[Not long after this visit with Palamedes, Pom's at Mel's door. She's the person with connections, he reasons: she's the one working on the Augmented charity cases, keeping her eyes and ears open for how she can help others, trying to make them look good in the eyes of the city. She should know about this - someone else should know about this, just in case what happened to Astarion happens to someone else... or happens to him.
He can't stop thinking about it; he grinds a bone chip to dust between his teeth as he knocks. It's not a good look, but neither is the rest of him: he's a little disheveled today, frazzled, exhaustion and anxiety wearing equally on his frame.]
You in? It's important. Maybe. Hell, I don't know.
Even before he's come to the door, it's like she can sense Pom's around. It's not smell, not exactly, but it's that bit of aves sense that says there's a predator. And she only has enough time to actually recognize that at all when he's knocking and she can hear his voice. The window's open on the second floor where she is, so she calls down before she leaves: ]
I'm here. Hold on.
[ It's no time at all until she's at the door. There's an edge in his voice she doesn't like and once she opens that barrier separating them, she can see it on his face. ]
[He's riled up about what happened all over again. Maybe he shouldn't have told Pal; maybe he shouldn't tell Mel either, in case it puts a target on their backs. He may already have one and just not know without his second set of eyes always watching, always looking out for him. The paranoia claws its way up his spine, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep it out.]
Sorry.
[As he steps inside, his expression softens, evens out as he buries his worst impulses down. Though he promised to be more honest with her, bad habits die hard.]
Been talking to Pal. Palamedes. [You know, that guy. Everyone's friend. A Valued Colleague.]
[ Her eyes are searching his face, looking over those parts that seem out of place, the heaviness. She doesn't point any of them out now that he's said he isn't hurt but they both are the type to wave away the concerns of others. Mel tips her head just slightly when he apologizes. ]
Don't, it's all right. Come sit and tell me what's happened.
[ They don't have much in the way of furniture (still) but there's a couch in the living room, and it looks new enough and plenty comfortable. Mel stays standing for the moment, less unwilling to join him if he sits and more that she's concerned enough.
I know him. [ The lilt at the end of the word, like an unintentional note of music, is fond. Then concerned. ] What were you two talking about?
[ Clearly Palamedes is all right or he'd have said something. But still. ]
[He does sit this time around, gnawing a hole in his lip as he does. Whatever is on his mind has apparently been eating him alive, and talking about it with Pal only aggravated his nerves.]
He was asking about this lady who's gone missing, and I- I thought we went home. I thought folks who vanished from here went home or were killed out in the wilds.
[He might want to start at the beginning, but he's uncharacteristically frazzled, anxious. He runs a hand through his hair, dislodging one of his long, floppy ears; the jeweled earring hanging from his ear lobe has a feather on it now. As he goes to tuck it back into his hair, his hand pauses over the accessory, a tremble running the length of his entire limb as another terrible thought enters his mind. He has too many of those up there these days, and no Purl to sort them out - hence why he's here.]
[ She can practically feel the roil of agitation in him even when it's plain to see in his fussing, the worry in his frame. It's when she sees that tremble in his hands that Mel finally comes to crouch in front of him so she can reach for his other hand. It's easier to do something like this with these damnable bird legs now, to squat. Irritating, but it allows her to remain in front of him and see all of him, and to hold that space for him. ]
Maria, I'm guessing. He and I briefly spoke on it.
[ It's that last part that strikes her. I thought folks who vanished from here went home. He doesn't elaborate from there but she's sensing the thread and it fills her with a rapidly escalating dread. ]
[He's in no place to talk about physical changes, his long ear still covered by his hand, the earring protected behind the barrier of his fingers as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded. As Mel takes his hand, his eyes refocus on her, the glow of them behind his glasses sharp, tinged with fear. He swallows the knot in his throat, trying to put his thoughts into a coherent answer.]
They don't—
[He pushes the air from his lungs in a sudden huff through his nostrils, his teeth grinding as he loses hold of what he's trying to say. The image he's painted in his mind as to what could be happening to Maria — to Astarion, to anyone else who has vanished — hits too close to home, to years and times he'd rather forget. He tries again, knowing he's getting ahead of himself, his anxiety still tangled around him like a snare, ropes cutting off his windpipe.]
