never seen the woman so hollow-eyed, so calmly confused. It…talked to her? The Modir. Had that ever happened? She was certain it hadn’t, she’d never heard of such a thing, and doubted very much they’d be warring for so long and so hard against an enemy they could talk to.

But Quinn wouldn’t lie to her. Perhaps she was wrong, or confused, but if she wasn’t, then Dahlia was sure she was telling the truth.

Then she talked about Hovvi.

“My fault. It was my fault my fault all my fault.”

Dahlia though she’d been slapped. The room practically spun. Her fault? How…how on Illun could that have been her fault? She couldn’t help the flood of images that came to her, the fires, the screaming. She remembered that last, choked sound from Safie’s mic. She remembered identifying her dad in the morgue. She remembered that empty feeling that came from knowing her home and everyone she’d ever known was gone, like her whole life had been erased.

Quinn’s fault?

Hunted?

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense. The Modir didn’t…they didn’t hunt people, they just…they just killed. No purpose, no target, no goal other than to kill as many as they could before the Saviors pushed them back. That was all.

It…no, it couldn’t be her fault.

“I—I should go.”

Dahlia jolted, like time had just started again. “Wha—wait! Quinn!”

But the girl had already turned and bolted for the door. Luckily Besca had been behind her, caught her—or really, it was more like she’d been dashed into and managed to stay upright—and held her.

“Woah, hun, woah! Easy, hey. You don’t have to run. You don’t.”

Pulling herself up, Dahlia swept her legs over the edge of the bed and got to a shaky, hunched stand. “Quinn…” she said, a bit winded. “I don’t…I don’t understand. What do you mean hunted? Did…do you know that Modir?”

[Lemons]

Quinn was like a cornered animal. A cornered hurt animal. She pressed herself into Besca, shrinking terrified away from Dahlia as she stood.

"No—yes—it was there, it was there, I know it was," she gibbered, trying to get more words out than could fit in the space and only making things more garbled, "and the one from the lake—mine oh god it's mine now—it was LOOKING at me I saw it, and she said that it was hunting me and I needed to run and run and run and run—so I ran but it was still looking and it was going to kill me until Safie—"

She turned, burying her face in Besca, unable to bring herself to look at her sister. That concerned look on her face. It was too nice. Too nice, she didn't deserve it. Her voice was muffled now, but still she kept talking, words pouring out of her like water from a broken faucet. "And—and—and what else could it have meant, it found me in Runa, it knew I was there, it KNOWS MY NAME, it was looking for me! I brought them I'm the one that brought them to Hovvi and if I had just stayed inside none of this ever would have happened!"

She'd given up holding back the tears and was crying openly into Besca's stomach now. She was terrified of this. Terrified of how nice they were being.

It wasn't right. This wasn't how it should be going. They should be screaming at her, blaming her, sending her off the Aerie, putting her somewhere she couldn't hurt anybody anymore.

[Mcmolly]

The more Quinn said, the less Dahlia understood. She seemed outright delirious, and had Follen not made absolutely certain that she wasn’t suffering from modium poisoning, she might have worried there was a growth in her head, screwing with her mind. Could it have been the Circuit? But Follen handled her psych evals too, he would have caught something so severe.

A million reasons to believe Quinn was unwell, but nothing to prove it. How could any of this possibly be real? She looked to Besca, who still hadn’t budged.

“When the swordsman attacked, it…someone—something joined the comms. I barely heard anything before my line got cut, but…” she shook her head like even she couldn’t believe what she was saying. “It spoke. I don’t know how much more it said, and that whole record after Blotklau went down was corrupted, but she’s not confused. I think the swordsman really did speak.”

Dahlia reeled. Had she not been holding onto the bedside, she might have stumbled over. So they had both heard it. It was real.

A Modir was hunting Quinnlash.

If that was true, and it really had come to Hovvi for her…

Something stirred in the abneath between Dahlia’s flesh and her soul. It was dark, and it knew its own strength, and it was vengeful for the lives of her father, and her friends, and every last person who had burned with her home. It was hands pressing on her head, yearning to be whole. Unequivocally, unrepentantly, it learned that it hated Quinnlash Loughvein. It hated her more than it hated Helburke, or the Modir, or her own hellish existence living each day at the edge of a bottomless abyss. It would never forgive her as long as she was alive to remain unforgiven.

