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[ 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.]

[ Michel stares back at him in equal awkwardness, pondering where to start. What a pair they make...

He doesn't want to linger on that memory. Vogel likely doesn't want to think about his, either. But none of that will change their pasts in the slightest. ]

Do you want me to call you that? Or "Vogel"?

[ Start small, easy questions. Names matter. ]

Mm...it's fine to call me that in front of Oriade. Or Mithrun. But around other people, I prefer 'Vogel'.

[Shuffling awkwardly as they are approached by deadly presents]

They know who you are?

[ Ah, trivial monsters. Michel gives them a distracted glance and draws his sword. His heart really isn't in his attack, but perhaps they'll find it easier to talk while they're occupied with something easy. ]

Yes. Our families met at some point in real life--and they recognized me.

[Sinclair's aggressive reaction to one of the presents is probably a surprise. He stabs one with particular viciousness]

[ That's... definitely surprising, yes. Michel pauses to stare, almost long enough to let another present hop(?) at Vogel from the side. But he rallies quickly to slash at it, more of his attention on Vogel now.

So. That's one piece of evidence towards this not being something they can continue not talking about. ]

Before what happened to your family.

Yeah.

[Ah. Switching the conversation back to him now. He stabs another present violently]

Oriade and I are around the same age, so that was natural. But the last time Mithrun saw me must have been when I was...5?

[ And it's going to stay on Vogel (probably) since Michel is dealing... well. Or at least, with exactly appropriate force in his stabbing present monsters. The combo flow of regular attack into Cross Slash into Sword Flash does feel cathartically satisfying. ]

He mentioned being a friend of yours... Mithrun, that is.

[ It's good, that Vogel isn't alone here. ]

Mm. We are. [Friends. It makes him happy to hear that, enough that the next present meets a more dignified end.] He understands...a lot, I think.

[ Is understanding a good thing, in that context? Better than speaking into the emptiness... Michel closes on the last present together with Vogel, watching him thoughtfully. ]

I cannot claim to understand as well. But if you want to tell me about it, or about Kromer...

[There's nothing left to vent out his anger on, so Sinclair is left bowing his head. A strange, dark look flits across his face]

...there's nothing I can tell you. She got away with it. [A pause, as he considers] Did you ever consider killing her? That girl?

[ Taking in the look on Vogel's face, he thinks that maybe he is in fact qualified to understand this one thing. ]

At the time... if I could have, she would be dead.

[ In desperation, self-defense, the fury of the moment, a fourteen-year-old's total lack of emotional regulation. He gives a slow sigh and tilts his head in the direction of the dungeon to steer them along. ]

...she would have deserved it.

[Sinclair is vehement about that. He stares at his lance and thinks about what Mithrun had told him.

His fingers tighten around his lance.

Yeah.

If he lets Kromer continue to live

Then

He's responsible for it isn't he?]

It would have relieved my feelings... perhaps. At the cost of the happiness of people I care for.

[ "Deserved" is too high a threshold for him to summit. He hates Aimee, deeply. That she hadn't killed him unintentionally was simple luck. To kill her in return, when he had survived? ]

I don't wish it. [ But Vogel's situation isn't the same, is it? ] Do you want to kill her? Kramer?

[Sinclair frowns, looking down.

Happiness, huh?

He cared about Oria. Michel. They might feel hurt...but this was different]

I want her dead.

[Softly, unsteady as his hands shake on his lance. If he had a chance, it was clear

He would take a knife. Gun. Bat. Anything and then he'd

----

Those are thoughts he can't voice to anyone but Mithrun]

For my parents, my sister...

[ It's not the same. Michel, after all, still has people whose happiness he cares about.

He watches Vogel's hands shake. The movement is a little halting, but finally, he reaches out to try to steady him with one hand on his shoulder. ]

You have every reason to hate her. I would, too. I do. [ Just that memory is enough. But, how to put it... ] If that's what you wish for, then you can't use them as your justification. It would be... for yourself.

...I know.

[There's a darkness in his gaze, but he doesn't pull away from Michel's touch]

...when she comes for me...

[He trails off, looking into the distance]

[ If he's not pulling away, then Michel will hold on, just for a little longer. ]

...Do you think that's the only way you'll stop being afraid of her?

[He glances up, looking hollow]

It's the only way I'll be free.

From what? In what way?

[ That look... Michel is terrible at offering or accepting hugs. But he's beginning to wonder if he should try. ]

It's unreasonable of me to interrogate you on this, I know.

[ But he wants to understand -- more, he wants Vogel to consider it carefully, in all its repercussions. ]

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