She's in their headquarters. Patho-Gen's. Down in the labs somewhere, same as Astarion. He got- hauled there after he lost control. Turned into this snake wyvern or somethin'. Whatever his Soul is.
[ Mel holds his gaze, unafraid of the glow. What worries her most is the unassailable fear in his eyes. She waits patiently for his answer but his hand is cupped in both of hers, attempting at a steadying calm.
She needn't have bothered. What he tells her knocks the breath from her lungs. It's visible in her expression as her mouth slightly opens; it's in the unfolding horror in her eyes, something gold-tinged slipping into the color. The information comes bit by bit, her mind trying to latch onto something, anything that will prevent her heart from bottoming out. Someone lost control. Patho-Gen took people. They're still here in the headquarters, in the labs.
It's not as though she hasn't considered the possibility. It's that it confirms her deepest fears. ]
When—
[ Her voice sounds strangled and she struggles to keep it under control. Mel tries again. ]
When did this happen to Astarion? When did you... Did they see you?
[His eyes squeeze shut for a second time; it serves to help him recall the details while blocking out the world so that he may focus on stifling his rising panic. His teeth ache as he struggles to get it under control, but with a deep breath, he manages.
His fingers in Mel's hands curl around one of hers, gripping it as though it were a lifeline.]
Yeah. Yeah, they saw me. Gale and I saw it happen, about ten days ago. They didn't give us the answers I wanted then, so I tracked him back to the labs. They said his Augmenter failed. Wasn't fixable. That he's gone, and I didn't need to be concerned about him. And now Maria's down there too, and a couple of other scents I recognize.
[ Both Gale and Pom. Shit. The initial worry around that will have to wait, even if some of her wants to cling to what she can do in the moment rather than to reflect on the horror he's shared. Her one hand closes over his gently; the one in his grip, however, hold his own tightly, a betrayal of her rising fear in answer to his own.
The Augmenter failed. Wasn't fixable. Gone, don't need to be concerned.
It takes all of Mel's willpower to hold herself as still as a statue and not to allow herself to slip under the sway of terror that claws at her throat. When she speaks again, her voice is strained and soft. ]
Do you know if they're alive?
[ She doesn't know if it'd be discernible. But there is a marked difference between people being held as prisoners (or being kept caged because they have lost control) and their corpses being held away from prying eyes. One of these outcomes is a hopeful one, even if impossible. The other outcome, though... ]
[The shift in Mel's tone is impossible for Pom to miss, even as she tries to mask it. His eyes lower themselves to the floor, lodging somewhere between them.]
Can't tell. If they're dead, their bodies are still in there. And if they're not dead, then—
[His teeth clack together, mouth forced shut as his nose wrinkles, his breath unsteady. He'd lower his head further were it possible, the fingers alongside his face pressing into his temple, the earring beneath his palm brushing against him - it offers him no comfort. The hand within Mel's grasp trembles again, and he tries to pull it from her as his worst fears escape finally him.]
If they ain't dead, then they're locked back there, trapped in their own bodies. In a cage either way. Don't know which is worse. Is that that's gonna happen to all of us?
[ Pom can slide his hand away with ease; Mel feels the tug and releases him, though her hands stay there for another fraction of a moment before pulling back to settle on her knees. Her gaze lands somewhere over his shoulder, that he might not feel the full weight of her gaze…and so he can’t accidentally see her eyes brightly awash in emotion.
She can’t even answer his question. To confirm it would be to give in to despair; to deny it feels delusional. His question is one she’s asked herself countless times over without any proof until this moment. ]
We can’t allow it to.
[ It’s said gently, though there’s a thread of her own terror in the undercurrent. She rejects it when she speaks again, clearing her voice to sound stronger, if only for him. ]
We don’t know why this happened to them. We need to, so we can prevent it within ourselves. We have to help one another and stay connected. I don’t know when Astarion or Maria last spoke to anyone… [ But if it’s anything like with what happened to Pom, then she knows prolonged lack of contact, especially in the forest, can make things so much worse.
She frowns. ]
…And we need real answers. We have to try and help them.
[ Even if that means letting them go. Her heart stutters, wrenching in her chest. How can she even think of that? How can she even consider… Mel looks away, ashamed. Her throat closes up for several moments before she can speak again. ]
[Stay connected. Pom's mind can't help but go back to the woods, to his prolonged, solitary exposure, to what it did to him. It's been on his mind since they lost Astarion, an incident that, on the surface, is all too similar to what happened to him. Pom's saving grace was that Mel got to him before Patho-Gen did.
