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[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... ]

[Ah. This is going to hurt Winter too, isn't it? But he has to tell the truth now]

...you were being tortured by a horrible girl. [Frowning, as he tilts his head, considering his next few words.]

She was disgusting. She hurt you. [And a clear, unhappy realisation] Your family let her hurt you.

[ Each word is like a knife, one after another, lodging between his ribs and stealing his breath. Michel tilts his chin up and folds his arms around himself slowly. His fingers dig in with force until he pauses; the AFK pose is for more than just thought, as he adjusts his settings.

It isn't Vogel's fault. He's being honest, earnest. And still when Michel wonders what he might have seen, he feels sick. He waits long enough to be certain his voice is even before he speaks. ]

They... didn't know. [ Vogel is sharp. He can read between the lines, but— ] It was long ago.

[This is what it's like to hurt someone else.

Sinclair hates it. He bows his head, shuffling forward a little to lightly place a hand on Michel's arm]

...it was still wrong. You shouldn't have had to put up with that. With her...

[Frowning]

---your real name is Michel isn't it?

[There's a clear American emphasis on that name, in no way remotely similar to Michelle]

[ If it were someone else, it's very likely he would have jerked back. At least involuntarily. Vogel is, perhaps, the least threatening person he knows. ]

...It was. It was a nightmare, and it was wrong.

[ He should probably say something softening to that. But it is what it is. His expression eases very slightly at the question, and he nods. ]

Mm. Yours is Emil?

Mm. Emil Sinclair.

[A small nod. Michel is welcome to look him up if he wants. There's a lot to find there. His brow furrows a little, as he tries to find the words. He can put the pieces together. Michel was Michelle, which implied a lot of things. He's not sure if Michel wants to talk about it, if he can even talk about it anymore than Sinclair can talk about his problems.]

2/2 cw: violence, blood, death, gore

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