Lemons

Amygdala Circuit

It took Quinn a few minutes to fall asleep. More time than it had before for sure; she didn't manage did drink all the juice, more or less half wasn't bad before she nodded off. Her dream, most unlike her last sleep, was more typical; a warm fuzzy daze that she'd never remember on waking up, but would let some of that warmth linger in her.

And it did. Next time she woke up--her clock said it was late morning--the warm Safie fuzzies replaced the splitting headache. It wasn't quite gone, there was still a little bit of both it and the sickness lurking in the back, no but she could mostly ignore them.

She rose, blinking the sleep from her eye and yawning cavernously. She didn't quite realize it, but with the brief break she'd had with Besca and the medicine--though just like the dream it was a bit of an indistinct blur--she'd slept for nearly twenty-four hours. So really, it was small wonder she felt a bit sluggish as she managed to extricate herself, and finally stand on her somewhat shaky feet.

Only after she looked around did she realize this wasn't her room, it was Besca's. She felt a brief tug of guilt, but ignored it as, at long last, she walked back out into the commons in what felt like the first time in years.

Everything was as it had been for the past few weeks. With one very major exception that brought a faint smile to Quinn's face. For the first time in who knew how long, Besca was there when she woke up. Just her presence was a bit of a balm for Quinn, and the last of the headache flickered and died as she walked over with somewhat unsteady feet and wrapped her in a brief hug that was meant to be tight, but she wasn't the absolute strongest right now, as she buried her face in the crook of the woman's neck. Despite the day and night she'd had, just being around Besca made her feel miles better.

"Morn'ng, Besca..."

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn's brief tenure alone in the darkness, absent of both Quinnlash and whoever was moving around outside of her door, was an upsetting one indeed. The pain in her head, the horrible sick feeling in her stomach...they cast her mind back years, to that awful, awful day she'd first seen the sunset. When her eye had burst from her skull. So, all alone, there was nothing she could do but stare at the wall and try not to cry.

Then the door creeped open, and she turned her head leaving laconically to see what was happening, even through the light from the kitchen hurt to look at. When the shadow loomed in front of her, synapses sparked on her brain and her eye shot open. The memory of the pain and sickness...the shadow of a woman coming into her room...for just a brief, heart-stopping moment, her muddled mind was terrified, truly terrified and utterly convinced, that MOM had come back to punish her.

Then the moment passed, and the shadow revealed itself as Besca. So Quinn let that eye loll half-closed as she watched Besca, and her voice, so incredibly soft, spoke to Quinn. Told her what was going on. Told her why it was going on. Offered her apple juice and said it would make it better, so even though she didn't want to put anything on her stomach again ever, Quinn leaned forward slightly and sucked some juice through the straw. Just a few sips before she leaned back again.

Then the other thing Besca has said. Quinn looked distrustfully at the little cup on her nightstand. It had been made fairly obvious after Quinn had discovered what her parents did to her that she now looked very fearfully at any medicine.

But...

But Besca was giving it to her, right? She trusted Besca.

So, feebly, she reached out a hand for the brilliant red stuff. She looked at it again, eyeing it suspiciously.

Then she tilted back her head and dribbled it into her mouth.

The instant it touched her tongue she gagged on the taste, nearly choked, and spat back up most of it. She only swallowed about a third of it in the end, the rest ending up on either her own face or on the covers piled on her as she coughed.

When she spoke, weak, humiliated tears starting to bead already in her eye, her voice was thin, hoarse, and reedy; barely even there.

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

Amygdala Circuit

Everything was dark, and still, and quiet, and empty, and void. Quinn floated through it in a haze; half awake and half not, she was embraced softly by a wonderful senseless ataraxia. There was something comfortable about the eternity that she was bathed in, something beautiful and certain, in a life where nothing ever was. Like a warm blanket on a cold night, wrapping her up, cradling her, keeping everything soft and numb.

A part of her subconscious mind—a part that was slowly but steadily growing—wanted to stay there. Stay in that perfect peace. The world outside was...so confusing. So difficult and complicated. But this—this tranquil anesthetized bliss—it was all so simple. So easy. Nobody could take anything away from her here. Nothing could hurt her. She didn't need do anything. She didn't need to think about anything. She didn't need to think at all. Here, she could just...