Was that the difference? That he had others looking out for him, and Astarion didn't? And thinking back, was his interference all that kept Gale from being taken when he'd lumbered into the kitchens as a beast? How close were they, at any given moment, to losing themselves entirely?
Though he searches Mel's expression for answers, Pom finds no more than the ones she's already given. They have to stay together, stay connected. It was Purl who kept him human back home; it must be his Imprints who serve that role here.]
Yeah.
[He pulls in a breath.]
I want to know what's going on in those labs. What happened to them. Get them out of there, one way or another. If it were me in there, I'd...
[He feels a twist in his chest. While one hand goes from his earring to rubbing a spot on it, between his heart and shoulder on the right side, the other curls into a fist. His voice shakes, no matter how hard he tries to steady it. Some might consider being caged, but alive, to be the better option; Pom is not one of those people, and if his voice says anything, it's that he speaks from raw, painful experience.]
If we find out those people are no longer who they were, then I'll do what I have to do. And I'm gonna need you to swear you'll do the same if it ever comes to that for me.
[ She knows it isn't much of an answer. She also knows that the probability that they will all make it through this unscathed (beyond what's been done to them already) is exceedingly low. But to abandon all hope, to deliver such a cynical view on someone already struggling is...exceedingly cruel. And in truth, she wants to believe there's a chance they can survive all of this. It's the only bit of naivety she will allow herself in this moment because she thinks if she gives in to the worst of her cynicism, she will come undone.
Jayce and Viktor need her to be strong. Pom needs her to be strong. If she believed he could come back from what he did, why can't she try to believe in that for others as well?
Mel turns back to his face now. Pom's voice shakes with emotion she can't name, something that runs so far deeper than the fear he's brought to lay at her feet like the fresh kill it is. And as she pages back to the things he's said to her, the allusions... She doesn't know the truth but she can guess he's seen it before. Heard of it before. Known it. It doesn't stop her eyes from going wide from the insistence. ]
Pom.
[ After everything, after all she'd done to try and save him, he would have her not try again? ]
What if we don't know? What happened to you before— You'd have me give up on getting you back?
[His teeth grind as he bites back a sharp reaction and the even sharper emotion that accompanies it; on his chest, his fingers push into the old scar, the ache there sharper still.]
There was still something of me left, even if I didn't see it. You dragged me out of that madness, whether I wanted it or not. When we saw Astarion, he didn't hesitate for even a second. It's like he wasn't even there.
[Even Gale, his friend from before coming to Karteria, hadn't been able to reach him. Hell, Pom has met a monsters on the field that regarded him with more familiarity than the thing that had once been Astarion did.
His voice lowers with the rumblings of a growl, one he fails to contain.]
If they really are lost to us and their Augmenters ain't fixable, then there's no point in keeping them alive, lettin' them be a danger to others and themselves. So if it turns out Patho-Gen is keeping them back there despite all that, then there's a reason. And I don't care what it is - it ain't right.
[ Deep within her, she has always known this was the answer. She has thought to herself before that if she lost her mind, if she was lost to all reason and a danger to others, what would she prefer for people to do? Would she want them to hold her like a bird in a cage and hope she might be lucid one day? Would she want them to risk themselves in a vain attempt to get her back? It's not always been about the Augmenter or the soul, either; what if her magic twisted her, changed her, made her into something like the Black Rose? What if they came for her and corrupted her beyond all reckoning?
In truth, she would prefer to be put down. She would prefer that someone would understand that she would never want to live as a monster capable of harming others.
Mel reaches out and touches his arm. It's a barely-there thing, her claws held close to her palm so she doesn't harm him or his clothes. It takes a long moment for her to meet his gaze again. ]
When we find them... [ When, not if. ] When we find them, we'll set them free, one way or another. [ Whether that is opening their shackles or taking their lives. ]
And if it's what you want and what you think is best...then I will do the same for you if that day comes. I promise you I'll do what's necessary.
[ Her eyes sting. She bites down on the emotion. ]
Please promise to do the same for me, no matter what I look like. No matter what you think of me when that day comes. I don't... [ A pause. A breath. ] I don't want to hurt anyone.
