Sarona Gayle (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
inkedspell) wrote2022-09-17 09:41 pm
inkedspell) wrote2022-09-17 09:41 pm
Memory Share for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry (2022)
These are memory share options for people interested in seeing some of Saeri's life.
One -- The fight where she gets trapped in the Mystlands
Two -- Traveling through mountains and getting attacked by a rainbow eye mountain lion.
Three -- When she is tortured by the Kraal and threatened with the lives of other captives to help adapt their weapons
Four -- Saeri wakes up to the aftermath of what she'd done when the Soulcarver awakened and Certain Choices Were Made to try and get herself free of it...which did not end well for her arm.
Five -- When shebegged argued with JD to let her come with the Inkmetal Forge.
Six -- Her first reconstruction site after joining the Inkmetal Forge while helping after a major flood
Seven -- Baby Saeri memory of literally almost dying because her brother is a fucking horrible person who locked her in a windowless storage shed in the middle of a California summer.
Eight -- A talk with her older sister, Dahlia, after her brother destroyed her birthday cake when she was seven.
One -- The fight where she gets trapped in the Mystlands
Two -- Traveling through mountains and getting attacked by a rainbow eye mountain lion.
Three -- When she is tortured by the Kraal and threatened with the lives of other captives to help adapt their weapons
Four -- Saeri wakes up to the aftermath of what she'd done when the Soulcarver awakened and Certain Choices Were Made to try and get herself free of it...which did not end well for her arm.
Five -- When she
Six -- Her first reconstruction site after joining the Inkmetal Forge while helping after a major flood
Seven -- Baby Saeri memory of literally almost dying because her brother is a fucking horrible person who locked her in a windowless storage shed in the middle of a California summer.
Eight -- A talk with her older sister, Dahlia, after her brother destroyed her birthday cake when she was seven.
One (Age: 16) (cw: violence, blood, language)
She had thought she was going to die. Just for a bit there. The time had been counting down, but she'd lost track. She's forgotten how much time she'd had left. The knife her brother had been using had been so close to gutting her. The ink on her arm is faded, dead, inert and unable to protect her. She'll have to use her other skills. Just fine by her. She doesn't need invincibility to beat Wynnie the Whiny Shit. She's been doing it her entire life.
There was an explosion of motion along with the actual explosions. They had taken out the one wall and Roan had helped her get down from the slab they'd tied her to. The look on his face said he wasn't pleased. She could feel a sticky trail going down her face from where a block of debris had hit her in the head. Oh, that would do it. But he was Ro, she knew she would smooth things over with him. So what if she had gotten herself kidnapped in advance? It had all worked out, they had shown their hand and all they had to do was get that damn black crystal out of her before Wynnie could do whatever he wanted with it.
And that meant she had to go through Wynnie to get it. Bonus for her. She loved the feel of her fist against his teeth and the sound of his body hitting the ground and rolling. Pure rock music to her ears. When he pushed himself up, blood spewing from his mouth and nose, it was art. Red paint splashed to create a perfect masterpiece. And who said she had forgotten what it was like to be cultured?
"I'm...going...to kill you..." he huffed out and spit blood and saliva onto the ground. Was that a tooth on the ground?
"Heh, there's an old saying about trying the same thing over and over expecting a different result being a sign of insanity...but you're just stupid." She was tired, energy sapped and body worn out from the fight that had gotten her here in the first place. But it didn't matter. They were going to win. And she would make sure Wynnie never tried to fuck with her again.
He was so mad, she could see it. That charismatic and cool façade was gone. It was the same face she had seen so many times before and she wasn't afraid. Whether from the head trauma or the adrenaline, or the pure fucking pleasure of watching something he had a hand in fall apart, she did not know. Did not give a fuck either.
She ran at him, he shot at her--when did he have time to get a gun?--and she dodged as quickly as she could. Her right arm sang as she repelled the bullets, the metal calling out to her but she didn't pull it in, no that would be a bad idea. Had to send it away. Another explosion rocked her from close by, sending her skidding to the ground. Ow. She adjusts her glasses so she could see again, and had to dodge yet again.
He was yelling something, maybe at her, but she wasn't paying attention. She was focused on the stone on the ground so close to him that he somehow hadn't noticed was there yet. He probably still thought she had it. Idiot.
"--worthless!"
Oh, he had been yelling at her. She ran her hand over her leg, feeling the burst of power. She shouldn't be doing this. She didn't have the energy for it. But she was going to do it. Of course she was.
The world slows around her, like everyone else was moving through molasses. The seconds she had would be enough. They had to be.
She moved around him, seeing the obsidian stone where it had fallen out of her satchel that she had squirreled it away in. She reached out, not even thinking, to grab the stone from the ground. And dropped in agony. Fire and lightning burned in unison as every nerve in her arm screamed and black energy crackled around her arm, ripping through the runes there. She fell onto her knees, crying out in agony. It was as if someone had tried to cut her arm off vertically. The stone hit the ground in front of her with a heavy clink. It glowed like the pulse of a beating heart.
And then there was the laughter. When her vision cleared enough she could see the blurry form of Wynston standing over her, cackling. Dark red was still smeared all over his clothes and his teeth.
"You're so pathetic, what did Father ever see in you?" he said. "He knows better now. He thinks we were finally rid of you...but at least Mother showed me how to take out the trash the right way."
He held up a hand covered in blood and slammed it into the crumbling wall. The stone shook, the screeching wail of energy permeated the air around them. She could feel wind and hear water crashing against solid rock. Had he broken through to an underground river?
"Can't have, if she's still around," Saeri choked back, because of course she had to say something. The smile on his face twisted and before Saeri knew it a heavy boot was kicking her in the chest and she was falling backwards.
And she kept falling. It was as if she would never stop falling and yet she could still see the Gate and her brother standing on the other side of it watching. But she had the last laugh because she may not be able to feel her hand but she still had that obsidian stone tucked into her elbow, pressed against her body.
Did that count as a win?
