Oh, this? Don't worry, it was my own fault, getting distracted like that.
[ Justy says it too casually, moving on as Em puts him into the proper position. Happy for the company, he snuggles right up-- ]
I don't know why, but it felt like, he really died. For a moment. you know?
[ He's grateful for them both coming back, stuck as he was on the beach. The tide, the waves over sand, it's a sound that will always be bittersweet. Love, heartbreak, relief, and a further warping of his newfound focus on being a tank, an operative. No longer as useful. The thing tethering him most is the love he has for everyone stuck here together, for the only friends he has.
He's sure people losing their will is wrong, somewhere in his gut. Though there are no formative memories to back up most of those conclusions. He still feels it in his bones, even the broken one. ]
Take it easy too, Em. We did it, we saved them. That's what is really important here.
[The loss hadn't hit him as hard as it could have in that single moment, maybe it's because he had spent days before then.
Sinclair drapes the blanket over the both of them and presses himself right up against Justy's side, nodding. Is it strange he hasn't cried yet? He hurts so much and yet
That familiar tight feeling in his throat and the heat at the back of his eyes hasn't come.
He wonders why.]
Justy...you have to be careful too. You've been so reckless over the last few weeks. I hated seeing you get hurt like that. I know I had to run after Michel but...you need to take care of yourself more. You'll hurt a lot of people if something permanent happens to you.
I had to. There was no other way to give M&M a chance to--and to stop Bear from hurting him. A broken leg isn't so bad for all of that. Something tells me I don't normally cry like that though. My eyes really hurt for a while.
[ Justy says it all breezily, the only crack in his voice is when he says Morgan's nickname. He'd been busy trying to keep everyone together and taken care of, checking in with jokes and food and less Morgan time as he increasingly slipped; sinking into thinking like a tank beneath everyone's eyes. Because until the fight, he'd seemed largely the same as ever. ]
How'd it go? Did you find him?
[ He hadn't had the chance to ask until now, and it comes quick and snappy like he'd wanted to ask before but forgotten in the haze of waking. ]
[ He glances up at Justy in concern, and he reaches over to hug him. Just a big strong hug, despite the pressure it puts on his own stomach]
...you did a good job. A proper tank. Crying really is a pain though...did you put a cold cloth over your eyes after?
[And then the subject changes, as it always does with Justy. But it's not quite like Oria's, whose change in subjects was always more calculated and deliberate. Justy moved from one topic to the next, as if his mind worked faster than other people could keep up with]
I...did. Michel, he's...suffering from the same thing Morgan and Barrett suffered from. Cubia spoke to him too, and...
Oh? Are you supposed to? It's funny, I don't really remember ever crying before either.
[ There's no worry there. He flips back and forth from subjects far too fluidly to be calculated. Nicknames and shorthand, Tylor can go from A to E, too often skipping the letters between. His words, like the tight return of that hug, are whims. It's easier for him to ramble to those with the patience to deal with his speed. And Em tended to ask questions when really needed.
It's even harder, lately, for Tylor to articulate his feelings, once so tied to sensory exprleriences and memories. Now they drift, nebulous yet grounded somewhere in his gut. Roots that have yet to realize that they have no trunk, branches, leaves.
His restlessness means it doesn't take more than a couple beats of trailing off to prompt Em gently-- ]
[Sinclair is nothing but patient. But his brow furrows and he wonders, really if that had been the case. But, Tylor could be honest. All of their non-fragment memories feel like a far-off distant dream now.
He's been trying so hard to anchor everyone, keep them somewhere solid. But how possible is that when he barely remembers what those roots are?]
...he's calling himself 'Gorre' now. A program, designed to research cruelty.
[ Tylor always did focus on the present, making it far too easy for memories to slip away. He's never been prone to overthinking. Because what matters is in his arms as he nuzzles in and squeezes Em gently to avoid his stomach. ]
Gorre, huh? They're getting a little weird with the names now if you ask me.
But we'll just have to help him too. Remind him what kindness is. It'll be alright.
[ He sounds so sure. His optimism hasn't changed, and neither has his steady confidence in the outcome. Their recent victory only makes him more certain. But he's also perpetually exhausted, the only positive abiut his leg is that it is forcing him to slow down for once. Making him restless when he isn't napping or cooking with a lean on his crutch. When he doesn't have someone to talk or hold onto.
