[ Logic says that if there hadn't been another announcement, then the remaining members of Kakapo should be just fine. But Psyche still isn't going to settle completely until she's seen them for herself. Once she's done checking the go-karts with Temenos she's going to go in search for whoever she finds first.
Which, in this case, is: ]
Waltaquin! Do you know what happened? I'm sorry, I didn't think I'd be so late coming back...
[There's only a short amount of time to dwell on what's happened before they all meet to discuss it, so the energy is quite tense. Waltaquin puts her chin in her hand.]
I was with Sonya. We were trapped just outside our lodgings, near the hammocks. That's where I slept. [She looks and sounds disgruntled, if only because they made it so close to their destinations before they were waylaid. ... Or perhaps she doesn't find the tactic of boxing them all in particularly sporting.]
We didn't see anyone else last night, and in the morning neither of you left the cabana, either. It seems none of us made it home before being restrained like cattle.
I'm glad at least you two were together. There were a lot of us on the beach, but Chai...
[ She pauses, because clearly Chai wasn't alone, or they wouldn't all be in this position now. Psyche shakes her head briskly. ]
If this is how the administrators are doing things, I don't think our watch system will do much good. I wonder if this is what they were always planning.
Fiends....damn them for all that they inflict on us. This is certainly a countermeasure to plans like ours. I don't care to be outsmarted... but they have this one on us.
[Though she's been generally having a better time than some others, finding fun in some of the high-stakes "game" they're all playing because it's more interesting than leisure...she does actually seem a little put out.]
Must it have been someone who was trapped with him? I can only assume he didn't sleep as I did.
[How does Waltaquin sleep with an entire bed to herself? Actually, pretty well, all things considered. It's much better than sharing. One would almost think that she hadn't just had to deal with the tragic loss of two of her cabana-mates just a week prior, were it not for the strange, plucked-chicken-shaped animal she now keeps in her bunk with her, something she certainly.
She's also under no illusion that she and Psyche are growing closer for any other reason than their forced proximity. They are the only two remaining: For them to visibly turn on one another now would just cost more in the long run. They are not friends, but seeing her so regularly has given her at least a little fondness, a little familiarity.
As they enjoy the solitude of their treatments in the seacave adjacent to the spa, Quin grows tired of listening to the water drip in silence. She appears still perfectly relaxed when she barrels in with a real lead of an opening question.]
[ It would be silly after everything that's happened for Psyche to let herself just think of this place as relaxing. It's not that easy to forget what kind of events immediately precede a new island appearing. But even so, it's nice to spend time with Waltaquin someplace that isn't their now conspicuously empty cabana. Even the empty bed — strange as it was at the beginning to be cramped into such a small space with someone else — is a little sad.
She glances over in surprise at the question and hums a little in thought. ]
I'm not sure. There are people I miss from home... not that I want them to be here, though. [ Is that the same thing? She gives a little laugh. ] What about you, Waltaquin? I don't really know much about what your home is like.
[Do you miss sleeping with her Psyche, is that it? Are you sad to not share a bed with her anymore?
There's nothing they can do immediately to share their circumstances, so Quin sees no harm in the indulgence for now. They can always think of what to do next, scaffolding the moves they'll make. Without the disturbance shifting its way across the island, without knowing when the malaise and apprehension will be back, there's just preparations to be made.]
I wouldn't mind seeing a few familiar faces around. [Her tone is detached and semi-pleasant as always, but there's clearly something deeper there.] It does get dreadfully lonely, now and then, and I'd like to hear their perspectives on this business.
[And see if any of them had the strength to survive, of course.]
[ The after-party, such as it was, hadn't held much interest for Psyche. She could see how some of the others might feel better destroying anything Lobelia had left behind. But that's more Medea's form of catharsis than Psyche's; it isn't that long before she retreats back to Kakapo to rest.
Whether Waltaquin is already there or returns shortly, she'll find her roommate restlessly cleaning, sitting on the floor to rearrange things in her storage trunk. ]
Oh, Waltaquin... you didn't feel like staying with the others?
[ It's a question but not really a question, considering. ]
It stopped being interesting rather quickly. My tenure there told me everything I needed to know from it, anyway.