Two (Age: 16) (cw: blood, injury, animal attack)
She is filthy, tired, and aching from the journey, but she doesn't stop. Wouldn't stop.
She has to find a Gate. And if that meant she has to cross the entire Mystlands that's what she is going to fucking do.
The winds through the mountain are picking up. It wasn't too cold, but the colorful dust was picking up, making it harder to see. She has to find a place to wait out them out. It takes another twenty minutes just to find a big enough cave but at least it's tall and wide, jutting from the mountainside like nature aggressively carved it out.
From the look of the gashes on the walls around the cave...maybe it wasn't "nature."
Not that she has the chance to turn back now. She pulls out a crystal from her satchel, letting it glow dimly to guide her. Her flashlight had died weeks back, so she's been making what supplies she could. Crystals were really hard to come across here.
Something softly cracks beneath her feet and she looks down, lowering the crystal so she could see. Long, elegant feathers littered the ground. She can't see all of the colors due to the dim lighting, but they look like...peacock feathers? What peacock lives in mountains? There' also grass and sticks and...hay? She's not sure, but it's a trail of something that she wouldn't be surprised to see in a nest. Maybe birds used to hide out in here...
There is a low, growling sound. She freezes. She should have ran.
Wind gusts by her and there is the flapping sound of wings in the shadows before she's dodging to avoid sharp claws that came out of the dark. She drops the crystal and light vanishes within the cave. The only light left is at the front of the cave, mostly blotted out by the windstorm, and she's not even close enough to use it.
She isn't fast enough the second time as the claws rake across her left arm like fire, slamming her into the wall of the cave. She screams out and its on her again, teeth ripping into her leg but an elbow to what she assumes is its head causes a shriek and it pulls back. She rolls away and pulls her flashlight out of the loop of the makeshift belt she'd fashioned to hold more supplies. The battery might be dead, but it's still made of metal. Her arm burns and it's like lightning striking her all over again, the nerves crying out at the magic she's funneling through her barely mended runes. She grits her teeth and feels the metal warping longer, sharper. Plexiglass breaks. She doesn't even care as long as it gives her a weapon.
There's that sound again. The flapping of wings too big for the space they are confined in. She dodges better this time and slices out with the spear she's just made. Something hopefully long enough to keep the beast at bay, but not too long to maneuver in the cave. The growling only increases and the beast yowls like a deranged feline.
She backs up as fast as she can. Her hand shakes, she can barely hold onto the spear. Tries to shift it to her left hand, but that is a supremely stupid idea and her arm tells her that. There's a rainbow of loose dirt piling up at the front of the cave as the wind howls outside. But she is close enough now that her eyes can adjust again, allowing her to see what she's fighting.
The massive beast stalks forward, claws raking the ground and wings flared in warning. It's a fucking giant cat--mountain lion, cougar, panther--but most of its body is covered in feathers. Colorful, bold feathers with eyes like peacocks. Eyes like a warning instead of a lure.
She's exhausted, the wind's been knocked out of her, her eyes are swimming, and she's going to have to fight a panther than looks like a peacock. Fucking great.
Except that now that she's right by the cave entrance, a decent distance away from the beast whose home she accidentally intruded upon...it stops. The cougar sniffs the air, cocks its head and stares. She doesn't know how long they stare at each other. The only sound between them is the wailing wind beyond the cave.
"Uh...sorry," she finally says. "Didn't mean to perform a breaking-and-entering. But if you try to claw me again I'm gonna stab you somewhere soft and painful."
She keeps the spear out before her, her own warning not to come closer. The beast doesn't speak back--not that she would have been surprised if it had--but after another moment it turns and makes its way back into the dark recesses of its home. Just like that.
She hits the wall again, this time out of exhaustion and pain, sliding down to sit against it. The left side of her body feels like she was just mauled. Because she was. And that fucking sucks.
She's only lucky that she's got some basic supplies still left over after this time that she can maybe make some decent bandages out of. She's gonna have to get the wounds cleaned and covered before infection sets in. That's not how she's going to die.
There's no way she's dying before telling people she fought a peacock mountain lion to a stand-still.
Five (Age: 12) (cw: sickness, anxiety)
"I'll just run away again." You refuse to leave and they don't know how to force you to return home without potentially worsening your health. JD is staring at you, his broad heavy set shoulders and thick arms hunched over his makeshift desk as he runs his hands over the braid of his long salt-and-pepper beard. He looks at the end of his tether. You hope that means you're being persuasive, but if not, then you'll take wearing him down until he concedes to your position. Either way you win. You need to win.
Piles of bills, maps, and blueprints for the buildings and homes in Ms Halli's neighborhood they had been repairing are spread out across the table top. Because they care. They care so much that it makes you want to explode with feelings you've never felt before just being here.
"You have to give me this chance," you say somehow without coughing, shifting tracks just a bit. If being blunt won't work, maybe appealing to that big heart of his will. A tall woman with a choppy, but fluffy cut mohawk of all the colors of a summer sunrise is leaning against the metal wall of the warehouse. She agrees with you, but JD is her chief. He is the voice of the guild and what he says goes. She spoke on your behalf already, there's not much more she can do.
"Saeri," he tries again, a sigh in his voice as he stands up from his chair. It scrapes in a high-pitched screech across the pock-marked concrete. "I have to be honest with you."
"You don't want me here," you say, because it's such an obvious expectation. You're a child. A weak, pathetic, barely held together skin and bones example of a child at that. You know you have so much to offer, but it's not much to look at. Not much to judge on. JD moves then, stepping around the table to stand in front of you. You're tall for your age, but he's a giant, dwarfing you with his height and bulk in a way that makes you feel small, but never in danger. JD could punch a hole in a tree if he so wished, but those hands touch your shoulders with gentleness.
Don't flinch. Don't flinch. It's okay if he hugs you. Hugs are good. You're not afraid of anything except the answer 'No.'