More quietly, but no less sure of himself, he asks-- ]
[ The way he says it is fond, not that Em knows he's thinking warmly of their sand castle on the beach. He blinks, open confusion at the rest. ]
Huh? A letter?
[ Asked as he shifts, crutch forgotten on his other side as he shifts to let Em as close as he pleases. Heart still steady, arm keeping Em close, he moves to take the letter. ]
[ Justy laughs lightly, their memories in game the only ones he has to hold on to. He's already unfolding the paper. ]
Really? That's why he was acting so weird?
[ His expression is still peaceful as he starts to read the words out loud. Voice low like they're sharing secrets at a slumber party, it's almost too cheerful. At first.
But he can't continue past the part about his parents; the love he has no memory of. He trails off, brow furrowed. ]
[ His voice is small. He was always for the here and now, sifting through memories a challenge before and a monumental one now. He doesn't comment on the fairness. It isn't fair, of course, but he feels no true loss. No true injustice for himself. As if this is how he's always been.
But the request is easy, his eyes drift from his letter to Em's. He leans before he can read a word. To kiss Em's hair as he answers, as he reaches to calmly take part of the tightly held letter in his own hand-- ]
[Sinclair nods, letting Tylor read the letter. The paragraph on Kromer tugs at some distant rage within in, still alive and burning, despite the memories from outside slipping away. But it had come to head here in Fragment, and maybe that's why those memories aren't as faded as they could have been either. It's the next paragraph that has Sinclair tensing, trembling, each word striking home and he has to put a hand to Justy's to get him to stop]
...maybe you're right. It's hard to believe when I can't even remember my family smiling...
[ Justy reads so breezily, he's easily stopped. Instead of quietly reading ahead, his gaze slides to Em. He could never stay that serious for long, that hasn't changed all that much. His voice brightens, still soft. ]
Me neither.
But we've talked about your family a lot. I never had much to say because I don't remember much of mine because-- [ a little huff of a laugh, because he isn't sure what he used to say here. ]
Look, even though I've been an operative this long, talking about them-- yours and mine-- it kind of feels familiar, right here. [ He tries to explain, dropping his newly freed hand to his chest, over his heart. Then he reaches to try and tuck both of their letters down to rest for a moment. ]
Em, it might hurt, but maybe we should try to hang on to the ones Michel took all that time to write about? We cared enough to tell him at some point, right? I don't think he was lying, and you agreed with my letter making sense too.
I bet whatever we're missing is out there still, waiting for us. We just have to win all these fights to find out. And even if we never get them back, well, that's not so bad either. We can make lots of new ones together, alive!
Besides, I don't need any of those old ones to care about everyone. Because I'm sure I'll always feel that, even if I don't remember why.
[ Sinclair leans into Justy, letting him put the letters down for now, unprotesting. His chest aches, a throbbing he can't shake. He knows, somewhere, Justy is right. He wouldn't make up things to tell Michel. He would have told him the truth. But why was Kromer's murder of his family easier to accept for him? Maybe it's because she was a single terror that he happened to encounter. It was harder knowing the entire fabric of his life had a single thread plucked out of it, and everything was unravelling in response]
...you're right, Justy. You always are about these things. [Sinclair gives a little huff - maybe his desire for family wasn't born out of wanting what he never had but because he knew deep in his soul, what he had once upon a time]
Hien told me we need to defeat the Wave or we can never leave. I think...that means, if we can return to our bodies, we can reclaim what we lost. But even then--[He reaches up to squeeze Justy's hand] I want to value what we have now. This is important too.
Oh, I agree. Let's try to remember all of this too. I'm not going to let anything change how important you are to me. We don't need memories to be good people.
[ Justy returns the squeeze, free hand drifting to Em's hair. Here together, in friendly affection, Justy is chatty. ]
You've been working so hard, I'm proud of you, Chef. Everyone else is trying their best too.
So I'm sure we'll defeat the Wave. No matter what.
[ A pause. His seriousness only ever lasts for so long, even without his memories of home. ]
But I wonder if our other bodies look any different? Do you think that leg will be broken too?