[Many of the people assembled are dealing with their own feelings, which she neither cares about nor cares to help with processing. Psyche is emotional in her own way, heartfelt, but she can deal with her.
Quin sits down on the edge of the bed she's been sleeping in. Even accounting for the strange gifts from the catbot and the different markets on the island, most of them likely have fewer than a dozen things to their name. Fussily cleaning such a small arrangement is -]
Most noble ladies don't do their own tidying. Looking for something to do with your hands?
[THIS IS NOT MEANT OR SAID SUGGESTIVELY AS IT MAY SOUND IT JUST CAME OUT THAT WAY AND I REFUSE TO CHANGE THE WORDING]
It's such a shame that Psyche isn't in the right state of mind to catch or fluster for it. At least, not for the opportunistic double meaning. Instead she rubs a hand sheepishly through her hair and gives a little laugh. ]
Am I that transparent? It's just so hard to sit around feeling useless. I thought organizing things would help put my thoughts in order, but...
[ Well. Everything that happened was too much of a mess for it to be that easy. Although, reminded, she reaches in to pick up a certain insignia from the things she's been rearranging. ]
Oh! At least I can return this to you. That is, I think it's yours...
[Well, their cabin is a resort of their own for the time being, and Waltaquin is a caged tiger going between the islands. She has been restless before, but the sensation has only amplified, seemingly daily, since the weekend, since they spoke. She has forgotten to eat, which she sometimes does when she is lost in research or restoration, and her appetite is catching up with her without any actual magical laboratory experiments to focus on. This time, she'll be making it herself.
Having thought Psyche, whose emotions earlier she did not know how to handle, working in the light here is a surprise.]
You don't seriously mean to tell me you're still cooking in here.
[Upon closer inspection, her roommate seems to be sitting over something unrelated to food at the moment. Everyone here does have their secrets, more than usual, but she's looking forward into scratching at one of Psyche's.]
[ Psyche pauses, glancing over at the interruption as she begins to neatly fold the paper she was writing on. The motion is unhurried but seamless, covering the text before Waltaquin can get too close. One eyebrow lifts; the hesitation draws out a beat longer than it ordinarily might, as though her thoughts are uncharacteristically far away.
Maybe, considering the events of the day, not altogether surprising? ]
Oh... Waltaquin. I was only taking a moment to think. What were you doing here this late?
[She certainly wouldn't try looking at the letter, even if it wasn't folded and outside of her reach. What she would do, however, is sit right up on the edge of the table next to her, performing an immediate, but by now familiar, bridge into her personal space.]
I've been preoccupied. Time has simply slipped away from me. I haven't eaten, so I thought something sweet would tide me over until the morning. Now that I'm here, though, I'm a little indecisive.
[She's not sure exactly what would feel safest to eat at the moment.] Any recommendations? [Psyche is nearly the only person she would offer to get a snack for.]
This is not unusual. Your entire childhood has been spent never seeing another person save the servants up until your parents sent you here.
Haleg Lyn is a large monastery, but it feels like a box that you would put animals in without cutting any holes. People talk when you’re turned away, but you prefer this to the way your father looked at you as if he would erase you if he could. You eat alone. You pray in silence. You do not feel anything. Your mother is dead.
While you are alone, you encounter one of the Brothers. As he is walking toward you, you smell the sweat in his breath when he smiles.
He’s never heard you speak the entire time, he muses, not since your parents sent you here. You haven’t ever said a word. You unwanted, pretty wayward child.
How convenient for him.
He comes close, his hand reaching out to stroke the untouched, pale apple of your cheek. Something so sharp and cold and painful settles itself inside you that you know you’ll remember it.
Oh.
Is this what fear is?
You are dizzy and sick and he is touching your face and he is gone.
Just gone, like a fly that annoyed you. All that remains is a hot smear that runs down the side of your face. There is no other evidence that a man once stood here at all. As you touch your hand to your cheek and draw your fingers away bloody, something crackles in that dark void. Even in a child’s voice, it’s a sound that will become familiar for the rest of your life.
