finalflight | THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

[It’s humid. The temperature is not at all suited for his own cloak, his own leathers, but that’s not at all what he’s concerned — instead, he only sees the strange “trees” before him, tall and skinny and unlike anything he’s ever known before. This is not the forest he knows.

What is this.

What’s happened. Is this like before—]

Shit! What did you do this time?!

[And though he gives no indication to whom he’s speaking to, perhaps confusing for Lucy, the voice in his head unfurls and buzzes and bursts to the surface. Laughing.]

BLAMING us? This is your forest, River-child. Not us!

Don’t lie to me! The forest has not once done this in—

In the few months that you have lived here? Oh, you are SO informed about your new world, are you?

[Sorry, Lucy. You’ll have to try again. His focus is elsewhere.]

[Lucy swears under her breath, her iron patience starting to chip but only slightly. She moves to Weir's side and shakes his shoulder sharply.]

Weir. Do not go crazy on me. We need to move.

I've been here before.

[The medium's eyes dart back and forth. And then she sees it. She sees them. Shadows with softly glowing eyes between the groves of bamboo. They're watching them, they're watching her, they know that she can see—]

[He starts when she grasps hold of his shoulder and shakes him, raising up his forearm to swat her away instinctively. His jaw is set, and his eyes rake across her.]

What do you mean you've been here before?

[But she's grounded him in the here and now, no longer focusing on the voice in his head, who still rumbles with amusement with a low, piercing static.]

What is this? Are we in danger?

[The words spill from his lips right before he sees those shadows in the "trees". Watching, waiting, and what the actual fuck.]

Maybe. Most likely.

[The shadows do not move but they keep watching the both of them as if assessing which one to go to first. They're very focused on Lucinda though.]

... This is a place I only saw when I was... [Lucinda grits her teeth.]

Confined. It's a place between the living and the dead; a place that I was most susceptible to as a medium in my dreams.

But we are both awake. This is still the forest we walked into. So the only way to find out more is to move.

Confined?

[Gods, what is this? A place between the living and the dead, full of these... spirits? Their eyes focused on them both, but so much more on Lucinda. He should be glad for that, were it not for this being utterly confusing, either way.

Weir is adept, at least, at not losing himself to either fear or panic on a whim -- his outburst of frustration and surprise at the Polymath notwithstanding. He was allowed that much, okay.]

I don't understand. Are you saying this place is a recollection of yours?

[He will follow if she leads the way, at least, each step feeling so leaden.]

It's a possibility.

[Lucinda begins to walk through the clearest path. Beneath their feet are leaves from the bamboo, rustling softly as their footsteps tread across. The shadows continue to stare.]

... This world of yours or at least this forest... What is the aim, I wonder?

[To kill her? Eject her? The latter would be preferable so she could theoretically return home but who knows at this point? Weir certainly doesn't understand what he's dealing with outside of the Vale.]

[He follows closely behind, his hand still clasped around the hilt of one of his daggers.]

The forest has never done this before.

[He repeats what he said to the voice in his head.]

I've hunted in this forest countless times. Which would mean whatever might be happening, you are its cause.

You and I are both asking why. If we must, we can start with me being the cause.

But why am I the cause? Why am I just causing this reaction here and not in the village?

[This bamboo forest looks neverending. The sky is so black. The plants are so green and barely glowing but just enough that Lucinda can recognize the pathway she has traveled through in her dreams. There are different shadows some more well-defined, some not. They continue to gaze upon these travelers. There are a few that stand idly by, paying them no mind.

Her shoulders relax somewhat. They are not aiming for her or him immediately and it looks like they have no intent to.]

Whatever the reason is, now it places me here. [Her voice grows less harsh and more... Tired.]

Maybe it's trying to dig deeply to cause a wound.

Because nothing bad ever happens in that blasted village.

[It's too colorful, too perfect. The people, too effusive and all too eager to humor even a man of his countenance. If something bad were to happen, that would have gone against his wish when he wielded the Heart that now lies beating irregularly in his chest. It would have not have made sense.

But the forest that lies beyond the village, couching it on all sides, perhaps... the same did not apply. But why such a reaction to Lucinda?

Well. He barely has time to consider these thoughts, because the shadows that he sees as they move? They send a chill up his spine, again and again. Weir has encountered plenty of terrible things in the Pit, many far more disconcerting than this, but what he lays eyes upon now amid this foreign forest of bamboo is otherworldly in a different way. As though he is truly getting a peek of what it is like to live through the eyes of an esper.]

Maybe it's trying to get you to leave. [His voice grows more grave in turn.] You arrived via the forest; perhaps it knows that you are an anomaly.