[Here, Sinclair finds it easy to relax and let go of some of his anxieties. He lets out a slow breath and smiles up at Justy, taking warmth in Justy's pride. It feels good.]
We will. Together. You're right we don't need memories to be good people but--I don't want to forget anything we've shared here or outside either.
[A pause, as he considers]
Um, well...I think Barrett's nose is normal again? I didn't see him that entire week after the meeting though, so.
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no subject
[ Justy says it too casually, moving on as Em puts him into the proper position. Happy for the company, he snuggles right up-- ]
I don't know why, but it felt like, he really died. For a moment. you know?
[ He's grateful for them both coming back, stuck as he was on the beach. The tide, the waves over sand, it's a sound that will always be bittersweet. Love, heartbreak, relief, and a further warping of his newfound focus on being a tank, an operative. No longer as useful. The thing tethering him most is the love he has for everyone stuck here together, for the only friends he has.
He's sure people losing their will is wrong, somewhere in his gut. Though there are no formative memories to back up most of those conclusions. He still feels it in his bones, even the broken one. ]
Take it easy too, Em. We did it, we saved them. That's what is really important here.
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[The loss hadn't hit him as hard as it could have in that single moment, maybe it's because he had spent days before then.
Sinclair drapes the blanket over the both of them and presses himself right up against Justy's side, nodding. Is it strange he hasn't cried yet? He hurts so much and yet
That familiar tight feeling in his throat and the heat at the back of his eyes hasn't come.
He wonders why.]
Justy...you have to be careful too. You've been so reckless over the last few weeks. I hated seeing you get hurt like that. I know I had to run after Michel but...you need to take care of yourself more. You'll hurt a lot of people if something permanent happens to you.
no subject
[ Justy says it all breezily, the only crack in his voice is when he says Morgan's nickname. He'd been busy trying to keep everyone together and taken care of, checking in with jokes and food and less Morgan time as he increasingly slipped; sinking into thinking like a tank beneath everyone's eyes. Because until the fight, he'd seemed largely the same as ever. ]
How'd it go? Did you find him?
[ He hadn't had the chance to ask until now, and it comes quick and snappy like he'd wanted to ask before but forgotten in the haze of waking. ]
no subject
...you did a good job. A proper tank. Crying really is a pain though...did you put a cold cloth over your eyes after?
[And then the subject changes, as it always does with Justy. But it's not quite like Oria's, whose change in subjects was always more calculated and deliberate. Justy moved from one topic to the next, as if his mind worked faster than other people could keep up with]
I...did. Michel, he's...suffering from the same thing Morgan and Barrett suffered from. Cubia spoke to him too, and...
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[ There's no worry there. He flips back and forth from subjects far too fluidly to be calculated. Nicknames and shorthand, Tylor can go from A to E, too often skipping the letters between. His words, like the tight return of that hug, are whims. It's easier for him to ramble to those with the patience to deal with his speed. And Em tended to ask questions when really needed.
It's even harder, lately, for Tylor to articulate his feelings, once so tied to sensory exprleriences and memories. Now they drift, nebulous yet grounded somewhere in his gut. Roots that have yet to realize that they have no trunk, branches, leaves.
His restlessness means it doesn't take more than a couple beats of trailing off to prompt Em gently-- ]
... And?
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He's been trying so hard to anchor everyone, keep them somewhere solid. But how possible is that when he barely remembers what those roots are?]
...he's calling himself 'Gorre' now. A program, designed to research cruelty.
no subject
Gorre, huh? They're getting a little weird with the names now if you ask me.
But we'll just have to help him too. Remind him what kindness is. It'll be alright.
[ He sounds so sure. His optimism hasn't changed, and neither has his steady confidence in the outcome. Their recent victory only makes him more certain. But he's also perpetually exhausted, the only positive abiut his leg is that it is forcing him to slow down for once. Making him restless when he isn't napping or cooking with a lean on his crutch. When he doesn't have someone to talk or hold onto.
More quietly, but no less sure of himself, he asks-- ]
Where is he now?
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ΣHeartless Snaring Cathedral. It's not one I've heard before but...
