deercountry | september catch-all

[ it takes some heavy lifting— pieck tries to talk, blooded and half-dead with how pale she looks, how she could barely keep her eyes opened and focused. the blast has left her belly open, and her insides threaten to spew out if thrown the wrong way. run, hurry— she manages to croak just as soldiers appear from above the roofs.

finish the cart's main body!

she's too heavy to pull away alone, especially when she's dead weight losing hot flesh where she shouldn't. her legs drag, her head lolls forward— and falco helps, throwing an arm under her's, opposite of sharon, and quickly guiding her to cover.

as quickly as they could walk without killing pieck faster, at least. they'd have to go slow. over their heads, soldiers— their soldiers now, dressed in pale hues rather than darker ones shoot upward with bolt action rifles, all whilst screaming protect pieck! the invaders are called devils, and plenty of them are sniped out of the air. ]

The building! [ it's a straight walk, just surrounded by dozens of cracks and pops being triggered at a time. ] There's cover inside!

[ Every single pop and crack make her want to duck and cover; to drop the bloodied body of this woman——Pieck, she understands now——but she swallows down that instinctual desire. She ignores the soldiers darting above them. She ignores the soldiers ushering them. She ignores how hot and sticky Pieck's blood feels under her hand.

She focuses on pushing forward, one foot in front of the other. This Falco needs this woman safe and Sharon would get her there with him no matter what. ]

[ once up some stairs and within the building (away from the windows), falco would begin to guide sharon into lowering the tattered woman down. steam was rising from her open abdomen, but she looked . . . terribly bent out in a way she shouldn't. the gore doesn't seem to stop falco from thoroughly checking her like some unphased field medic, certainly too young for any of this but still functioning like his life depended on it. he's making sure her head is put down gently and her legs stretched to give her space and as much comfort as wooden floors could. he checks her breathing, her pulse. there, but all so frail. ]

She's not healing fast enough . . . [ sharon would be able to leave the book anytime after this— they've succeeded, but she'll hear his words press so sorrowfully to her thoughts as the last written words on the page of this chapter. falco thought, to himself: this is all my fault. ]

[ The book ejects her but the memory of it sticks with her. The blood, the way Pieck's body steamed, the desperation in Falco's tiny voice. Sharon wipes her hands over and over against her leggings as if doing so could wipe the memory away. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it, though; replayed it over and over again, her thoughts always ending on Falco: on his fear, on his desperation, on his guilt. ]

[ falco would sleep with the words he heard from a book he'd innocently picked up earlier in the day being whispered to him at night when he'd have difficulty sleeping: it's going to be okay. shhh, it's going to be okay. it's just a bad dream, baby. he hadn't wanted to see the figure again, of a phantasmic young girl creeping toward them and filling him with nothing but dread— ghosts couldn't usually hurt you, but falco has learned (and seen) enough of the supernatural doing harm.

he tries not to remember the screams of a woman being shredded from within, barbed wires snaking through her flesh and organs and blood like a knife would to cold butter. it wasn't smooth. it was chopped, sluggish, labored and torturous. it was a different sort of horror falco was used to. rather, you shouldn't be used to any kind of horror.

in his bed and coddled beneath confetti's securing wing, falco ends up turned toward the feathers and plumage rather than toward the door, or the rest of the room. it felt tense to do so in the dark. what he feels more is something that just keeps . . . nipping at his neck until he pulled out his omni and started writing a message to sharon: ]

Miss Sharon?
I saw your mom.

[ it's late. she would normally be in bed by now but sleep has become difficult as of late. she dreads closing her eyes and falling into a nightmare. she's had more and more of them lately and the more she has, the more she fights sleep.

when she gets the text, she feels a flood of relief at the coming distraction. but when she reads it, she's filled with a strange pain and sorrow and concern. her mouth goes dry. ]

Falco, what's...? What do you mean by that? [ it's late. it's late and he should be tucked away in bed, sleeping. ]

[ oh, good— she's awake. well, either that or falco had woken her up. it didn't matter, well— it was important. and a distraction for the both of them. ]

I saw her after I read a book this afternoon. I just keep thinking about it and I thought you should know.

[ Sharon is struck by a sudden disappointment. It's the wrong time of the month for the squids to start coming ashore, she knows that, and yet she still foolishly had hoped. Once she swallows all that down, she switches over to voice.

It's soft. ]

Do you need to talk about it? [ a beat and then: ] Are you all right?

