[ Honestly, she should've reached out to him sooner than this to check in. But he's the only other aves she knows and trusts to be at least somewhat candid, so... ]
Emet-Selch, it's Mel. When you've a chance, could you give me a call back? There are a few things I'd like to pick your thoughts about.
[So formal... but it's polite, so who's he to complain? And Mel was one of those people he knew he should check in with- but gods, he is not having a great time with his corruption, and the less chance anyone has to actually see the mess he's in, the better.
Voice is perfect. He can always pretend to be idle and unaffected, though Mel also gets a return of something like politeness.]
Of course. Has a new misfortune arisen, or has some nuance shaded the problems we already know about?
[As he readily assumes that this is of course about something negative.]
Ah, you should've told me you were clairvoyant as well. I wouldn't have needed to bother you.
[ It's said in gentle jest, because... Well, he's got the right of it. Nothing good warrants a phone call these days, either, and the city's had its never-ending share of problems. It's not a difficult guess. ]
I was calling, first, to check in on you. [ And before that seems too vulnerable thing to ask, she follows it with: ] Because these changes have finally caught up with me, and I had a feeling I wasn't alone in that regard.
[That gets her a small laugh. It really didn't take much guessing that all news was bad news.
Even the checking in- it was a reminder that other people existed, potentially going through the same thing, and he didn't have to endure this process on his own, no matter how habit and instinct told him otherwise.]
I assume you've also grown more than a few feathers by now. I'm not acquainted with any other aves, so I've only myself to go on when it comes to progression. It's not exactly been pretty.
They're all over my arms now. Not overly thick yet but...
[ Well, it's only a matter of time. They're dark enough that they can't be hidden unless she wants to wear long sleeves and be terribly uncomfortable for her arms. And now it's summer. Ugh. ]
The legs came in this week, and that's— [ A problem. ] I could have mostly managed with the feathers. And the teeth. ...And the tail. But these?
[If a frown could be audible, Emet-Selch manages it.]
I- they've certainly attempted to grow over my arms, and further than that.
[Attempted. Are still attempting. It's not a concerted or even wholly conscious effort that has seen him ripping his feathers out. Considering it as a bird's reaction to stress only made it worse.]
Your legs came in. [New horror unlocked. There's a careful breath at the other end of the line.] Do you mean the structure has changed, or are you merely enduring the plague of feathers spreading there too? [Merely. But compared to the restructuring of bone and muscle, he would also accept feathers.]
My own legs are generally where I left them. The feet, however, have... turned as grotesque as you might imagine. The scales are still coming in, which has made walking complicated since it's started, neverminding the underlying structural difference.
[Everything was raw and painful, and even when it's done he knows he won't want anyone to see it. And because he hated talking about that part--]
I've also these- ear tufts? They're still in the right place, but there's feathers all over them. A few teeth are sharper. And the tail is a nuisance if I don't keep it short.
[ Attempting...? She doesn't like the sound of that. But she doesn't interrupt him while he speaks, because anything he has to tell her will at least give her an idea of what to expect from her own changes. Beyond the feet, much of what he says hasn't quite come to pass, though — ]
The teeth, yes, those...those have been interesting to get used to. [ But, you know, no beak. So she'll take that. ]
I've not gotten anything involving my ears yet, thankfully. The legs... Up to my knee, things have changed. The entire structure, it's— I don't know how I'm going to be able to hide them at this point. They're too obvious.
[ Even with the dark scales, her gold tattoos haven't fallen away, even though it's technically new skin and flesh and...bone growth? (She doesn't want to consider the bone changes.) ]
But you keep speaking of shortening things— What do you mean by all of that?
[No beak, there was that. When so much was wrong, it was hard to feel grateful for it.
Those legs though... he remembered what the structure was like, when Shifted. Ever since his corruptions had started developing in earnest, he'd stopped Shifting. It hadn't made any difference, but what had been tolerable as a temporary transformation became repulsive as a permanent fixture. His legs hadn't broken themselves into that form yet, and he didn't want to imagine it, but it worried to know that it had happened to any of them.]
Impossible to hide, and difficult to wear anything over them. It's not as though this city is used to catering to people with shapes like ours. [Another sigh.] Whether it's wings or legs, I...