But it was not Dahlia.

It hated Quinn, but Dahlia loved her more.

“I don’t care,” she said. She wanted to reach out, to touch her, but, god, Quinn seemed so afraid. Too much to even look at her. So she sat back against the bed. “I don’t care, Quinn. I hate…I hate what it did. I hate that it’s hunting you. I don’t…hate you. Quinn…” and she paused, and she thought. She remembered her promise to never lie to her sister. “I could never hate you. Never.”

“Me neither, kiddo,” Besca said. A hand ran down Quinn’s hair, into her braid. “I might not…really understand what’s going on yet, but what’s clear right now is that you need us. And we’re your family, right? So that means we’re there for you. Period. End of story.”

Besca pulled her back, knelt down and, as she had done before, wiped Quinn’s cheek dry. Smiled. But there was a questioning look in her eye, too, and in her heart Quinn might have known exactly what she was going to ask before she ever asked it.

“But…who told you it was hunting you?”

[Lemons]

Even as Quinn had said it, a deep, faraway part of her knew she shouldn't have.

But she didn't answer right away. Couldn't, really. She—

She looked into Besca's eye, searching for something. Seeking. Probing. Digging as deep as she could. There was concern there, and she realized it was concern for her. There was confusion. There was caring and hope. And beneath all of it was something else. Something she recognized, but couldn't say, couldn't think about, something that hurt just as much as she wanted it.

But what there wasn't, was anger. Or hate. Or even indifference. None of it anywhere.

She turned, letting the barest fragment of vision skate over Dahlia. She was sitting on the bed, looking at her worriedly. Worry. She was worried. She wasn't—Quinn didn't think she was angry. Dahlia would never lie to her.

They didn't hate her.

Her face crumpled and she fell back into Besca. She kept crying. But instead of the long, terrified sobs of before, it was a soft, gentle weeping. Almost serene. Her family didn't hate her. She didn't understand why. She knew it was her fault, deep down. She knew that it was her presence that had doomed Hovvi.

And now...her family knew too. And they didn't hate her.

The quiet crying lasted for several minutes as she buried her head in Besca, cut through with words now and then. Simple words, simple ideas. I'm sorry, and thank you, and why?

But eventually, the tears stopped. She went quiet. She released Besca and slunk—like an animal still, but wary instead of hurt and terrified—back onto the foot of Dahlia's bed, where she leaned herself against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

"Do you—" She stopped, reached up, rubbed the tears away from her eye as she looked at Besca. "Besca, do you remember when—when I told you I heard a voice in...in Hovvi, telling me to run?" Even saying the word, there was something of that savage energy to it, that deep and primal urgency. Then she paused again, hesitant. It still felt wrong to tell someone about Quinnlash. But her family—

The more she spoke, the calmer her voice grew. It was still halting, but no longer so sickeningly shaky it felt like it would shatter at any moment. Her family was there, and they cared about her, and didn't hate her. "It's—it's still there. And it's in my dreams, and she's a little me. Both eyes, but they're black. She has horns, they're modium."

She realized suddenly how suspect that sounded, so she added hastily, desperate for her family to believe her, "But she's good! I promise! She told me to run in Hovvi, and she told me to get back in when the Modir were coming, and—" Her voice grew quiet. She hadn't told anybody this. Some of it to Doctor Follen, but not the whole truth, of course, not Quinnlash. She looked down at herself, wrung her hands where she'd clasped them in front. Fretted. Then finally,

"—And when I phase, she's what—she stops me from falling in."

[Mcmolly]

As Quinn sat down beside the bed and continued to speak, a look passed between Besca and Dahlia. A silent agreement. As strange as the things she said were, as outlandish as the last few days—month, even—had been, after everything she’d done, they owed her the benefit of the doubt. They listened, and they did their best to do so with open minds.

It was…difficult.

