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[ Perhaps noticing the distance between them growing, Michel lengthens his stride a tiny bit to catch up to Vogel. ]

It almost seems as if it's larger than it appeared from the outside.

[The fear and rage - not his but his at the same time are almost overwhelming. Sinclair presses a hand to his mouth, gasping a little, shaken despite himself. Winter's words cut through the buzzing in his head and he shakes his head, looking back at Winter uncertainly. What was that? He had seen Winter, but not as he was now - smaller? Younger? And that girl...]

...Mm. I guess because they didn't want it to take up too much space outside...

Edited 2023-08-17 08:25 (UTC)

They could program things however they want, but they seem to favor realism.

[ A curiosity of his, although not one he's really felt like pursuing. He glances down at Vogel with his brow furrowing a little. He's looking... a little unwell. ]

...Is it the heat? This isn't all that much cooler after all. We should--

[ And when Vogel glances again, the memory resumes in full force.

"Have you been a good girl, Michelle? I brought you your supper. I'll set it right here for you."

The singsong voice is sweet and melodic. It used to make your heart race faster. It does now, for very different reasons. You don't answer her; you could, and sometimes you do, opening your mouth to let all the curses boiling within you spill out. But not right now. You watch her, watching you, flooded with the adrenaline of knowing something worse is coming.

"...What's the matter, Michelle? Your food's right there. It's going to get cold. Go on, eat. But no using your hands. Crawl over and use your mouth.

...Come on, eat. Or would you rather I fed you?"

She will, if you don't act. You don't know what she has planned. But it will not be kind. Your body is still bruised and aching from the past week of this; and weak, so weak, to your eternal loathing. But you finally choke out the words that have lodged so tightly in your throat they were stealing your breath: "I'm going to kill you--"

You mean it. Fiercely, urgently. You've never wanted someone dead before. But you do now, enough to force your frail and pained body to move. You lurch for her and your teeth close around her wrist until the taste of her blood floods your mouth. Revolting. You want to vomit, but you won't let yourself let go. You'll bite down harder, gnaw through to the bone, rip the hand from her wrist...

"Let go!"

The first kick lands in your gut, knocking you free. The second, before you can recover. Then one after another as you try to curl yourself up, unable to shield your chest, your legs, your face, anything at all. Until despite yourself, you can hear your choked voice trying to ask her to stop, pain overcoming loathing in the haze of your desperation. She's called you disgusting. Demanded to know what you are. But as your eyes focus hazily on her face in the moment before you lose consciousness again, you know she must be the demon. ]

[Each blow in the memory feels real painful, twisting up in something wretched that makes Sinclair want to throw up. Or cry. It's the loathing, and fear all too familiar. The girl in Winter's memories seemed delicate, waifish. It's not at all like the girl in his, but Sinclair knows very well appearances are deceiving and the cruelty that came naturally to humans could take on any artifice, if only to help them inflict more.

He blindly grabs Winter's arm, shaking his head, blinking back tears. He needs to tell him what he saw, but more than that, he wants to--what? Say 'I'm sorry that happened to you'? That seems to pithy, so juvenile. I understand how much you hate her will seem stranger, without knowing what Sinclair has seen. How much hatred he has buried in his heart.

Michelle?. No. Michel. He wasn't fluent in French, but he recognised the lilting on those words. That was Winter's real name]

I--lets go back to one of the guilds. I think this place--there's something wrong here.

Edited 2023-08-19 04:32 (UTC)

[And if Michel's not careful, he'll be drawn right into a different memory, in the glimmer of a mirror that distorts their images into a bloody nightmare.

The mansion is dark. The walls are splattered with blood. Your sister, is laying at the foot of the stairs, broken and twisted. Gasping. In the haze of fear, you realise something. Her fingers are missing.

"Emil...run..."

There's a laugh, shrill and cruel, followed by a whistle as another girl steps down the stairs, stepping on your sister as she swings a hammer around.

"Ah, my Sinclair. You've finally come home. I was waiting for you."

You are frozen to the spot. This is a nightmare. This is reality. Your body shakes, and you take an uneasy step backwards, as other men come down the stairs.

Emil...run...

You've always been a good, obedient son. Brother.

You run.

There's a gun shot. For a moment, it's deafening. Then there's pain emerging through your abdomen and you hear her voice, laughing and angry all at once.

"He's mine to spare--you dare--"

"My apologies, Kromer, I--"

There's a ringing in your ears. You're on the ground. The pain is agonising. And yet-]

Edited 2023-08-18 23:05 (UTC)

[ Michel startles but doesn't draw back, a worried frown tugging at his mouth. Vogel really doesn't look well... ]

Let's go. You can--

[ Whatever suggestion he had been planning on making trails off into silence as his gaze catches on a distorted reflection. Blood, and...