Sink.

Sink, Quinnlash.

And she did.

Until suddenly an image flashed through her mind. There and gone in the space of of half a blink. Perhaps it was longer, or perhaps shorter; time meant so little here, and it was so hard to bring herself to care. The image was impossible to tell as well; no rhyme or reason in the brief space her mind had to breathe before it was slowed down again. It was...it was white, she knew that. It was all white, with—with some silver-gray, and—

In the waking world, Quinn's body shifted.

The image retreated, and she began to slowly, certainly sink again. Sink into peace. But then another image blurred past. She caught some of it this time; it was a person, a person with brown hair, but that was all she could tell. And then after that, another. Again, almost no rhyme or reason, as Quinn's mind struggled against itself. Nothing to do. Nothing to remember. Just a woman with brown—

Besca.

And all at once, that brief eternity between dream and reality—her wonderful little pocket of blurred nothingness—shattered. It was filled in the space of a heartbeat with flashes of blazing colors, pieces that didn't fit together that shattered into shards all around her. It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, she wanted to go back into the soft quiet where nothing could hurt, her almost sleeping form began to thrash, and standing above and behind it all was Quinnlash outlined against the bloody red of Ablaze's single blazing eye as her horns split and contorted and thick black liquid began to drip where they were attached to her head, her look of joy, then—then—As she unconsciously gasped in frantic breaths of air—

"Nnnnnnnnhhh—"

"AH!"

Quinn cannoned upright to a sitting position, and the short, sharp cry spilled out of her room and rebounded through the dorms. Her eye was wide with disbelief and fear and filled with tears. She had just enough time to realize she was hyperventilating madly.

And then her body caught up to her brain.

Her own scream felt suddenly like someone was pounding nails into her skull. And it was immediately followed in rapid time by an intense and powerful nausea, enough that she could barely hold back another round of vomit as she flopped back down, pulled her cover over her, and curled up in a ball. As the minutes ticked by, the images blurred, and the instinctive terror abated. Her heaving breaths turned to shivers, and a long, feeble groan dribbled from her mouth before trailing off into nothing:

"Ughhhhh..."

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

---

Stop it.

Another swing of her glaive. Another missed strike, as Elidthianis stepped seemingly-effortlessly out of the way.

Stop it.

She tried again, this time a feint into a quick stab. But again, he danced past it. Her teeth ground against each other so hard her jaw hurt.

Damn you, stop it!

Whispers descended around them as he continued to taunt her, and she had to fight to keep the red veil of anger from blinding her as he continued humiliating her with how little he seemed to care. Still, she clung gamely on. She still had a few options up her sleeve, right? She just needed to get a little less straightforward, and a little more tricky.

With a sudden motion she hurled her weapon as though it were a throwing spear, then, as he inevitably let it fly past, let the magic dissipate as it fell back into water. Immediately afterwards, another one dropped into her hand and she brought it to bear again with a twirl.

All of this, though, was more or less a smokescreen. As she did her best to draw his eyes to her futile throw and the glaive being created again, a few more lines of runic script lit up on the larger of the two bracers, and behind and a bit above him small pockets formed in the fog as slivers of water, nearly invisible through the mist, slowly and silently accreted, edges and points blunted like the rest of her weapons. She swung for him again, trying her best to keep his attention on her as the knives finished forming, even as a growl of frustration and embarrassment seeped from her throat.

Then, at an unseen command, they lanced at him like shards of glass. She let out a huff of grim satisfaction as she launched another attack and the knives closed in. Even you can't dodge it this time.

Amygdala Circuit

It was disorienting, the way that Quinnlash shifted the scene. Disorienting the way that everything seemed off, even though Quinn knew why it was. Disorienting the way she talked about their mother, and the way she...got deep into their head and stayed there. Disorienting, the way it felt to once again look out over the lake from the cliffs, like everything had moved back to the start again, almost like nothing had ever happened.

But most disorienting of all was the undisturbed grass.

She knew, of course, that the house wasn't here in the dreams. She couldn't see it from the boat, Quinnlash had told her that it was gone, even, that she'd taken it away because their parents were takers. But it was one thing to know something, and quite another to experience it.