[He pauses, looking over himself as though the damage was new to him, for all that the soreness was constant. What he couldn't see, he could feel. It was more than he remembered somehow. It's after a few too many seconds that he shakes it off and finishes answering.]
I've torn a lot of it out. Unfortunately, that's not a solution that can be easily applied to one's limbs.
No, they don't. And it's only going to get worse as we all come into these changes, little by little...
[ Mel is too much of a cynic to believe anything will get better, but cannot afford to give herself over to despair either. There are only so many clothes she can manage to wear, even with the potential of having tailors to help. It's nice that bird-types seem able to be perceived as pretty Augmented. But there's nothing pretty about the legs and feet, not at all.
If she gets wings on her arms, or on her back...? If these claws get worse? That superficial amicability will be gone.
She is quiet again when he speaks. And when she answers, her tone is quiet with horror. ]
Torn...?
[ How unbearably painful. She can't even imagine it, not when her arms and tail have been so sensitive. Everything is too sensitive, her senses too open, her scales and feathers both resilient and tender, and the thought that he's pulled them out— ]
That sounds excruciating. How are you able to stand doing that?
[Even if the city was more tolerant towards avians, would that still apply when they had all the scales to go with the feathers? All the bodily distortions. All the things that were a little less appropriate, a little more beastly- and he wasn't a brightly-colored bird besides.
Little by little. It had already gone too far, and while he could only guess what the rest of the Augmented looked like, especially those who had been around the longest, it was probably nothing good. Would it ever stop? Was there a point where the bird will have claimed enough, twisted everything it could to suit itself?
Everything was too sensitive, it was true. But he makes a humorless sort of sound at the question.]
How are you able to stand leaving them in place?
[Though there was less deliberation in it than he liked, that was a more difficult thing to admit to. It was better to present it as some active stance taken against the bird, rather than something that just sort of happened, leaving him with points of sharp pain and bleeding.]
[ There's a flush of shame at the question. She knows she should be trying harder to fight — and she does push back against these changes, but pointedly more towards the behaviors that come from it. The desire to roam, to be away, to sing and hum, to eat so much more. To go flying whenever possible. She's had to remind herself she is human and not a creature.
But it's felt impossible to stop the physical aspects of it. ]
I pulled at them in the beginning.
[ When there were literal cracks in her arms, and blood, as new skin and tissue came in. When the first pieces of feathers were just tiny nubs. ]
They kept coming back, and I worried they'd come back in greater numbers if I pulled. I keep having to clip my nails [ talons ] nearly every day now, file them down so they're acceptable. But I think if I spent my time trying to pull them all out, it'd take all day, and would make things worse for me.
[ For her mental state, at least, which is already prone to negativity in the form of cynicism at worst and pragmatism at best. ]
...And, at least for me, I'm around people frequently. And they'd know and see it, and they'd become distraught.
[ So it's partially for them, and partially because they would fuss and cause her more problems, so it's just easier to let things be as best she can, and obfuscate and normalize what she is within her grasp. ]
[The emotional- behavioral- changes were worse than anything he could see. There would be no disagreeing on that front. But they weren't something that could be pulled at. He couldn't pull the second soul away from his own.]
It's not like I dedicate my mornings to it. [He mumbles, somewhat defensively. He was a bedraggled bird rather than a fully-plucked one. It probably looked worse that way, the growths that remained showing where things should have been. And keeping everything covered in this weather was hot, itchy, and additionally irritating.
He'd hidden away more than he should have, perhaps. But when his feet had begun to distort, how was he supposed to get anywhere? It was preferable to deal with everything on his own, and it wasn't like anyone could fix the raw, fragile skin, or make unwanted-yet-protective scales come in any faster. The feather-picking had also picked up at that point, he distantly notes....
He'd had a bit of help since, but the solution remained 'seclusion'. Having anyone from his own star see him this way remained anathema, though he knew he'd have to emerge eventually.]
'Tis not a solution, anyway. I don't know whether they come in thicker than before, [Gods, he hoped not. He'll be a ball of fluff at the end of it.] but they always return.
[...Maybe if the base of them were cauterized, ruined into a condition where nothing could grow, maybe that would work. But given the degree of feather-coverage, the condition afterward wouldn't exactly be any better. And it wouldn't remove the bird, the reason for all these problems.]