His sister. Not his sister, but the pain of the sight of her wounds lands just the same. He wants to run to her, to shove that girl away from her. What sort of twisted nightmare is this? The helplessness of it, the cruelty of that laughter so like-and-unlike Aimee. He draws in a sharp breath and jerks as if to flee, but his feet remain rooted to the spot. He can't do anything but watch. And feel. ]

[You've made it outside somehow, in the freezing snow, the sound of distant carolling a mockery to the nightmare that lay inside. But the cold numbs the pain, even if you struggle to pick yourself up again. Move. Move. Don't look at your Aitla, don't look back.

Run.

There's a sharp pain that explodes in your head, a heavy boot kicking you over as you fall down the final steps.

"Sinclair. I'm so glad you came." A humming laugh, as a hand drags you up, touches your face with her bloodstained fingertips, covered in bits of flesh. You can't look anymore, and the willingness to move fades. You close your eyes, wait for the end. "What should I do...with the only son of the family that has caused me so much affront, hmmm?"

You shudder with revulsion. Fear. The beginnings of hate. But you sit there. Wait. Wait for the hammer to crush your skull too.

But it doesn't. You open your eyes, raise your face to meet her bloodstained face as she reaches into the pocket of your school shirt and takes a coin. It's one of the coins she gave you at school. You didn't understand the meaning until now.

"Ah, Sinclair. If only you hadn't shown me that basement. From now on, you'll doubt everything. Be anxious of everything. You'll live in terror of me for every day of your life..."

Ah. There it is. Each word strikes a chord in you, a wretched scar that can't be removed.

"I'll come for you, one day, Sinclair."

Everything goes dark, even as she orders people to move you---

"Don't look anymore!"

You hear an anguished shout, a scream of primal fear and a smaller body slamming into your side to knock you away from the mirror.

There's Sinclair, eyes wild with fear and anger, tears down his face as he grabs the front of Winter's clothes]

D-Don't...don't keep watching...please.

[ The sudden shout is disorienting, almost feeling a discordant piece of the unfamiliar memory. Michel is too dizzy with it already -- viscerally ill, his own heart still racing with remembered fear and pain and the emptiness of a loss that isn't his.

It takes a moment to recall where and who he is now; he looks down at Sinclair with almost incomprehension as he stumbles, catching his balance reflexively on Sinclair's shoulder. ]

Si... Vogel.

[ Vogel. Vogel had seen that, had seen him seeing that. It wasn't just a nightmare or a wretched joke of this attraction. The thought makes the bile rise in his throat as the reality of that sinks in. ]

I-I didn't intend... to see...

[ What words of reassurance can he even fumble for? What would be reassuring after that? He stares at the tears on Vogel's face with no small amount of panic. ]

Ngh...

[Sinclair is barely listening anymore, head bowed as he makes a low noise of remembered terror, reaching up blindly to remove his headset. But that's not going to happen like this, he can't run away from this nightmare like this. His face has gone ashen entirely, and he's drawing in deep shuddery gasps as he tries to breathe.

Focus.

Focus.

If he can trigger some sort of sensation of pain, anything at all--

His fingers dig into his own arms, as he gasps between the tears]

No one. I didn't...not again. Again. She wont leave--

[Runrunrunrun all he can do now is run--]

Vogel!

[ Michel releases his shoulders for just one panicked moment before he puts his hands over Vogel's instead, gentle pressure on his wrists not yet trying to pry his hold on himself loose. Anchor him in the present. Remind him of where he is. Then, maybe, try to convince himself not to claw at himself. ]

E-Emil!

[ Maybe that's a bridge too far. But it might shock him out of this stupor, enough to react. Even if it's just to get angry at Winter using that name without permission. ]

Emil. It's... not real. She's not here.

[The use of his name cuts through his scrambled thoughts like a sharp blade. He goes still, lifting his head with disbelieving eyes. His chest is still heaving, but there's a glimmer of awareness now as reality returns to him. The mirrors, reflecting in every direction around them.

Winter staring down at him, his hands warm around his wrists]

...W-Winter...

['Michel?' his mind helpfully supplies. His eyes dart around nervously, as if waiting to be consumed by shadows leaping out from the mirrors. But it's all silent now, still. He sniffles, trying desperately to hold back his tears]

It's...I'm...'m sorry--

[She's not here? But she's always around. Any time he gets too close to happiness, to joy. She's there. Reminding him.]

[ That was it. Or, at least... that did something. Michel chafes Vogel's wrists a little awkwardly before loosening his hold. He isn't going to slip back into dissociation again if he lets go, is he?

He doesn't know what to do for someone who's crying. ]

It isn't your fault.

[ His tone is sharp, but that edge isn't meant for Vogel. When he figures out how and why someone programmed something so cruel... He shakes his head. ]

We should go back to one of the guilds. You can message Oriade along the way so he isn't looking for you.

[ But Vogel, in his opinion, needs to lie down. And he needs to be away from this place before anything like that event can trigger again. ]

...yes. Alright.

