"Oh no," she says with a little huff of her own, "he has to. Because he's my coworker. And how the hell are you going to help someone redeem themselves if you think this process isn't real?"
She doesn't shake her head but there's the feeling that she'd like to.
"He doesn't have to like you, but he does have to give you the basic respect of a co-worker and a person he's living with on this ship. Non-negotiable."
Edwin doesn't answer, though the quality of his silence is unmistakable doubt. Charlie started out an actual person, with an actual person's pain. That takes precedence over the King in Yellow, who he is not, but also is. He doesn't even know how to begin making sense of it all any more.
She considers that silence. Then she holds her hand at the back of her neck, under her ponytail, in a request that he hop on so he can come settle at the front where she can see him.
And pet him, yes. He's very cute.
"I want to tell you a story. But I need you to promise me something before I do."
"That you won't get too mad at the person who's in the story," she says quietly, still a little unsure if this is the right path. It's not often that she's unsure, but it shakes her when it happens. This isn't something she thought she'd tell anyone else, especially now that Alan is here. But she thinks Edwin needs it, and she trusts him.
"I know you won't hurt them. But I also don't want them to lose out on the chance for good people in their life here. They deserve a chance to move forward. And I don't want to mess with that. Can you promise that?"
"That's fine. I just..." she pauses and yeah, okay, she'll admit it. "I worry about them. And maybe I shouldn't, given everything but... I do. I want them to be okay."
And maybe part of that is feeling safer if they know what a fucked up thing they did. But most of it isn't. It feels like it should be.
He doesn't exactly mean to, but he's felt John do it enough times that it isn't hard. He reaches out with a brush of affection, a marrow-deep emotional reassurance, something that shows a glimpse of the Old Thing he was underneath the young thing he is now.
You're a good person. I can be a good person for them.
And she reaches back, accepts it for what it is, lets him comfort her before she leans down to kiss his little furry head.
"Good people can be angry too. In fact, a lot of time, being good means being angry."
She breathes in deep.
"I'm an FBI agent back home. That means, when there's a crime where the local police need our help, they call for us. And we go help them. My partner and I came to a place called Bright Falls in Washington state. And everything was as it should be as we started our investigation."
And out.
"Then, impossible things started happening. Corpses got up and attacked people. I had to do a ritual using a man's heart to walk through a portal in a tree. Shadows took the shape of people and were trying to kill us. It was... wild, but I still found it fascinating. It felt like the world was opening up so I could see the parts I'd never seen."
An FBI agent. He's heard the term before, in movies, seen it in books, but never took a particular interest in the acronym beyond what he needed to know for the story he was seeing.
One part of that does stick out to him--a portal in a tree. He can't help thinking of the tree in the common room on the eighth deck, the way it felt like it could go somewhere else entirely given the right circumstances. Regardless, his small black eyes are fixed on Saga while she talks. It makes sense to him, being fascinated by the world becoming an impossible thing.
"We found Alan on the shore of a lake," she says quietly, because now the story is taking a turn for the less pleasant, "but even before that there was another change that was happening: people knowing who I was in this town I'd never been to before. People telling me that they were sorry about what happened to my daughter."
She looks over at Edwin.
"I have a little girl named Logan. She's about fourteen. Her picture is over there on the mantel if you're curious. She gave me that mug I'm always drinking my coffee from."
The one that says 'Not the Worst Mom'.
"And as far as I knew, she was back at home, just fine, with my husband."
Oh. Oh, no. He already had suspicions about where this might be going, or where it could, and he gives Saga's palm what he hopes is seen as a comforting lick.
"First I got a call that she'd slipped in the shower. My husband was there, heard the thump, and he caught her before she drowned in there. It's a danger, believe it or not."
She keeps going, her eyes distant, a little pet for that lick.
"Then someone who'd never met me before was talking about me like we've known each other for years. He's telling me about my trailer in the trailer park down the road." She looks down at Edwin. "Like I said: I'd never been there before. I grew up across the country."