Besca did remember the voice, and had, over time, come to believe it was a natural, albeit incredibly strained, reaction to the invasion. Quinn’s instincts manifesting in her memories as a direct push for her survival.

But then, she’d found out about the water, and suddenly it didn’t sound so strange. If she’d been dosed with modium her whole life, perhaps it was possible she’d been experiencing Conduit delusions before having ever stepped foot in a cockpit.

Only…

“—And when I phase, she's what—she stops me from falling in.”

The meaning was clear enough, and it really was her mind, tainted, then why would it be keeping her from closing the Circuit? It wouldn’t, she was certain, but until a few days ago, she’d been certain that Modir didn’t talk, too.

“Alright… she said. “So this…other you. This little you. What does she…do, exactly? In your dreams, what’s she saying? She's not trying to hurt you?”

[Lemons]

Quinn shook her head, and her voice began to level out. "No, never. She's never hurt me. We just..."

She paused. How would she describe what it was like talking to Quinnlash?

She shrugged helplessly. "...We just talk. About all kinds of things. What I think, how I feel about stuff. And she really wants to know why I feel the way I do too." She paused to collect herself. "She talks too, about people mostly. My—" Her voice strained, "—them, she talks about them—the people on the station, Doctor Follen...all kinds of things."

She looked between Dahlia and Besca and a ghost of a smile flittered across her face for the barest fraction of a second before it was crushed back down. "She likes you both a lot. She got mad."

"Like the last time we talked, it was right before the duel, we talked about—"

Her eye snapped wide like she'd just remembered something very important, bounced back between the two of them again. How had she forgotten? How could she have let herself forget? Another searing shot of guilt lanced down through her veins. Her voice, so recently settled, began to tighten again. "—Roaki! Is she—how is—did Dahlia—" Her head whipped back to Dahlia, mouth immediately dry. "Did you—oh god—where is she?"

[Mcmolly]

How did one respond to being told that an entity which might, or might not, exist within the head of your sister liked you? Concern? Disgust? Perhaps a bit healthy dose of alien confusion? There didn’t seem to be a strictly correct answer, but for her part, Dahlia thought it was…cute. She wasn’t a doctor, and the Conduit effects she’d suffered had never drifted so far into the psychosphere, but it did sound harmless to her. The idea of Quinn having someone in her head to talk to seemed comforting.

She was intrigued, and could very well have listened to stories of these dream conversations all day. But then, with all the abrupt panic of a car accident, the topic changed.

To the Helburkan.

Dahlia couldn’t help the flash of bitterness within her—didn’t particularly want to help it. Her side stung from the rib implants, her two mechanical fingers were slow, still in their calibration phase. In the years since her only growth outbreak, she had begun to hope against hope that she’d avoid all that again.

Stop. You were keeping your promise.

“She’s alive,” Dahlia said. She knew she should say more, but she just…struggled to keep the edge out of her voice.

Besca, saint that she was, picked the ball up. “Helburke decided to, uh, cut their losses. They were gone by the time we got you back to camp. Follen did what he could on the ground, but we ended up bringing her with us to handle the rest.” She nodded, but seemed uncertain of what to say—or perhaps just how to say it. “There’s been some…developments. She’s still here. She’s in holding.”

[Lemons]

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[Lemons]

"There’s been some…developments. She’s still here. She’s in holding."

Quinn frowned. She didn't like that.

She didn't like any of that.

From what little she remembered of Dahlia's rescue—god she was like a superhero—she distinctly recalled that Roaki was going to have to have—have her leg cut off. She thought. She had no illusions that people on the Aerie would like her, but...

Frustration nipped at her heels, and her visible brow slanted with a barely-visible combination of irritation and confusion. "Why is she in a holding cell instead of in medical after what happened? That just seems...cruel."

And that was an excellent way of distracting herself from the other thing Besca had said. Developments. What did developments mean? At least she was alive, but the vagueness was enough to set Quinn's teeth on edge. Her stomach dropped out from under her as the thought of something terrible happening—some horrible complication, a growth in her heart, something like that—bled through her body like dye.