"What I want isn't the matter here," he tells you. "Your parents will come after us and we don't have the funds or the legal team set up to fight child abduction charges."
"You don't...You don't have to worry about that," you say, a little breathless. The hands on your shoulders are firm, warm, holding you up. Would you fall if he let go? "They can't stop me if they want to keep their world the way it is. They have to let me go. And if you don't take me...I'll follow you. I'll walk or hitchhike or steal a car and drive. I know where you live. I know where to find you. You leave me and I will follow you forever. You'll never leave me behind. I want to do what you do. I want--I need--"
"JD," Gina is there, elbowing him in the shoulder with enough force his arm jerks. "What do you think would be worse, taking her or leaving her?" She's tall and bright and covered with the runes that prove everything about who she is in life. The rune for Hope stands out starkly on her neck. Her soul is written on her skin and you want to trace every single inscription until you read her story to her bones.
But you look away from her to look back at JD. The look in his eyes makes your breath catch more than your pathetic, weakened, ever failing lungs. Please, please, please, please, please--
"We need to buy you some clothes," he says. "It's a long drive back to Michigan. Can't leave you in this for a week."
You do everything you can not to start crying right then, but the force of holding the tears back only sends you into a coughing fit and JD becomes frantic. He picks you up and holds you close while lightly patting your back. He's softly ranting at Gina about a cot and something to drink and a blanket to wrap you despite it being the middle of summer. You use the opportunity to cling to him, the gasps and coughs turning into a laugh. And you can't stop laughing. Maybe you'll die from it all and it'll be the most glorious way to die you've ever thought of.
Three (Age: 15) (cw: blood, torture)
Most of your body is a tapestry of a blood and bruises but not your hands. You don't know what hurts more, the half-missing toenails, the broken molar at the back of your mouth cutting into your cheek, or the jagged cuts on your leg they had carefully carved right above your knee. Your leg was sticky and itchy from the blood dripping down it. They threatened to remove the kneecap.
Oh right. What hurts more. Probably the toenails. You grunt and try to laugh, even though your throat is raw.
The Kraal just watched you passively. You're sure you're getting to them. You even saw their ear twitch a second ago when you were humming Hotel California.
Then they brought out the withur slime. Fleshing eating caterpillars with acidic excretions. The acid was slow-going, killing the tissue so the withur could ingest it easier. And they put it right on those open cuts. You may as well have cut your leg off. You might prefer if they let you do it yourself right now.
When you've managed to calm the screams, you go right back to humming. Humming is close enough to whimpering that you can justify how broken the sounds are.
"You want to be strong," they say. "It's honorable, if pointless. This is only a taste of what we can do. We wished to show you what was to come."
You try to laugh again, only to be punched in the face. Lights burst in your vision, ringing in your ears. Everything throbs with the beat of your heart.
Your lip is split open again, your cheek gushing from the jagged tooth digging into it. You start coughing on the blood in your mouth instead. You spit it out over the side of the chair and take in a breath, steadying yourself.
"Not...dead..." you say through blood and tissue, words garbled in your mouth. "Let's...keep going."
Their entire demeanor changes. The once neutral apathy now looks like petty amusement. They stare down at you like you've said something precious and stupid.
"You've misunderstood our intentions," they say. "This is only a taste for you. A display of but a small portion of what we shall do to your companions. We shall be bringing one here and allow you to watch as we afford them the same courtesies we've afforded you. Now you may be aware of what awaits them. Some of it."
Hurting you is nothing. Hurting you has never meant anything for anyone who has done it. You know you can take it. But you don't know who they will choose. Romero? Professor Tauri? Damun? Whoever's being the loudest?
The doors open and your breath catches in your throat. Shortly cropped hair is already caked on one side from a cut to her temple, brown eyes are filled with fear and confusion, she's stripped of her jacket and probably shivering from the icy temperatures. She always gets cold easily.
"Sae..Saeri? Oh god, are you okay?"
Of course she would ask about you. She's that kind of person. Healers are like that. She's about to be tortured and here she is worrying about you.
"So you are familiar with each other," they say. "All the better they take your place."
You've never felt the hatred you feel right now for anyone except one person.
"What?" she chokes, looking between you quickly, thinking she's understood the situation when she hasn't understood at all. "Yes! Let her go! I'll--"
You groan and have to spit the blood out of your mouth again, this time you take care to aim as best you can, some of it landing right on their stupid uniform. They don't even react. Fucking asshole.
"Take her back. Get--Get her the fuck out of here. I'm listening."
"Good of you to accept our terms." They smile. She's still yelling when they remove her from the room. You can hear her voice long after you've lost sight of her, but the look in her eyes is enough to make you want to bite off your own tongue.
Seven (Age: 8) (cw: bullying, verbal abuse, medical distress of a child)
"I don't have it."
"I know you do. No one else would have taken it from my room."
No one else would have cared enough to do something to hurt you like this. Not even Mother. He is always taking your things. You do not know how he keeps getting into your room. You have so many locks now and yet somehow he finds a way in. You have to get better at your shields and barriers.
But that is for later. Right now you just want him to give back what he has taken.
The look on his face is full of contempt and smug amusement. He could deny that he has stolen from you forever and no one would doubt him. No one except you. Ms Halli is not allowed to question him. Father would not bother unless he thought it affecting your studies. Mother knows you deserve it. Dahlia never speaks up for you. Not when it might mean questioning Mother.
You are trapped. He knows it. You know it. Trapped at his mercy and you can only hope maybe this one he will care. Tears are building at the corner of your eyes. Frustration. You do not let them fall.
"If...If you return MAXI, I will tell Mother I was the one who took the opal aural crystals out of her astral necklace."
His eyes widen. He did not know you knew. Mother had fired the new maid and given Ms Halli a severe talking down to when they were discovered missing. But you know that he took them. You even know why.
"You don't know what you speak of."
"I do. And I know Mother has almost found them twice."
That may be the wrong thing to say, based on the look on his face. His teeth clench, his jaw is tight, his fists are balled to the point you think this might be the time he finally strikes you himself.