[Her touch is feather-light, but it burns against him all the same, latent guilt boiling hot and heavy in his gut. He'd had to draw his weapon on Astarion, fight him as though he were any other monster in the field. Though the fact that he was a person had given Pom pause, he can't allow himself that with Mel. For all he knows he might be the only one willing to put her down when it comes right to it. He's almost certain Northly or Gale wouldn't do the same to him, would let their attachment to him get in the way. That vulnerability is dangerous; that's as true as it's ever been.]
I promise. Swear it on Purl's name. The real trick is going to be dealing with those left behind.
[A quiet sigh.]
If anything does happen to me — down the road, while we're trying to free these folks, whenever — you should tell Gale and Northly. They'd worry. They'd wonder. They're the ones most grateful for what you did for me.
[ The idea of having to face Gale and Northly sends a terrible feeling through her stomach. Like with Pom when she forced the Imprint, that same worry comes back: that such an action would irreparably damage what relationship she could ever have with either of them. And yet, she has to hold to this promise, as she asks the same of him. There is nothing else she can do.
Yet, she’s all the more aware that in one hand, she helped keep Pom alive…and in her other hand, she may be the one holding his life in her hands. Mel’s gaze is steely to prevent more emotion from welling up, and she nods. ]
If it happens, I’ll tell them. We’ll make ample preparations.
[ She’ll ensure there is a way for Jayce and Viktor to know, too, if she decides to go looking for people in Patho-Gen. Her gaze finds Pom’s. ]
We have to do what we can, first, to try to prevent that for all of us. While we might not be able to affect the Augmenter, we should try to discover if there was anything preceding what happened. If there are ways we can soothe the souls within us to prevent the worst of it.
[ The Imprint, likely. She can only assume that is what will keep them stable, and the idea sickens her. ]
[Pom hms to himself, his mind on the same page. His eyes fall to his hands.]
Letting it out helps, but it doesn't last long. Only thing that's quieted my Soul down is being with others. Imprints.
[And that's been difficult to accept, given his intense need for privacy and distrust of people in general. His brow knits; he hates considering that he might have been going about this the wrong way this entire time.]
Then you got folks like Viktor, who get along with his. Someone else suggested letting them merge, blending ourselves and the Souls until there ain't much of a distinction.
Because comfort without action, without resolution, doesn't often leave a lasting mark. [ In some situations, certainly it does, but not like this. ] The Imprints are...
[ A problem. A boon. Too vulnerable. ]
They help, I can't deny that. But it's...difficult. It rankles you too, doesn't it?
[ Again, a stab of guilt. It's quieter this time, though she doesn't think it will ever go away. Pom had others before her but she still shouldn't have put him in a situation where it added to his difficulties.
About Viktor, well. She has to hum about that, considering. ]
Others have suggested the same to me. That cooperating with the other soul would make things easier. But it... I can't. Not if there's a chance I'll lose myself.
[ And what about that other soul? Does it even want to be so close? What if her own soul snuffs it out, devours it? It seems cruel. ]
[He pushes a sigh from deep in his chest as Mel cuts right to the heart of the matter on all fronts.]
I can't risk it, either. Can't risk losing myself to this other Soul... or to the Imprinting. I don't—
[The words stick in his throat, and it takes another breath to get them out. 'Difficult' is a kinder word than he'd use for it.]
I don't want to be... controlled in some way. And I know the Imprinting ain't like that, but it feels like it sometimes. Like I can't help myself with them - like I'd do anything they asked, no matter how loathsome. And the whole time, that other Soul in me wants it too, and I don't know where what it wants ends and what I want begins.
[ Because she does. It's the tightrope they're all walking but it's one the both of them are most keenly aware of. Ignore one's Imprints and lose themselves to madness; give in and find themselves at the mercy of what happens to those people, but possibly to be subsumed in the other soul's whimsies. The line between what is real and what is pantomimed in a phantom bond becomes murky. Often, she wonders if some of these alliances and friendships — she supposes that's what they can be called — are real.
It rails against something deep in her chest, deeper than that other soul. It beckons claws around her fragile heart and threatens to squeeze.
If these are all lies, then how many people has she manipulated to aid her, to be friendly to her, to be by her side? How many people is she lying to? And when will they leave, so she can be alone (and lonely) once more? ]
It's a mess. Everything's too tangled. [ She rises and comes to sit beside him on the couch, still maintaining enough distance to not touch, but close enough to reach with no trouble at all. ] I start to question what's real. If all of this is just fabricated and if I'm tugging people along by strings.
