thisavrou_log | points to spinal chord on brain diagram [open]

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points to spinal chord on brain diagram [open]

Who: Chara and YOU
When: 11/23 - 11/24
Where: Literally all around Avagi this child is wandering in a disoriented post-fight daze
What: Chara fought in a trial. Chara got a prize. No one is happy with this.
Warnings: Emotional distress probable, in addition to the usual Chara warnings.

The temples began to sing.

They emerged bloodied and ragged along the edges, one hand clasped around the rust-brown stains fringing every tear in their clothing. One side of their hair has become uneven where a hank of it was roughly and sloppily cut away mid-combat. They limp. Their eyes are glazed with hunger, with emptiness, with exhaustion. Their motions are stiff and automatic. Whenever someone draws near to them, they flinch and hold ready, a blade of red steel gleaming in their hand. A smile tears over their features in a blaze of forced and painted-on glee.

They emerged from the Trial of Life victorious, in a manner of speaking - in a very loose manner of speaking. They emerged from the Trial of Life, having not died or fled, and thus are eligible for something of a prize.

That is when the temples began to sing.

They ignite with a soft blue glow, ethereal, illuminating their surroundings in a cool sweep of runic light. The light takes root inside them, nestling like a seed in the center of their chest; not patience-blue, not integrity-blue, and certainly not determination-red, but something else entirely. It aches in solemn acknowledgment of itself. The child's eyes squeeze shut. The blood has begun to hammer in their ears anew, as if rejuvenated enough to feel like it ought to redouble its efforts to spill out from their torn veins.

The hum pressing across their ears has begun to vibrate in their bones.

As they cross through the portal's bridge of light back to Avagi, the whispers and fragments of other people's thoughts begin to trail after them, silver-tinted specters of other people's thoughts.

[Chara scored the empathy reward for their participation in the Trial of Life, meaning that, to quote the info post: others stay inside their body, but gain a sense of those around them. This manifests not as telepathic knowledge of their thoughts, but an empathic resonance—ghost-vision showing their emotions in stark clarity.]

[This more or less gives them the ability to know and feel anything your character is experiencing emotionally so that's you know fantastic. Feel free to tag in with prose or brackets; I'll match you! Let me know here or over at arrpee if you want a closed starter or something more specific!]

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[They flinch regardless, as though she tried in the first place. None of it is faked. None of it is the least bit false. What are they meant to do with that? Ghostly iterations of the same shape whisper and murmur and care, and the fragmenting distress and confusion of watching things across universes struggle limply, loosely, too far removed for anyone to help - ]

[Reach up. Work fingers beneath sleeve of their sweater. Dig nails into flesh until they can come back to themself.]

[Breathe.]

I can hear you.

Of course you can-- [She starts—and cuts herself off, mouth closing, lips pursing. No. The flinch, the way they were moving, turtling, there was something else. Of course, there was the visions, but...]

That's not what you meant. [Of course it wasn't. Chara was smart, and smart enough to know when something was going on. When something was going wrong.] Hear me, how?

You. What you...think?

[No. That isn't right. They can't look at her in that moment; have to tear their gaze away and not look at her because it's impossible to consider the fact that they might be taking from her, parsing things that do not belong to them, when they've hurt her damaged her ruined her enough haven't they haven't they haven't they haven't they - ]

You just thought that I'm...smart. [They have to croak out the words, as though they can't wholly believe it.]

[For a careful moment, she doesn't reply. She had, after all, just thought that. Expression surprised, but decidedly curious, she scans Chara's face, considering their features. Something else. Heard what I thought. Telepathy?

Chara, can you hear me?

Wait, what--

But before the thought finishes, she's already saying it out loud.]

What happened to your hair?

[The flash of fretful worry is a fizzing electricity in the forefront of her mind, the clear shear of a weapon against them impossible to shake.]

[The thoughts aren't direct; there's confusion, uncertainty, but an overwhelming concern drowns it all out as she evidently locks onto something far less pressing. Out of instinct, one hand reaches up to brush against the sloppily-cut frizz of one side.]

Is that truly your most primary concern at the moment? [Of all the things she could have latched onto - it's this?]

[There's a half-scoff, buzzing uncertainty and concern over the what happened to facilitate such a thing, but prescient enough to acknowledge Chara's judgement of the situation. It was silly, but it was impor--The ocean is filled with living things, and this tribe has lived amongst them all for years. Now, the next batch of spawn have grown strong enough to prove themselves. A trial of adulthood. Each brandishes a sort of glove—but it is the inside, not the outside, that is covered in spines. One by one, each youth pulls their webbed hands into the device, and screams--

Shepard's eyes unfocus, wide with shock, the visceral feeling of the poisoned barbs pressing deep into her flesh still echoing through her mind.]

I--

[What was she talking about?]

Chara.

[What was she asking them?

She blinks several times, vision swimming into focus on their face, brow crinkling, voice muzzy.]

Are you okay?