But he doesn't. His body relaxes and he cocks his head at you with that same smugness. "You confess, but only after I 'find them' and take them to her."
Another chance for him to better his status, as if it is even needed. Mother already thinks he is the most perfect son that could have ever been born. You don't buckle. You don't wilt or shrink into yourself no matter how much you feel like it. Instead you stand as stiffly as you can with your chest pounding and heart hurting.
"Deal. Now please return him."
He rolls his eyes and turns around, walking down the long corridor. You hurry to follow after him. He does not take the turn toward the wide, winding staircase, but instead walks through the grand foyer toward the dining hall and kitchens. You stay right with him until he goes to the door heading into the staff yard. You stop in the doorway, watching him walk down cobblestone path away from the house. Just standing in the doorway is enough for you to feel the thick, oppressive heat outside. It's a heatwave and a drought currently, not that one could tell from looking at the pristinely watered grass and shrubbery around the estate.
"Wait--you said you would return MAXI to me!" you call out.
He stops, but does not turn around to look at you. "If you want it, then come and get it. Or call the hired help to collect it for you if you do not mind taking them from their work. If you do not, it can stay where it is."
You're not supposed to be outside. You're not supposed to be outside. You're not supposed to be--
--it will not take that long, will it? If you are quick, collect your golem and return inside shortly, you should be fine. The heat cannot harm you that quickly. If you feel an attack coming you can get back inside to your inhaler. You will be fine. Everything will be fine (until Mother is told what you did-but-did-not-do).
You step out of the house, bare feet already stinging from the heat of the cobblestones. You move quickly, almost skipping across the path to catch up to Wynston. He is still walking, but once you see which direction he has taken you know where he is going. The storage area. Where the storage sheds and garden tools are kept.
You are not allowed outside. You are not allowed by the sheds. Wynston moves between them like he spends more than enough time out here. He comes to a stop at the red shed, the one Father's exercise equipment had also been removed to when he thought of another use for the gym-no-longer. He jiggles the lock and it pops open easily, as if it was only set to look like it had been locked properly.
"I left it in here," he says. "I knew you wouldn't have the brains to search outside the house on your own."
He opens the door and motions inside. "Go get it yourself and shut the door behind you." Then he turns and walks away.
It's hot, you can already feel sweat starting to bead up on your brow. You watch his back for a moment, before pulling the door open the rest of the way and stepping into the shed. There is barely any light. No windows. The vented slats on the walls only let slivers of it into the shed. You stand still for a while, letting your eyes adjust. You see a cycle, stepmaster, rolled yoga mats in the corner, even a weight bench. So many things Father bought on a whim but had little use for.
But no immediate sight of MAXI. It would be like Wynston to hide it well enough to make finding it more than just inconvenient. That doesn't deter you. MAXI is too important. You had almost finished him and did not have the time to remake him before the deadline. You need to get him back. So you look. And look. But still you don't find MAXI.
The air is so hot and thick in the shed from the lack of proper circulation. You cough at the dust and your chest seizes. You scrabble to lean against the weight bench for a moment. Your heart is thumping in your ears as you try to reclaim your breath. It's hard to focus and there's that same fear building up in you that you overestimated what you can do again.
You were wrong. You can't do this. You need to get back to the house.
You turn around, trying to steady your breaths, but they come out in pants and coughs, you can't hold any air in for long. You're holding to much. Turning at that moment gives you a clear sight of the door to the shed slamming shut and something scrapping at the metal. Darkness descends.
No.
"W-Wynston?" You stumble, banging your leg on something hard and heavy before falling into the door. It doesn't budge. "Wyn--Wynston! O-O-Open the door!"
Footsteps. Laughter. Your head hurts and you can't breathe. It's so hot.
"You think you're so brilliant, Sorry, figure out how to open it yourself." He bangs on the door hard enough it makes your body rattle against it. "Remember this next time you think you can get one over on me."
You push at the door. They only bend but don't open. The lock is holding them tight. "Op--Open the door," you say, wheezing. "Please. I--I need--" You stutter and gasp. You can't get the words out. It's too hard. You try, but the only thing that comes out is strangling, gasping sounds.
You slide down the door, grasping at your chest, trying to calm down. You remember your breathing techniques. You remember to sit up straight and take slower, deeper breaths. The air is so thick and burns your throat. Your head is swimming. You're sweating, gasping, and maybe this is how you die.
You always knew you were going to die. He was going to kill you one day.
You don't know what hurts more, your lungs or your heart. Your chest feels like something could burst out of it, ripping apart all the expensive work done to keep your worthless sack of flesh alive, just like Mother says.
Maybe you'll haunt him. Maybe you'll come back as a direwraith and feast on his soul. The thought shouldn't be so comforting, but you're dying and making him regret it is the only thing you can think of.
Everything is fuzzy and it's hard to think. You can barely see in the shed, but the pain and the thud against your temples make you close your eyes anyway. Why can't you think? Why is it so hard to think? Maybe your brain is being deprived of too much oxygen.
Maybe Mother will be happy when she finds out you're dead. The first time you will have ever made her happy.
Maybe... Maybe...
Seven (/banishes every bit of awkwardness)
no light.
(no family, that's not family)
no air.
(no hope)
it's like being in a cell and then the body's betraying you.
thoughts a jumble, she stumbles twice before sitting, breathing, breathing---
---seething over the memory.]
Hey, you. Daily reminder: you fucking rule, and your family is full of shitbags.
If that brother of yours shows up here, I'm gonna beat the air out of him myself.
no subject
Usually it doesn't have anything to do with her. He's just that much of an asshole.
Does she ask? Does she want to know? Just how much
anxietyembarrassment does she need?]I know I'm amazing, but validation is always nice.
Everyone wants to beat the shit out of Wynnie when they meet him. I could sell tickets.
no subject
It is, isn't it? So I'll do it again. You're cool, cute, smart and funny. And you're a great artist.