Unconsciously, her hand will start gently stroking down his back, trying to comfort him through the tension she's feeling.
"I went to see the trailer. It was filled with empty bottles, unpaid bills, my resignation from the FBI... and a newspaper talking about how my daughter had drowned in the lake some years ago."
She swallows.
"My partner believes it all. The people who lived in the town. The woman who worked at the retirement home.
"And the only other people who knew it wasn't real were two old men I'd never met who told me I was family, that a man named Tor was my grandfather."
He leans into the touch, thinking of Faroe. Definitely not fourteen, but that doesn't make it better, imagining her in Logan's place. He tries to imagine what it would be like to have everyone say that she drowned, that she died, that she was gone, and be the only one who knew it wasn't true. It's awful, and he's only her friend. He's barely met her.
"She is. I talked to her on the phone just before I came here." A breath out. "But for... for way too long, it wasn't a sure thing. Until about ten minutes before I came here, I wasn't sure if my daughter was alive, if my husband was still with me, or if my partner was going to die too."
"You know the man who came from my world? Alan?" She won't wait. "He's a writer. And he was in a place where his writing became reality. Even if it had to change someone's past."
She looks down at him.
"You know I'm different. That's why it doesn't work on me. That's why I knew the truth, that she hadn't drowned. But that didn't change how the world was. And if we hadn't changed the story, it would have stayed that way."
But she won't make him look her in the eyes. Instead, she'll gather him close and let her eyes close.
After a moment or two-
"He was trying to write himself out of the Dark Place. And I needed a backstory that fit his narrative, the narrative of a horror story. Horror stories only have monsters... and victims. So I couldn't be a hero. I couldn't just be someone trying to help people. I had to be a victim."
"I said the same. I told him that my daughter's life and my partner's life were non-negotiable."
Recognize that word, kiddo?
"I got him pulled around, helped him change the ending to fix things." A breath out. "But he hurt me. He hurt my little girl. He destroyed my life to make his story better."
A breath out.
"When he showed up, I was glad he was an inmate, because I think there are things he needs to learn, and... freedom he needs to earn with more than just a story using other people's lives."
Now she looks at him again.
"But I went to the Dark Place. I know what he was trapped in. I can accept that... when you're in the dark so long, it's hard to see the light. I want him to graduate."
I was glad he was an inmate, she says. He hunkers down a little in her palm at that, and when she looks at him, he rolls up into something that doesn't have eyes so he doesn't have to look at her through anything but extrasensory perception.
He himself looks a bit like a very small tribble with a tail.
His mental voice can't be muffled, really, but the sense of someone burying their face in a pillow is there.
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She doesn't shake her head but there's the feeling that she'd like to.
"He doesn't have to like you, but he does have to give you the basic respect of a co-worker and a person he's living with on this ship. Non-negotiable."
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And pet him, yes. He's very cute.
"I want to tell you a story. But I need you to promise me something before I do."
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...What kind of promise?
Normally his answer would just be okay, but he's still shaken and angry and it makes trust even harder than usual.
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"I know you won't hurt them. But I also don't want them to lose out on the chance for good people in their life here. They deserve a chance to move forward. And I don't want to mess with that. Can you promise that?"
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I don't think I can promise not to get mad. I can promise not to stay mad?
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"That's fine. I just..." she pauses and yeah, okay, she'll admit it. "I worry about them. And maybe I shouldn't, given everything but... I do. I want them to be okay."
And maybe part of that is feeling safer if they know what a fucked up thing they did. But most of it isn't. It feels like it should be.
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You're a good person. I can be a good person for them.
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"Good people can be angry too. In fact, a lot of time, being good means being angry."
She breathes in deep.
"I'm an FBI agent back home. That means, when there's a crime where the local police need our help, they call for us. And we go help them. My partner and I came to a place called Bright Falls in Washington state. And everything was as it should be as we started our investigation."
