Lemons

Amygdala Circuit

For just a moment, a beautiful, fleeting moment⁠—her sister patting her head, leaning against her, the hug so warm and comforting⁠—everything was right with the world.

And then Dahlia spoke, and the comforting warmth started to burn lower.

Just being there near Dahlia⁠—and the way she was talking, comforting, soft, like a real older sister⁠—was enough to cushion Quinn's pain. But...but the words she was speaking...they didn't sound right. She didn't sound right. She was exhausted. Exhausted. And it was all Quinn's fault.

The warmth burned away, leaving only fading embers, and her sobs stilled then, to shuddering breaths that she could speak through.

"Deelie...Deelie...please..." She squeezed hard enough for her arms to shake, like Dahlia would vanish if she left go. "You..you need sleep, Dahlia. Please. I know..." Her shuddering voice calmed to merely quivering. "I know you're worried about me. That's why you're pushing and pushing and pushing yourself." And then her voice went through another change. Went still, and flat, and hollow. "I'm hurting you again. Again and again and again, I just keep hurting you."

"I'm...I'm sorry..."

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn hadn't really thought of Dahlia when she'd given vent to her frustrated scream. But, she reflected, she should've. As she met Dahlia's eyes with her own, another shard of guilt buried itself in her heart. She looked so tired. So stressed. So worried. Unable to keep eye contact any longer for the stabbing hurt, she dropped her head shamefacedly.

"Y⁠—yeah. I'm...I'm fine. Just..."

She hesitated for a moment. Didn't want to put more on Dahlia. But looking up into her weary silver eyes, she felt herself throwing herself into her sister's arms before she really even realized it, hugging her tight in return. Her eye closed, and she felt a thin stream of tears leaking out.

"I just..."

Another moment of hesitation. Another moment of thinking that she shouldn't burden Dahlia with this. Another moment of self-loathing. But being near Dahlia drew the hurt in her out like nothing else, stripping away the hero pilot, the burdened celebrity, and everything else, and leaving what lay, buried deep, deep down, at the core of Quinn: the lost, scared child.

So when she responded, there was a hint of tears in her voice. "Deelie, they⁠—they could've⁠—they might've⁠—died in Hovvi."

She squeezed the hug tighter, burying her face in her sister's shoulder. "They might be dead. They're probably dead. I'm free of them."

She screwed her eye tighter. "So why⁠—"

And then thickness in her voice turned into sobs.

"Why does it make me sad?"

Amygdala Circuit

As Quinn scrolled through her phone, she could hardly believe her eyes just how much people were talking about her. How much garbage they were spewing. There were some things that made her wince, like all the speculation attached to the duel and Roaki. There were some things that made her roll her eye, like the three different eyepatches, none of which actually looked like her eyepatch. There were some things that made her chuckle, and she tapped on the link for the pilot quiz. She'd take it later and see if she got herself or Deelie, or...or Safie.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

And there were some things that made her eye shoot open in sheer astonishment at the audacity. Secret relationship? Fad diets? Product endorsements I've never seen? Born on the MOON? She kept scrolling, and the results grew wilder and wilder. Until, finally, she saw it.

Locke and Sansean Loughvein... And just like that, they had names.

Locke and Sansean.

And they were...they might be...they could be...dead? They might have died in Hovvi?

Even imagining was...completely alien. Just...just the idea that mom and dad were...dead? Even now, it felt like breaking some kind of universal law. They had been her whole world, her whole reality, for so many years. It was almost hard to fit it into her brain. And something else smacked into her brain along with it, forcing itself in. Like a punch to the face, a lightning bolt to the chest, sending her reeling. Her breathing hitched. No. That had to be wrong.

Deep, sharp breath.

Hand shaking more, she reached back up to the search field. Missed it at first, scrolling past meaningless articles. When her trembling fingers reached, she typed in, Sansean and Locke Loughvein.

Article after article filled the screen. Those about her came first, of course. But they were few and far between as she scrolled down, met with something else entirely.

Genius Modiologists Presumed Dead?

Loughveins Missing After the Hovvi Disaster

Still No Word From Loughveins in Wake of Quinnlash's Duel and Absence - Are They Still Alive?

More and more, and each one she read delivered that same bolt to her chest. She stared at the screen for another moment, then tossed it to the floor and dropped her head into her hands.

She hated her parents. She knew she hated them. They'd done awful things to her for reasons she didn't understand and the search had made no clearer. They'd kept her locked up in one room for her whole life. Fed her poison. By all rights, she hated them with every fiber of her being. The thought of them dead should satisfy her, and she felt Quinnlash's satisfaction and even glee, certainly.