Fang, I'm fine. No, not that part, don't type that. Backspace. Erase that sentence.
Well, I met him, and I sure wish I didn't, so sign me up for a pair of tickets, because Fang's in, too.
I don't know how else to do this, or if you even want to know the details. I mean ...you already know them, right? I don't want to make you talk about that. But I'm sorry. I had no idea what he was like. What you had to deal with. I'm not sorry I saw it, but I'm sorry it didn't come from you. This shit is always a mess.
[and yet trench just keeps doing it.]
no subject
At least the lines to Fang make her huff out a little chuckle, strained though it is.]
Life can be really shitty. Here, back there, anywhere.
I don't hide from my life. I know where the shit's piled up isn't always where the flowers are growing.
I know all the details. I've never forgotten anything he ever did. If you need to talk it out, you know where I am.
[Because of course it's easier for her to talk about all the horrible things that Wynston did if someone else needs to work through it. Not the first time this has happened. Romero didn't handle it well either, when she tried to joke about it with him. Hadn't found it very funny at all.]
no subject
---no, that sucks, too.]
Yup. That's true. We both know it's a shit sandwich sometimes. I think it's a Trench requirement, I haven't met a single person here who was like "wow, my life back home? awesome."
It's good that you don't hide. But where do you put the shit if it's not under the flowers making them grow?
Pretty sure some shit's toxic, too. Not even good for growing stuff. Only good for, I don't know, bombs. Or putting in your brother's shoes.
How could you forget that? My bet is it can't have stopped there, with that one thing, that one time. That was. He was worse than mean. He tried to kill you. He planned it. He didn't care if you died.
That's fucked up. You know that, right?
Maybe I do need to talk it out. Maybe you do, too.
no subject
Come over. I'm not going anywhere.
[Because this isn't about her. Of course not. At least her Carriage House has gone through several deep cleans and disinfecting sweeps after the mess that was November and the Mishaps of Magical Mayhem she and Robby dealt with.]
no subject
she'll use the lamps, but at the last stop she'll parkour - if only just to test her lungs, to shake off the last bits of that - yeah...it's not quite shaken. so she's a bit winded when she knocks, but she doesn't look sheepish about it, she looks angry.
(yes, saeri. this is about you.)]
no subject
knows they arethinks they should be.So when Vi knocks, she opens the door and her concern is focused on Vi. Because that look not one Saeri is used to seeing on her face. She reaches out to take her hand.]
Come on in, I made coffee. [Again, because it's Vi that needs this, not her.]
Up the ladder. Not doing this on the 'seat. The tower's comfier.
no subject
Yeah, the seat's got history, I guess.
[sure. she'll just acknowledge that, because why not. she's in the mood to just say all the things, and her filter's been fucked up by some little motherfucker whose ass she can't even kick.]
I'm gonna draw that little shit. And I'm gonna have Viktor make a plate for the boxing machine. And then, I'm probably gonna punch it til it breaks.
no subject
I broke his face once, only right everyone else gets a turn. Now go get comfortable on all those cushions.
[She snags the thermos she put the coffee in and the cups hanging on little hooks close by. She always makes she everything is available and in easy reach in the tower. Her futon is covered in the comfiest pillows, blankets, and sheets she could find. The perfect place to relax and learn.]
Here, drink.
[And if she doesn't tell her that the coffee was steeped in her Relaxation Pot, well, it's fine. She'll just stretch out right next to Vi on the cushions and wait.]
no subject
[and her voice drops a little, her shoulders drop, too - an exhale as she does as she's told and drinks.]
It's hard to be ...comfortable after seeing that. Feeling it.
[which is to say ...how the fuck are you okay about this? nothing about that was okay. vi only ...got the trench version, the crash course, the quick and dirty bodyswap before she was out. that's nothing compared to living it. how do you...
...fuck.]
I hope you got out of there really soon after that. I don't mean the shed, I mean the whole place.
no subject
[Since he toss her into the Mystlands and left her to die there. She's trying hard not to get tense, because she's never hidden any of this. It's just...no one has a reason to ask. Not should ever have a reason to ask. Saeri has done a lot to make people believe she's okay. Because she is. She has always been fine.
But whatever Vi saw--and she can remember that day in ways she wishes she never could--she wasn't handling it well. She knows Vi's been through a lot of shit. She knows Vi can take on a lot. The fact she's reacting like this, she doesn't know if it say more about Vi or more about...her.]
It's not like he's the only person to ever try to kill me. [She's looking at her own mug of coffee when she says it.] It's not weird when living long enough to hit puberty is the big surprise.
no subject
[she practically gulps the coffee, so it's not a surprise if she begins to relax just a bit, she's still ...angry, still left with a residual unfamiliar fear - of being helpless, of her body failing her. she takes a deep breath because she remembers she can. winston has just unseated joffrey as her least favorite person - or at least, has caused him to have to share his throne. the very idea of that's worth another bitter laugh.]
You get how fucked up that sounds, right? I mean, sure, I can say it, too. It's fucked up. That little shit was supposed to have your back. Family...
[sticks together.]
no subject
[Oh, there's just a tiny bit of bitterness there. She's relaxing and not as upset as she could be--there's a reason she made that Relaxation Pot--but also she's so very well resigned to all of that.]
And that wasn't my family. That was my prison and my wardens. 12 year sentence for the crime of being born like I was. Sickly and weak and even worse, unwanted. I got out and found my family. The only ones that matter.
no subject
I said it before and I'll say it again and I know there's probably a line I have to get in, but either of them shows up here and we'll have a little go at what "too much" actually is.
I'm ...glad you got out. [not all prisons are the kind that say 'stillwater hold' above their doors. some don't even have bars at all. bodies are prisons, too. but the worst kind of wardens can make that even worse.] Unwanted. Tch. You were plenty wanted when you found your real family, to hear you tell it. But it pisses me off.
