cancry | sleepover sleepover SLEEPOVER

sleepover sleepover SLEEPOVER

[ With the handful of new Executors awakening after the first batch, Rei's starting to get a little bit dithery. They're getting to be a big group now and while she's more than grateful for the help (and the company), she still finds herself worried about the group's cohesion. After all, Lion had admitted that he'd lashed out when he'd first awakened, Kingslayer and Pariah were at each other's throats and Iris wasn't even sure she wanted to be here at all.

Not that Rei could blame her.

But if they're going to be a team, then they at least need to be civil with each other. And getting in a bit of bonding before they have to go down and potentially double-die couldn't hurt.

So Rei borrows one of the hotel suites – a 'luxury' suite, according to the receptionist but to Rei's eyes, it just looks tacky as all get out. But it's big enough for the whole group and after spending an afternoon dragging in all the blankets she can find (and a few mattresses – thank god there aren't any other actual guests here to complain about her pillaging their rooms), Rei makes one final trip to the conbini to get... pretty much everything she can carry. Alcohol is right out (sorry, wine grandpa) but she brings back bulging bags of sodas, sweet drinks of all kinds and pretty much anything that looks made to be chugged. After that comes everything vaguely snack and candy-like in the store and a few things that might not actually be good to eat, and Rei feels confident in saying she's done.

She'd mentioned to a few of the others that she was having a bit of a get together that night, so all she can really do is wait for them to show up. She's in her pajamas, she's looked up sleepover games in the library and snacks, there's a TV mounted on the wall and she has... never held a sleepover before.

This is gonna turn out just fine. ]

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[ 10 points to Gryffindor except we all know Medic is a Ravenclaw ]

A masterpiece... Like a famous artwork?

[Medic was sorted into "immediate expulsion for ethical reasons". We didn't even know the Sorting Hat quiz could do that.]

Yep! Or a really important scientific innovation. A big, important project that defines somebody's career, like the best thing they ever made.

I think it sounds like a really nice thing to be.

[ oh... she's kind of embarrassed to be calling herself that now. it seems kind of presumptuous. ]

I'm not sure how that could apply to me... I mean, my father created Steel London. If he had a magnum opus, I'm sure that was it...

Your father at least in part also made you. [he means in the...biological...sense]

[ she shakes her head, flustered. ]

Yes, but... I can't really compare to something as incredible as Steel London...!

Oh? And whyever not?

Well, you see... [ like a student reciting information from a textbook: ] Steel London is a technological marvel... Father created a steam engine that can store steam energy within itself. He used it to reinvent London into a fortress city, which stopped other countries from trying to start a war with England... There are so many of his inventions that make Steel London work. It really is... the accumulation of his life's work.

[ she can't think of any reason why she would be a greater accomplishment than all of that, is what she's trying to communicate. and more than that— she remembers that lesson from Saint-Germain, the fact that it was new information to her at the time. that she didn't know even the most basic, widespread details of her father's life. that someone else was looking for Father, and she hadn't even been aware that he'd disappeared. ]

And also, I...

[ she turned those memories over a lot, after they came back to her. that conversation that stands out most clearly, Saint-Germain's gentle voice telling the story of the fortress her father made. she thinks that, somehow— ]

I don't think... I ever met my father.

...Oh, child.

[Whether she is a child or not--in some ways, she seems older than the others, and in some ways just as young--is not the point. He was following along with the textbook explanation of this steam-powered city, fully intent on suggesting that's all well and good, but--

But. But she's never even met the man?

He reaches a hand out, palm along her cheek.]

I cannot imagine any invention or creation or discovery in all of mankind that could possibly be made that would outweigh how proud a father should be of his daughter. I hope...I hope that if memory returns to you, you remember him, and that he did think as such of you. But if not, then quite frankly he doesn't deserve you.

[ she's startled by the intensity of his reaction more than she is by him reaching out to touch her — because it never occurred to her that she ought to feel sad. there were no emotions connected to her realisation at all. she had simply accepted it. but His Majesty touches her so kindly and his voice sounds so sad, and something in her chest twists, sharp and painful. she feels, oddly, like she doesn't deserve such a reaction. it seems dishonest to receive his feelings when she isn't hurt.

he calls her child, and in this moment her face reflects it: she looks up at him wide-eyed in open, blank confusion, his sentiment clearly one that she can't understand. she doesn't touch the hand that frames her face, and she doesn't pull away either.

that— his hand, more than anything, makes her think that she might cry. but she doesn't. she wonders if she's even capable of it. ]

Deserve me... But... [ she seems to be struggling with this concept. ] He's my father.

[ even without any memories of him, she feels that in her core. obedience; awe; loyalty; something that is as immovable as bedrock, which might be a feeling she should call love, though she isn't sure. ]

A father you've never met? If that truly is so, then it hardly makes him a father at all. Who raised you to be the beautiful young lady that you are, hm? A mother, perhaps? Maids and sitters? Siblings?

Relations by blood are not always so immutable. [Of this, he is certain, though he does not stop to question such certainty. It just seems plain to see. How can her father be her father, truly, if he was never there for her?] Our memories are shattered things, and perhaps you do know him, more than these recited words of a city of steam and steel. But at least consider the possibility? [Family does not necessarily mean loyalty. Or love. And were her father so callous as to think a city to be larger than love for his daughter, then so help him if His Majesty ever crosses paths with that man in this afterlife.]

