altimit | [ closed ]

[ lbr Michel was born already pushing 40s.

He's more alert now to the nuances of Oria's expression, watching as that smile slips away. He doubts all of that can be strictly sympathy. ]

People aren't investments, or algorithms. They're fickle and unpredictable, unstable and changing. I can't change them, no. But I can hear them out. [ This time, he lets his gaze slide away again to the mirror before he adds more dryly: ] ...If they would answer their messages.

[ He knows, already. That he's still clinging to a sinking piece of driftwood and calling it hope, rather than letting go and swimming as far as his body can take him. But they're still his family. ]

You aren't just talking about my situation, are you?

[ It seemed too personal for that. He studies their reflections, wondering if the image will repeat if they stand here long enough, like a video on loop. ]

Edited 2023-08-24 18:32 (UTC)

Even if I talk about it generally, people are just like that.

[ Not to say that Oria hates people--he likes being around them, but it's always so, so, lonely. But now that he's seen Michel, he doesn't feel quite so alone anymore.

When Michel gazes into the mirror, he'll remember a memory that isn't his-- ]

[ --a scene in a cheerfully colored room is where you wake up. You've just turned ten a weeks ago, you're in bed, and you can't feel anything: physically and emotionally. The hollowness in knowing that you changed somehow, but not completely, weighs on you so heavily that it shouldn't be a child's concern. Yet, here you are.

cw transphobia, misogyny, mentions of miscarriage, gender dysphoria

The scene before you is blurry. Your glasses aren't on, but maybe that's just fine with how you don't want to see anything in the moment. However, you see a person in white and hear their footsteps rapidly leaving. They must be going to alert the doctors and his mother. A short time later, more blobs of color filter their way into his room. You know the white blob is your mother, for her beautiful white hair that somehow made her seem younger than older for her age. You feel a hand stroke your forehead.

As they discuss, many words just go in one ear and out the other, but you can hear your mother, ever so elegant, who always stands with dignity and poise... break down. You can hear her quietly crying.

"If only you were a boy... I'm sorry, Satria."

Your name is Oria Severine.

And your mother wanted a son.

You hear some more things as you blankly stare at the ceiling that's a blur of bright colors as if they're trying to cheer up. The reassignment surgery was half a failure. You vaguely remember the name "Satria", an existence that was paired with you. There were supposed to be two babies born that day. Only one came out alive.

So Kaleria Ostrovsky-Severine, your mother, was determined to raise you as a son.

From this day on, you quietly vow inside your head... that you will strive to be what you're supposed to be.

Even if you're not enough, and never will be. ]

--ter.

[ --the memory fades, and Michel will be able to resume his focus in the hall of mirrors. Oria stays there, waving his hand in front of Michel's face. ]

--Winter! Look alive, why don't you.

[ This time, it's Michel's turn to stand frozen in shock.

Your mother wanted a son — no, your mother wanted a daughter.

The resonance, the recognition rattle around in Michel's thoughts like a loose gear. He turns a thunderstruck stare towards Oria, his mouth open slightly; for what words? He has no idea. The mirrors hold no more interest for Michel. Oria is much closer to an altered reflection of himself than the images are. ]

Oria...

[ Ah.

Oria wasn't exactly hiding it--his base appearance was pretty much the same and his username was only two letters away from his real one. He's also relatively well-known, but that's not here nor there. Oria frowns when he sees Michel gaping at him like that. He doubts that Michel cares about his fame nor rumors that surrounded him, so it has to be something else. That was so shocking that gets him to be like that-- ]

--What did you see?

[ It's not a question.

It's a demand. ]

[ Michel is still reeling a little from the shape of the memory, more off-balance than if he'd been struck. He shakes his head briefly, not in refusal, just in a vain attempt to clear it.

Where does he start? He presses a hand briefly to his head. ]

Your mother. She... why did she want a son so badly?

[ No, there doesn't need to be a reason. Had Lydie ever had a reason? Did Michel need a reason for being so vehemently certain that he wasn't the daughter his mother wanted? He can't think clearly... ]

[ Oria stays frozen on the spot, even more wide eyed than before and immediately grabs Michel's arms, tightly. ]

What else did you see?

[ The grip is grounding more than alarming. He can understand that sense of urgency... very well. ]

Doctors. After your surgery...?

[ Michel isn't a delicate person. But this time each word is like feeling his way across the surface of a barely-frozen lake, listening for the ice cracking underfoot. ]

[ Oh.

Panic time.

If he hits the back of Michel's head with a pistol whip, what are the chance that he'll forget—no, no, he has to think about this carefully. ]

... How much money do you want? I'll buy your silence.

[ What strange thought just passed behind Oria's eyes? Michel shoots him a stare of utter befuddlement, startled out of his overthinking at last. ]

Just what kind of impression do you have of me?