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He can't stop thinking about it; he grinds a bone chip to dust between his teeth as he knocks. It's not a good look, but neither is the rest of him: he's a little disheveled today, frazzled, exhaustion and anxiety wearing equally on his frame.]
You in? It's important. Maybe. Hell, I don't know.
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Even before he's come to the door, it's like she can sense Pom's around. It's not smell, not exactly, but it's that bit of aves sense that says there's a predator. And she only has enough time to actually recognize that at all when he's knocking and she can hear his voice. The window's open on the second floor where she is, so she calls down before she leaves: ]
I'm here. Hold on.
[ It's no time at all until she's at the door. There's an edge in his voice she doesn't like and once she opens that barrier separating them, she can see it on his face. ]
Come in. Are you all right? Are you hurt?
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[He's riled up about what happened all over again. Maybe he shouldn't have told Pal; maybe he shouldn't tell Mel either, in case it puts a target on their backs. He may already have one and just not know without his second set of eyes always watching, always looking out for him. The paranoia claws its way up his spine, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep it out.]
Sorry.
[As he steps inside, his expression softens, evens out as he buries his worst impulses down. Though he promised to be more honest with her, bad habits die hard.]
Been talking to Pal. Palamedes. [You know, that guy. Everyone's friend. A Valued Colleague.]
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Don't, it's all right. Come sit and tell me what's happened.
[ They don't have much in the way of furniture (still) but there's a couch in the living room, and it looks new enough and plenty comfortable. Mel stays standing for the moment, less unwilling to join him if he sits and more that she's concerned enough.
I know him. [ The lilt at the end of the word, like an unintentional note of music, is fond. Then concerned. ] What were you two talking about?
[ Clearly Palamedes is all right or he'd have said something. But still. ]
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He was asking about this lady who's gone missing, and I- I thought we went home. I thought folks who vanished from here went home or were killed out in the wilds.
[He might want to start at the beginning, but he's uncharacteristically frazzled, anxious. He runs a hand through his hair, dislodging one of his long, floppy ears; the jeweled earring hanging from his ear lobe has a feather on it now. As he goes to tuck it back into his hair, his hand pauses over the accessory, a tremble running the length of his entire limb as another terrible thought enters his mind. He has too many of those up there these days, and no Purl to sort them out - hence why he's here.]
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Maria, I'm guessing. He and I briefly spoke on it.
[ It's that last part that strikes her. I thought folks who vanished from here went home. He doesn't elaborate from there but she's sensing the thread and it fills her with a rapidly escalating dread. ]
What did you find?
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They don't—
[He pushes the air from his lungs in a sudden huff through his nostrils, his teeth grinding as he loses hold of what he's trying to say. The image he's painted in his mind as to what could be happening to Maria — to Astarion, to anyone else who has vanished — hits too close to home, to years and times he'd rather forget. He tries again, knowing he's getting ahead of himself, his anxiety still tangled around him like a snare, ropes cutting off his windpipe.]
She's in their headquarters. Patho-Gen's. Down in the labs somewhere, same as Astarion. He got- hauled there after he lost control. Turned into this snake wyvern or somethin'. Whatever his Soul is.
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She needn't have bothered. What he tells her knocks the breath from her lungs. It's visible in her expression as her mouth slightly opens; it's in the unfolding horror in her eyes, something gold-tinged slipping into the color. The information comes bit by bit, her mind trying to latch onto something, anything that will prevent her heart from bottoming out. Someone lost control. Patho-Gen took people. They're still here in the headquarters, in the labs.
It's not as though she hasn't considered the possibility. It's that it confirms her deepest fears. ]
When—
[ Her voice sounds strangled and she struggles to keep it under control. Mel tries again. ]
When did this happen to Astarion? When did you... Did they see you?
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His fingers in Mel's hands curl around one of hers, gripping it as though it were a lifeline.]
Yeah. Yeah, they saw me. Gale and I saw it happen, about ten days ago. They didn't give us the answers I wanted then, so I tracked him back to the labs. They said his Augmenter failed. Wasn't fixable. That he's gone, and I didn't need to be concerned about him. And now Maria's down there too, and a couple of other scents I recognize.
