unknownballad | Open RP Post

[It's building up, slowly but surely. Even if Conor doesn't entirely trust Daniel yet, he likes these visits and the familiarity of his face, and that makes him much more inclined to speak where he'd usually prefer to keep silent.]

I... I think I forgot something. [Or maybe no one told him. Conor's not totally clear on that.] How did I get here?

[He knows that he shouldn't have been with the other people. Daniel showed him that. But he's not sure how he got away.]

(( It's probably that no one thought to tell him. Even Daniel hasn't mentioned it because, honestly, he wanted to wait until Conor asked. Better not to overwhelm him with information he didn't ask for. At this point, he's directly asking and there's no avoiding it. ))

You were hurt in an explosion. Someone brought you here, we don't know who it was.

[An explosion... that's not part of his memory at all, but he supposes it wouldn't be if he was that severely injured. The second part is what hooks his thoughts and tugs so hard that it starts to hurt.

Someone brought him here?

That place, those people. They didn't trust outsiders for anything, did they? The suspicion and fear kept them there. That's why Daniel had to talk to Conor about them. But then... if one of them brought him here...]

Did he get rid of me?

[No. Asking about him isn't right. Conor shouldn't be thinking about that anymore. He knows none of that was real. He knows better.]

... sorry. Never mind.

(( God, that pulls at Daniel's heart strings. That flicker of pain, the fear of being abandoned in his voice before he corrects himself to say (and think) what he's 'supposed to.' There's still a long road ahead with Conor. ))

Someone cared enough to bring you here. You might have died otherwise.

[Those words should be comforting, and Conor even understands why they should comfort him, but they don't. Whoever saved him, they haven't visited to make sure he's alright. It's like the whole cult just forgot about him.

Oh no, this is bad. This isn't how he should be thinking at all. He doesn't really want to be back there, doesn't want to do the things he had to do - the things he came to love doing because they honoured the wounded heart of his leader and lover - but...]

I miss him sometimes. [Conor curls up even tighter, knees right under his chin, as he admits the failure that he's sure will make Daniel get up and walk out and curse his wasted time.]

Of course you to. It's natural to miss people we cared about.

(( All said so gently. Conor's feelings are, for him, very real even if the person who manipulated and abused him never felt the same. Even if he did, it wouldn't change the horrible aspects of what he made Conor go through. ))

You might always miss him a little. That's not a regression. With more time and distance, that feeling will grow less intense and feel less like it's the only one that matters.

(( He pauses, almost hesitant. ))

We're still trying to find who brought you here.

[Oh, what a relief. Conor's face reappears from behind his knees with a bit of warmth in his expression, equal parts gratitude and comfort. In fact, that reassurance has given him such a rare feeling of safety that he feels brave enough to ask a question that's haunted him almost as much as the memory of Setekh:]

What will happen to me when I leave here?

It's uncertain. As it stands now, you'll go to court and they'll decide if you can be tried. I'm sure it's not you they want, but... you're what they've got.

[If Conor wants to keep receiving this sort of honesty, he knows he can't melt down at the idea of going to jail. He simply can't. Nothing can make Daniel think he's set Conor back with the truth.

But he feels panic rising in the back of his throat already. He presses both hands to his mouth to keep it from coming out and it just spills from his eyes as twin rivers of tears, big fat streams pouring steadily down his cheeks.

He's a murderer. He deserves jail. But he - he can't.]

(( He can see Conor retreating into his own thoughts an instant before the tears come. Daniel rushes to Conor's seat and crouches down in front of him. ))

Hey. It's okay to be worried about the future. It's okay to be afraid. I'm on your side, Conor. So no matter what happens, I'm going to help make sure you're treated fairly. You don't have to face whatever the future holds by yourself. I'll be there, too.

[Conor wants to hear that comfort and take it into his heart, but one thought keeps looping around and around in his mind and getting louder with each revolution until he has to say it aloud before it deafens him from within:]

I should have died.

I'm glad you didn't. I suspect you're saying that because it seems less scary than an uncertain future.

[That surprises Conor enough to still his heaving breaths, though tears keep streaming down his cheeks to replace the ones he wipes away with his sleeve. Daniel never, ever scolds him, not even when Conor's sure that he's said something bad, but there's something in his words this time... almost like he's suggesting that Conor is better than this. He doesn't need to indulge in weakness.