And out.
"Then, impossible things started happening. Corpses got up and attacked people. I had to do a ritual using a man's heart to walk through a portal in a tree. Shadows took the shape of people and were trying to kill us. It was... wild, but I still found it fascinating. It felt like the world was opening up so I could see the parts I'd never seen."
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One part of that does stick out to him--a portal in a tree. He can't help thinking of the tree in the common room on the eighth deck, the way it felt like it could go somewhere else entirely given the right circumstances. Regardless, his small black eyes are fixed on Saga while she talks. It makes sense to him, being fascinated by the world becoming an impossible thing.
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She looks over at Edwin.
"I have a little girl named Logan. She's about fourteen. Her picture is over there on the mantel if you're curious. She gave me that mug I'm always drinking my coffee from."
The one that says 'Not the Worst Mom'.
"And as far as I knew, she was back at home, just fine, with my husband."
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She keeps going, her eyes distant, a little pet for that lick.
"Then someone who'd never met me before was talking about me like we've known each other for years. He's telling me about my trailer in the trailer park down the road." She looks down at Edwin. "Like I said: I'd never been there before. I grew up across the country."
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He's not sure how he feels.
Anxious. Guilty. Ashamed. He Knows This Story. A version of it. Someone else's version of it.
CW child death
"I went to see the trailer. It was filled with empty bottles, unpaid bills, my resignation from the FBI... and a newspaper talking about how my daughter had drowned in the lake some years ago."
She swallows.
"My partner believes it all. The people who lived in the town. The woman who worked at the retirement home.
"And the only other people who knew it wasn't real were two old men I'd never met who told me I was family, that a man named Tor was my grandfather."
CW child death
Is-- Is she okay? She's okay, right?
Re: CW child death
"She is. I talked to her on the phone just before I came here." A breath out. "But for... for way too long, it wasn't a sure thing. Until about ten minutes before I came here, I wasn't sure if my daughter was alive, if my husband was still with me, or if my partner was going to die too."
She swallows again.
"In fact, the first time, it didn't work."
Re: CW child death
Then, with a fresh twist of anxiety: What made all that happen in the first place?
Re: CW child death
But this is the hard part.
"You know the man who came from my world? Alan?" She won't wait. "He's a writer. And he was in a place where his writing became reality. Even if it had to change someone's past."
She looks down at him.
"You know I'm different. That's why it doesn't work on me. That's why I knew the truth, that she hadn't drowned. But that didn't change how the world was. And if we hadn't changed the story, it would have stayed that way."
Re: CW child death
She would have been gone even if you knew she shouldn't be.
Re: CW child death
But she won't make him look her in the eyes. Instead, she'll gather him close and let her eyes close.
After a moment or two-
"He was trying to write himself out of the Dark Place. And I needed a backstory that fit his narrative, the narrative of a horror story. Horror stories only have monsters... and victims. So I couldn't be a hero. I couldn't just be someone trying to help people. I had to be a victim."
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But Alan was in the Dark Place, the Dark Place, the Dark World?
That's stupid, anyone can be a hero in anything.
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"I said the same. I told him that my daughter's life and my partner's life were non-negotiable."
Recognize that word, kiddo?
"I got him pulled around, helped him change the ending to fix things." A breath out. "But he hurt me. He hurt my little girl. He destroyed my life to make his story better."
A breath out.
"When he showed up, I was glad he was an inmate, because I think there are things he needs to learn, and... freedom he needs to earn with more than just a story using other people's lives."
Now she looks at him again.
"But I went to the Dark Place. I know what he was trapped in. I can accept that... when you're in the dark so long, it's hard to see the light. I want him to graduate."
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He himself looks a bit like a very small tribble with a tail.
His mental voice can't be muffled, really, but the sense of someone burying their face in a pillow is there.
You're a good person.
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"I do my best."
She'll wait a few breaths before-
"You okay?"
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