I've never been one to put much time towards my nails [Talons.], but it's necessary now, isn't it? They catch on everything otherwise. But how are you faring with the overall... adjustments?
The other soul is insistent. It doesn't want to be lost. [ A sigh. ] I was told by someone that I should try to 'make peace' with the soul, that we might...work together.
[ It sounded foolish and fanciful. How was she supposed to communicate with something that couldn't speak, and without risking the loss of her own soul? Would it even stop the changes or simply hasten them? It just felt like there was too much at stake to try that method. ]
I've worried about the nails, that I might scratch someone unnecessarily. [ And then cause more trouble. ] But it's tedious, and trying to pass off as anything but what I'm becoming adds too much time into the day.
[ Does she still do it? Well, yes. It's not just her reputation or the needs of the Augmented; this has been her habit for years, to make herself into a mirror, so others might not see who she really is. And this bird business is putting cracks in that facade. ]
I'm—
[ Is there any point in hiding it? He, of all people, understands almost exactly what she's going through. She allows her voice a bit of emotion, and it is worry and fear both. ]
It's been a struggle. All of it has been. For every piece that I think I have control over and have adjusted accordingly, something new happens, or I become aware of another piece of this soul's shape. And it's— It's twisting me. I'm making every attempt to keep it together but...I worry something will slip.
[ That it will be her own self-control that falters and there will be dire consequences. ]
[It did sound absurd, an idealistic fancy to work together with the bird. What was there to cooperate with? If his other soul could sense anything from him, it wasn't anything positive or accepting, and he had no interest in trying to change that.
It wasn't the bird's fault they were in this situation; neither of them had asked for this. And yet his resentment towards it had still grown over the months, unchecked. It might be faultless, desperate to survive in its own right, but he couldn't forgive it- and he especially couldn't forgive the people who had turned him into this.]
Working with it sounds the same as giving in to it. To let our claws grow, to spread our wings, to do as our instincts demand of us.
[And yet, what was the point in hiding it? They could trim their nails, cover up some of their feathers, but not everything would fit neatly underneath their clothes. Beyond the potential for inconvenience, Emet-Selch didn't care what the Karterians thought of him- and the opinion of other Augmented was little more important.
But for his own sake, he didn't want to have any of this show. But what was composure- either physical, or behavioral- when it was constantly undermined, eroded away?]
Control had seemed possible, at first. [He finally admits, haltingly. But Mel was clearly going through similar things.] Every day that feels more like a delusion, that I only have a say until that other soul feels differently. Until it wants something, and I can think of nothing other than obeying its instincts.
[So secluding himself and mostly starving hadn't helped, had made the bird that much more ravenous and possessive over food, but he still should have been able to contain it.]
I thought that if I resisted, things would improve, and these changes would die down. But I also thought... Perhaps this was foolish of me, but I didn't realize how the soul could still be alive.
[ Not that she thought it was 'dead' in the terminal sense of the word, but more that it was in a kind of stasis. She's realized in the following weeks and months that even if that were true, its control and ability to assert itself on its host's body weren't to be trifled with. And here they are, neither people nor animals, but something in between. ]
And it becomes more and more difficult to believe that this can be rectified.
[ If they suddenly remove the augmenters, what happens? Suddenly no more feathers, no more claws? She worries it'd be the opposite, and they'd simply die along with the soul. ]
I do what I can to try and manage it because I don't want to slip, even if I recognize it's likely inevitable. [ Accepting the inevitability feels akin to giving up. ] But there has to be a middle ground. We can't hide ourselves away and hope things improve. Nor do I want to live in the forest for the foreseeable future.
I don't know what balance is supposed to look like, though. Not when it feels as if this soul takes and takes, and takes.
It's rarely a distinction that matters, that the soul exists independently of life or death. In any case, it's more awake than any of us had been warned for.
[Possibly because Patho-Gen didn't know. Possibly because they were kept deliberately uninformed, as there might have been some sharper backlash had everyone known more of the downsides of this Augmentation.]
As we are, I don't think this can be rectified. This corruption has nested too deep. [Were the Augmenter removed, and he were in the full possession of his abilities- perhaps he could still excise it. But he had no guarantee that his powers would return, or whether they would return before he was extinguished. If he was killed. They had no proof that death would be the result of a removed Augmenter, only Patho-Gen's word. But no one wanted to be the first one to root around their own neck and be proven wrong.]