“Fuhaha…haha…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
It’s the best you’ve ever felt.
There’s one more thing left, wreathed in the same darkness that seems to have burned out from you. It’s a key. Reaching down to grasp it, you know exactly what it belongs to as something pulls you forward, precisely where you need to go: Where the church keeps all its other dark secrets.
And everything there is calling out to you.]
UNHINGED IS WHAT WE AND THEY DESERVE: a present for quin
[ You sit on a throne on a raised dais as you watch the criminals led one by one to the guillotine. You feel ill; but you make very certain none of that shows in your eyes, your solemn expression, your hands resting calmly in your lap. As crown princess you could still speak up to petition for mercy. Eros at your side would overrule you, of course. But you could make the gesture.
You do not. It is not because it would be futile, although it would be. It is because you cannot argue that this is any more or less than these people deserve. And because she asked you to trust her.
Medea approaches the throne now, nearly close enough to touch. The sunset makes a glory of her dark hair and the gems adorning it. And her smile is perfectly serene, even though it is now her father whose head is being laid on the block. Her words are to Eros, not to you; you know she is as keenly aware of you there as you are of her, but neither of you can be seen to show it, even if the weight of your earlier argument still presses down on your chest like stone.
"I know he is a criminal, but he is still my father. Please permit me to say goodbye."
Eros grants it, of course. Has he gotten worse at hiding from you how much such things excite him, or are you getting more attentive? It doesn't matter. In this moment, all that matters is Medea. Her strides are firm and confident as she climbs the steps of the execution stage. It has always been like this. The instant Medea Solon steps into a space, there is never any doubt who is in command, even as she kneels before the bound man to speak softly.
You can't hear her from this distance — but you know her, you know what it is to be Medea better than anyone save her. These words are truly a farewell. She will wield them like a knife. You can't hear her, but the former Duke Solon is not nearly so controlled. All the crowd hears his outburst.
"I'm sorry!! Please forgive me!! I'll apologize for everything!! It's my fault, I was wrong, give your father one more chance—"
You have never seen Medea slip before. She always shows precisely what she needs those around her to perceive. But when she lifts a hand to her mouth and begins to laugh, you know too: this was not her calculation. This is truly, deeply, how she feels, given vent in the only way she can. And when that same hand gestures for the executioner to proceed, you hurt for her because she will never permit such a feeling in herself, even as her father's final words follow her off the stage.
"You're a demon!!" ]
Edited (quin deserves a visual) 2023-06-14 18:15 (UTC)
[It's the satisfying completion of the blade sliding home that jolts her from the memory, and Waltaquin's hand twitches slightly, the first indication that she's been jerked back into the present moment. They're close enough that Psyche likely feels the jostle.
It's bracing to have a face to put to a name. Somehow, she looked exactly as Waltaquin expected, down to the stark dark contrast she presents to Psyche's light. From what she's seen, the feedback from the sights and sounds and feelings of that late afternoon, she can see now what a formidable figure the woman Psyche knows best in the world cuts.
As for Haleg Lyn... What is there to say? The memory is as clear now, decades later, as it was back then.]
I see there was merit to your comparison after all...though I must say I'm flattered, heh.
[Her laugh is more a breath tacked on as a full stop to the sentence then anything completely filled with glee.]
[ Psyche has been tired more than once since her arrival here. But never quite like this, a sort of aching exhaustion she thinks has nothing to do with the side-effects of the injection or the slight injuries she'd taken in the fight. The disorientation of so many swaps in rapid succession... perhaps. Knowing that now everyone has seen the secret she's been keeping. Worrying about the strangeness she's been seeing in Waltaquin...
Psyche is sitting on their bed in Kakapo, feeling out her injured arm with careful fingertips. Probably not broken? Not that her healing would be a good idea to attempt right now if it were. She's unsure if she's troubled by it so much as she's simply having a hard time resisting touching things that hurt right now. ]
[The sound that ripped through all of them and brought Xiao back to himself had hit hard, so Waltaquin's head is slightly off-center still, weighed down by how off-balance she feels.