She freed herself from the wall and unwound herself, sitting on the edge of the bad instead, staring at the floor. The satisfaction and...glee that she'd felt when she'd taken Blotklau's legs off ricocheted through her head. A deep breath. Two. Three.

When she looked up, her face was writ with sheer mulish stubbornness. Don't even try to change my mind, it seemed to say.

"I'm going to see her today. Soon."

[Mcmolly]

Besca had been worried about this. Part of her had known that Quinn’s display of mercy wouldn’t just be a single, isolated incident of sympathy. She was too kind for that. Really, she was too kind for any of this. Piloting had a unique and repulsively effective way of wringing the humanity out of someone, especially when it came to dueling. Cruelty was indeed an apt word for it. Those who stepped into the ring and lost were rarely ever seen as people by the victors, more as cisterns to fill with the consequences of defeat.

It had managed to effect Besca as well, much to her shame. She never gave much thought to the people Dahlia had beaten in the past, though the fact that she was young and most of her opponents had been older made it…easier to accept. She had felt some remorse at the idea that Quinn would have to kill Roaki, but only after Quinn had brought up her own misgivings about it—and even then, the stunt at the feast had left her sour.

“It wasn’t my call. The Board doesn’t want an enemy combatant loose on the station. They think she might get into one of the Saviors, I guess—” she held up a preemptive hand. “I know how ridiculous it sounds. Everyone does. But the Board pays their wages, not me, so if they say she stays locked up it’s just…it’s how it’s gotta be for now.”

“I'm going to see her today. Soon.”

That shouldn’t have surprised her either. Despite all her bluster, Roaki was perhaps less capable of violence than any other person onboard; even still, Besca wasn’t thrilled at the idea of them being in a room together, whether there were bars between them or not.

But she saw the look in Quinn’s eye, had seen it in the war room the week before the duel. She knew there’d be no point in trying to deny her.

“I’ll…make sure you’ve got the clearance,” she said, and made for the door. “In the meantime, I should get back to work. Your, uh, performance in Casoban has brought us a lot of…interest. Anyway, Deelie should be out of here by tonight, so, I’ll see you both for dinner.”

And with that she left them. Dahlia leaned with a groan onto the propped-up pillows, held out her hand to fiddle with Quinn’s hair. She was quiet for a moment, still unused to seeing her so wound.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m really proud of you, y’know that? I don’t care what anyone else says. You did good.”

[Lemons]

All the tension inside of Quinn's body drained out and she slumped backwards. She leaned against the wall at an awkward angle and there was a sharp clicking sound as her plugs rattled against the drywall. Somehow that sound—that feeling—had become familiar to her. Not even familiar; comforting. And something about that made her so horribly upset.

"...Did I really?"

She went quiet. Thinking about something. The expression on her face steadily became more and more drawn. Minutes passed before she pulled herself upright again, looking...not at Dahlia, but in her general direction.

"Besca said she told you about the water."

She took three deep breaths. Then slowly, almost meditatively, she picked up her braid and reached behind it with both hands, just above the main neural plug. Fiddled with something.

"...They said it was because I looked outside."

The fiddling ceased. The knot came undone.

In dead silence, the eyepatch peeled away from her face and fluttered to her lap like a mourning ribbon, revealing an eye socket that was absolutely mangled. And not just the socket; her entire right orbital and then some was covered in ragged white scar tissue. Her one functioning eye remained downcast.

"I don't—know what really happened to it. I don't think it was good."

She grazed her hand over it, feeling the unfamiliar, uncomfortable skin. Thick. Callused. Almost numb to the touch.

"I've never taken it off before. I've never even seen it."

Then slowly, almost unwillingly, she raised her head and looked her sister straight on. Her eye—the one that still worked, anyway—barely held back a tsunami of sorrow and despair.

"...Why did this have to happen, Dahlia?"

[Mcmolly]

Dahlia gasped quietly when the eyepatch fell away. She’d never seen beneath it either, never felt the need to know what it looked like, never much wanted to. But she did suddenly realize that she’d never asked what had happened. Now that she knew about the water, and she was seeing the telltale signs of a growth outbreak, it made perfect sense.