But why did I have to be brought along with you?

To be a witness? To facilitate the change with your presence as well?

[There are so many questions between them and yet the one who should have the answers is also out of his depth.

After a minute or so passes, Lucinda stops midstep holding up her hand to make Weir pause as well.]

Listen.

[From a short distance the sound of tears being shed brings life into this bamboo world. Lucinda's face is expressionless but there's a spark of recognition in her eyes.]

... Let's go that way.

[He doesn't bloody know. "To fuck with him" would be just as valid of a theory as any.

Weir stops when Lucinda halts, too, his entire body tense. He hears the sound of crying lost in the depths of the slender trees.]

Why? Is that... [Maybe it's trying to dig deeply to cause a wound.] ...your voice?

[Ah.]

Yes.

[Her voice is barely a whisper now. She cuts through a narrow path of bamboo that is clear of ghosts and stops at a clearing. There, a young girl, perhaps no more than 11 or 12 years, dressed in a simple cotton tunic and trousers is on her knees crying. She's a skinny little thing and her black hair falls to the side of her face. Several shadows stand around her, staring and waiting.

Huyen was a pitiful child.

Lucinda says nothing for a few seconds and when she finally does speak up (the crying girl does not notice; the two adults do not exist in her periphery) her voice is detached. Emotionless.

She has to be because it's clear this forest wants to wound her.]

... Even though I feared this place, I could at least cry here. At least there were ghosts who could hear me.

𝓟𝓸𝓸𝓻 𝓗𝓾𝔂𝓮𝓷.

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭𝓷'𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼.

𝓦𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝔀𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓻.

[This scene is not one he should be privy to. He knows this. This is something raw, and emotional, and kept private — this is something that will tug at the heartstrings, and Weir, though not wholly immune to empathy, does not think he can afford that right now.

Not with her, this variable that he does not know what to do with, this woman who is asking too many questions of this world that he cannot answer. He can’t afford to care. Practically, and for his own sake, he simply cannot.

He tries to steel himself against the sight. He takes up a low, detached tone, and yet it still cannot rival Lucinda’s own. His eyes cut to her, and he finds the sight so, so eerie.]

What is this place? And all of these spirits? Is this what you saw when you were younger?

This place is something akin to a limbo. Somewhere between dreams and death. I was very susceptible to finding myself here.

[Huyen's crying turns into shuddering before she sits up, wipes her eyes, and stands, dragging her feet through the endless grove, muttering at the ghosts to move aside. They do. Lucinda follows her and the shadows keep the path clear for her and Weir.]

And I was very susceptible to all kinds of ghosts. The ones who want to give their final words to their loved ones. To use me as their voice. Or I could be an instrument to express their anger and vileness.

𝓢𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯𝓲𝓼𝓱.

𝓢𝓸 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮.

𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓶𝓸𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮.

All these spirits Weir? I still see them, at least in my world. Here was a place many of them congregated and I found myself stuck in. There is a reason why I was confined.

Look.

[A tall shadow approaches the girl. It's glowing white eyes are menacing and it drives the other spirits away. Huyen backs away but the shadow's hand grabs her by the wrist and it hisses with glee.]

𝗟⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘜̸𝗦⃥𝘌̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥ 𝗣⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥𝘛̸𝗧⃥𝘠̸ 𝘌̸𝗬⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥,̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥ 𝗣⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥𝘛̸𝗧⃥𝘠̸ 𝘍̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗘⃥,̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘞̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥ 𝗟⃥𝘐̸𝗣⃥𝘚̸.⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥𝘙̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘐̸𝗧⃥ 𝗡⃥𝘖̸𝗪⃥?̸ 𝘗̸𝗟⃥𝘌̸𝗔⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘞̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥,̸ 𝘐̸ 𝘞̸𝗜⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥𝘙̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘑̸𝗨⃥𝘚̸𝗧⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥𝘌̸.⃥

[The girl struggles and whimpers, shaking her head furiously. This is the type of sight that would make someone want to jump in between her and the vile ghost. But Lucinda makes no motion for it. Her eyes remain distant and detached.

It has already happened. She cannot change it. What ifs are poisonous.]

[Even now, the Polymath's voice reverberates in his head.]

̷L̷̷O̷̷O̷̷K̷ ̷A̷̷T̷ ̷A̷̷L̷̷L̷ ̷O̷̷F̷ ̷T̷̷H̷̷I̷̷S̷, ̷R̷̷I̷̷V̷̷E̷̷R̷-̷C̷̷H̷̷I̷̷L̷̷D̷. A true peek into someone's past is a rare thing. Covet it as precious information, learn what you will from it. Oh, we envy you in this MOMENT.