[That was, at the core of it all, what she was after.]

[Something inserts itself into the internal narrative of her thoughts, something flinching and pained. It breaks the current flow of conversation into myriad particles, pinwheeling in frantic directions. They cannot pull away. They can do nothing but feel a ghost of someone else's pain echo across her nervous system and fade again, like a firework cracking out across the dark of some nameless sky.]

Are you?

[Surely that, too, is important.]

Did they...

[No.]
[Not again not again not again ]

They did something to you?

I'm fine. [Whole, for the most part. I don't know if they did anything. [Not directly, at least. No one had touched her.] I don't think so. [Nothing she knows about, at least.]

I'm just seeing-- [She waves her hand vaguely, frowning, something slowly dawning on the horizon of her thoughts.

Didn't they just say they could hear her thinking? Something similar?]

Don't tell me you can see these, too.

[--A tank the size of a mountain fires a blast at a comet, coming in hot and fast--]

I can't see them. But I can...I know when it comes.

[The spike of adrenaline, the spark of her panic without any obvious or apparent stimulus whatsoever. Something keeps throwing her off in a variety of ways that don't make any sense.]

I can feel it. [From you.]

[She nods as they speak, dragging together what she knew. There was something similar—you heard of Asari with it, occasionally.]

Empathic.

[And the shared sentiment seemed to be that it was noisy. Here, there was an honest attempt to tamp down on the bubbling care over Chara, their health, their condition—a pot lid on a saucer full of yammering affection. Would they prefer I left them alone?]

I think you're feeling my feelings.

...yes. [The word is breathed out, faint and fading. The sheer force of how much she cares is - ] Yes, I think - that would be correct.

[Not just hers, either; they can feel everyone's feelings, and this is a prize, a reward for their trial, that they would rather have refused. A pity the gift did not come with a receipt.]

[What manner of reward do the Kaittans consider this to be?]

And you...what is it that you feel?

[It is not the same. Is it?]

I feel the same as ever. Just... [There's a pause, as she seeks to put sense to her visions, violent shards of life from across the multiverses, a million species she's never met.]

Say you're watching a movie. Except every few seconds, or even minutes, there's a smash-cut into a different show. You've never seen the show before—or even the species of the actors. You get a couple seconds of the most thrilling part—and then suddenly, you're back watching the other film, like nothing ever happened.

It's like that. Every minute or so, I feel like I'm getting a-- a piece of a highlight reel from some other world. There's no warning, it just--[electricity crackles down a tree, exploding the wood with pure energy, fire igniting every piece of dry shrapnel. A group of nearby bipedals, with snouts like anteaters, gasp collectively, shrinking back. After some time, they gather up their strength to draw near, watching the fire sizzle in the rain. Amonga's essence, theirs to claim]--ugh.

[It takes a moment for her to recenter herself enough to finally touch a finger to her head, and smile.] Like that.

Do you want some tea? I think I'm going to make some tea.

[Another spike of adrenaline, untenable. She's getting better at recovering from the abrupt interferences in the tenor of her thoughts, because she returns to baseline remarkably quickly. Perhaps she's grown adept at anticipating those spikes in activity. Or perhaps she has something else to ground herself.]

[They can only be grateful that - ]

[They truly are a hypocrite of the worst order, if they can be grateful that she cannot hear their own thoughts.]

[Their words are spoken fleetingly, shallowly, driven to distraction.]

I would prefer that, yes.

[Then, apropos of nothing:]

I hate them.

Jump on the couch. I'll get it.

[She's halfway to getting up when Chara blurts out their thoughts. A frisson of sudden worry threatens to bubble, a defensive reflex on their behalf.]

Who do you hate?

The Kaittans.

[That's...easy, ha ha. They can even say it and know they mean it. They truly are capable of it, are they not? They're capable of it and they don't even know every individual member of their race, never got to know an individual in particular. They do not need to, to know that they hate whoever might be capable of this - whoever might consider this a reward.]

[It's the kind of knee-jerk reaction a child might have, when they encounter something they don't like. Sincere, blunt, and with one hundred percent earnesty, even if it meant damning a whole category of something.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that Chara is still young, even with what they'd seen, done, experienced. It was hardly their fault.

So, she nods understanding, even while not agreeing. They are as correct as she might be.

Turning the kettle to heat, she fishes a small, metallic box out of the kitchen storage, turning it this way and that in her hand as she replies.]

Not much of a prize, huh?

They did not so much as ask. They made no indication that this would be - that they were capable of -

[It's fine! It's fine. They're accustomed, are they not? They have never had any choice in the matter of their life. Their arrival, their continued existence. They don't get to pretend they've ever had a right to choose. The only thing concrete in that was the choice in their method of departure - the one thing in their life they could control.]

[And even that, in the end, was not truly theirs to command.]

Hasn't been a lot of people interested in asking our opinion on things, lately, [she agrees, attempting to tap out a reasonable amount of leaves into the lid.] Just zero to three hundred on the brain, without as much as a "mind if we change things up?"