--Not that I think it's pointless to try. The only balance I can imagine is to continue fending it off, while knowing it will occasionally win. [A slow exhale of a breath.] Dissatisfying, I know. I'd prefer to sleep my way through waiting for someone to find a better solution.
[Hiding away until things improved. Hiding away while things got worse- it wasn't sustainable, and once his scales finished coming in and he could do more than hobble around, he knew he'd have to go out like this. There was no part of him that looked forward to it.]
[ On her end, there's a quiet sigh. She knows he's right, even if the answer is far from what she'd hoped. The corruption is too deep for them at this point, and there is no guarantee that anything may change it. To ask anyone to try to remove the Augmenter or to take their chances on any other solution would be exceedingly cruel to whomever made the attempt. ]
Some people here have dead souls. I...I find it so hard to consider, that they were given something that may be slowly killing them, and yet—
[ She can't deny the evidence of her eyes, that people like Ace seem to be doing poorly, with no end in sight. ]
I'm not certain what a better solution would look like. We'd said before, finding Katalyth into perpetuity can't be the only thing we can do, or the only reason why we're here. [ So when is the other shoe going to drop?
Mel is quiet for a time. And then, gently: ]
What have you been doing? Besides what you've said, about plucking.
[ She's noticed he's skirted around speaking much of his own situation or where he's been. And far be it for her to pry, but she does want to help if there's something she can do for him that won't feel intrusive. ]
[There was no good news, and plenty of bad. In one way or another, weren't most of them worse off for being here? None of it was surprising.]
I'm sure our captors will let us know when our real purpose is at hand.
[Something other than rock-finding, or protagonist questing work. (Which he had studiously been ignoring, not being a protagonist, after all.) It's not as though their simple presence in this world was doing it any favors. And yet to dwell on what was to come was inviting fruitless paranoia.
There was enough managing of the everyday to deal with. Not that he'd been managing it that well, as her question reminds him of all of... that. There's more quiet after her words.]
Oh, not much. Mostly staying in, waiting for these scales to finish growing so I may resume walking.
[As lightly said as he can make it. It's also true, if downplaying the seclusion into something less pathetic.]
[ Oh, she is certain of that as well. She's beginning to wonder if they aren't priming them for something: forcing Imprints to improve resilience, waiting for their monstrous pieces to develop further so they can be safe as they travel further afield. Anything else, well... She can't linger too long on those pieces, or she might be subsumed in the horror of what could be.
Instead, it's easier to focus on Emet, and the quiet, and everything unspoken. He may not be at the stage of full-fledged bird legs the way she is, but it sounds like he's miserable just the same. And she can't blame him. ]
Would you like some company? Or anything I can bring over?
[ She imagines the answer to the first will be a resounding 'no', and she can't blame that either. The last thing she's wanted has been for people to see her. And yet... ]
Perhaps an odd question, but have you been up to the rooftop of the Valentia at all?
I think I would prefer to rest. These rooms aren't fit to host guests in, regardless.
[So no, but Mel at least gets some politeness. But even if he wasn't as poorly as he'd been at his worst, Emet-Selch was not in a condition for visitors. (A lack of interest in visitors he would claim on any day, which was a wholly separate and malleable thing.) And accepting more charity was... difficult.
So he would hunker down until his feet were passable in use if not in form, and hope nothing else changed in the meantime. Maybe he would try to leave his regrowing feathers alone.]
But no, I've not seen a reason to go up there. Does it have a good view?
[Or would it simply feel better for the bird to be up high, and outside?]
[ And she is not going to get into the shared bathrooms or what passes for food from the cafeteria. If she never sees another dish with gelatin in it, she will be most grateful. Put all of that together for someone who has always enjoyed her privacy and open space — even before this restlessness that overtakes her at times — and it's a terrible concoction. It feels suffocating being at the Valentia.
And they'll have to leave soon, anyway, she supposes. ]
It does. I go up there to draw sometimes.
[ Chalk drawings, since they'll wash away easier. Or to simply sketch in the pad she's gotten. The point being: ]
It's not the same as flying, of course. But it's close enough and far enough removed from people that it feels nice sometimes. And no one else goes up there besides me that I've seen. I won't intrude on you — but perhaps it'd feel nice to have a few hours of space.