[ Well. He's certain if he looks up the name "Severine" later it would shed some light on this. ]

[ let me know when he does so I can Spill to you in dms

Oria looks at Michel with a flat stare. People everywhere are swayed by money, especially if it's easy to obtain. He doesn't need to know about personality for that to be valid, is sure a thought that crosses his mind. ]

I think I might feel better if you accept my proposal.

[ He's dead serious. ]

[ What a cynical look. Is that how Michel looks from an outside perspective when he talks like that? That's food for thought. ]

I'm not extorting money from a teenager to make you feel better. [ Flatly! ] ...I understand that it's difficult to trust me in the circumstances. However, you already have your leverage on me.

[ While that may be true, Oria finds it hard to believe that some people would just... not say anything about it? When they clearly can? It's fine, they have defamation lawsuits as backup in case of emergency, but Oria hoped it wouldn't get to this point. ]

... Fine.

[ But he'll be "naive" for once. ]

Whatever we talk about here today is kept between us.

You're thinking something strange again.

[ It's all over that dubious expression... but Oria agreed, which is enough, he supposes. How was Oria able to talk to him so calmly with all of this in his head? Michel still feels a little boggled himself. ]

I have no interest in having my own history dragged in front of others, either. This is — between us.

[ Oria understands, or could understand. It's best not to hope for too much, but even so... ]

Alright.

[ He says firmly as if they just bound themselves to a contract. It feels like there's weight behind that single word despite how the word should sound casual and loose. ]

... My mother lost a baby to miscarriage when I was born. That one was a boy. My older siblings are sisters. Apparently, according to her, they can't be fit for the business world.

[ He frowns. ]

She can't get pregnant anymore, so that was that.

[ Ah. The same, but inverted. Old-fashioned families, older siblings already established. ]

And so... she needed a son. Did you have a say?

[ That had always been one of Michel's lingering nightmares. As stifling as his father's more explosive rage was, the possibility that his parents — either of them — would convince a doctor that treatments could resolve his "irrationality" was much, much more terrifying. ]

Permission for children to receive medical treatment usually requires a parent or guardian's permission... at least, it does here. A parent's permission is the child's permission.

[ So, no. ]

I didn't think anything of it until I got older... but I don't hate my mother.

[ same hat ]

That's why you asked about my family.

[ That's entirely too close to home; Michel stifles a grimace. He understands the feeling very well. But he's not certain he'd be able to say the same, if that had happened to him. ]

...Are you happy with this?

Well, it's what I am, so... I just decided to live with it.

[ :') ]

It is what it is.

I see. If that's your closure.

[ You know... Michel read that forum post. A lot. He doesn't have enough hobbies. And "it just digs at you mentally, its just something i gotta learn to deal with" stuck with him for obvious reasons.

The long pause to think probably masks him checking Oria's equipment descriptions. ]

[ The equipment descriptions are all the same, as they're a set. And it reads as follows:

A set of armor that is not quite "right," not quite "you," but you've learned to live with it. The matching gun doesn't fit quite right in your hands, but it's yours nonetheless.

The weapon is a red flintlock pistol and it's covered with a CZ75 silver handgun skin. Perhaps if Michel were to see it in Oria's (smaller than average) hands, he'd realize why the description is as it is. ]

Yeah, it's mine. I can't stay stuck in the past when I need to move forward.

[ He's seen Oria's small hands, and he's seen the gun. And most importantly — he viscerally knows the feeling of the "self" out of joint. It's not the choice Michel would have made, but even so... ]

That takes its own kind of strength. Perhaps that's part of who you are.

[ And in a situation with no right answers, the choice itself is what matters. Still, he doesn't quite manage to stop his tongue before the rest spills out, too bluntly: ]

I think what your mother did was horrific. [ An understatement. ] ...But, I can understand not desiring to hate her. I feel the same about mine.

[ Oria loves his family and he'd do a lot of things for them. Hell, he's drop whatever he was doing and even go halfway across the globe right away if they needed him. Oria would understand that many people would hate their mothers if they were in a similar situation as he was, but despite everything, he still loves his family the most. ]

Wow, we're alike more than I expected.

[ Is that a good or bad thing? Regardless, it makes him feel less alone during his eighteen years of his existence for the first time. ]

I don't know how to feel about that.

[ The grumble is instinctive and reflexive, just a little undermined by Michel's expression softening slightly. Even if it's naivete, or self-destructive loyalty, that even one other person could see some of the same things he has and still wish for his family's happiness... it's like he can feel some of the creeping corrosion of doubt recede, just a little. ]

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2/3 ; cw transphobia, misogyny, mentions of miscarriage, gender dysphoria

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cw mention of miscarriage, implied misogyny

cw transphobia, medical nonconsent

cw medical nonconsent

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