[ sharon switches to voice, and so does falco. when his words come they’re so quiet, hushed even— he’s keeping his voice down for his older housemates. he inhales, then pulls the covers over his head.

if he closed his eyes, he could see her, feel her hugging him like rose did— like confetti does, and he allows himself to curl into the encircled white wings. ]

I’m okay. Just . . . [ fabric sifts. he inhales, ] I’ve seen a lot of horrible . . . Scary things, Miss Sharon, but— this was different.

[ he’s not afraid of being honest, but there was no other word to describe it. he comes out with it after a moment of meek hesitation. ]

—It was unreal. It was scarier.

[ she can hear him shift in his bed, can hear every little inhale and pause like she was right there, and concern twists up in her throat. as he speaks, her concern mingles with a sick dread that has found a way into her lungs.

Scarier, he says, and her mind starts racing; starts sorting through memories of horror and gore and awful. she knows before she knows and prays silently that she's wrong. that she's just paranoid. ]

Hey, it's all right, Falco. [ softly. gently. even as she worries. ]

[ it's alright. it will be. rose's voice is soft and shivering, he remembers it again. it would have otherwise been nice to see rose again, to have gotten a hug so tight— but it wasn't the place to feel glad. it was a nightmare he was only able to feel glad when it was over. ]

There were these . . . Barbed wires, and a lady . . . [ actually, there were quite a lot of people. ] Strapped to a table.

[ he doesn't know what it could've meant— trench was strange. ]

[ there's a sharp intake of breath on her end, one she tries to muffle. no. no, no, no. he could have seen anything. he could have seen her first encounter with vincent or the mannequin spider or even her encounter with leonard wolf. that memory wasn't one he deserves to be saddled with. ]

In... in the church. You saw——You saw Alessa. [ her voice is stiff and breathless. fuck. shit. she could close her eyes right now and see it; see the blood, see the razor wires grip men and women alike and toss them like ragdolls. shit.

shit. ] That was... [ she can't find the words. ] I'm... Fuck, I'm sorry, Falco.

[ recognition was not something he wished for. only that there had been rose (or a sighting of her), and it felt like she should know about it, but, if it made all that much sense to her—

it was a faraway fragment. nothing palpable. ]

. . . I'm talking to you. It's alright. [ he'll be better. it was the whole point of trying to talk to her. to settle it and iron it clean. it was nothing that would be able to harm him, hopefully. ] You know Alessa?

I do. [ she's quiet for a long, breathless moment. it might even seem as if she's left the room and omni until she speaks again. for such a simple question, the answer is surprisingly complicated. ]

Alessa is a... a piece of me, Falco. [ there's something inexplicably torturous about admitting that out loud given what he's seen and she's suddenly terrified. terrified of how he'll see her after. terrified he may no longer look to her for guidance. terrified he may no longer care about her. as alessa, she committed such atrocities but worse is that even now she doesn't regret them. ] She's who I was before I was Sharon. She's the reason Sharon even exists.

[ Daughter. Sister. Self. She can still hear alessa's words ring in her ears. ]

[ it's not as alarming as it if confusing. falco attempts to link the pieces together on his own, but without much success. the memory from within the book was riddled in chaos and confusion that wasn't in line with his understanding. to be frank, he hardly understood anything about it— only that it was frightening. there were extremists, rose was briefly harmed and then . . . hushing and hugging him. was that sharon? if that was sharon, then, was alessa the tattered, dark-spirited little girl climbing up the ladder to get to them? ]

But, you and Alessa are . . . Separate—?

We were back then, in that memory, but we're not anymore. We're one now. [ it's all very complicated and hard to explain. ]

Do you remember which body you were in? Were you rescued by Rose or...? [ did you crawl up out of an abyss? it's obvious he wasn't in Alessa's burnt body. ]

[ had he not been a touch familiar with the concept of supernatural, he’d still be more lost than he already was. was alessa a spirit, then? was sharon too, possessed by an entity, did she share a body? the possibilities were infinite and possibly nowhere close to what falco did know. he tries not to let his thoughts go wild. ]

Miss Rose was hugging me. Was that . . . You?

That... Yeah, that was me. [ The sound of fabric rustling can be heard as she shifts how she's sitting on the couch, curling her legs up beneath her. The memory is nine years old but the reminder of it makes it fresh in her mind. She remembers how Rose's arms felt as she scooped her up; the feeling of hot blood on her face; the satisfaction of her vengeance. ]

Mom and Alessa saved me that day. They were going to burn me like they'd burned Alessa. It was terrifying hearing all of their screams but... it was better than hearing their laugher and cheers.