[ And perhaps it would mollify that soul of his for a short time, and he can have some peace. ]
[It was an easier thing to complain about, at least. Soon enough he'd also have to nest somewhere else. Even if it ended up being a moldering car, right now he'd have a hard time calling it a downgrade....
It was mildly irritating to consider her suggestion and find it somewhat appealing, and not know whether it was his own restlessness at work, or the bird's that was the primary motivator. But it wouldn't be the worst thing to give into.]
But I might try seeing the roof for myself, one of these days. It will at least be a break from these same walls. Thank you for the idea.
[Whether he caught her drawing or not... but the point would be the space, the elevation. Even maybe the quiet, at the right time of day. People who didn't want to be birds, looking over it all.]
I think you'd enjoy it. And no one would be bothering you.
[ Unless Takasugi goes up there looking for her again; she can't make promises about that. But beyond that one time, no one else has gone when she's headed up, and she thinks she can have reasonable certainty in that, at least. The heat might not be ideal but perhaps he'll enjoy the sun on his feathers, and it might make up for the war in his body and souls. ]
If nothing else, the view is spectacular.
[ Even apart from the bird, she's always enjoyed those kinds of views. It had always been such a pleasure to look out at Piltover from her balcony. It's not all glitter and gold...but she thinks it'll do the trick. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
voicemail.
Emet-Selch, it's Mel. When you've a chance, could you give me a call back? There are a few things I'd like to pick your thoughts about.
[ why does this sound so formal goodness ]
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Voice is perfect. He can always pretend to be idle and unaffected, though Mel also gets a return of something like politeness.]
Of course. Has a new misfortune arisen, or has some nuance shaded the problems we already know about?
[As he readily assumes that this is of course about something negative.]
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[ It's said in gentle jest, because... Well, he's got the right of it. Nothing good warrants a phone call these days, either, and the city's had its never-ending share of problems. It's not a difficult guess. ]
I was calling, first, to check in on you. [ And before that seems too vulnerable thing to ask, she follows it with: ] Because these changes have finally caught up with me, and I had a feeling I wasn't alone in that regard.
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Even the checking in- it was a reminder that other people existed, potentially going through the same thing, and he didn't have to endure this process on his own, no matter how habit and instinct told him otherwise.]
I assume you've also grown more than a few feathers by now. I'm not acquainted with any other aves, so I've only myself to go on when it comes to progression. It's not exactly been pretty.
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[ Well, it's only a matter of time. They're dark enough that they can't be hidden unless she wants to wear long sleeves and be terribly uncomfortable for her arms. And now it's summer. Ugh. ]
The legs came in this week, and that's— [ A problem. ] I could have mostly managed with the feathers. And the teeth. ...And the tail. But these?
[ Awful. ]
How are you faring? Where are your changes at?
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I- they've certainly attempted to grow over my arms, and further than that.
[Attempted. Are still attempting. It's not a concerted or even wholly conscious effort that has seen him ripping his feathers out. Considering it as a bird's reaction to stress only made it worse.]
Your legs came in. [New horror unlocked. There's a careful breath at the other end of the line.] Do you mean the structure has changed, or are you merely enduring the plague of feathers spreading there too? [Merely. But compared to the restructuring of bone and muscle, he would also accept feathers.]
My own legs are generally where I left them. The feet, however, have... turned as grotesque as you might imagine. The scales are still coming in, which has made walking complicated since it's started, neverminding the underlying structural difference.
[Everything was raw and painful, and even when it's done he knows he won't want anyone to see it. And because he hated talking about that part--]
I've also these- ear tufts? They're still in the right place, but there's feathers all over them. A few teeth are sharper. And the tail is a nuisance if I don't keep it short.
[More feather pulling.]
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The teeth, yes, those...those have been interesting to get used to. [ But, you know, no beak. So she'll take that. ]
I've not gotten anything involving my ears yet, thankfully. The legs... Up to my knee, things have changed. The entire structure, it's— I don't know how I'm going to be able to hide them at this point. They're too obvious.
[ Even with the dark scales, her gold tattoos haven't fallen away, even though it's technically new skin and flesh and...bone growth? (She doesn't want to consider the bone changes.) ]
But you keep speaking of shortening things— What do you mean by all of that?
