[Well, shit. That's. . . not the worst memory he could have given him, but it was close! It was close! He takes a second, looks back at him worriedly, steps forward to put a hand on his shoulder.]
[Surely there's nothing worse out there. Surely nothing even more terrible happens with the guy who's wearing his face like a costume and using every one of those horrible eyes to great effect.
He's just backing up until he hits a wall, so Caleb will be able to catch up quickly enough, but Molly isn't really paying much attention to him - or maybe can't even hear him through the red-hot pounding in his ears. The nauseating feeling of recognition, familiarity. Of course he knows who that is. It doesn't take much of a reach back into those locked away memories to recognize your own face. He's starting to look less spooked and more terrified.]
... Who the fuck is that.
[It isn't really a question. He knows the answer.]
[He does remember, but that all came out so badly! Mollymauk is many things but not a person who voluntarily puts his hand on a hot stove twice. Maybe. Maybe he is.
He just nods, slowly, arms crossed tightly and claws digging into the sleeves of his coat. He's still just wearing that, despite the cold - maybe haven given into the weather the tiniest bit by adding another layer underneath it and a loose scarf, some gloves, but not much else.]
[He frowns at him for a moment, unsure what to do, and then unwraps his scarf and wraps it around his neck. Why, even. But he doesn't have much idea how to comfort people and his cat is back in the dorm.]
And he is, but you are not. . . responsible for him. You are not him.
[Why. It's sweet, but why. He'd have accepted anything though, including a slap across the face. His arms are still crossed, and he attempts a smile, crooked, mostly a grimace instead.]
Yeah. I know that. I'm dead. [A joke. Or a very bad attempt at one.]
You are. [It's not really a joking matter, but it's true.] You're gone, and this person exists in your place, and unfortunately we did spend a little bit of time in his company, so there's more to see you might dislike seeing.
[Including the fact that he's not gone, not entirely, but that. . . he hopes that doesn't come up. It's frankly nightmareish.]
[If he didn't feel like a living ghost before, he does now. Right here. It's a bit pathetic, but he just lets his back slide down the wall, the attempt at the half-cocked grin getting a little more manic.]
Suppose that's only fair. I abandoned the body. By any rules I put up, it's his now. Fuck.
[There's a definite crack in his voice at this, desperately trying to keep an even tone, but it's clear this is beyond his worst nightmare. If he thought be recognized for someone else in a bar was bad, this is that feeling cranked to 11. He presses his hands against his eyes until his vision goes red, then white and then stops, giving a wheezy, shaking laugh.]
That's why you were-- That's why Beauregard punched me. That's why you were like that.
[He doesn't want to be only making this worse? He just. . . is, somehow. He'll just go to sit down next to him, then, crossing his arms over his knees, radiating concern.]
. . . Yes, that's why. But we, uhm, knew it was certainly you and not him very quickly, immediately. There was just a lot of. . . it was hard to understand.
[His own knees are up, tail wrapped tightly around his ankle - just anxiety and dread. Probably a familiar enough feeling to Caleb that it's easy to recognize.]
Why am I even fucking here? I'm not-- If I'm gone, he's there in this body, then I'm just fucking around here. I don't know how to help anyone. Can't even argue I'm trying to save my own skin. It's not my skin anymore!
[He sits there, quiet, for a moment, just sort of looking up at the sky while he does this, and reaches to sling an arm around his shoulder.]
Mollymauk. . . [He protests a little, without having anything to say, just sad and tired, because he doesn't know the answer to that? There isn't an answer to that. Why Molly is here, or why he is here, or why anyone is here. It seems as though there's no reason for any of it, but there are times, recently, when he wonders.
After a too long pause - ]
You know, we. . . we never even were sure why we became mixed up with that guy. A weird vision or two, he screwed us out of some money, he was obviously doing some shady shit. . . but we just sort of followed him, never with any kind of real plan or explanation why.
I think we were all just hoping, a little bit, that we would see you again, even just for a while. [He swallows a little.] So. . . I'm glad that we have?
[That seems to land a little better. It at least pulls some of the tension and frustration out, his shoulders dropping when Caleb puts his arm over them, the claws loosening on his sleeves. Scrubbing at his face for a moment, silent, but he nods.
That's exactly ... the sort of stupid shit he expects of the Nein.]
Dumb as rocks, each and every one of you.
[ ... ]
. . . Isn't as if I wished for us to be trapped in a school full of murder and mindfuckery, but I'm not-- Glad that you're here too. Despite it all.