[It's those little orders that gets Sinclair moving. Message Oria. Tell him he's heading back (and why did he think Oria would be in here to begin with?). He moves a little with sluggish steps, expression blank but expectant as he follows Michel out. It's easier to just do as he told right now.

Especially since he can't stop crying]

[ That's... progress, of a sort. Michel shuffles along at his side, shepherding Emil out, tensely averting his eyes from the reflections. His hand hovers just over Emil's shoulder to guide him.

What in god's name came next? He's hardly the comforting sort of person who could reassure with words. Hugs? Even worse. But even if Emil isn't aware enough to mind now, how much would it bother him later if someone else saw him crying? Michel pauses close to the exit to turn to him awkwardly. ]

Which guild did you have a room at?

Um. Moon Tree. Zelkova's guild.

[ His breathing is a little less ragged now, eyes firmly trained on the ground as Michel leads them out.

His chest hurts, his head pounding. All he wants to do is run away...but to where? Offline?

Rodya would be sympathetic but she didn't know about his family either.

And then there were the lingering remnants of Michel's memories in his head, the casual cruelty of that girl bleeding into Kromer's laughter. He feels sick, his stomach turning.]

Moon Tree.

[ Michel pauses as he thinks it over. Zelkova... there could be worse witnesses. But he wouldn't feel comfortable leaving Vogel in his care, either. No — is there a single guild leader he could say that of?

More than a little uncertain, the gesture awkward, he reaches up to help scrub tears from Vogel's cheek with one sleeve. ]

Is it quiet there? If you need more space, we can find a dungeon.

[ Anything should do. At the level cap as they are, Michel doesn't doubt he could keep any monsters off of Vogel if he needs room to think. ]

Sort of...

[His steps come to a sudden slow halt. He doesn't really want to go back to the guild, as friendly as Zelkova is. He's frustrated in a way he hasn't been in a long time. He blinks a little, finally coming a bit more back to awareness when Michel tries drying his face. He mumbles something and dries the rest of his face roughly. That's a little embarrassing]

...a dungeon...might be good.

[He wants to break some things]

[ Michel stops, pulling his hands back with just a bit of an awkward fumble. He would ordinarily tuck them into his pockets, or sleeves would do as a last resort... there's nothing on his armor to make it easy to hide the gesture now.

Just one more way that creating an alternate persona in this game hadn't changed the core problem at the root of all of them. ]

This way, then.

[ He'll just shuffle Vogel to the Chaos Gate expeditiously. No need to think hard about where they're going. Anything will do. ]

[Sinclair would have begun biting at his nails now. Or clawing at his arms. It's a good thing all he can do right now is wrap his arms around himself and follow Michel to the Chaos Gate. He should say something to make it less awkward.

...

He doesn't know what to say.

Softly]

...sorry.

[Yep. That's all he has. Generating some key words then

Deleting.

Going back to the first dungeon they ran: Hidden Advice Night Moon.]

Edited 2023-08-20 08:57 (UTC)

[ Ah. He hasn't run so many dungeons that he has any trouble remembering past ones. Known hazards might be a clever choice, considering the circumstances...

Maybe if Michel were more adept with words he could have already filled the silence so Vogel doesn't feel the need to keep saying "sorry". He reaches over to bop him very, very gently on his fluffy hair. ]

What do you think you have to apologize for?

[ Into the dungeon they go. Talking here, with only monsters to overhear. ]

Ow.

[ Sinclair startles a little, rubbing the top of his head. Looking up at Michel with wide eyes. That's rude.]

That...you had to see 'that'. [ And now that the worst of his anxiety has cleared...

Ah.

Michel has been through a lot too, hasn't he?]

And...

[ Michel raises an eyebrow a little, trying not to look guiltily over at his hand. He didn't bop him that hard, did he?

But, no. Just for that proclamation, he'll pat the top of his head again. Maybe he can condition Vogel by doing this every time he says something ridiculous. ]

No. I'm the one who should tell you that I'm sorry. I saw something so personal and so painful, and I didn't look away. [ Couldn't look away. ] But I don't intend to pretend I didn't see it now.

[Ow. He didn't do anything this time?? But he nods, looking down]

People were talking about it for a very long time. [So in a way, Michel isn't even the first to see that day, raw and bloodied and anguished.

Sinclair shakes his head too, biting his lip]

No, I do need to say that. Because I saw one of your memories too.

[He wraps his arms around himself, squeezing tightly]

[ Having already come this far, it had crossed his mind that he could look up the rest of the information later. A full real name and a clear incident was enough to go on. Whether it would be a further violation to do that...

The thought is deferred for another time when Vogel says those words. Winter freezes, tilting his head slightly in defiance of the jolt of panic that shoots through him. ]

...What memory?

[ Most of his were unremarkable. Year after year in that silent, dark house. Safe. Let it be one of those... ]

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