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Those legs though... he remembered what the structure was like, when Shifted. Ever since his corruptions had started developing in earnest, he'd stopped Shifting. It hadn't made any difference, but what had been tolerable as a temporary transformation became repulsive as a permanent fixture. His legs hadn't broken themselves into that form yet, and he didn't want to imagine it, but it worried to know that it had happened to any of them.]
Impossible to hide, and difficult to wear anything over them. It's not as though this city is used to catering to people with shapes like ours. [Another sigh.] Whether it's wings or legs, I...
[He pauses, looking over himself as though the damage was new to him, for all that the soreness was constant. What he couldn't see, he could feel. It was more than he remembered somehow. It's after a few too many seconds that he shakes it off and finishes answering.]
I've torn a lot of it out. Unfortunately, that's not a solution that can be easily applied to one's limbs.
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[ Mel is too much of a cynic to believe anything will get better, but cannot afford to give herself over to despair either. There are only so many clothes she can manage to wear, even with the potential of having tailors to help. It's nice that bird-types seem able to be perceived as pretty Augmented. But there's nothing pretty about the legs and feet, not at all.
If she gets wings on her arms, or on her back...? If these claws get worse? That superficial amicability will be gone.
She is quiet again when he speaks. And when she answers, her tone is quiet with horror. ]
Torn...?
[ How unbearably painful. She can't even imagine it, not when her arms and tail have been so sensitive. Everything is too sensitive, her senses too open, her scales and feathers both resilient and tender, and the thought that he's pulled them out— ]
That sounds excruciating. How are you able to stand doing that?
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Little by little. It had already gone too far, and while he could only guess what the rest of the Augmented looked like, especially those who had been around the longest, it was probably nothing good. Would it ever stop? Was there a point where the bird will have claimed enough, twisted everything it could to suit itself?
Everything was too sensitive, it was true. But he makes a humorless sort of sound at the question.]
How are you able to stand leaving them in place?
[Though there was less deliberation in it than he liked, that was a more difficult thing to admit to. It was better to present it as some active stance taken against the bird, rather than something that just sort of happened, leaving him with points of sharp pain and bleeding.]
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But it's felt impossible to stop the physical aspects of it. ]
I pulled at them in the beginning.
[ When there were literal cracks in her arms, and blood, as new skin and tissue came in. When the first pieces of feathers were just tiny nubs. ]
They kept coming back, and I worried they'd come back in greater numbers if I pulled. I keep having to clip my nails [ talons ] nearly every day now, file them down so they're acceptable. But I think if I spent my time trying to pull them all out, it'd take all day, and would make things worse for me.
[ For her mental state, at least, which is already prone to negativity in the form of cynicism at worst and pragmatism at best. ]
...And, at least for me, I'm around people frequently. And they'd know and see it, and they'd become distraught.
[ So it's partially for them, and partially because they would fuss and cause her more problems, so it's just easier to let things be as best she can, and obfuscate and normalize what she is within her grasp. ]
no subject
It's not like I dedicate my mornings to it. [He mumbles, somewhat defensively. He was a bedraggled bird rather than a fully-plucked one. It probably looked worse that way, the growths that remained showing where things should have been. And keeping everything covered in this weather was hot, itchy, and additionally irritating.
He'd hidden away more than he should have, perhaps. But when his feet had begun to distort, how was he supposed to get anywhere? It was preferable to deal with everything on his own, and it wasn't like anyone could fix the raw, fragile skin, or make unwanted-yet-protective scales come in any faster. The feather-picking had also picked up at that point, he distantly notes....
He'd had a bit of help since, but the solution remained 'seclusion'. Having anyone from his own star see him this way remained anathema, though he knew he'd have to emerge eventually.]
'Tis not a solution, anyway. I don't know whether they come in thicker than before, [Gods, he hoped not. He'll be a ball of fluff at the end of it.] but they always return.
[...Maybe if the base of them were cauterized, ruined into a condition where nothing could grow, maybe that would work. But given the degree of feather-coverage, the condition afterward wouldn't exactly be any better. And it wouldn't remove the bird, the reason for all these problems.]