[ falco's exhale is soft and jittering, like a reverse gasp being held together. he remembers the table, being tied to it. he remembers rose bolting to it to free her and allow an escape. he remembers those people, so many people— the ones who were harmed by the backlash of age-old vengeance.

his voice is small, empathetic, and inviting like the embrace of a fire wanting to comfort someone from winter's biting cold. ]

Why would they laugh at something like that—?

[ his tone says it all: how could someone do something so terrible and laugh? celebrate? how could that have happened? he sadly knew the answer, in some ways, but still questioned its horror. ]

Because they're cruel. [ her voice is tight and emotionally charged. it would be easier to leave it at that because it's true but it wasn't the whole truth. ] Th—They claim that they burn sin, burn evil, out of this world but they... they burned a woman alive for trying to protect me. I'll never be able to get the things they did and said out of my head as she died.

They are the worst of humanity. Cruel and evil and they deserved every single horror Alessa put them through. Every single horror I put them through.

[ it reminds him of the split minute thought he had when he had been locked away under a strange, not-so-perfect middle school, a bomb shelter hidden away from time in 1961— living island. when masked persons would poison the air with inhaled anesthesia that he remembers, is smelled like spice, and knock them into sleep for however long. mutilated their bodies, their faces. the only scar he has left from the ordeal that had removed his entire human set of mandibles were the mental ones. his skin is clean and pristine by the power of the titans.

there really are people who are cruel. who are evil. there're just people who're the worst and we can't change that. ]

I'm . . . Sorry, they . . . [ his voice is a little wet. he takes the time to pause and straighten it out. ] It's not fair.

[ she falls quiet for a long moment but it's not silent on her end. there's the quiet hush of breathing, some of it hitching like it's getting stuck on something, and a sniffle that she muffles with her hand.

it's not fair and she knows it's not. and it sucks. and it hurts. and she feels a fool for ever wishing that life would bless her with happiness for all of her pain, like some equivalent exchange for her suffering. ]

In some ways, I'm grateful to them. [ there's something heavy in her tone. a weight. maybe it's pain or maybe it's grim realization or maybe it's just raw emotion. ] Because of them, because of all the awful things they did, Rose and Chris da Silva got the chance to pick me out in an orphanage and bring me home and love me for me.

[ she sniffles again but can't muffle the sound this time. ]

[ he wished he could hug her, just as warmly and tight as he was against confetti. he wanted to wipe her tears away the same as he had when rose had returned to the sea. his voice is tight and cracking when he speaks, but as warm as could be. ]

Miss Sharon . . . I'm glad it was them, too. It's why you're . . . Sharon. [ and not someone else that's completely . . . unrecognizable. at the end of that nightmare, she was given hope, and love— and love changes everything. ] And, if you're Alessa too, then . . . I'm glad you both had Miss Rose.

[ and just like that, she can't stop crying, tears hot and slick on her cheeks. she tries in vain to wipe them away but they just won't stop. and she hates it. she thought she was done crying over the things she'd lost, the things she'd had taken from her, the lives she could have had, but she wasn't. she may never be. ]

Rose was the greatest gift I ever could have been given in life, Falco. [ it didn't make up for her suffering but it almost did. it was almost worth it all just to be called that woman's daughter. to be held and loved by a woman worthy of the title of mother. ] And, in some ways, she's the reason I know you.

You've been a gift to us, too. [ her words are nasally and heavy, full of love and sorrow in equal proportion. ] Thank you, Falco. Thank you for... not hating me for what you've seen.

[ she hasn't told him she was afraid of that but she was. she's been afraid, so very fucking afraid, that he'd look at her differently. that he'd see her differently. that he'd no longer care about her. but here he was, glad for her. glad for the her that was sharon and the her that was alessa and that made her heart clench up so tight in her chest that breathing hurt and she was filled with feelings she couldn't put into words ]

[ his heart cracks. it aches in a way that could be soothed and mended, but definitely not ignored. ]

Oh, MissSharon— How could I hate you for what you've been through? [ it has the opposite effect on falco. his snort inward before he decides to speak again is wet, gross— but he's clearly touched and melted by her own quiet cries on the other end. with an inhale, shaky but holding a pull of lips up in a smile: ] I love you because of the person you are, even after all of that.

[ it speaks of a tremendous amount of strength and sense of self. she could be far more revolted, dangerous— but even then? falco would still love her. ]

september catch-all

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cw: torture/mutilation mention

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that may be a wrap.....!!

perfect place to wrap!