There's nothing to envy. [He murmurs, and he quite means that. The Ceaseless Pit has all manner of monsters and things that can kill. There are gasses, wisping about at the lower levels, that can cause hallucinations much like his one, paralyzing mind instead of body, until the individual becomes lost and withers away to madness.

Is that what's happening to them now? How long will they be trapped in this? How long until they can leave? Why should he envy being stuck in these circumstances, far beyond his knowable control?]

What did you do?

[That, he says to Lucinda. That spirit, the one grabbing Huyen's hand, it's still a right intimating thing. Especially for a small child. However, Weir knows that this is little more than recollection, too; even if he did have a mind to step in (surprise, he does not), he wouldn't. This would change nothing. It isn't interactable, is it?

Like hell if he's risking himself first if it is. Lucinda's lead is the one to follow for now.]

Did you allow spirits like that to take you? To control you?

[Despite the illusion the forest has trapped them in, forcing them to witness the pitiful child, Lucinda's mind feels sharp and polished as steel. It's nothing more than a mental attack and she's been through such trials before.]

I tried to fight them off, as best as I could. Sometimes I was able to run.

[Huyen breaks free of the shadow's grip and runs away. The shadow follows.]

But I would only know if I was successful once I woke up.

[Above them, the ink-black sky begins to twist and blink changing from a void to a ceiling. The scenery around them changes as if waking from a dream. Blink once and the two of them see the single window where the branch of a flowering tree peeks through. Blink twice, they see a single bed, expensive but useless furniture. Blink once again, and they see the pitiful girl with cuffs around both ankles and long chains that match the perimeter of the room. She listlessly lays on the floor, unmoving.

Unlike the bamboo forest and the numerous shadows... It's this place that temporarily stings Lucinda. She flinches. Swallows. Takes a deep breath.

She never wanted to return here.]

[So she's been haunted, quite literally, by the spirits since she was young. Shunted into terrible circumstances, treated like--

(The scenery changes in the blink of an eye. A home. A bed. A girl, chained and unmoving.)

At this, Weir finally moves away from his spot a few paces behind Lucinda. He brushes past her, despite the way he can see her flinch along the line of her shoulders; maybe this disquiet is exactly the reason why he decides to draw nearer, despite his hesitance to care. He doesn't have to care in order to learn.]

This is you, as well. You... [He turns over his shoulder to look at Lucinda.] Who did this to you?

[As a Dredger with no family, nothing to his name, he was not treated kindly by most, yet nor was he treated without any regard at all. His work was still important, and a good Dredger was not as disposable as people liked to make them out to be -- after all, one that survives lengthily in the Pit is worth at least twenty who would die within their first month of exploration and gathering.

So this? No, this is someone treated without even that modicum of consideration compared to his childhood days. And that is a low bar to clear, all things considered.]

[Lucinda opens her mouth to speak but no words come out. She thought the sting was temporary but it's turned into a cut. The cut turns into a wound. Flora, Feather, and Fang try to reach her but their voices are interrupted by the unlocking of the door.

From the floor, Huyen drags her body and sits up. At the entrance of the door is a man with a woman behind him. The former's expression is hard and on alert. The woman wears expensive-looking silk and heavy makeup that does her no favors as worry creases her forehead. They approach her with caution as if she's an animal. The woman speaks up first, in that language that Weir heard Lucinda used not so long ago but in this illusion he can understand what's being said.]

"Huyen? Darling, are you back yet? It's Mother and Father."

"Hn. That was three days. Did it take you that long to get rid of that demon? Or were you trying to avoid work?"

"Dear, don't say that! But... But yes, Huyen. Please if you're feeling better... Can you give us a nod? Mother and the maid will help you get ready. You need to look nice to the customers. So many of them were asking for you! If you help us make some more money, Mother and Father will buy you some more dresses...!"

[The cut grows deeper, the wound turns her stomach, and Lucinda doesn't know whether to cry or laugh, or fall to the ground. Of all things she thought she killed any feeling towards the people who had birthed her so long ago and no, oh no. Even when she assured Weir that she had come to terms with what had happened to her, seeing it again makes the realization even worse.

It was the realization that somewhere deep down, beneath the righteous fury and the severing of ties, the remnant of a child's love remained.

She takes a step back, her shoulder brushing with Weir's and that snaps her out of the endless pit of despair. Lucinda attempts to answer him again and all she can come out with are rueful words.]

Dresses. Mother thought the dresses would make all of this bearable.

[This is far too real to be anything but disturbing, even if he knows it’s a memory, and a foreign one at that. But Weir looks upon her parents and they might as well be flesh and blood; and what he hears confirms his suspicions.

