No, you wouldn't have. Not in a thousand years, not unless it was dire.
[ She says this firmly, without hesitation. There is no possible way that Pom would take anyone close to Patho-Gen HQ unless he was specifically wanting to show them what he'd told her weeks ago. He wouldn't take anyone there for a fucking experiment. The only solace she has to grasp onto is the idea that there will be signs if something's wrong and to lean into them as best as one can. It doesn't mean it's foolproof but...but she's reminded of the way her feathers twitch, become unsettled, every time there's danger.
It's worth listening to those instincts. She'll need to remember. ]
That they can influence us this deeply is horrifying. I knew they could knock us out but... But to twist our very thoughts...
[There's a sound like he's choking, silence as he holds everything in - his breath as well as his emotions, anxiety and disgust bound together with frustration into a volatile package. Finally, there's a stuttering inhale, forcibly stifled as he tries to keep himself together. He has to: Purl isn't here to pick him up, should he shatter.]
I'd rather die. [He almost chokes again, but continues.] I'd rather die than be used to hurt the people I care about. Used to lure them into a trap, all while thinking it was my idea, what trust I put out there poisoned.
[He's got so little trust to begin with, for himself and for others, be doesn't say it for reassurance. If there is anyone who is aware of that already, it's Mel.]
I just... thought you oughtta know. In case something happens.
[ It's firm despite the horror behind it, the knowledge that while they would know better, Pom is still right; it muddies the water, poisons their bonds. Patho-Gen can take anyone and twist them up and no one would know otherwise. Their trust in each other will be put to the test with this, again and again. How can any of them truly be certain it's their will?
Fear gnaws at her like a snapping, hungry beast. She blows out a quiet breath. ]
Thank you. For warning me. I...
[ I hate that this happened to you. I hate that your trust is tested, again and again, because of these people. ]
I hate them.
[ She's never said such a thing before. She's never felt such an emotion. Mel Medarda doesn't even hate Silco and yet she hates what this place has done to people, what this place will continue to do to each and every one of them. ]
[He nods silently, pulling in another breath that's just as audible as the last. His tone is small, exhausted, yet behind it is a vehemence he tries to control, a spark that threatens to burn him alive if he lets it.]
I think I do, too.
[He hasn't felt that in a while, not truly. The bestial fury of his Natural Soul is one thing, but this is something deeper, something more him than his own skin or chosen name.]
I don't like it. Don't like how it keeps me warm down to my bones. How it makes my heart pound in my chest like it's something to be desired.
[He might struggle with what desire is supposed to feel like, but he knows that much.]
I've never hated anyone or anything. [ She thinks. But when her thoughts travel back to the Black Rose, to Kino and Elora, her thoughts darken. ] And yet, all I can feel is...
[ Agony. Rage. Perhaps she owes Silco and Hubert apologies for acting as though she is above the fire that threatens to consume her. She knows some of this is the other soul, the predator-prey instinct to be so viscerally against that which threatens you. That which threatens others of your flock, your brood. But some of this is her own, something she has to reconcile with. She has never had to taste the bitterness of oppression before, nor the sting of fear around being puppeted. For all that she has experienced with the Black Rose, so much of it was temporary.
Here, it is ever present. It is a reminder of her own cruelty, her failures. She is starting to understand it better. But she knows what Pom speaks of: the warm grip of something like validation when she gives in to the instinct to hunt, to defend, to snap, to tear. ]
No, I... I feel it too. I thought I could contain it if I left it to small bouts of hunting on my own. [ Hunting, not killing. Practice. Or eating something small, as one can. ] This runs so much deeper. I have to catch myself but I find it's happening more and more.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ She says this firmly, without hesitation. There is no possible way that Pom would take anyone close to Patho-Gen HQ unless he was specifically wanting to show them what he'd told her weeks ago. He wouldn't take anyone there for a fucking experiment. The only solace she has to grasp onto is the idea that there will be signs if something's wrong and to lean into them as best as one can. It doesn't mean it's foolproof but...but she's reminded of the way her feathers twitch, become unsettled, every time there's danger.
It's worth listening to those instincts. She'll need to remember. ]
That they can influence us this deeply is horrifying. I knew they could knock us out but... But to twist our very thoughts...
no subject
I'd rather die. [He almost chokes again, but continues.] I'd rather die than be used to hurt the people I care about. Used to lure them into a trap, all while thinking it was my idea, what trust I put out there poisoned.
[He's got so little trust to begin with, for himself and for others, be doesn't say it for reassurance. If there is anyone who is aware of that already, it's Mel.]
I just... thought you oughtta know. In case something happens.
no subject
[ It's firm despite the horror behind it, the knowledge that while they would know better, Pom is still right; it muddies the water, poisons their bonds. Patho-Gen can take anyone and twist them up and no one would know otherwise. Their trust in each other will be put to the test with this, again and again. How can any of them truly be certain it's their will?
Fear gnaws at her like a snapping, hungry beast. She blows out a quiet breath. ]
Thank you. For warning me. I...
[ I hate that this happened to you. I hate that your trust is tested, again and again, because of these people. ]
I hate them.
[ She's never said such a thing before. She's never felt such an emotion. Mel Medarda doesn't even hate Silco and yet she hates what this place has done to people, what this place will continue to do to each and every one of them. ]
no subject
I think I do, too.
[He hasn't felt that in a while, not truly. The bestial fury of his Natural Soul is one thing, but this is something deeper, something more him than his own skin or chosen name.]
I don't like it. Don't like how it keeps me warm down to my bones. How it makes my heart pound in my chest like it's something to be desired.
[He might struggle with what desire is supposed to feel like, but he knows that much.]
no subject
[ Agony. Rage. Perhaps she owes Silco and Hubert apologies for acting as though she is above the fire that threatens to consume her. She knows some of this is the other soul, the predator-prey instinct to be so viscerally against that which threatens you. That which threatens others of your flock, your brood. But some of this is her own, something she has to reconcile with. She has never had to taste the bitterness of oppression before, nor the sting of fear around being puppeted. For all that she has experienced with the Black Rose, so much of it was temporary.
Here, it is ever present. It is a reminder of her own cruelty, her failures. She is starting to understand it better. But she knows what Pom speaks of: the warm grip of something like validation when she gives in to the instinct to hunt, to defend, to snap, to tear. ]
No, I... I feel it too. I thought I could contain it if I left it to small bouts of hunting on my own. [ Hunting, not killing. Practice. Or eating something small, as one can. ] This runs so much deeper. I have to catch myself but I find it's happening more and more.