And that implication reaches him where simple comfort can't, at least not yet.]

I did... really evil things. I don't know if I should've been saved.

(( Daniel gets up slowly, making his way across the office to get the box of tissue from a shelf. Which he then brings over to Conor before crouching down once more. This poor boy. He hates what he went through. He hates what Conor's mind must be like now that he's breaking free of what he went through. But it only makes him more sympathetic to Conor's feelings. ))

I'm not sure you would've done those things if left to your own devices. And I also don't think doing bad things means you're unworthy of a chance to do better things.

[No, of course he wouldn't have. Conor thinks he remembers being squeamish before the cult. He thinks he remembers throwing up the first time he made an offering. But that could just be a comforting lie his mind has invented to make himself seem more human.

He pulls out several tissues at once and wipes his face dry, then immediately sets about tearing them into tiny pieces that drift down onto his lap and begin to form a pile. His eyes don't seem to be looking at anything in particular, despite the intensity of his stare.]

Do you know why the offerings are cut into pieces after they're killed? [Conor himself hasn't shared this with anyone yet, but authorities could've made the mythological connection with a cult leader calling himself Set.]

(( He gives Conor the space to cry hie eyes out, to tear up the tissue when he's done. He doesn't question it. It's easy to clean up if Conor stands up after forgetting the pile of tissue is there.

Ah, but there's that thousand yard stare. The look that tells him Conor's seeing something in his mind's eye, not right in front of him. ))

I don't know. (( He suspects. He's heard the theories. But he doesn't know. )) Will you tell me?

[If the stare isn't bad enough, Conor pairs it with a thin smile that completely transforms his face. He might as well be a different person now.]

Because that's how Setekh killed his brother, the most perfect and beautiful creature in all of existence. Too perfect and beautiful to live. Setekh likes to be reminded of the way his brother looked all in pieces. It gives him strength.

(( Well, that's creepy. And he can see Conor drifting away from him. ))

Conor, is that why you're tearing the tissues?

(( An effort to bring him back to where they are right now. ))

[Huh? Tissues? He looks down at his lap, then back up at -

Daniel.

That's right. No more sacrifices, no offerings. That time is over now. So why are his hands covered in blood?

With a shrill, choked noise that clearly wants to be a scream, Conor uses the remaining lump of tissue to try and wipe his hands clean but the blood won't come off. Tears well right back up in his eyes but this time he can barely even breathe around the sobs clawing at his throat.]

No, no, no...

(( Oh dear. Daniel crouches down to peer up at the boy. He doesn't want to loom over him when he's having this sort of flashback. ))

You're safe here. You don't have to keep it all in. Tell me what's going on.

Don't you see it?!

[Conor holds out his trembling hands to show Daniel all the blood dripping from his hands, staining his skin, clotting between his fingers. There's nothing anyone else can actually see, of course, but he's obviously convinced that there's something deeply disturbing about his hands.

It's early days of dealing with his psychological trauma responses. He doesn't yet realize how often he'll find himself hallucinating.]

(( He reaches out and gently takes Conor's hands in his. He looks from them, to the boy's face. ))

What am I seeing?

(( They're not a point where he can tell Conor it's not real, it's just a memory. That might cause him to question too much. ))

[Taking his hands is the right move - it breaks the illusion just enough to confuse Conor back to the present yet again. If Daniel's hands don't get bloody when he touches Conor's, then...

He clings to Daniel's hands as if for dear life.]

I'm not there anymore. I'm not there anymore. I'm not there anymore.

(( Daniel learned very early in his career that it's best to avoid the words 'it's not real.' To someone hallucinating, to someone in the midst of a delusion, it's very real. And even if the circumstances aren't, their emotional reactions are. addressing the present distress always works better than trying to convince them it isn't real. ))

That's right. You're not there. You're in the hospital, do you remember?

[He remembers. His breath starts to slow back to a more natural pace. The room returns around him.

He looks down at his lap again, at the mound of tissue pieces. This time his memory stretches further, deeper.]

Yes. [First he answers Daniel. Then, indicating the tissue scraps:] Nervous habit. I think.

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