[ Oh, now that he remembers. He pulls out a letter from Michel from his inventory and hands it to Tylor]
This is for you.
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[ The way he says it is fond, not that Em knows he's thinking warmly of their sand castle on the beach. He blinks, open confusion at the rest. ]
Huh? A letter?
[ Asked as he shifts, crutch forgotten on his other side as he shifts to let Em as close as he pleases. Heart still steady, arm keeping Em close, he moves to take the letter. ]
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[ Sinclair mutters. He thinks he has the right to be annoyed at Michel now]
He gave me letters a week before Gorre took hold. I think he must have felt it, so...
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[ Justy laughs lightly, their memories in game the only ones he has to hold on to. He's already unfolding the paper. ]
Really? That's why he was acting so weird?
[ His expression is still peaceful as he starts to read the words out loud. Voice low like they're sharing secrets at a slumber party, it's almost too cheerful. At first.
But he can't continue past the part about his parents; the love he has no memory of. He trails off, brow furrowed. ]
Well, that doesn't make any sense, does it?
no subject
[ Sinclair's words are soft, measured, leaning in to skim a few of those lines]
You loved your parents. And they loved you. But those memories were taken away from you. It was... unfair. So unfair.
[His hands grip his own letter tightly and he opens it, without reading it]
...Justy... could you. Read this with me too?
[ He's scared. Desperately scared.]
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[ His voice is small. He was always for the here and now, sifting through memories a challenge before and a monumental one now. He doesn't comment on the fairness. It isn't fair, of course, but he feels no true loss. No true injustice for himself. As if this is how he's always been.
But the request is easy, his eyes drift from his letter to Em's. He leans before he can read a word. To kiss Em's hair as he answers, as he reaches to calmly take part of the tightly held letter in his own hand-- ]
Why, of course.
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...maybe you're right. It's hard to believe when I can't even remember my family smiling...
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Me neither.
But we've talked about your family a lot. I never had much to say because I don't remember much of mine because-- [ a little huff of a laugh, because he isn't sure what he used to say here. ]
Look, even though I've been an operative this long, talking about them-- yours and mine-- it kind of feels familiar, right here. [ He tries to explain, dropping his newly freed hand to his chest, over his heart. Then he reaches to try and tuck both of their letters down to rest for a moment. ]
Em, it might hurt, but maybe we should try to hang on to the ones Michel took all that time to write about? We cared enough to tell him at some point, right? I don't think he was lying, and you agreed with my letter making sense too.
I bet whatever we're missing is out there still, waiting for us. We just have to win all these fights to find out. And even if we never get them back, well, that's not so bad either. We can make lots of new ones together, alive!
Besides, I don't need any of those old ones to care about everyone. Because I'm sure I'll always feel that, even if I don't remember why.
no subject
...you're right, Justy. You always are about these things. [Sinclair gives a little huff - maybe his desire for family wasn't born out of wanting what he never had but because he knew deep in his soul, what he had once upon a time]
Hien told me we need to defeat the Wave or we can never leave. I think...that means, if we can return to our bodies, we can reclaim what we lost. But even then--[He reaches up to squeeze Justy's hand] I want to value what we have now. This is important too.
no subject
[ Justy returns the squeeze, free hand drifting to Em's hair. Here together, in friendly affection, Justy is chatty. ]
You've been working so hard, I'm proud of you, Chef. Everyone else is trying their best too.
So I'm sure we'll defeat the Wave. No matter what.
[ A pause. His seriousness only ever lasts for so long, even without his memories of home. ]
But I wonder if our other bodies look any different? Do you think that leg will be broken too?
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We will. Together. You're right we don't need memories to be good people but--I don't want to forget anything we've shared here or outside either.
[A pause, as he considers]
Um, well...I think Barrett's nose is normal again? I didn't see him that entire week after the meeting though, so.
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[ He hadn't gotten close enough to Bear to see. The downside to them both sharing the misfortune. Bear's was certainly worse though. ]
I, don't think I want to forget anything else either.
[ A sigh, too dramatic for what he says next. The hand with the letters doesn't budge. ]
If only all I had were happy memories surrounded by pretty people and good food.
Want to save the rest of them for later?
no subject
Yeah. I think we've done a lot already. Let's rest.