She keeps a small sliver of distance between them; her healing spells can't be called on, either, but there's always field medicine if absolutely need be. She gives a reassuring chuckle that sounds like a heart beating.]
Running on little sleep. I shall take the most well-needed nap as soon as you're ready to go.
[ Psyche summons a little smile as she looks over, though this time she doesn't reach out. Waltaquin really does look more worn than she does, she thinks. Psyche's so often crossed those boundaries about touching her, and coming back to herself today to find Waltaquin hugging her like that... ]
I hope you do. You're not going to tell me what's wrong, are you?
[She'd left shortly after the meeting turned from one topic to the next, squeezed out by the increasing vivre. The secret to their success here is bolstering Merlin's power with their bonds, is it? She feels like she's back with the Foxes all over again.
She walks down to the ocean and stands in its incoming and increasingly threatening tide, not looking over her shoulder but strangely feeling as if she did not come down here alone.
Waltaquin takes off her gloves and throws them to the sand, then sits there.]
[ She sees Waltaquin slip away and something clenches in her chest. Worry? Selfish relief? A little spark of furious, wistful recognition? Even she doesn't know anymore. She hadn't managed to sort through the mess of her emotions the day before, pushing them down down down to be dealt with... when? After they leave, if that's even possible? She thought it would be alright. But then Lacus had said that Merlin needs this from them, their cooperation and their friendship and it felt like something inside her simply broke.
She wants to cry. She wants to run away. But if she's here looking for Waltaquin then it's not that, right? It's still her keeping her promise to Merlin. Moving forward. Wait and hope. She's trying, she's trying, she's trying.
She sinks down to the sand next to Waltaquin with a crooked little smile. ]
[They will notice Psyche is gone and worry. If they notice Waltaquin is gone, they will disdain.
She doesn't care, either way, but the nature of their departures and how they will be received are both different.
Feverish, she dips her hands into the water and hisses at the feel of it.]
No. [Bluntly.] It's more than that. They think they're doing what's necessary and therefore worth their noble compromise, but don't you think it's a little self-important?
[ The letter had taken Psyche a truly long time to write, and Medea a considerable time to read and respond. She sits in quiet contemplation for a little while even after that, staring at nothing in particular. What a tangle of circumstances. What a way to finally get some modicum of explanation out of Psyche...
The thought makes her laugh, softly, as she finally gets to her feet. Even she can't fully explain the mood seizing her as she slides the star-shaped mood ring from Psyche's finger and replaces it with another ring, carefully kept. Does this make it too easy? She half wonders if something in Waltaquin would know her at a glance without such a signal. The challenge might be unfair in the current circumstances, and besides... If she intends to give a proper answer, she may as well dress for the occasion. With that thought in mind she sets out to look for her quarry. ]
[It's never quiet. There are constant, clamoring nightmares, and yet each horror only serves to reinforce something else. It is the constant, pulsating reminder of not being alone. It therefore can't be said they met again in quieter circumstances. Such a thing has been impossible for a while - and perhaps always was and will be, for people like them.
She makes herself neither difficult nor easy to find, hovering at the poolside bar for one final drink. Better to not be sedated tomorrow, and imbibing too much will make her too sleepy, but one is fine.
When Medea does catch her quarry, Waltaquin watches the way she carries herself in the dim night light. Even without her head being filled with the resonance of vengeful screaming, she wouldn't be able to tell at first. So she watches, pondering her gait and her expression and her hands.]
Hahahahaha, is this sentimentality I spy from you, or just a signal?
Did I strike you as the sentimental type? I wonder how that memory of hers painted me.
[ Of all of the things for Waltaquin to have seen... Medea takes a seat, folding her hands on the bar as she looks over at Waltaquin thoughtfully. How does she read the expression of a woman she's only met twice, once at a time when she now knows she may have no longer been truly herself?
Well. She's never balked at a challenge. ]
You have strange taste, to request an executioner who mocks her victim in their last moments. Is this remorse, or do monsters find company in their kin, do you think?
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week 2, post-invest
Which, in this case, is: ]
Waltaquin! Do you know what happened? I'm sorry, I didn't think I'd be so late coming back...
