Mcmolly

Amygdala Circuit

Modiologists. Roaki was familiar—she didn’t like them. When she was little, and weak, and had to be excised from her cockpit by scalpels rather than bonesaws, it was always the modiologists who operated on her. She glanced down at her hand, her arm, at the ghostly splotches scattered upon the skin. How many times had it been? She’d sworn she would remember every cut, but eventually there’d been so many, and they’d only hurt more as time went on. She’d lost track, it was shameful, so instead she’d just vowed deathly vengeance upon all scientists.

The idea that Quinn had spent her whole life gulping down poison was still ridiculous to her, but if someone was going to do that, it would be fucking modiologists.

Roaki felt herself getting angry again as Quinn apologized. Why did she keep doing that? There wasn’t anything to forgive, you didn’t get to have grievances as a loser—though, in her experience, that was undeniably due to the fact that dead people didn’t have grievances. Was she supposed to forgive her? Roaki couldn’t even imagine herself in the other seat, seeking forgiveness from someone she’d beaten.

Though, again, dead people didn’t forgive.

“It’s…fine,” she said. Regardless of her feelings, it was clear Quinn wasn’t going to leave it at that. This was the topic of their discussion today, and so like every other day, Roaki would bear it—and try, just a little, to sift something useful from it. “But why does it…matter? Wasn’t everyone mulched in Hovvi? They’re dead. You won. You can forget about them. The quicker you lose their names, the better.”

Amygdala Circuit

Roaki sat and listened quietly, as was her lot. It sounded like nonsense, honestly, and the more Quinnlash said, the less sense anything made. Modium? Did she really expect her to believe she grew up drinking modium? People died just being near the stuff, you didn’t just drink it. This had to be a trick, then, another ploy to get something out of her. But what? What else was there to say that hadn’t been said already? She had no crucial information for RISC, no deep, national secrets; Helburke wanted her gone just as much as everyone else, no one had ever told her anything she didn’t absolutely need to know.

She considered it might be that strange, miserable sort of cruelty she’d suspected Quinnlash preferred some weeks ago, but if that truly was the case, its purpose had yet to be made clear. IF the rest of her life was really to be spent listening to her enemy complain she wished she’d been back in that cell—at least there the cold would have killed her by now.

Failing that, she had to consider the distant possibility that Quinnlash was telling the truth—or at least that she thought she was. Roaki didn’t believe it for a second. She was well acquainted with the effects of modium, more than most people alive, she wagered. If Quinnlash had really been drinking it her whole life, she’d be dead. She was certain of it.

But, again, if it was true—why?

The possibilities to that question were fractal and endless and made her head hurt. Roaki quickly decided that she didn’t care why. If someone had done that to her, she thought, she would have ripped their kidneys out with her hands. Quinnlash wouldn’t, though. She had a special sort of weakness, and if her persona were to be taken at face-value, then it wouldn’t be at all surprising to find out that she never did anything about it.

God, fuck. But if she’d only stop fucking crying.

“…Okay,” she said, when the silence was long. “Your parents poisoned you. Why would they do that?”

Amygdala Circuit

Something was off, Roaki knew it right away. Usually Quinnlash came bursting in loud as anything, eager to talk and pretend—for whatever nebulous reasons she had—as if they did not despise each other. Sometimes it was only for minutes, sometimes it was an hour, sometimes early, others late. She didn’t know what time it was now, but as the silence, usually disallowed to last a handful of moments, stretched into minutes, she knew something was wrong.

Her hand squeezed the sheet in a fist. Is this it? she thought. Had the mask finally slipped off? Had she finally exhausted Quinnlash’s seemingly-endless patience? Or perhaps over the weeks she’d simply gotten everything she needed. Roaki knew silence, knew it well enough to know nothing good came after it. Were these people finally going to start treating her like the enemy?

Evidently not.

When Quinn spoke she sounded different. Sad. That wasn’t anything new. Quinn had cried plenty—Roaki remembered because it infuriated her every time, reminded her she’d lost to a crybaby, that she was worse. This sounded less like ridiculous guilt or sympathy, and more like…nostalgia. The pain of memory.

Roaki had become privy to many of Quinnlash’s feelings, none of which made her any easier to understand. But this—pain. Pain she could understand. Perhaps this was an opportunity, and if she listened closely, she might discover the girl’s true weakness.

Or she’s messing with you, you fucking idiot.

That, she decided, was also a possibility. Weeks spent waiting for the other shoe to drop; was this gravity at work? She supposed it didn’t matter, really. She didn’t have much use for shoes anyway.