Though the boat was still moving like it was on the water, Quinn slowly, almost meditatively, walked out the back and set her feet that were all of a sudden barefoot on the grass, felt it tickling her feet, not at all considering that she'd never walked barefoot on grass and that this was probably not at all what it felt like in the waking world. No, she was preoccupied, as she meandered almost in a trance to the very edge of the cliff and sat down, staring out at the wildly shifting lake from far above it. On an impulse she reached her hand out as though to touch it. And even here, in this dream where she felt so much less, her heart burned like fire as she looked out over what Hovvi used to be.

"...But out there, where it’s real, we need to remember. We need to remember so we know who to hate."

She finally tore her gaze away from the false town and looked back over her shoulder at the tiny self that stood there, little hands balled into fists. And by way of response, she let her shoulders sag and lay back, looking up at the stars decoupled from the sky. She sighed. Her voice, when she spoke, was heavy as lead and quiet in the evening gloom, filled with a nameless futility.

"...Can you help me hate them?"

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

---

As Luen took a few long, deep breaths to calm herself and focus on the now, a boy appeared in front of her, standing languidly on the other side of the arena. She gave a muffled sound of surprise: this was the boy that had been standing next to her, the one that also had white hair. Elidthianis Hawke...she thought she knew the name from a book she'd read once, but she couldn't quite place which book it had been, nor nail down exactly in what context she'd heart the name. So, despite the whispers from the crowds, the surprise that Luen expressed was quite different.

She stared at him across the arena. His vivid, brilliant blue eyes were set off by his hair, much like her own crimson ones, and though his skin wasn't as white as her own, it was certainly pale to some extent. She blinked a few times in confusion and her mouth opened to say something before she was cut off by him speaking instead, and saying something that only made her more confused:

"I suppose you're my dance partner? You don't look like much."

She couldn't help but give a surprised "Eh?"

Of all the comments on her appearance she'd thought would be made, that was the least in line with whatever she'd expected. She looked weird. As little time as she'd spent outside of her house, all the rumors that had gotten back to her were more than enough to make sure she knew that inviolable truth. So why was he acting like nothing was wrong with her, in any way? She blinked a few times, trying to jigsaw that into her worldview, before she was reminded that she should probably respond to him; it was only polite, and just as before, she felt an immediate sort of kinship with him. What she wanted to ask was why he was so...un-hated.

But by the whispers in the crowd and the stares that went his way, maybe he was a little less so than he seemed at first. The feeling of kinship grew stronger, and she softly asked, loud enough to be heard by her opponent but quietly enough that the crowd gathered around the clump of arena's wouldn't: "Do they call you Ill-Starred as well?"

But that was as strong as she let that feeling grow, because she still needed to fight him, in the end, and he seemed very confident with holding a sword. So she flicked her hand out, and just as before the mist in the air coalesced, this time as her favorite weapon: a transparent, glassy replica of her father's glaive that she held in an easy, practiced grip of her own. She took one more long, deep, steadying breath. If she could force him back and keep him at her range, if he couldn't get in close, then the fight would be over quickly.

And then the signal was called. So she darted forward, determined to claim the initiative, and swept her glaive at him in a wide, vicious arc. The more she kept this fight to her tempo over his, the better.

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn was...

...Well, she was still a little bit fuzzy and a little bit dizzy. But less so. She could think properly again, and speak properly, for the most part. The dream was so much more chaotic than it had been up to that point; even in the beginning, with the black water and the mismatched reflections of the sun and moon, even then, it had made more sense, the stars had been achingly familiar. Now it was as wild and disarrayed as her thoughts had been up until she slept.

"I..." Her voice echoed oddly around the space, as though it was so much smaller than a lake. It hadn't done that since right after her phasing test, she thought, though she was still a bit muddled and might've forgotten something. But at least it wasn't as slurred and incomprehensible as it had been when she was awake, though she didn't really know enough what she'd been like to appreciate that. "I dunno. Think we did it right, but...maybe it...was...a bad idea."

Looking out at the meandering nightdark water, she could faintly see the buoy in the distance, and the two figures that were by it, dead still, locked there instead of swimming or even treading water. A sudden feeling of desolation took her and she hung her head. "I din't forget anythin' after all. It jus' made it worse."