I've never been one to put much time towards my nails [Talons.], but it's necessary now, isn't it? They catch on everything otherwise. But how are you faring with the overall... adjustments?
[The legs. The instincts. The everything.]
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[ It sounded foolish and fanciful. How was she supposed to communicate with something that couldn't speak, and without risking the loss of her own soul? Would it even stop the changes or simply hasten them? It just felt like there was too much at stake to try that method. ]
I've worried about the nails, that I might scratch someone unnecessarily. [ And then cause more trouble. ] But it's tedious, and trying to pass off as anything but what I'm becoming adds too much time into the day.
[ Does she still do it? Well, yes. It's not just her reputation or the needs of the Augmented; this has been her habit for years, to make herself into a mirror, so others might not see who she really is. And this bird business is putting cracks in that facade. ]
I'm—
[ Is there any point in hiding it? He, of all people, understands almost exactly what she's going through. She allows her voice a bit of emotion, and it is worry and fear both. ]
It's been a struggle. All of it has been. For every piece that I think I have control over and have adjusted accordingly, something new happens, or I become aware of another piece of this soul's shape. And it's— It's twisting me. I'm making every attempt to keep it together but...I worry something will slip.
[ That it will be her own self-control that falters and there will be dire consequences. ]
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It wasn't the bird's fault they were in this situation; neither of them had asked for this. And yet his resentment towards it had still grown over the months, unchecked. It might be faultless, desperate to survive in its own right, but he couldn't forgive it- and he especially couldn't forgive the people who had turned him into this.]
Working with it sounds the same as giving in to it. To let our claws grow, to spread our wings, to do as our instincts demand of us.
[And yet, what was the point in hiding it? They could trim their nails, cover up some of their feathers, but not everything would fit neatly underneath their clothes. Beyond the potential for inconvenience, Emet-Selch didn't care what the Karterians thought of him- and the opinion of other Augmented was little more important.
But for his own sake, he didn't want to have any of this show. But what was composure- either physical, or behavioral- when it was constantly undermined, eroded away?]
Control had seemed possible, at first. [He finally admits, haltingly. But Mel was clearly going through similar things.] Every day that feels more like a delusion, that I only have a say until that other soul feels differently. Until it wants something, and I can think of nothing other than obeying its instincts.
[So secluding himself and mostly starving hadn't helped, had made the bird that much more ravenous and possessive over food, but he still should have been able to contain it.]
Slipping is inevitable.
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[ Not that she thought it was 'dead' in the terminal sense of the word, but more that it was in a kind of stasis. She's realized in the following weeks and months that even if that were true, its control and ability to assert itself on its host's body weren't to be trifled with. And here they are, neither people nor animals, but something in between. ]
And it becomes more and more difficult to believe that this can be rectified.
[ If they suddenly remove the augmenters, what happens? Suddenly no more feathers, no more claws? She worries it'd be the opposite, and they'd simply die along with the soul. ]
I do what I can to try and manage it because I don't want to slip, even if I recognize it's likely inevitable. [ Accepting the inevitability feels akin to giving up. ] But there has to be a middle ground. We can't hide ourselves away and hope things improve. Nor do I want to live in the forest for the foreseeable future.
I don't know what balance is supposed to look like, though. Not when it feels as if this soul takes and takes, and takes.
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[Possibly because Patho-Gen didn't know. Possibly because they were kept deliberately uninformed, as there might have been some sharper backlash had everyone known more of the downsides of this Augmentation.]
As we are, I don't think this can be rectified. This corruption has nested too deep. [Were the Augmenter removed, and he were in the full possession of his abilities- perhaps he could still excise it. But he had no guarantee that his powers would return, or whether they would return before he was extinguished. If he was killed. They had no proof that death would be the result of a removed Augmenter, only Patho-Gen's word. But no one wanted to be the first one to root around their own neck and be proven wrong.]
--Not that I think it's pointless to try. The only balance I can imagine is to continue fending it off, while knowing it will occasionally win. [A slow exhale of a breath.] Dissatisfying, I know. I'd prefer to sleep my way through waiting for someone to find a better solution.
[Hiding away until things improved. Hiding away while things got worse- it wasn't sustainable, and once his scales finished coming in and he could do more than hobble around, he knew he'd have to go out like this. There was no part of him that looked forward to it.]