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I was with Sonya. We were trapped just outside our lodgings, near the hammocks. That's where I slept. [She looks and sounds disgruntled, if only because they made it so close to their destinations before they were waylaid. ... Or perhaps she doesn't find the tactic of boxing them all in particularly sporting.]
We didn't see anyone else last night, and in the morning neither of you left the cabana, either. It seems none of us made it home before being restrained like cattle.
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[ She pauses, because clearly Chai wasn't alone, or they wouldn't all be in this position now. Psyche shakes her head briskly. ]
If this is how the administrators are doing things, I don't think our watch system will do much good. I wonder if this is what they were always planning.
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[Though she's been generally having a better time than some others, finding fun in some of the high-stakes "game" they're all playing because it's more interesting than leisure...she does actually seem a little put out.]
Must it have been someone who was trapped with him? I can only assume he didn't sleep as I did.
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week 3, wednesday
She's also under no illusion that she and Psyche are growing closer for any other reason than their forced proximity. They are the only two remaining: For them to visibly turn on one another now would just cost more in the long run. They are not friends, but seeing her so regularly has given her at least a little fondness, a little familiarity.
As they enjoy the solitude of their treatments in the seacave adjacent to the spa, Quin grows tired of listening to the water drip in silence. She appears still perfectly relaxed when she barrels in with a real lead of an opening question.]
Do you ever feel homesick at all?
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She glances over in surprise at the question and hums a little in thought. ]
I'm not sure. There are people I miss from home... not that I want them to be here, though. [ Is that the same thing? She gives a little laugh. ] What about you, Waltaquin? I don't really know much about what your home is like.
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There's nothing they can do immediately to share their circumstances, so Quin sees no harm in the indulgence for now. They can always think of what to do next, scaffolding the moves they'll make. Without the disturbance shifting its way across the island, without knowing when the malaise and apprehension will be back, there's just preparations to be made.]
I wouldn't mind seeing a few familiar faces around. [Her tone is detached and semi-pleasant as always, but there's clearly something deeper there.] It does get dreadfully lonely, now and then, and I'd like to hear their perspectives on this business.
[And see if any of them had the strength to survive, of course.]
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HELP I AM SO SORRY ABOUT MY INBOX........ vanishes sheepishly into the mist
jasdklas IT'S OK even if you deleted every single notif from me ever......i forigve you
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week 3, post-trial
Whether Waltaquin is already there or returns shortly, she'll find her roommate restlessly cleaning, sitting on the floor to rearrange things in her storage trunk. ]
Oh, Waltaquin... you didn't feel like staying with the others?
[ It's a question but not really a question, considering. ]
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[Many of the people assembled are dealing with their own feelings, which she neither cares about nor cares to help with processing. Psyche is emotional in her own way, heartfelt, but she can deal with her.
Quin sits down on the edge of the bed she's been sleeping in. Even accounting for the strange gifts from the catbot and the different markets on the island, most of them likely have fewer than a dozen things to their name. Fussily cleaning such a small arrangement is -]
Most noble ladies don't do their own tidying. Looking for something to do with your hands?
[THIS IS NOT MEANT OR SAID SUGGESTIVELY AS IT MAY SOUND IT JUST CAME OUT THAT WAY AND I REFUSE TO CHANGE THE WORDING]
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It's such a shame that Psyche isn't in the right state of mind to catch or fluster for it. At least, not for the opportunistic double meaning. Instead she rubs a hand sheepishly through her hair and gives a little laugh. ]
Am I that transparent? It's just so hard to sit around feeling useless. I thought organizing things would help put my thoughts in order, but...
[ Well. Everything that happened was too much of a mess for it to be that easy. Although, reminded, she reaches in to pick up a certain insignia from the things she's been rearranging. ]
Oh! At least I can return this to you. That is, I think it's yours...
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every day i wonder when this cr is going to morph me into man standing emoji
and every day i lie in wait for my chance to jumpscare you ♡
our reservoir dogs style standoff will continue
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cw animal death, ,,,,,
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week 4, thursday
Having thought Psyche, whose emotions earlier she did not know how to handle, working in the light here is a surprise.]
You don't seriously mean to tell me you're still cooking in here.