So why, then did that that bolt strike her? Did that thought punch her in the face?

Why did the thought of them dying make her so sad?

And at that thought, her confusion and frustration found their voice and she let out a raw scream, letting her palms muffle it and dull the sharp edges:

"Why do I care?!"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn stood in the middle of the common room, staring at the cracked door that Dahlia slept beyond. And once more, a razor-sharp shard of guilt buried itself in her heart. She was doing it again. Trailing behind Dahlia. Causing problems. Hurting people. Just like at Hovvi. Even now, making her own decisions cut her to the core sometimes, dug into that piece of her that she knew would always be there to some extent: the ignorant child, patiently waiting for mom and dad to come give her dinner.

A bolt of anger shot down her spine, and her lip curled up into a sneer filled with self-disgust. Wasn't she supposed to be a hero pilot now? So, what? She could fight Modir, and Roaki, and Casoban and Helburke by extension. She thought that she could maybe beat her sister in spar now. She already beat her in sims as long as they turned phasing off. But still...

The lunch she'd had before the interview with Mona played back vividly in her mind, and as she felt her stomach turn, she made her way over to her favorite blue chair and sank down into it, closing her eye and letting her body go limp. She'd made Dahlia order for her. Then she'd hurt her. Why couldn't she ever do anything for Dahlia when she was hurting? Especially when it was Quinn's fault anyway?

Why was she like this?

Her thoughts slowed. Why was she like this? And...why? What had happened? She knew her parents had fed her modium ichor for some reason she couldn't understand. She knew that somehow she'd lived though ingesting ichor, and been...fine, if sick. She knew that she had a smaller her within herself, that had been there for who knew how long.

So, she asked herself again: why?

She pulled in a long, slow breath. In.......out. Another. One more. And her eye snapped open.

There was something she needed to do.

But first, breakfast.

Quinn wasn't a particularly good cook, and she knew it. She messed up everything from eggs to soup. But, as she'd reflected that morning, even someone like her could make some toast, butter it, slather it in Dahlia's favorite jam, and cut an apple into slices that she arranged next to it. Into the fridge the plate went, and upon a discarded piece of paper, she wrote:

I made you breakfast, Deelie. It's not as good as yours, but...it's the thought that counts, right? It's in the fridge whenever you want it.

Underneath, she drew a heart, then slid the paper underneath her door so Dahlia would see it when she awoke.

That done, she took another long, long breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest, even harder than it had in Ablaze. Quinnlash was screaming in her head, some blend of fear and fury. But she ignored her as best she could. For months, she'd just...walked after Besca and Dahlia. Giving them more work, dragging them down. She wanted to be better. She wanted to figure out how she could keep moving forward without them, and so how she could walk alongside them instead. But to do that, she wanted...

She wanted answers.

This was a decision that she came to. That she alone could make, and she alone could carry out. Something that she couldn't wait for Besca and Dahlia to do for her, because she knew they never would. Something entirely her own.

So, nestling back down into her chair, she took her phone slowly out of her pocket, and tabbed over to the internet browser. Hand shaking so much she had to restart and delete several times, she finally tapped out what she wanted to search. What she needed to search. And so, heart heavy, blood already freezing in her veins, and taking one last breath, she searched it.

Because she didn't want answers. Not really.

She needed them.

Mr. and Mrs. Loughvein

Amygdala Circuit

"You wanna ride down together, or do you need a bit more time?"

"Together!"

Quinn's voice came out just a little more vehement than she'd intended it to, and she took a moment to breathe deeply, heart pounding in her ears in the silence. She could feel the great bulk of Ablaze looming behind her, feel its malevolence only barely suppressed. Quinnlash was trying to cut the pressure before it reached Quinn's head, she could feel it. But there was only so much she could do for Quinn, standing so close to the restrained bulk of the Modir as she was. Her mind suddenly shot back to Hovvi, to the hunger she'd felt looking at the creature in the demolished store, and she shivered despite the dull warmth Quinnlash was enwrapping her in.

If Tillie left her all alone up her, she didn't know what she'd do.

"We'll ride down together," she repeated, voice more tempered, at least by a bit.

The ride down passed more subdued than the one up, as Quinn stared dazedly out into the distance. As they stepped off the corrugated metal to the hangar floor once again, farther from the brain and thus the pressure, Quinn had a sudden thought. "Ah... Pulling her phone out of her pocket once again, she tapped the screen a few times, pulling up the camera and turning to Tillie.
"I can take a picture of you, right?"