[just think of where saeri might be if her family had supported her in her endeavors? well, maybe she wouldn't have found her people but maybe she would have ...and sooner. maybe her family could have been part of that. yeah, yeah, woulda, coulda, shoulda ...useless, but it's a loop that her mind runs with some familiarity, what if. always the what if.]
And it's still fucked up. If you crawl through a minefield, get caught in razorwire and end up with shrapnel in your shoulder on your way to the best party ever, you're still gonna be fucked up when you get there. Even if the cake is great, all your friends are there, and they're playing your favorite song. Those scars you got on the way still stick.
Ask me how I know.
no subject
Sure, she faked most of her sessions so she could get out of them faster, but she did learn some things. And she learned that as much as she hated them, they would never change their nature and why hate a snake for being one? Instead she sighs, and ends up leaning even more into Vi's side, thick hair cushioning her against Vi's arm.]
Believe me, you don't want to talk to me about cake. I gave up eating cake for seven years.
[She doesn't mean to say it that way, but it kind of slips out. Like so many things do when she's talking to Vi.]
no subject
Okay, so you know how this works, right? You know how I work. Now I've gotta ask why you gave up cake for seven years.
[it's random seeming - but this is saeri so there's got to be a reason, a connection. wait, is she trying to deflect? saeri, no.]
no subject
Except Vi also didn't know how to let things go and Saeri walked right into this one. She drank more of her coffee and let the silence drag for a minute.]
Let's just say the one time I got a birthday cake, Wynnie took offense.
no subject
---yeah, no. not really. but they're easy to overlook after that last statement because what flares up to take its place is anger.]
You know what? I'm not even gonna ask what he did, because I can't beat his ass, and I don't want you to think about it all over again.
[here's all that balance and even-keel bullshit she's been trying to put into practice. it's more coffee than anything else, but she's been working at this. the whole focus thing, and it allows her to see past some shit just now.]
So. Here's what's gonna to happen. You're getting a fucking birthday cake if I have to bake it myself a whole bunch of months late.
[why does that sound like a threat. well, it could be if vi attempts it. she's competent enough at cookies, but that's a different thing altogether. there are plenty of people in trench that could bake saeri a cake, though.]
no subject
I eat cake fine now, ya know. This was years ago. But now, I definitely see why so many people just assume you're gonna big sister them.
no subject
[why is she suddenly chuckling just the smallest bit? she catches it, decides to let it out - it cuts most of what's left of the tension, anyway. (there are a couple kinds.) turns out saeri's laughter is contagious.]
That's not what I'm doin' at all.
[but it is. and she seems to realize it only after she's denied it - and as much as she tries to rein in the laughter, she can't. her annoyed expression is repeatedly interrupted by it - she can't hold the face at all.]
Okay, maybe a little.
[she is still getting a cake.]
no subject
But like this, with Vi, she feels easy. At peace. Even this topic doesn't feel as heavy, as suffocating. Vi just makes her feel held together.
Or maybe her coffee is working way too well.
She doesn't care which it is as the laughter fades into distant echoes and she just lowers her head a bit, fully settling against Vi like the comfy pillow she is. She even uses a foot to tug a thick blanket over their legs to keep the warmth in. The weather has been pretty shit lately and she's trying not to overuse her firewood and heat stones. The Carriage House isn't as warm as it could be.]
Thanks. It didn't matter, but you're here anyway so...yeah. Thanks. For being ridiculously you.
Six (Age: 13) (cw: destruction caused by natural disasters, childish crush on an adult)
But she cannot help it!
Her body is thrumming with energy and excitement. This is it. This is her first official reconstruction job as part of the Inkmetal Forge guild! How could she not be excited to finally be of some use to the guild, to show them she can do the work just like the rest of them.
The last few months have been the best time in her life. Learning from the guild, getting her first tattoos, making her own specialized ink! She tucks a long blue curl back up into the loose, messy French braid she'd put her hair into.
Well, she still needs to work on her inks. But not even accidentally making her own hair blue could change all the other benefits. Taking in a deep breath--deep enough that she could smell all of the earthy decay around them--she coughs, smacking her chest. Immediately, an hand is on her shoulder, questioning but teasing.
"You okay there, Smurfberry?" Roan asks. He doesn't even take his eyes away from the road as he follows the convoy of AIMS and supply trucks.
The unexpected coughing fit ends and she groans shoving his hand off her. "I'm fine," she says. "This is why I wanted to ride with you or Gina instead of JD. It's been weeks, the runes are doing their job. I don't need you asking me all the time like he does."
And in an impulsive display of pique, she reaches out and knocks the hat off his head. "And you keep calling me Smurf names, I will start calling you Carrot Cake."
Warning, something inside tells her. You went too far, it says. You don't tease adults, you don't mock adults, you don't play with adults, you don't laugh near--
Roan isn't even offended, as seen by how he chuckles, snagging his hat from in between their seats and setting it back down firmly on his stark white head of hair. Not that his beard was any less red than Saeri assumes it's been his entire life. Her heart calms down.
"Yeah, yeah," he says. "I'll leave ya be. Just keep that pack with you wherever you go on site, just in case, and we're good as fresh coat of paint."
We're good. Not you're. Somehow Roan always made his decisions sound like they were for both of them and not just her. She kind of preferred it.
Alarms were beeping and horns were honking as they turned into the main site where they were setting up their headquarters. Warning sounds to watch out as the AIMs were unloaded and the supply trucks re-inventoried. They had a dozen houses they were rebuilding, three stories that needed full remodeling, and offered to help with draining the sewers while the town fixed the water treatment plant.
They wait until it was Roan's turn to back in and part before getting out of the truck. Saeri hops down with all the enthusiasm of someone with too much energy from too long of a car ride--a 17-hour drive they managed in under two days with all of their equipment through strategic stops and driver swaps--and didn't even care about slamming the door of the truck behind her. She assumes Roan did it for her from the two doors shutting she heard behind her as she made her way around the site, between busy workers and what looks to be local officials until she makes it to where the AIMS are being unloaded.