[Upon closer inspection, her roommate seems to be sitting over something unrelated to food at the moment. Everyone here does have their secrets, more than usual, but she's looking forward into scratching at one of Psyche's.]
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Maybe, considering the events of the day, not altogether surprising? ]
Oh... Waltaquin. I was only taking a moment to think. What were you doing here this late?
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I've been preoccupied. Time has simply slipped away from me. I haven't eaten, so I thought something sweet would tide me over until the morning. Now that I'm here, though, I'm a little indecisive.
[She's not sure exactly what would feel safest to eat at the moment.] Any recommendations? [Psyche is nearly the only person she would offer to get a snack for.]
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GHDKFJDSF sorry for the inevitable mild YT spoilers
grips your hands tightly...!
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"i want a public thread this week but also we have to do unhinged memshare in pc" - clown shay
[You are alone.
This is not unusual. Your entire childhood has been spent never seeing another person save the servants up until your parents sent you here.
Haleg Lyn is a large monastery, but it feels like a box that you would put animals in without cutting any holes. People talk when you’re turned away, but you prefer this to the way your father looked at you as if he would erase you if he could. You eat alone. You pray in silence. You do not feel anything. Your mother is dead.
While you are alone, you encounter one of the Brothers. As he is walking toward you, you smell the sweat in his breath when he smiles.
He’s never heard you speak the entire time, he muses, not since your parents sent you here. You haven’t ever said a word. You unwanted, pretty wayward child.
How convenient for him.
He comes close, his hand reaching out to stroke the untouched, pale apple of your cheek. Something so sharp and cold and painful settles itself inside you that you know you’ll remember it.
Oh.
Is this what fear is?
You are dizzy and sick and he is touching your face and he is gone.
Just gone, like a fly that annoyed you. All that remains is a hot smear that runs down the side of your face. There is no other evidence that a man once stood here at all. As you touch your hand to your cheek and draw your fingers away bloody, something crackles in that dark void. Even in a child’s voice, it’s a sound that will become familiar for the rest of your life.
“Fuhaha…haha…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
It’s the best you’ve ever felt.
There’s one more thing left, wreathed in the same darkness that seems to have burned out from you. It’s a key. Reaching down to grasp it, you know exactly what it belongs to as something pulls you forward, precisely where you need to go: Where the church keeps all its other dark secrets.
And everything there is calling out to you.]
UNHINGED IS WHAT WE AND THEY DESERVE: a present for quin
[ You sit on a throne on a raised dais as you watch the criminals led one by one to the guillotine. You feel ill; but you make very certain none of that shows in your eyes, your solemn expression, your hands resting calmly in your lap. As crown princess you could still speak up to petition for mercy. Eros at your side would overrule you, of course. But you could make the gesture.
You do not. It is not because it would be futile, although it would be. It is because you cannot argue that this is any more or less than these people deserve. And because she asked you to trust her.
Medea approaches the throne now, nearly close enough to touch. The sunset makes a glory of her dark hair and the gems adorning it. And her smile is perfectly serene, even though it is now her father whose head is being laid on the block. Her words are to Eros, not to you; you know she is as keenly aware of you there as you are of her, but neither of you can be seen to show it, even if the weight of your earlier argument still presses down on your chest like stone.
"I know he is a criminal, but he is still my father. Please permit me to say goodbye."
Eros grants it, of course. Has he gotten worse at hiding from you how much such things excite him, or are you getting more attentive? It doesn't matter. In this moment, all that matters is Medea. Her strides are firm and confident as she climbs the steps of the execution stage. It has always been like this. The instant Medea Solon steps into a space, there is never any doubt who is in command, even as she kneels before the bound man to speak softly.
You can't hear her from this distance — but you know her, you know what it is to be Medea better than anyone save her. These words are truly a farewell. She will wield them like a knife. You can't hear her, but the former Duke Solon is not nearly so controlled. All the crowd hears his outburst.