Touch week is over, so he has no excuse except wanting a bit of closeness, but he drops his head against Caleb's shoulder, letting himself curl up against his side a bit. He can pretend it's for kindness week, if he wants. There's a long, long minute of silence before he finally pipes up again.]
. . . You really really just refuse to learn a lesson about talking to people who just look like people you know.
[He huffs an actual laugh at that. It is dark, but, you know. Nothing wrong with some dark jokes.
He's quiet, still, but that makes it difficult maybe to notice the memory shifting into focus instead. This one is short. More a flash than anything.
You're on your hands and knees in a field, searching, searching - you can tell the carts are halted not too far away, in the treeline. Everyone is setting up for the night, and you, Mollymauk, are shirking your responsibilities. But this is important. It takes a while, but eventually-- you grab it in your hand, check it over. Yeah. Four. (You had to learn to talk again, but counting isn't so bad).
You jog off back towards the carts, poking your head around one to make sure she's still there. Yasha's sitting, back to you, doing something idle like sharpening her sword or organizing her things. When you lean your arms over her shoulders and lean over her she starts - blinking - eyes a bit wide up at you. You put the four-leaf clover in her hair.
[That's. . . very sweet. He smiles a little at that memory.]
Well. No surprise that what you remember is a little nicer than what I have.
[But because seeing the clover, he can't help avoid thinking about it, Molly gets the memory of them meeting Lucien. Starting from when they enter the cavern and try to explain themselves to him, why they're following him, and he refers to Molly as an "uninvited guest who took the reins for a bit," and a "fragment left behind" when his soul was split. But there's also some parts where they say cute stuff about Molly?
And then at the end, Yasha opens her book and hands the four leaf clover to him, and says "Before you go, you gave me this four leaf clover one time. And you told me that hopefully that would bring me luck, and that life would be a little bit better, so-- and it was, thanks to you. So I know you're not in there anymore, but we really did care about you. But, we'll be following behind you, be safe." And he takes it, twirls it around in his fingers, and tucks it in his jacket.]
[Honestly his emotion on just hearing all of this is more just a reaction of disgust to this motherfucker. Who is this guy and who the hell does he think he is?]
Ah. I am not including the parts where he is trying to kill us as part of the ‘dickishness.’
More stealing our belongings and dispelling anything we do with magic and pretending it is because we were being inconsiderate, this sort of thing. It made us look back quite fondly on the times you were a dick.
I think we agreed that you are more of an effortless dick. Not as intentional about it, much more likable.
. . . It’s strange. From time to time he would say things that were so similar to you. I think we thought for a while maybe we could talk to him, but. . . no.
[He'd been joking about it a moment ago, but he doesn't care for this thing where apparently he and this ... thing are similar in any way. Even though he can see that himself. It makes him a big disgusted. Nauseated.]
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Molly. . .
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He's just backing up until he hits a wall, so Caleb will be able to catch up quickly enough, but Molly isn't really paying much attention to him - or maybe can't even hear him through the red-hot pounding in his ears. The nauseating feeling of recognition, familiarity. Of course he knows who that is. It doesn't take much of a reach back into those locked away memories to recognize your own face. He's starting to look less spooked and more terrified.]
... Who the fuck is that.
[It isn't really a question. He knows the answer.]
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[Remember that? Anyway, he just continues to leave that hand pressed against his shoulder, trying to steady him, watching with some concern.]
That is Lucien.
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He just nods, slowly, arms crossed tightly and claws digging into the sleeves of his coat. He's still just wearing that, despite the cold - maybe haven given into the weather the tiniest bit by adding another layer underneath it and a loose scarf, some gloves, but not much else.]
I told you he was an asshole.
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[He frowns at him for a moment, unsure what to do, and then unwraps his scarf and wraps it around his neck. Why, even. But he doesn't have much idea how to comfort people and his cat is back in the dorm.]
And he is, but you are not. . . responsible for him. You are not him.
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Yeah. I know that. I'm dead. [A joke. Or a very bad attempt at one.]
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[Including the fact that he's not gone, not entirely, but that. . . he hopes that doesn't come up. It's frankly nightmareish.]
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Suppose that's only fair. I abandoned the body. By any rules I put up, it's his now. Fuck.
[There's a definite crack in his voice at this, desperately trying to keep an even tone, but it's clear this is beyond his worst nightmare. If he thought be recognized for someone else in a bar was bad, this is that feeling cranked to 11. He presses his hands against his eyes until his vision goes red, then white and then stops, giving a wheezy, shaking laugh.]