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Some people here have dead souls. I...I find it so hard to consider, that they were given something that may be slowly killing them, and yet—
[ She can't deny the evidence of her eyes, that people like Ace seem to be doing poorly, with no end in sight. ]
I'm not certain what a better solution would look like. We'd said before, finding Katalyth into perpetuity can't be the only thing we can do, or the only reason why we're here. [ So when is the other shoe going to drop?
Mel is quiet for a time. And then, gently: ]
What have you been doing? Besides what you've said, about plucking.
[ She's noticed he's skirted around speaking much of his own situation or where he's been. And far be it for her to pry, but she does want to help if there's something she can do for him that won't feel intrusive. ]
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I'm sure our captors will let us know when our real purpose is at hand.
[Something other than rock-finding, or protagonist questing work. (Which he had studiously been ignoring, not being a protagonist, after all.) It's not as though their simple presence in this world was doing it any favors. And yet to dwell on what was to come was inviting fruitless paranoia.
There was enough managing of the everyday to deal with. Not that he'd been managing it that well, as her question reminds him of all of... that. There's more quiet after her words.]
Oh, not much. Mostly staying in, waiting for these scales to finish growing so I may resume walking.
[As lightly said as he can make it. It's also true, if downplaying the seclusion into something less pathetic.]
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Instead, it's easier to focus on Emet, and the quiet, and everything unspoken. He may not be at the stage of full-fledged bird legs the way she is, but it sounds like he's miserable just the same. And she can't blame him. ]
Would you like some company? Or anything I can bring over?
[ She imagines the answer to the first will be a resounding 'no', and she can't blame that either. The last thing she's wanted has been for people to see her. And yet... ]
Perhaps an odd question, but have you been up to the rooftop of the Valentia at all?
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[So no, but Mel at least gets some politeness. But even if he wasn't as poorly as he'd been at his worst, Emet-Selch was not in a condition for visitors. (A lack of interest in visitors he would claim on any day, which was a wholly separate and malleable thing.) And accepting more charity was... difficult.
So he would hunker down until his feet were passable in use if not in form, and hope nothing else changed in the meantime. Maybe he would try to leave his regrowing feathers alone.]
But no, I've not seen a reason to go up there. Does it have a good view?
[Or would it simply feel better for the bird to be up high, and outside?]
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[ And she is not going to get into the shared bathrooms or what passes for food from the cafeteria. If she never sees another dish with gelatin in it, she will be most grateful. Put all of that together for someone who has always enjoyed her privacy and open space — even before this restlessness that overtakes her at times — and it's a terrible concoction. It feels suffocating being at the Valentia.
And they'll have to leave soon, anyway, she supposes. ]
It does. I go up there to draw sometimes.
[ Chalk drawings, since they'll wash away easier. Or to simply sketch in the pad she's gotten. The point being: ]
It's not the same as flying, of course. But it's close enough and far enough removed from people that it feels nice sometimes. And no one else goes up there besides me that I've seen. I won't intrude on you — but perhaps it'd feel nice to have a few hours of space.
[ And perhaps it would mollify that soul of his for a short time, and he can have some peace. ]
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[It was an easier thing to complain about, at least. Soon enough he'd also have to nest somewhere else. Even if it ended up being a moldering car, right now he'd have a hard time calling it a downgrade....
It was mildly irritating to consider her suggestion and find it somewhat appealing, and not know whether it was his own restlessness at work, or the bird's that was the primary motivator. But it wouldn't be the worst thing to give into.]
But I might try seeing the roof for myself, one of these days. It will at least be a break from these same walls. Thank you for the idea.
[Whether he caught her drawing or not... but the point would be the space, the elevation. Even maybe the quiet, at the right time of day. People who didn't want to be birds, looking over it all.]
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[ Unless Takasugi goes up there looking for her again; she can't make promises about that. But beyond that one time, no one else has gone when she's headed up, and she thinks she can have reasonable certainty in that, at least. The heat might not be ideal but perhaps he'll enjoy the sun on his feathers, and it might make up for the war in his body and souls. ]
If nothing else, the view is spectacular.
[ Even apart from the bird, she's always enjoyed those kinds of views. It had always been such a pleasure to look out at Piltover from her balcony. It's not all glitter and gold...but she thinks it'll do the trick. ]