She sees that broad back, brightly colored hair--it's yellows and greens now--and the rune-bearing vines that trail up the back of a strong, elegant neck.
"That's it, right back ten feet, you've got it. Park it there and take the runestones out."
"Gina, what can I do?" she asks.
"Huh--" A quick head turn gives her bright eyes and a welcoming half-cocked grin. "--oh Saeri! You and Roan got here finally, huh? Great, I'm gonna need someone to help me do pre-maintenance on all the AIMs before we start tomorrow. Want to help?"
She can't help the way her back straightens, her shoulders pulling back, chin lifting up. Look ready. Look confident. Make sure Gina knows you're there to work and not just be in the way. She even puts a hand on her own hip, emulating Gina's own body language.
"As ready as a tiger's stripes are green," she says.
Gina laughs bawdily, giving her a heart smack on the back that stings and tingles all at the same time. The week-old tattoo on her back aches just a bit, but Saeri has no mind to complain.
"Stop talking like Roan, please," she says. "I can only handle that from one person."
"Whatever you say, Gigi," Saeri agrees. The laughter and the closeness only makes that energy in her even more restless. She can't help it. She could listen to Gina laughing and joking for hours. Even though most of her jokes are the kind JD and Roan say she shouldn't be sharing with Sarona of all people. Adults can be so strange sometimes. Her therapist says it's just they want to make sure she's being cared for properly, to give her that "childhood" they think she was denied. Saeri thinks her childhood was what it was. It sucked but it didn't make it any less of a childhood.
Besides, she's thirteen. She's not even a child anymore. They could stop acting like she's five any time now.
"Saeri!"
Speak of the--
"She's with me, Jay!" Gina calls out, waving her arm up over the moving bodies around them so JD can see them. Saeri might be tall for her age, but doesn't mean she's as tall as most of the adults around. Just really close.
"Some of the folks brought us an early dinner," JD calls back. "Come eat and we can finish preparations before turning in. Gotta start before dawn tomorrow."
"We hear you," Gina calls back. "Be there in a minute!"
"In a minute?" Saeri repeats, an eyebrow up. "What are we doing first?"
"I've still got three AIMs to unload and I thought you would like to see the inside of one," she said. "Now that your runes should have settled."
Saeri makes a noise that she is very certain is not a squeal, no matter what the look on Gina's face says. "Yes," she blurts out. "Yes, yes, I have been studying the simulator for months. I need to get ahold of some real controls."
Gina just laughs again and pulls Saeri close, wrapping a broad, solid arm around her skinny shoulders. Gina's still a couple inches taller than her, and Saeri doesn't admit that she likes looking up at her when they're close like this.
"Come on," Gina says. "The X481Z looks so lonely stuck on that bed."
This might be the second-best day of her life.
Eight (Age: 7) (cw: bullying, anxiety)
Everyone is staring at you. Wynston is laughing, flicking a glob of frosting off his sleeve. Father is sighing with a shake of his head. Mother has her hand covering her mouth, but the glint of her eyes is enough to know she's smiling behind it. She's not shocked or upset. She doesn't feel bad for you. No. She's amused.
"Oh, Wyn, your jokes do get so lively," Father says. "Maybe keep it contained more next time? Call Halli and Luke to clean this up."
Wynston isn't laughing anymore, but there's something in his eyes and that ugly smirk on his face. "Of course, Father," he says and he turns to walk away, strolling out of the dining hall. He almost looks like he could be skipping.
Father shakes his head again and turns to look at you. He squints his eyes like he's seeing something unpleasant but then gives a half-hearted smile. "Brothers," he says, with a little shrug. He waves his fingers at the mess that you are. "You'll get that all taken care of, won't you?"
You don't know what to say. Your voice has left you and you keep staring and staring. Maybe you nod, but you're not sure. Your brain is in a fog.
"I'll help her, Father," a soft, gentle hand is on your shoulder, squeezing daintily with the fingertips, as if to avoid the sticky clumps of strawberry there.
"I can always count on you to have things in hand, Dahlia dear," Father says. Then he looks at you and nods his head. "Happy Birthday, Sarona." With that he turns and leaves. He doesn't even look at Mother, just waving his hand goodbye as he does whatever he's wont to do for the evening.
click click click
Mother gracefully steps around the remains of the strawberry-filled creme cake smeared across the floor. The sound of her stilettos echo off the walls and high ceiling. She doesn't bother to look at you anymore. Why would she?
"If you're going to clean the mess, make sure to scrub it off well," she says. "I hate the smell of strawberries and don't want it wafting throughout the house."
"Yes, Mother, of course," Dahlia says and the press of those fingertips becomes a nudge, directions. She is pushing you along in front of her. You don't go upstairs, no. Mother would never allow you to drip such waste across those beautiful carpets. Instead, Dahlia directs you to one of the downstairs bathrooms. It's the one meant for cleaning yourself off after a dip in the indoor pool. The shower is large, the bathtub is deep, and there is a full-length mirror to greet you as soon as you enter, baring your destruction in all its inglorious truth.
Dahlia leads you to the bench by the shower, pushing you to sit before she goes to collect supplies. You don't move, don't react. Your glasses are removed. A warm, wet washcloth blocks your vision and you close your eyes, allowing her to wipe most of the damage from your face. When did she wet it? You didn't notice the water turning on. Does it matter?
After a moment you realize she's been standing there looking down on you. You slowly tilt your head up at her and have to squint one of your eyes so frosting doesn't fall into it. All you see are blobs of color and the brightness of the light behind her. She may as well be a shadow looming.
"You'll need to take off those clothes so you can hop into the shower," Dahlia says, ever the practical one. "It will be much faster. Then I can see about your hair. I can ever re-straighten it for you when we're--"
"I hate him so much."
You didn't mean to say it, but it comes out anyway. You didn't mean to think it, because you know it makes you just as much of a monster as he is. You aren't supposed to hate your family.
"Oh, Saeri," she says and the sigh in her voice makes it all gush from your lips like vomit.