"I'm sorry!! Please forgive me!! I'll apologize for everything!! It's my fault, I was wrong, give your father one more chance—"
You have never seen Medea slip before. She always shows precisely what she needs those around her to perceive. But when she lifts a hand to her mouth and begins to laugh, you know too: this was not her calculation. This is truly, deeply, how she feels, given vent in the only way she can. And when that same hand gestures for the executioner to proceed, you hurt for her because she will never permit such a feeling in herself, even as her father's final words follow her off the stage.
"You're a demon!!" ]
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It's bracing to have a face to put to a name. Somehow, she looked exactly as Waltaquin expected, down to the stark dark contrast she presents to Psyche's light. From what she's seen, the feedback from the sights and sounds and feelings of that late afternoon, she can see now what a formidable figure the woman Psyche knows best in the world cuts.
As for Haleg Lyn... What is there to say? The memory is as clear now, decades later, as it was back then.]
I see there was merit to your comparison after all...though I must say I'm flattered, heh.
[Her laugh is more a breath tacked on as a full stop to the sentence then anything completely filled with glee.]
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week 6, monday post-sickos
Psyche is sitting on their bed in Kakapo, feeling out her injured arm with careful fingertips. Probably not broken? Not that her healing would be a good idea to attempt right now if it were. She's unsure if she's troubled by it so much as she's simply having a hard time resisting touching things that hurt right now. ]
Waltaquin... how are you feeling?
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She keeps a small sliver of distance between them; her healing spells can't be called on, either, but there's always field medicine if absolutely need be. She gives a reassuring chuckle that sounds like a heart beating.]
Running on little sleep. I shall take the most well-needed nap as soon as you're ready to go.
[She will not be able to sleep.]
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[ Psyche summons a little smile as she looks over, though this time she doesn't reach out. Waltaquin really does look more worn than she does, she thinks. Psyche's so often crossed those boundaries about touching her, and coming back to herself today to find Waltaquin hugging her like that... ]
I hope you do. You're not going to tell me what's wrong, are you?
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week 6, tuesday
She walks down to the ocean and stands in its incoming and increasingly threatening tide, not looking over her shoulder but strangely feeling as if she did not come down here alone.
Waltaquin takes off her gloves and throws them to the sand, then sits there.]
What a farce.
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She wants to cry. She wants to run away. But if she's here looking for Waltaquin then it's not that, right? It's still her keeping her promise to Merlin. Moving forward. Wait and hope. She's trying, she's trying, she's trying.
She sinks down to the sand next to Waltaquin with a crooked little smile. ]
It's... a little awkward, isn't it?
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She doesn't care, either way, but the nature of their departures and how they will be received are both different.
Feverish, she dips her hands into the water and hisses at the feel of it.]
No. [Bluntly.] It's more than that. They think they're doing what's necessary and therefore worth their noble compromise, but don't you think it's a little self-important?
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cw: borderline suicidal ideation
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week 6, thursday evening
The thought makes her laugh, softly, as she finally gets to her feet. Even she can't fully explain the mood seizing her as she slides the star-shaped mood ring from Psyche's finger and replaces it with another ring, carefully kept. Does this make it too easy? She half wonders if something in Waltaquin would know her at a glance without such a signal. The challenge might be unfair in the current circumstances, and besides... If she intends to give a proper answer, she may as well dress for the occasion. With that thought in mind she sets out to look for her quarry. ]
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She makes herself neither difficult nor easy to find, hovering at the poolside bar for one final drink. Better to not be sedated tomorrow, and imbibing too much will make her too sleepy, but one is fine.
When Medea does catch her quarry, Waltaquin watches the way she carries herself in the dim night light. Even without her head being filled with the resonance of vengeful screaming, she wouldn't be able to tell at first. So she watches, pondering her gait and her expression and her hands.]
Hahahahaha, is this sentimentality I spy from you, or just a signal?
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[ Of all of the things for Waltaquin to have seen... Medea takes a seat, folding her hands on the bar as she looks over at Waltaquin thoughtfully. How does she read the expression of a woman she's only met twice, once at a time when she now knows she may have no longer been truly herself?
Well. She's never balked at a challenge. ]
You have strange taste, to request an executioner who mocks her victim in their last moments. Is this remorse, or do monsters find company in their kin, do you think?
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