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The Augmenter failed. Wasn't fixable. Gone, don't need to be concerned.
It takes all of Mel's willpower to hold herself as still as a statue and not to allow herself to slip under the sway of terror that claws at her throat. When she speaks again, her voice is strained and soft. ]
Do you know if they're alive?
[ She doesn't know if it'd be discernible. But there is a marked difference between people being held as prisoners (or being kept caged because they have lost control) and their corpses being held away from prying eyes. One of these outcomes is a hopeful one, even if impossible. The other outcome, though... ]
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Can't tell. If they're dead, their bodies are still in there. And if they're not dead, then—
[His teeth clack together, mouth forced shut as his nose wrinkles, his breath unsteady. He'd lower his head further were it possible, the fingers alongside his face pressing into his temple, the earring beneath his palm brushing against him - it offers him no comfort. The hand within Mel's grasp trembles again, and he tries to pull it from her as his worst fears escape finally him.]
If they ain't dead, then they're locked back there, trapped in their own bodies. In a cage either way. Don't know which is worse. Is that that's gonna happen to all of us?
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She can’t even answer his question. To confirm it would be to give in to despair; to deny it feels delusional. His question is one she’s asked herself countless times over without any proof until this moment. ]
We can’t allow it to.
[ It’s said gently, though there’s a thread of her own terror in the undercurrent. She rejects it when she speaks again, clearing her voice to sound stronger, if only for him. ]
We don’t know why this happened to them. We need to, so we can prevent it within ourselves. We have to help one another and stay connected. I don’t know when Astarion or Maria last spoke to anyone… [ But if it’s anything like with what happened to Pom, then she knows prolonged lack of contact, especially in the forest, can make things so much worse.
She frowns. ]
…And we need real answers. We have to try and help them.
[ Even if that means letting them go. Her heart stutters, wrenching in her chest. How can she even think of that? How can she even consider… Mel looks away, ashamed. Her throat closes up for several moments before she can speak again. ]
We have to keep trying.
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Was that the difference? That he had others looking out for him, and Astarion didn't? And thinking back, was his interference all that kept Gale from being taken when he'd lumbered into the kitchens as a beast? How close were they, at any given moment, to losing themselves entirely?
Though he searches Mel's expression for answers, Pom finds no more than the ones she's already given. They have to stay together, stay connected. It was Purl who kept him human back home; it must be his Imprints who serve that role here.]
Yeah.
[He pulls in a breath.]
I want to know what's going on in those labs. What happened to them. Get them out of there, one way or another. If it were me in there, I'd...
[He feels a twist in his chest. While one hand goes from his earring to rubbing a spot on it, between his heart and shoulder on the right side, the other curls into a fist. His voice shakes, no matter how hard he tries to steady it. Some might consider being caged, but alive, to be the better option; Pom is not one of those people, and if his voice says anything, it's that he speaks from raw, painful experience.]
If we find out those people are no longer who they were, then I'll do what I have to do. And I'm gonna need you to swear you'll do the same if it ever comes to that for me.
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Jayce and Viktor need her to be strong. Pom needs her to be strong. If she believed he could come back from what he did, why can't she try to believe in that for others as well?
Mel turns back to his face now. Pom's voice shakes with emotion she can't name, something that runs so far deeper than the fear he's brought to lay at her feet like the fresh kill it is. And as she pages back to the things he's said to her, the allusions... She doesn't know the truth but she can guess he's seen it before. Heard of it before. Known it. It doesn't stop her eyes from going wide from the insistence. ]
Pom.
[ After everything, after all she'd done to try and save him, he would have her not try again? ]
What if we don't know? What happened to you before— You'd have me give up on getting you back?
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There was still something of me left, even if I didn't see it. You dragged me out of that madness, whether I wanted it or not. When we saw Astarion, he didn't hesitate for even a second. It's like he wasn't even there.
[Even Gale, his friend from before coming to Karteria, hadn't been able to reach him. Hell, Pom has met a monsters on the field that regarded him with more familiarity than the thing that had once been Astarion did.
His voice lowers with the rumblings of a growl, one he fails to contain.]
If they really are lost to us and their Augmenters ain't fixable, then there's no point in keeping them alive, lettin' them be a danger to others and themselves. So if it turns out Patho-Gen is keeping them back there despite all that, then there's a reason. And I don't care what it is - it ain't right.