Met with an enthusiastic approval, Quinn snapped a quick full-body picture of Tillie, plain hangar wall in the background.

A moment passed, and she waved awkwardly. "Ah, uhm, I'll...see you later, Tillie, okay?

With that said, she retreated back towards the elevator to the dorms, eager to escape the ensnaring presence of Ablaze. As she went, she kept her phone out, tappa-tappa-tapping at the screen. Just before she entered the hallway, she tapped the send button. A moment later, an image would pop up on Besca and Dahlia's phones, followed by a brief caption:

this is my new technician tillie. you guys should meet her, she's super nice

To Become a Knight! ~ A Chivalric (Mis)Adventure

---

"Elidthianis Hawke will fight Lucien Navietas."

A soft exhalation as Luen heard her false name called, and a vague thrill of fear and anticipation ran through her. I guess there's no going back now. And, fittingly, she didn't look around, didn't look back. A few murmurs and stares went her way. Nothing horrible; just "who is that" and "Lord Asceron has a son?" and "why does he look like that?" Her paper-white skin prickled at the stares, and nerves began to dig fishhooks into her skin. She took a deep breath as she moved, then another, and another, arriving in short order at the quartermaster's table.

She barely gave the wooden weapons arrayed in front of her a second glance, instead shrugging up her sleeves and holding her slender, rune-scored bracers out for observation.

"I fight entirely with Incantations."

At the man's confused stare, she glanced around to make sure her opponent wasn't watching, then realized she didn't actually know what he looked like to begin with and flicked her dominant left hand. One of the lines of runes lit up with a sudden pale blue light, and with a sound like a rushing stream, the mist around her thinned as it rushed towards her palm. A bit less than a second later, a totally transparent knife--like glass--coalesced into her palm.

The quartermaster's eyebrows shot up for a moment as he looked on--it was a somewhat unusual Incantation, she reflected--but a moment later he was all business. "Is it safe?"

By way of answer, she flipped artfully it in her hand, then slapped the edge down on her right hand. Where it impacted, it bounced with a dull thunk, though she did wince a touch at the impact. Then she placed it upon an empty space on the table, sliding it gently over for him to check for himself. "Perfectly safe. Nobody's going to be hurt."

He tested the edge, tested the dulled point, and evidently found it to his satisfaction, as he gave a quick nod. As he dropped it back down to the table, he made eye contact, though it only lasted for a few seconds before his eyes awkwardly slid away from hers and the muscles of her face tensed.

"Passes muster. It's allowed." She gave him a small smile in an attempt to look completely un-threatening. There was no response, and she gave an infinitesimal sigh. Taking the knife, she tossed it unceremoniously to the ground, where, with no wrist-flick this time, she dispelled it and let it fall into a small puddle.

The nerves gnawed at her gut still as she walked deliberately up the steps to the arena, then headed to the designated segment, breathing deeply as she went. People fought around her, though everything seemed...a bit muted. This fight would decide everything. Would determine whether she became a knight, or retreated back to her home with her tail between her legs in humiliation and ignominy.

Still, she thought, I'm not bad at this. I think I have a fair shot.

At the very least, I'll put up a decent fight.

Amygdala Circuit

The skullport vanished, and Quinn immediately felt better.

That's not to say she felt good. Not in any way whatsoever. But with the immediate reminder gone, she found herself able to—with the support of the long table that ran alongside her—haul herself to her feet and give Tillie a genuine, if weak, smile again. "N-no, nothing. It all looks fine."

That's right, Quinn. It's fine. It's all fine. Stop worrying about it. Hangar staff would obviously catch any fluctuations or problems right as soon as they happened. There was no reason for her to come here like this, go through the torment of opening the port, diving into the cold, lonely, enclosed dark, and endure the Modir pressing in all around here, all alone.

Thank god for Tillie. Without her there, Quinn would've just had a breakdown, she just knew it. She swallowed heavily, wiping the remnants of the sweat off again. It wasn't usually this bad. She opened her mouth to thank her for being there so she didn't completely fall apart—

Before she stopped.

Did she really want to make Tillie feel responsible for her? To layer her with Quinn's problems when she had nothing to do with them and no obligation to help with them?

No.

Deelie was pushing herself to hell and back because she was afraid for Quinn. Besca was working nonstop—she was surprised she'd even gotten a response from her—day in and day out because of what Quinn had done. The population of the Aerie was still a fraction of what it used to be, it seemed like, because Quinn just had to be at Hovvi. So everyone else had more work.