That's why you were-- That's why Beauregard punched me. That's why you were like that.
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. . . Yes, that's why. But we, uhm, knew it was certainly you and not him very quickly, immediately. There was just a lot of. . . it was hard to understand.
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Why am I even fucking here? I'm not-- If I'm gone, he's there in this body, then I'm just fucking around here. I don't know how to help anyone. Can't even argue I'm trying to save my own skin. It's not my skin anymore!
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Mollymauk. . . [He protests a little, without having anything to say, just sad and tired, because he doesn't know the answer to that? There isn't an answer to that. Why Molly is here, or why he is here, or why anyone is here. It seems as though there's no reason for any of it, but there are times, recently, when he wonders.
After a too long pause - ]
You know, we. . . we never even were sure why we became mixed up with that guy. A weird vision or two, he screwed us out of some money, he was obviously doing some shady shit. . . but we just sort of followed him, never with any kind of real plan or explanation why.
I think we were all just hoping, a little bit, that we would see you again, even just for a while. [He swallows a little.] So. . . I'm glad that we have?
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That's exactly ... the sort of stupid shit he expects of the Nein.]
Dumb as rocks, each and every one of you.
[ ... ]
. . . Isn't as if I wished for us to be trapped in a school full of murder and mindfuckery, but I'm not-- Glad that you're here too. Despite it all.
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[Just quiet for a moment, letting the sadness sit for a long moment.]
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Touch week is over, so he has no excuse except wanting a bit of closeness, but he drops his head against Caleb's shoulder, letting himself curl up against his side a bit. He can pretend it's for kindness week, if he wants. There's a long, long minute of silence before he finally pipes up again.]
. . . You really really just refuse to learn a lesson about talking to people who just look like people you know.
[don't make fun of his cyoa trauma thats mean]
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[It's fine. He smiles a little at that, accepting the joke for what it is even if it's a little dark.]
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He's quiet, still, but that makes it difficult maybe to notice the memory shifting into focus instead. This one is short. More a flash than anything.
You're on your hands and knees in a field, searching, searching - you can tell the carts are halted not too far away, in the treeline. Everyone is setting up for the night, and you, Mollymauk, are shirking your responsibilities. But this is important. It takes a while, but eventually-- you grab it in your hand, check it over. Yeah. Four. (You had to learn to talk again, but counting isn't so bad).
You jog off back towards the carts, poking your head around one to make sure she's still there. Yasha's sitting, back to you, doing something idle like sharpening her sword or organizing her things. When you lean your arms over her shoulders and lean over her she starts - blinking - eyes a bit wide up at you. You put the four-leaf clover in her hair.
"That one's for you. For luck."
Then it's over.]
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Well. No surprise that what you remember is a little nicer than what I have.
[But because seeing the clover, he can't help avoid thinking about it, Molly gets the memory of them meeting Lucien. Starting from when they enter the cavern and try to explain themselves to him, why they're following him, and he refers to Molly as an "uninvited guest who took the reins for a bit," and a "fragment left behind" when his soul was split. But there's also some parts where they say cute stuff about Molly?
And then at the end, Yasha opens her book and hands the four leaf clover to him, and says "Before you go, you gave me this four leaf clover one time. And you told me that hopefully that would bring me luck, and that life would be a little bit better, so-- and it was, thanks to you. So I know you're not in there anymore, but we really did care about you. But, we'll be following behind you, be safe." And he takes it, twirls it around in his fingers, and tucks it in his jacket.]
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... You are killing this arsehole, yes?
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Already you feel that way, and you haven’t even seen all the greatest hits of dickishness. This was good behavior.
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The-- Bit where he grabbed Beauregard by the neck and made her bleed from every face hole wasn't even a greatest hit?
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More stealing our belongings and dispelling anything we do with magic and pretending it is because we were being inconsiderate, this sort of thing. It made us look back quite fondly on the times you were a dick.
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Glad I look so flattering in hindsight.
[He's unwinding a bit from the tight ball of anxiety he was earlier, just relaxing his legs out. Still staying against Caleb's shoulder though.]
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I think we agreed that you are more of an effortless dick. Not as intentional about it, much more likable.
. . . It’s strange. From time to time he would say things that were so similar to you. I think we thought for a while maybe we could talk to him, but. . . no.
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Uninvited guest. It's my fucking house.
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[Putting aside that his contempt for Molly is one of the ways he’s similar to Molly.]
So don’t. . . give this asshole the satisfaction of saying you shouldn’t be here anymore. We prefer you, and we can always evict him.
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