"I hate him," you gasp. "Nothing I do is good enough. I can't make myself invisible, so he torments me every chance he gets. It's as if the sight of me drives him to hurt me. I don't understand. I don't--why--I hate him so much."
Her arms come up and for the briefest of moments, you think she might hug you. But she doesn't. She never has. Instead, she continues to wipe away cake and uses the other hand to brush your hair back, giving her better access to your face. She's so gentle.
"You say that now, because you're young," she says. "Everything when you're young is more dramatic, more personal." Dahlia is only sixteen, but sometimes it feels like she's too old for the world around her.
"But it is personal," you say. "He doesn't do this to anyone else. He'd never do this to you."
"Because he knows he can't," Dahlia says. "I'm older and Father would never allow it. We don't have the same sibling relationship you do. I will always be above him, but you will always be his rival."
"Rival for what?" you ask, voice cracking as your volume raises. "He already has everything!"
Fingers press against your lips, silencing you, reminding you of where you are. You don't raise your voice like that. You don't shout or scream or cry. Mother would never approve of it. So you stop and breathe and try to control yourself, but your body keeps shaking. She takes your hand, squeezing it between her long, perfect fingers.
"You weren't harmed, Saeri," she tells you. "Not truly. You are still here, living. It was embarrassing and rude of him, but you survived. Don't you always?"
What? You stare at the blob that is your sister and it's as if seeing a new person in the indeterminate shape. An impostor in her form. Not the Dahlia you've always known. You imagine the impostor has that same reassuring smile that Dahlia always sends you and her touch is sweet, but her words hurt more than anything Wynston has ever said to you. Does she really believe that?
"It's true," Dahlia says and you realize you had spoken. "You are a strong survivor, Sarona. His petty behaviors will mean so little in your life, especially as you get older. A little bit of cake is nothing to be so overwrought by. When you're my age, you'll see how unimportant it all was."
"But it's not," you say, tense with anger yet so forlorn. "I couldn't even have this. A cake. All I wanted was a cake."
"You'll have hundreds of cakes when you've proven your worth," Dahlia says. "And you will. Nothing can stop you if you don't allow it. Nothing he does can hurt you if you don't allow it. So don't allow it. You're fine and you'll be fine. Always."
The fingers picking cake from your hair stroke through the strands softly before pulling away. She stands again, towering over you.
"Now undress and get into the shower while I get the supplies for your hair."
You look down at your lap, fingers clenching in your dirty skirt but you can't even see them. You can't see anything except the darkness of her shadow as she stands above you. You cannot see your sister. In that moment, she reminds you of Mother.
"Yes, Dahlia," you say and push yourself to your feet. You'll do exactly as she says. You'll clean yourself and allow her to redress your hair to Mother's expectations. You'll be fine.
Her words can't hurt you if you don't allow it.
Four (Age: 17) (cw: disorientation, emotional breakdown, aftermath of amputation)
She is alive.
She drifts and fades and maybe she falls asleep again but eventually her mind isn't so grey and her eyes focus what little they can on the room she's in.
There's a hand touching her face. Big, callused and warm. She knows that hand. It pulls her back into the now.
"You really want my beard as white as my head," the voice says.
She's too tired to roll her eyes. Too tired to do more than give a soft grunt that sounds more like a moan. The moan turns into a cough in her very dry throat. The hand leaves and there's a strangled pain that isn't physical that cuts through her. Suddenly, a chip of ice is being put into her mouth. The melting water soothes her. She lets it dissolve entirely. It feels like it happens all too quickly.
She breathes, licks her lips. They are so chapped. How did she not know how she was so thirsty? Thankfully another chip is put into her mouth and she sucks on it. The cough subsides, but the hand returns to her hair, thick fingers stroking through the messy curls.
"Rrrrrrrroan," she mumbles.
"Who else would it be, Smurfberry," he says. That hand keeps stroking her hair and she is feeling more and more present. She can't see, because her glasses are missing, can't feel because her fingers are wrapped in something too thick to allow movement, but she can remember.
The dark glow, the black lightning, the shaking over the room and the crystals spreading across her--
--Oh. She woke the crystal up. Somehow. It woke up and tried to eat her.
"I fucked up...again..."
The hand doesn't stop.
"Maybe, but we'll figure it out," he says. "We always do, don't we?"
"But..."
"Now, girl," he says. "don't start with that. We'll handle it together, when you're better."
In that moment, he doesn't sound like Roan at all. Roan, who is hands off and encouraging, who lets her do things her own way, find her own path and take her own licks from them if needed before dusting her off and letting her go again. No, he was not the one to scold her about being careful and not doing things alone, or reminding she had people now who would carry her instead of leave her to fall. He sounds so much like him that the tears start falling before she even realizes it.
Hot tracks down her temples and cheeks from her reclined position.
Saeri doesn't realize she's mumbling until her voices gets louder, apologizing over and over in her slurred voice, tongue still not cooperating fully. A repetitive litany of remorse and self-recrimination.
"--so stupid, 'm sorry, fuck, fuck, sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't--I'm so--"
The blob at her side moves, closing in and those arms are wrapping around her. Solid and warm and so safe. She tries to bring up her own hands to cling back, but her left hand is so stiff and heavy from all the wrappings. It doesn't work, it will not let her. It feels wrong and broken. She can't be surprised when that thing had been trying to devour her left hand first. Who knows what they had to do to heal it.
She had been about to die, a broken hand is nothing in the face of that.
Her right hand digs into his back weakly, her sore, bandaged fingers aching from the effort, but she ignores it. The physical pain is such a distant thing. She wants to hold onto him forever, fuse their bodies together so she never has to let go.
"It's all right," he says. "Cry it all out if ya need to. Let it out. I've got ya. I've got ya."
Saeri doesn't know when she stopped crying or if she lost consciousness first. It all blends together, but Roan is there, hand still stroking through her hand and holding her as close as the hospital bed allows.