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In truth, she would prefer to be put down. She would prefer that someone would understand that she would never want to live as a monster capable of harming others.
Mel reaches out and touches his arm. It's a barely-there thing, her claws held close to her palm so she doesn't harm him or his clothes. It takes a long moment for her to meet his gaze again. ]
When we find them... [ When, not if. ] When we find them, we'll set them free, one way or another. [ Whether that is opening their shackles or taking their lives. ]
And if it's what you want and what you think is best...then I will do the same for you if that day comes. I promise you I'll do what's necessary.
[ Her eyes sting. She bites down on the emotion. ]
Please promise to do the same for me, no matter what I look like. No matter what you think of me when that day comes. I don't... [ A pause. A breath. ] I don't want to hurt anyone.
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That vulnerability is dangerous; that's as true as it's ever been.]
I promise. Swear it on Purl's name. The real trick is going to be dealing with those left behind.
[A quiet sigh.]
If anything does happen to me — down the road, while we're trying to free these folks, whenever — you should tell Gale and Northly. They'd worry. They'd wonder. They're the ones most grateful for what you did for me.
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Yet, she’s all the more aware that in one hand, she helped keep Pom alive…and in her other hand, she may be the one holding his life in her hands. Mel’s gaze is steely to prevent more emotion from welling up, and she nods. ]
If it happens, I’ll tell them. We’ll make ample preparations.
[ She’ll ensure there is a way for Jayce and Viktor to know, too, if she decides to go looking for people in Patho-Gen. Her gaze finds Pom’s. ]
We have to do what we can, first, to try to prevent that for all of us. While we might not be able to affect the Augmenter, we should try to discover if there was anything preceding what happened. If there are ways we can soothe the souls within us to prevent the worst of it.
[ The Imprint, likely. She can only assume that is what will keep them stable, and the idea sickens her. ]
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Letting it out helps, but it doesn't last long. Only thing that's quieted my Soul down is being with others. Imprints.
[And that's been difficult to accept, given his intense need for privacy and distrust of people in general. His brow knits; he hates considering that he might have been going about this the wrong way this entire time.]
Then you got folks like Viktor, who get along with his. Someone else suggested letting them merge, blending ourselves and the Souls until there ain't much of a distinction.
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[ A problem. A boon. Too vulnerable. ]
They help, I can't deny that. But it's...difficult. It rankles you too, doesn't it?
[ Again, a stab of guilt. It's quieter this time, though she doesn't think it will ever go away. Pom had others before her but she still shouldn't have put him in a situation where it added to his difficulties.
About Viktor, well. She has to hum about that, considering. ]
Others have suggested the same to me. That cooperating with the other soul would make things easier. But it... I can't. Not if there's a chance I'll lose myself.
[ And what about that other soul? Does it even want to be so close? What if her own soul snuffs it out, devours it? It seems cruel. ]
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I can't risk it, either. Can't risk losing myself to this other Soul... or to the Imprinting. I don't—
[The words stick in his throat, and it takes another breath to get them out. 'Difficult' is a kinder word than he'd use for it.]
I don't want to be... controlled in some way. And I know the Imprinting ain't like that, but it feels like it sometimes. Like I can't help myself with them - like I'd do anything they asked, no matter how loathsome. And the whole time, that other Soul in me wants it too, and I don't know where what it wants ends and what I want begins.
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[ Because she does. It's the tightrope they're all walking but it's one the both of them are most keenly aware of. Ignore one's Imprints and lose themselves to madness; give in and find themselves at the mercy of what happens to those people, but possibly to be subsumed in the other soul's whimsies. The line between what is real and what is pantomimed in a phantom bond becomes murky. Often, she wonders if some of these alliances and friendships — she supposes that's what they can be called — are real.
It rails against something deep in her chest, deeper than that other soul. It beckons claws around her fragile heart and threatens to squeeze.
If these are all lies, then how many people has she manipulated to aid her, to be friendly to her, to be by her side? How many people is she lying to? And when will they leave, so she can be alone (and lonely) once more? ]
It's a mess. Everything's too tangled. [ She rises and comes to sit beside him on the couch, still maintaining enough distance to not touch, but close enough to reach with no trouble at all. ] I start to question what's real. If all of this is just fabricated and if I'm tugging people along by strings.