“Okay,” she answered. “Sure. Why’d they do it?”

Amygdala Circuit

Not much had changed over the weeks in this little room. Artificial sunlight still glowed through the blinds in the window. The TV was off, as it always was, and the little table over the bed was pushed aside. Roaki had meekly, bitterly refused any sort of distraction, be it book or phone or cards. She ate scarcely, supplemented by nutrients either in the IV or through vitamins; she wasn’t quite withered, but she’d gained no weight since she’d arrived. What she did when Quinn wasn’t around was anyone’s guess, though when asked she would shrug, and insist she either slept, or just lay in silent thought.

The anger had gone from her. All of her words were blunted, either mumbled or spoken with a softness in shocking contrast to their encounter at the duel. She didn’t’ call Quinn names anymore, didn’t insult Dahlia or Besca. Still she had not met Quinn’s eyes, and rarely did she ever offer conversation of her own will. But almost dutifully, whenever she was questioned, she answered. Even to the rest of the medical staff, who it seemed had inherited her deference to Quinn by proximity.

She’d stopped asking to die. Perhaps Quinn saw that as a step forward, or perhaps it was simply a lack of will to move at all.

Today, like every day, she lay with her head turned to the faux-sun. When Quinn shut the door behind her, she looked up to the ceiling in acknowledgement, before sitting up and turning her eyes to the sheets. The fraying gray curtain of hair fell over her face.

“…Hey.”

Amygdala Circuit

Dahlia stayed put, smiling even though she heard Quinn continue to cry. She’d come to know the difference between her spirals and her moments of simply being overwhelmed, and even with the fog closing around her, that sense of panic was abated. The air was warm now, and calm.

“Mmh, breakfast…s’so nice of you. Can’t wait,” she said, laying her head against Quinn’s nest of hair. The hug was comfortable, like a heavy sheet, and she swayed to some pleasant, absent breeze. “M’you too. Promise. You too…”

Long moments passed and Dahlia showed no signs of letting go, though her arms did slacken a bit. Eventually Quinn would feel a bit of weight against her, hear the humming above her fall into gentle breathing. Now and then something loosely inspired by words escaped Dahlia’s mouth. Nothing was intelligible.

Her sister had fallen back to sleep. She stood upright, still swaying rhythmically, a contented smile on her face. Dahlia didn’t really share her dreams—if she had any at all—but if she was dreaming now, Quinn could be certain it was a happy one.

Pariah Online: A Voyage into the Intangible Aether

Location:The City of Thorinn, Aetheria

---

Seele was surprised. Not in a bad way, mind, in fact quite the opposite. She understood the value of a good hug, and frankly, she was probably more liberal with physical contact than most. But she also knew some people didn’t respond to touch, or even outright loathed it. She might have figured Graves for the latter, but then again, he was a melee class.

Oop, right. And a strong one at that. He squeezed and she adjusted herself to keep her arms from being pinned to her sides, enough so she could hug him back. She leaned against his head, squeezed him back. Reflexively she wanted to tell him there was nothing to forgive, since really that was how she felt. But she guessed it was different for him. Perhaps Graves didn’t want someone to tell him he’d done nothing wrong, because perhaps that wasn’t true. Exoneration did nothing for guilt.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she whispered instead. “Whatever you’ve done, whoever you are, we go forward. Together. No one left behind, that includes you.”

Pariah Online: A Voyage into the Intangible Aether

Location:The City of Thorinn, Aetheria

---

The edge had returned to his voice, the emotion was choking him, but that was a thousand times better than cold detachment. She didn’t shy away, but she didn’t dog him to look in his eyes. He turned, paced, and she stepped after him. An urge arose to reach out, touch him, but she quelled it for now.

Seele let his words simmer in her mind. It was a familiar heat, even if she didn’t agree with it—perhaps especially because she didn’t agree with it. This, she guessed, was much deeper and longer-reaching than the events of the Glitch. Though she didn’t know how far, and had no inkling as to the cause, he had said something she could empathize with. These people were the best thing to happen to her, too.

“You’re wrong,” she said, not harshly, but surely. “And what you’re doing—what you’re feeling—is proof of that, you know. You want to protect people, you want to help. Good people don’t think that way. If you were half the man you put on to be, you would have gladly stayed, and used us, and thrown us away when you were done. But you’re not that man. You’re hurting yourself because you think it’s the right thing to do. For everyone.”