[It was becoming a worrying trend.

Satisfied with the arrangements, Shepard pours hot water through the dried matter, releasing a scent—floral—but not overpoweringly so. Not dissimilar from walking through a garden in full bloom in the middle of summer. The gentle perfume floods through the apartment, enveloping everything as she continues pouring, letting the water steep through it.]

That's not half bad.

[They're tired.]

[They're so tired, Shepard. Perhaps she sees it, or perhaps she's simply gathered as much, but - this is what they are. A film of exhaustion clings to the interior of their ribs, painting whatever remains of their SOUL with an oil slick sickness.]

[Perhaps that is why their words are devoid of bite, of venom.]

Too many people have invaded too many minds of late. I've tired of it.

[She opens her mouth to respond--the sky is blue, violet, black, her partner extends out a tendril and pats their blobbish son on the head, smiling. "Good job in the game today, kiddo. You really showed them how to play xxybzzpit!"--and closes it again, focusing instead on the scent of the tea for a long minute.

There's a long, drawn-out sigh as she releases her grip on the counter, pouring the steeped tea into two cups quietly. Finally:]

Me, too.

[It's candid. She was used to expressing honestly, wearing her heart on her sleeve for much of her personal interactions. She just didn't have much to hide.

But it was the difference between someone going through your cabin with permission and forewarning, versus a surprise inspection. Every time, you lost a little bit of privacy, a little bit of yourself. You didn't change, not really—you were just left feeling wrung out, a little angry, even if nothing of interest was discovered.

That Chara could understand that to the same depths as she could—well.

Taking up a mug in each hand, she makes no efforts to conceal her mental promises to anyone who would consider trying further with them—a protective blast shield, physically and mentally, razor-sharp on the outside, cotton warmth within.

Shepard slides on to the couch, holding out the mug by the sides, handle free towards them. If it's hot, she's not showing it.]

Here.

Tell me what you think.

[For a moment, there's a hopeful nervous aura of emotional feedback--as if waiting for judgement on her decisions.]

...what?

[Unveiled uncertainty is a peculiar look for them; they do not indulge it very often. If it were their choice, they would not indulge it at all. Exposing their own confusion is a surefire means of baring a weakness, a pumping jugular, and they would rather not allow that advantage to be seized.]

[But then, Shepard has always been...unique, when it comes to vulnerabilities.]

[It is disgusting, the fact that it is their proximity to her hope, to her anxiety, that allows them interpret the request and then want nothing more than to indulge it. Only when allowed unwanted insight into the minds of others, it seems, do they become slightly more bearable to be around.]

Why?

[It's a beat too late—remembering mentally that Chara can feel her nascent emotional field—and the hopeful nerves are quickly over-trod by a thin veneer of embarrassment, fighting and losing against a sincere compassion that just didn't give a damn. She'd buy Chara a shop-full of things, one after another, if just one of them would give them reason to smile their rarest smile.]

You said you liked tea.

[Straightforward. But as for the variety, all bouquets and posies—]

Thought I'd keep up the gardening theme.

[Perhaps that's the hardest part of all of it; the knowledge that she is not merely playing along, not merely pretending to be someone that she isn't. She is not effecting some sense of compassion out of obligation, or falsehood.]

[Because it is sincere. It is so painfully, utterly, unforgivably sincere.]

I do. [Of all the responses they have in their arsenal, not one of them is prepared for this - for kindness and hope so genuine and so central to this interaction, here and now.]

[They almost refuse.]

[But in the end, how can they? Allowing the warmth of the mug to fit between their hands, curving scarred fingertips around the contours as the steam curls out from the warmed brew, they allow for a small, tentative sip.]

...it's good.

[There's an unbridled explosion of elation at the verdict, unvarnished and light—no reason to hide happiness, after all.

Despite the mental cheering stadium—and her awareness of its visibility—her outward demeanor, while pleased, remains markedly casual. Except for the nod, then a shrug, as if she tried to do both at the same time.]

Looked around for a while before I found it. Wasn't sure how you'd like a herbal blend, but I thought I'd let you be the judge of that. Pretty sure there's no caffeine in it—or at least, no stimulants my scanners could pick up. But it smells nice.

[There's a pause as she takes a gulp of her own, more used to swilling coffee than sipping something a touch more delicate. Staring into the mug, then back to Chara, she inclines her head, leaning on the back of the couch.]

Not bad. Not bad at all.

And do we know what kind of herb?

[Is it some...obscure space blend, some compound of plants beyond their understanding, each requiring a name?]

[She's good at veiling it - the extent of everything she carries with her, in her heart, in her soul. She's had a lifetime of practice, they know. They know. No one gets to be a soldier without something like that at their back. Not simply things like anger, like sadness, like regret, but also pride - also elation.]

[It should not be as painful as it is, that understanding of how numb one makes oneself, when they devote every heartbeat of their attention to others.]

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