She’s but a tool. A money-making object for her parents to utilize for their own happiness, but not hers. Never hers.]

Your parents are like any other.

[He says, looking at her younger self, frowning deeply. His words do not console, but they’re hardly meant to.]

Those who take advantage of what they’ve been given. Even if that means garnering it from their own flesh and blood. Blood ties themselves do not mean… affection comes in its wake.

[He looks over his shoulder at her. Now, he can see it clearly: this still hurts Lucinda.]

At least they saw a use for you.

[His own? They left him. Next to that river, knowing full well that in Turner’s Vale, a child with nothing to its name would be delegated a fate to living its life gathering in the Pit. That it would die down there, someday. And someday, indeed, he nearly did.]

At least they pretended to care.

They cared before Weir. They didn't pretend.

[Her voice is barely a whisper. They watch as the father undoes the cuffs around Huyen's ankles and the mother and the maid, who followed her inside, take her by the shoulders and coax her up to sit on the bed. Father leaves and the maid starts brushing Huyen's long hair while Mother goes to the closet to choose a robe.]

They loved me when I wasn't useful. When I didn't see shadows.

[It was difficult to remember a time like that, but she does remember. And that's what makes this whole thing worse.]

But then it became poisoned. Sometimes I think it was my fault; showing them what I could do when my abilities awakened. [Lucinda leans against the wall now. There's no ill will left in her eyes. Just darkness and melancholy.]

They had no knowledge of how to help me. I couldn't even help myself. They saw an opportunity to exploit desperate broken people who wanted to hear their loved ones' voices and I was a child who wanted their love. But if I was inconvenient...

[She buries her face in the riding cloak to force down a dry sob that threatened to escape. The medium looks at Weir while biting her lip.]

You think so too. That I'm an inconvenience.

Is it love? Treating you like this at any point in your life? I wonder.

[But what does Weir know about love, familial or otherwise? Absolutely nothing. The intricacies of how you can hurt someone you still care for elude him. He does not care to understand; he never did.

So perhaps this comes across as callous, uncaring. But he only thinks that he is being reasonable, clear-headed. And when she looks like she might crumble under the weight of terrible recollection and old, buried emotions, Weir steps forward. Reaches out to grab her by the wrist, to earn her attention so that she focuses solely on him.]

So what if you are? Your presence in this world has been nothing but trouble to me, aye. Look at where you've landed us; in a terrible memory of your own, in which I have neither care nor investment!

[Again, not particularly comforting words, but he doesn't aim to be.]

But if you choose to fall to these remembrances here and now, and keep us trapped in this fucking forest, then you are less than an inconvenience. You are little more than a bad omen. So snap out of it! If you want to prove your worth, then I'll happily give you the opportunity. But we need out of here first.

If you choose to fall.

𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓱𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀?

𝓑𝓪𝓭 𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓷?! 𝓗𝓸𝔀 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓱𝓮! 𝓗𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓱𝓮 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽?!

𝓗𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽. 𝓗𝓾𝔂𝓮𝓷, 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓗𝓾𝔂𝓮𝓷, 𝔀𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮.

[Her friends could protect her body but not her heart. Lucinda shuts her eyes as Weir grabs her wrist. His words are a different hurt. A bad omen, trouble, inconvenient—]

So snap out of it!

[The people in the memory start to leave for the door. And suddenly without warning, Lucinda heads for the door and pulls Weir with her. When they're both outside of the basement prison, she slams the door behind them to trap the memories within. There are voices, shouting, confused, and enraged. But she remembers they're in the forest. The forest wants to hurt her.

But oh, the forest can't really account for the fact that she's always been hurting.

There's pounding against the door, but she puts her back against it staring at the ground. Eventually the pounding stops. It's quiet in the house.

Some memories can stay where they are, locked away, and only to be opened when necessary.]

... Let's go then.

[Still latched onto her wrist, he finds himself dragged along — but with this new fire stoked under her, he does not balk at the idea even one whit. They pass the entrance threshold, and she closes the door on the figures, her awful memories, and they remain trapped and confined behind that barrier.

Let's go then.

The forest around them trembles. Bamboo, or trees proper? For a moment, just a fleeting thing, it’s hard to say. It could be both. Maybe something about the forest's influence wavers, now, seeing how Weir keeps hold of her as they move.]

Just push forward. That is all we can do for now. Leave this behind us — behind you.

[She doesn't let go of Weir or pull away from him either. Lucinda takes the first step forward. Around them, the forest is already changing, its visage flickering around them.]

... Weir?

[Lucinda's face is turned away from him.]

Are you any good at pretending?

[He cuts his glance towards her.]

Pretending? At what?

[Is this relevant-]

THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)