[ she doesn't nod, because she doesn't want to lose his gentle touch, but she closes her eyes to think over his words. it's difficult to find any previously existing opinion in her heart; she doesn't feel strongly about much, it seems, beyond that foundational devotion to a father she can't even remember. if His Majesty is asking her to take this idea to heart, then — well, she won't know whether she can believe it or not until she tries, and she won't be able to try until she knows more about herself. ]

I hope I have some memories of him, but... [ at the very least, for now: ] I'll... try to remember what you said.

[ that's all she can promise, isn't it? that if her entire self-perception is once again rearranged by new memories, she'll hold on to what she's experiencing now. maybe she'll remember a family, but she'll remember what His Majesty said to her too; maybe she'll remember other people she cared about, like Saint-Germain, but she'll remember His Majesty's kindness too. new memories won't overwrite his gentle words, or the sensation of someone's touch against the uncovered skin of her cheek.

that last one, she definitely won't forget. it strikes her as something rare and precious. like she should be grateful for it. like it may never happen again, for some reason. her eyes are still closed, and she focuses on that point of contact. ]

Are people always this warm...?

[ ah. she hadn't actually meant to say that out loud. but she doesn't feel any embarrassment over it, so perhaps that's another feeling she's still lacking in. ]

Ah--

[If she isn't embarrassed by it, then he'll make an effort not to be as well. His hand twitches...but doesn't pull away.]

Normally, to my knowledge. Unless, ah, I feel warmer than is normal? I don't see why, in death.

[He brings up his other hand to the other cheek, thumbs gently stroking along skin as though to brush away tears that are yet unshed. There's no romance intended in such a move, but all the tenderness in the (under)world nevertheless.]

People are warm to the touch. It is a comfort to have them near, to have casual contact, generally speaking. Sharing in warmth, each person not unlike the flame of a candle, burning bright. Filled with light, bestowing warmth, and inevitably flickering out.

It sounds nice... The way you talk about it is very beautiful.

[ it also sounds like something she knew in theory, and never in practice. she could have said people are warm, or touch is a good feeling, and it would have been true the same way a child would say an elephant is big after seeing one in a picture book. there's a world of difference between knowing it as a fact and knowing it from experience.

the warmth of his hands framing her face, the slightly ticklish path left by the sweep of his thumb across her cheekbone — these don't seem like things she knew before this moment. her chest aches like her ribs might crack under some invisible weight, and her throat seems to have closed up tight. those are feelings she recognises.

she doesn't cry yet, but her head bows forward in His Majesty's gentle hold. ]

... I should know this, shouldn't I...? We don't have our memories, but we still remember some things, so why...

[ what does it mean that she doesn't remember this sensation at all, not even in the abstract? ]

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schardynfreude - 2020-09-03 11:53 (UTC) - Expand

Aren't parents usually really proud of their kids? Maybe he thought differently! [Medic smiles brightly and grabs Magnum Opus' hands in her own.] I mean, just look at you- you're his creation, too. A whole entire person!

People are infinitely more complex than a city, if you look at them from the inside.

[ this is the second time someone has held her hands in theirs, and it's not any less of a shock the second time around. as she expected, there's still that sharp spike of dread, the instinct telling her to pull away. but equally strong is a feeling of longing. just like His Majesty, Medic's hands... are warm. ]

If he felt that way, then... I'd be very happy. [ she looks down, a little flustered. it would make her happy if Father cared about her that much, even when he's such an important person. but it's embarrassing to think that highly of herself. ] ... Even so, it's not very easy to use as a name. Masterpieces, huh...

[ she's not sure that she has much knowledge of art or science, but surely she at least knows a few things if she really thinks about it. ]

Um... maybe we could look up some famous art pieces in the library? I don't know a lot about art myself, but I'm sure we'd find something you could use as a name.

[ And she thinks that a girl like Magnum Opus, who seems so unsure of herself, deserves a name that she feels certain of at the very least. ]

[ it's strange that she can't remember many famous artworks herself. everyone else seems to have retained that sort of common knowledge about the world they lived in, and she's even regained her memory of her own surroundings in life. those odd gaps never filled in. still, she does know one or two, namely: ]

... Mona...

[ she says it quietly, testing it on her tongue. it seems outrageously presumptuous to name herself after such a famous and beautiful art piece, though she supposes any masterpiece will be the same. it's the first thing on her mind when she thinks about great artworks, and it's also—

the Mona Lisa is known for her serene, eternal expression. His Majesty said he wanted to see Magnum Opus smile again. ]

Um... Maybe the Mona Lisa...?

Oh! I think that fits- you are both very pretty.

[Just saying it totally straight-faced. ...Well, "straight" may not be the right word, exactly.]

Are your only modes flirting and prattling about surgery?

...That's how flirting works? [Medic looks legitimately baffled.] Don't you need... [She makes a vague, confused gesture with her hands, finally letting go of poor Mona Lisa.] flowers and pickup lines and things?

All I'm doing is saying stuff about her that's true.

I have no idea how one can be both so brilliant and so absolutely dim.

[ well, Mona looks just as baffled as Medic, so apparently nobody involved here knew there was flirting going on. ]

I think she was just being nice...

Well, at least you're two peas in an oblivious pod.

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phantasmagorial - 2020-08-24 18:58 (UTC) - Expand

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alcahest - 2020-08-26 01:49 (UTC) - Expand

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phantasmagorial - 2020-08-26 23:08 (UTC) - Expand

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alcahest - 2020-09-02 02:20 (UTC) - Expand

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phantasmagorial - 2020-09-02 19:29 (UTC) - Expand

Unless you shortened it to "Maggie" or something... But I dunno if that feels right for you.

Maggie...

[ hmmmm. she seems to be thinking very hard about this. it takes a while, but eventually she concludes: ]

... I don't know what suits me. Nothing feels "right"... and nothing feels wrong either.

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