A long beat of silence followed, and Quinn averted her eye from the distant head that she could somehow tell, even all this distance away and with all the darkness between them, was blonde. In lieu of that, she mirrored Quinnlash, staring down at her hands, curling them in and out almost meditatively.

"I don't unnerstan.'"

Her voice was slightly choked, though as usual emotions felt far away here, so there was no chance of her crying again, not really. "I don't unnerstan,'" she repeated, almost blankly, "why am I thinkin' these things about her?"

Amygdala Circuit

You're a great daughter.

Slowly, gradually, Quinn's crying slowed, then abated altogether, as Besca kept on talking.

"Jus'..." she mumbled, suddenly feeling like the weight of the world was laying on her eyelid, "Jus'...closhe my eye...'n breathe..."

Her body stopped trembling, and she seemed finally to relax, uncoiling her body and leaning her head a little close to Besca's hand as though to keep it there. And that eye, the one that felt suddenly like it had the weight of ten thousand oceans pressing down on it...it flickered, like she was blinking it a hundred times. The huffing hyperventilation of a mid-freakout Quinn slackened off, to be replaced with the deep breathing that Besca taught her how to do, months ago now. Not yet the slow deep breaths of sleep, but a marked improvement nonetheless, and she could feel sleep bearing down on her like a freight train regardless.

You're a great daughter.

The last of the tight muscles in her face relaxed, and she let her body go limp now, but for one hand that kept clutching Besca's. Her eye drooped lower, and she less mumbled now than murmured ever so softly.

"G'night Beshca."

And then, even more quietly, barely more than a whisper

"I love you."

Then her eye slid shut, and her hand fell limp.

You're a great daughter.

And Quinnlash slept.

Amygdala Circuit

Lying down was nice. And the darkness was nice too. As the door to the pilot's dorms had closed behind them she'd flinched like she'd been struck, and that flinch seemed to reverberate around her body like a shiver. By the time she'd lay down, it had become a shiver, and tremor that ran through her. She felt the covers dip and turned to see what it was, even though it was dark and she couldn't see very good right now. But she was still coherent enough to realize after a few moments that it was Besca, that Besca was next to her, was stroking her hair, rubbing her hand on her cheek.

"Look at that, you did great. I’m not goin’ anywhere, so you just close your eyes and sleep. I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound, yeah? Be right here with you."

That's right. Besca was there. Besca was there. Besca would make it all better.

Quinn curled in on herself, almost wrapping herself around Besca. She was still crying, and crying hard, in that deep, raw way that came with all restraint being torn away. Her eye stung like fire by now, and as she lay there, her quiet, disoriented slurring continued, growing more and more distressed as she went on.

"Beshca, why did they leave me? Why do they hate me? Ish it 'cause I was bad? Did I do shomethin' bad?"

She reached up and grabbed Besca's hand on her cheek, pulling it down to her chest and holding it in both hands as she wailed quietly, piteously:

"'M I a bad daughter?"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn's head spun like a top.

As they approached the door, she found it difficult to walk, difficult even to stand. She didn't really know what was going on as they walked—or, well, as Besca walked, and she stumbled alongside her. She understood, in the loosest sense, that they were going back to the dorms to sleep. That was fine. Sleep sounded good. She felt sick, and the tears were still dripping down her face for reasons she didn't fully comprehend. So she just leaned her head into the crook of Besca's neck and let herself be guided. The familiar sights of the Aerie were weird, distorted, seemed a little bit unfamiliar and...off.

At some point after they left the commons but before they made it to the dorm, she found herself talking. Or, at the very least, what could be passably assumed as talking of some kind. Really, less talking and more mumbling into Besca's neck as her brain spun in her head. Her voice was a soft, piteous thing, still clogged with tears, as well as heavy with the anxiety and pain that she couldn't seem to hold down anymore.

"Beshca, 's...ish Dahlia mad a' me?" She fell silent for a moment, burying her face in Besca's neck again as they traversed the hallway that led to the pilots dorms. A part of her dimly realized that's where they were, and her crying grew suddenly louder and heavier.

"Are...are you mad a' me?" Her tears quickly devolved into hiccuping sobs as her thin, shaking arms wrapped clumsily around Besca. "I don' wanna be 'lone anymore, wha'ever I did I'm sorry!"