She still stayed put, but—dang her impulsiveness—she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t know how old Graves was in the waking world, but to her he seemed young. That wasn’t to say he was naïve, in fact, she thought the opposite; life had saddled him with many more years of experience than he had lived, and for the first time Seele considered how much of a curse it might be to have lived too much.

“It isn’t, though. That voice you hear, telling you that you don’t deserve happiness, that you’re a storm wrecking everything around you—it’s wrong. Everyone deserves happiness, you're allowed to find it in your friends,” she stepped slowly around him, to the front again. She took her hand off his shoulder, and took him gently by his wrists. “There’s so much more to you than your mistakes. I know it’s hard to see, but that’s okay. Sometimes it takes other people to show you.”

Pariah Online: A Voyage into the Intangible Aether

Location:The City of Thorinn, Aetheria

---

Seele recoiled. Graves’ words weren’t spoken particularly harshly, and really, there didn’t seem to be an ounce of aggression left in him. She thought maybe she’d even seen him smile, barely, just for a moment, before he got up and started to walk away. Nevertheless a knot wound itself up in her gut, tight like she’d been kicked in the stomach, and she just stayed knelt there, watching him walk off.

Just like during the fight, she found herself doubting. He doesn’t mean it. He wouldn’t actually hit you. We’re a team, we work together. He’ll turn around. He’ll come back.
…you don’t get it, Missy…
No. He wouldn’t.

That familiar frustration bubbled up within her, and this time she let it—just a bit, just enough to get her up on her feet and marching after him. She closed the distance speedily, stamped down any sprouts of genuine anger that might have started to blossom, and rounded up in front of him.

“You’re lying,” she snapped. Oop, still a little too aggressive. She took a sharp breath in through her nose, sighed it out quick. Now, with less heartbeat in her ears, she tried again, much more tempered. “You’re lying. No one, and I mean no one is better off on their own. If you leave now, and you stick to yourself, you’ll get hurt, or worse, and you know it.”

She frowned, searching him in glances because she knew she might not have long. There was plenty to recognize, guilt in every twitch, soaking every word like the blood of a martyr. This side of him frightened her so much more than the attack. Rage was blind, but it could be directed. Despair was directionless.
…I wish you did, though…
“You’re lying,” she repeated, shaking her head. “To me, to them, and to yourself with this…this lone wolf act. It’s not what anyone wants, it’s not what you want, I can’t believe it is. I won’t. You’re not some kind of curse, Graves. You’re not dangerous. You’re our friend. You’re my friend, and I’m not losing you.”

Amygdala Circuit

Another change then, Dahlia could tell. She felt it in the strength of Quinn’s hug, heard it in the way her voice lost its panic, and then lost everything else with it. She knew it was guilt, even if that realization didn’t quite reach her consciousness. Quinn felt guilty about something, about her. Hurting her. Hurting her? Silly. Utterly silly.

“No, no,” she said, glancing stability for just a moment. “Didn’t hurt me. Never hurt me, Quinn. Nuh-uh. I just…forgot, s’all. Just forgot. No biggie. Sleeping fine, just a lil’ weird.”

She pulled herself away, just enough to look Quinn in the eye. Red, wet-cheeked, stricken with guilt or worry or grief or all; a part of her stung knowing this was the most familiar of her sister’s faces. Dahlia wanted more than anything these days to see her smile. To make sure she was safe enough to smile.

She smiled—like this, see?—and squeezed Quinn’s shoulders. Her eyes ached. “Never sorry to me. I’m not sorry. I wouldn’t change anything. Made you a promise. ‘Cause I wouldn’t change anything.”

Amygdala Circuit

Dahlia stood bewildered for a moment, reflexively returning the hug. Quinn was okay? She was okay. She was crying—normal, sometimes she did that—but she wasn’t hurt. Scared? No, sad, she heard sad. Sad. Not hurt.

She let out a breath that made her whole body rattle. Relief, mainly, but also the exhaustion catching right up to her. The fog in her mind had parted long enough to determine her sister was alright, and now she could feel it closing again. Quinn was sad about something. Something vague, at least to her, but that was okay. Dahlia was sad about things too. She wanted to say that, but she couldn’t connect those wires quite right. She wanted to ask her what was wrong but couldn’t articulate that, either.

Instead, Dahlia patted Quinn’s head, and resisted the urge to shut her eyes when she leaned her own against it.

“No, it’s okay. It’s okay. No one’s dead,” she said absently. Didn’t sound right. Felt right, but the words were mumbled and directionless, and part of her knew she was responding more with the intent behind them than the words themselves. “No one’s dead. Promise.”