She didn't want to be a burden on Tillie too.

So instead, she kept that lame smile pasted to her face as inside, she screamed.

"I'm...glad you enjoyed it. I'll tell head of hangar security that you can come up here any time you want." After all the trouble and pain she'd caused, making her new technician happy was the least she could do.

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn reclaimed her phone, pulling her shirt out from underneath the jacket and rubbing the chill away from the screen before flicking the light off and sliding it back into her pants pocket. She looked at Tilly with a shaky smile. The memory of the pressure on her head always messed her up a little bit whenever she got out of Ablaze. Another thing she was starting to get used to more as she spent more time in the hangar, but definitely unpleasant. She made a mental note to ask Dahlia if she felt something similar when she was in Dragon. If she ever caught her awake, at least, which was becoming increasingly harder to do as she pushed herself harder and harder.

"Uh huh," she replied, the tension still prevalent in her voice. "It's like being wrapped up in a—in a warm—a warm blanket." As her eye flicked to the skullport, she couldn't help but remember the last time she'd left it outside of the hangar—running—blazing heat, dry, cracked earth, the smell of ichor everywhere—Dragon lying in a pool of its own black blood as Blötklau dissolved with Roaki trapped and screaming on the hill above her—dizzy—desperate—screaming———

Her hands went to her arms again, digging in harder this time, and she trembled in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. A moment, and her eye—held wide now—went downcast. She shivered, and sat herself down on the metal floor, closing her eye tight. The tension was started to leak out of her voice, to be replaced with a sense of weariness that often came with the Savior, and an entirely different kind of stress: obvious fear. Instead of chattering with cold, it stuttered and halted in a way that she'd become very familiar with over the past few months.

"I'm—I'm sorry, could..." She swallowed heavily, running her hands down her face to wipe off the sudden cold sweat, "could you—could you c-close the skullport for me?"

Steal Away The Light

Location: Uhladein, Eastern Marches

---

"Who are you?"

Who are you?

Yeah, Quinnlash. Who are you?

Quinnlash clenched her teeth and held back a snarl, settling instead for a voice like a guttural growl as she whirled on Lexann. Her eye was full of fire, as the last of the fragments merged back into her and her soul sealed itself back together again. "I told you already, I'm QUINNLASH LOUGHVEIN. Yes, I'm a hunter, and yes, I'm a maker-damned pyromancer! I'm coming out of Midnos, the fuck'd you expect?"

She huffed in a long, harsh breath. "But who gives a fuck about that? I'm not one of the worthless fucking jokes that usually comes off the Hunter table in my country." She flicked the braid behind herself, resettling it against her back as she kept glaring and leaned against her colossal cannon again. "I don't fucking need pyromancy to take care of this shit."

Amygdala Circuit

Everything seemed okay with Ablaze. Obviously. What would've gone wrong, really? And Tillie was clearly enjoying herself. But...Quinn was started to get twitchy, and even the comforting company of Quinnlash within her head wasn't enough to stem the growing tide.

She'd gotten much better about being in enclosed spaces, partially because of her Savior. But she certainly wasn't good about them, and the oppressive sentient pressure of the Modir brain enclosing them—something that Tillie simply couldn't understand—certainly didn't help matters any. So when she spoke next, there was a tension in her voice that hadn't been there before. A tight, nervous tone, a bit like how she'd spoken when she'd first had her composure broken on Mona's interview. She tapped a fingertip on the big input, the one that went into the base of her skull.

"The, uh, the pilot suit has gaps in it so I can still plug in." Doing her best to clamp down on the steadily rising fear, she half-turned, flicked her braid aside, and lifted the light briefly to the few sockets visible on her neck above the jacket collar before she brought the light back down and continued, "but um...I n-never really thought about comfort. I b-barely f-feel it since the s-suit is thick and heated and I connect r-right-t-t after, and you don't feel anything once you're in." She clutched at her narrow frame, trying in vain to warm up some as the cold started to get to her more. Her breaths began to heave more, and the staccato gunshots of her chattering teeth were only halfway because of the cold.

"I'm sorry," she muttered quietly, gripping her upper arms in a very familiar way, "I-I'm g-gonna wait o-outside."

She handed Tillie her phone for the flashlight, then fled the cockpit, breathing deeply as she emerged again onto the broad platform and moving away some so the cold could slacken off a bit. After a moment's consideration, she pinged a message to Besca and Dahlia (for when they stopped being busy and asleep, respectively): I have a new technician. She's nice. You should meet her.