Every last trace of bitterness within her evaporated in an instant, burned away in the heat of something much stronger. She clutched the sheets, felt her new fingers squeeze so hard they clicked. With every word Quinn spoke, every sick revelation that came with it, Dahlia grew angrier. Her gut twisted in disgust, not at the ruinous state of her eye, but at the implication of its ruining.

Dahlia had killed monsters. She had killed people. She had never wished violence on anyone.

She wished it now.

With a small struggle, Dahlia sat up again, met Quinn’s eye and prayed she understood the fury in her own wasn’t meant for her, because she could not contain it.

“It didn’t,” she said, composure shaken. “It did not have to happen. They made it happen. They hurt you, because they’re awful, horrible people, and they will never hurt you again.”

Like Quinn were a cave, Dahlia’s rage resonated within her, and something deep inside echoed it back. Horrible. Unfair. Monsters. Takers. But the longer she looked at Dahlia the more that feeling settled. The more it urged her to believe those words. Believe she was safe, now.

She got the sense that trust was foreign to it. All the same, it wanted Quinn to trust her sister.

[Lemons]

Quinn was almost knocked over by the sheer level of anger pouring out of Dahlia's face and the venom in her voice. There was a heart-attack second where she was absolutely certain that Dahlia was going to yell at her, she didn't know why. But it passed in a blink, and then the rage was less scalding, and more warming. Like a warm blanket on a cold night, Dahlia's anger scooped her up and held her close. She reached out as though to hug her sister, but remembered at the last moment that she had three ribs that needed to set.

So instead she sat back down again, staring into Dahlia's furious eyes. "It's really that bad, huh," she murmured to herself before directing her attention back to Dahlia proper.

"I know," she said quietly. "I trust you."

A pause. A moment. The drawing of a breath, a tiny hesitation to gauge whether or not something was okay to say. Then, "...and she trusts you too."

Picking up the eyepatch from her lap, she steadied her shaking hands enough to replace it, letting out a relieved sigh when she smoothed it back down over the scarred growth. Then, sitting there in silence, she felt the impulse to embrace Dahlia again. And again, she had to resist. This was going to happen a lot, wasn't it?

"I'm going to keep a tally of all the times I can't hug you," she joked, forcing humor into her voice though her expression remained unchanged, "and repay it with interest once you're better."

[Mcmolly]

Dahlia watched the fear in Quinn’s eyes melt into understanding, and felt relieved. Her own expression softened, and reached out as well when she did, though Quinn decided against the hug at the last moment.

“I’m glad. I trust you, too. I can’t…help worrying. So much has happened, and none of it is fair. What’s worse is that it’s probably not going to stop anytime soon.” She frowned, more to herself than anything. She was meant to be comforting Quinn, not preaching doom. “What I mean is, I’ll always be there for you. Besca, too. Neither of us blame you for anything—you never did anything wrong. And even if you did, I don’t care. I’m with you. That’s family—real family.”

“I'm going to keep a tally of all the times I can't hug you, and repay it with interest once you're better.”

Dahlia smiled. She couldn’t think of the last time Quinn had tried to make a joke, it made the room feel brighter. “You’d better,” she teased. “Debts are the one thing I don’t forgive.”

[Lemons]

Quinn closed her eye lightly.

You never did anything wrong. And she guessed that she hadn't done anything wrong. Or. Well. The only thing she'd done wrong was be. They still came to Hovvi because of her. it still lay at her feet. But at least Dahlia and Besca wouldn't ever leave her behind. She'd been silly to think otherwise.

"You and Besca," she murmured. "I must be the luckiest girl in the whole world."

She remembered she couldn't hug Dahlia this time (she still counted it on the tally, though). So instead she stretched out beside her, taking her hand gently, running her fingers along the unfamiliar metal contours.

"I'm sorry for making you go in there. I promise if I could've, then I would have gone myself." Her words died away before any more reached her throat. It just seemed so blasé, whatever she was saying, whatever she was thinking of saying; incapable of trying to communicate what she was trying to say.

So she leaned in, resting her head very lightly against Dahlia's, and hummed, "I love you, sis. You know that, right?"