The ninth, huh? Mine's the sixteenth of— [translation from potato-mouthed fantasy medieval nordic incoming...] —May. Uh, that is, the fifth month of the solar year.
[Don't ask me to make up a whole-ass calendar, I won't do it, je refuse and au revoir. It's bad enough they won't be able to tell they technically share the same birth month because the Fódlan calendar has it's new year in April for some fucking reason.]
"Harpstring Moon" is a way prettier name for a month, though it's a shame we can't tell when your birthday is...maybe I can ask one of the robots about it later.
[She hums, nudging another little block into place. And says, completely innocently:]
Mine might be soon, if I've kept count right.
[This is, perhaps, a mistake.]
Edited (you can tell i'm tired because i fucked up my own oc's birthday) 2021-04-21 04:08 (UTC)
[ How could revealing a birthday to a good friend possibly be a mistake in any way, shape, or form?
Surely Lys wishes only for the joy of her friends, which in this case means a sudden widening of eyes, an audible gasp, and then a sudden clap of Annette's hands together as she stares unblinking at Lys a dazzling smile on her face. ]
Really? Soon? We should throw you a birthday party then!
[ Oh, hm, but wait, Annette might sometimes blitz ahead without thinking a lot of the time but she has the presence of mind to slow down now, doing her best to match her knowledge of Lys to her imagined knowledge of what Lys (being Lys) might want. ]
Only if you want one, of course.
[ Maybe she's not into parties? Some people aren't into parties. However— ]
But you have to let me get you a present at least. Have to.
[Putting the finishing touches on the Jenga tower, Lys makes her second mistake: looking up and meeting that bright-eyed stare, pinned by it like a butterfly to an entomology board.]
A...party? Just for one birthday? ["My birthday?" goes unsaid, obvious just the same in the exaggerated lift of her eyebrows and the questioning tilt of her head.] I’ve heard about that, but we never really did it back home. Just little get-togethers every month for everyone born in that month.
[Who would Annette even invite to such a party, anyway? There’s Ema and Kainé and Summer, Lys supposes, but that only comes out to a total of five people. Would Annette bring her own friends? Would it inconvenience them? Make them feel awkward? What would it cost Annette to throw a “proper” party?
Her hands reach out and grab the bag of chips, simply holding it instead of trying to eat any, cellophane crinkling audibly as her grip tightens in a faint show of nerves. No, she doesn’t want a party. Doesn’t need one. Like Anja has said before, counting off another year wasn’t anything for a werewolf to brag about. No real achievement, nothing special. You could even look at it as a particularly tasteless joke, a kind of blasphemy; celebrating a life that shouldn’t exist in the first place.]
I won’t tell you not to get me something if you really want to [conceded with a rueful smile] but don’t you think being my friend is already enough of a gift? ‘Cause I do.
[ Hold on, wait just one minute, there is a lot of information being inadvertantly revealed here but the most important bit makes itself known almost immediately, Annette's eyes bugging wide and her spine going ramrod straight as she surges up from her previous ooze on the blankets. ]
You've never had a birthday party before? Not even one?
[ That's just so...sad! Sad and upsetting and even if Lys is apparently unbothered by this lack of festive celebration Annette is plenty bothered on her behalf. The rest of her words go completely dismissed as Annette latches onto that singular piece of information. ]
Then we definitely have to have a party, even if it's just you and me. [ Though obviously the invite list can definitely be expanded if Lys wants! ] A party with a cake and decorations - I wonder if I could make some simple ones - and I'll definitely sing the birthday song...
[ What was that about being a friend already enough of a gift? Annette has already moved on, her own brows pulled firmly together as she goes through the veritable checklist of things required (in her opinion) for a proper birthday party, muttering low under her breath. ]
[It's a good thing Lys wasn't trying to flirt, otherwise she'd be feeling more deflated than a mutilated balloon. Instead she laughs softly, nonplussed.]
You make it sound like nobody cared! We had parties, just...not personal ones, I guess.
[She doesn't mention that such a way of doing things made it possible for some of the poorer families in her village to have a celebration at all, that gathering resources for one party a month versus several was infinitely more doable when there was never very much to go around. Doesn't even think to, releasing her death grip on the chips bag to reach out and lightly touch Annette's shoulder, trying to disrupt that obvious reverie.]
But I think a party with just you and me [and the robot stripper (?)] could be really fun. You could sing me the birthday song, whatever that is, and we'll eat a whole bunch of sweets. Doesn't have to be cake.
[Speaking of cake...somewhere in all the hustle and bustle, she's gotten the plates and cutlery arranged just so, not trusting the robots to do even that much without some additional and entirely unnecessary commentary. Chips bag nestled securely in her lap—yes, she intends to eat both snacks at the same time—Lys opens the cakebox and starts divvying the chocolate cake inside into neat slices.]
[ Well the robot stripper is obviously a given, please prepare yourself.
The casual pressure against her shoulder is enough to disrupt her chaotic train of thought and she blinks, pulled away from her frantic party planning and back into the present. It probably would be rude to ignore Lys for half this sleepover, huh... Annette offers up a smile of apology, voice slowing down. ]
Then we'll have one personal party just for the experience and after that you can do whatever you want.
[ Group parties, no parties, whatever Lys and her oversized heart desires. For now, they can move on to the much more exciting activity of stuffing their faces. ]
Speaking of whatever you want, was there anything you really wanted to do during the sleepover?
[She smiles back—a little tired, a little vague—offense clearly not taken. It was (cute) (adorable) oddly charming, the way Annette sometimes got so distracted by an idea that she forgot about the rest of the world, chasing it down as avidly as a squirrel after acorns. Lys takes a moment to hold that mental image clear in her mind before answering, savoring how apt the metaphor felt, then breathes out the faintest sigh of relief.
Comparisons to 6O had not intruded. Maybe tonight would be okay.]
Well, I figured we'd stuff our faces and play some games. Maybe sit in front of the fire—unless you're already feeling too warm, of course. And...maybe you could read out some of those books you brought?
[She tries (and fails) not to let herself sound too hopeful. Lys could read them herself, she's knows she could, but simply listening to the other girl's voice seemed so much nicer.]
[ It might technically be spring (or whatever passes for the spring season around these parts) but the constant overhang of clouds in the sky means the weather stays cooler than it normally might with the sun out. Sitting close in front of the fire sounds like a fantastic idea, and Annette snags a slice of cake before beaming over at Lys.
Her stomach, presented with delicious sweets, rumbles in anticipation. She ignores it and pushes on. ]
That sounds great! You can pick the first game then and we can switch from there.
[ How many games....are they going to play....? Only time will tell. The point of a sleepover certainly isn't to sleep, in any case. ]
[She takes her own cake slice but doesn’t start eating it, waiting until Annette has started first. If she were alone or at yet another bustling (and well-stocked) party hosted by the robots, her portion would already be gone, bolted down in several quick mouthfuls. In smaller, more intimate gatherings like these, she chews slowly—hardwired to allow others the chance to steal from her plate, expression thoughtful as she muses over the options.]
Well, this block-stacking game is supposed to be pretty easy. We take turns pulling out the pieces, one at time, and whoever makes the tower falls over is the loser. Or there’s this, uh..."Connect 4some” game.
[Because the robots just couldn’t help themselves, apparently. It looks like an ordinary Connect 4 game, but with hearts and dicks and breasts, etc. stamped on the plastic discs. Moving on!]
Or maybe this "Scrabble" game?
[Where you can get extra points for spelling out words like "kiss" and "hug" and "blowjob", but she sees no reason to mention that. And yeah, Annette had said she could pick, but that's like asking Lys to sprout wings and fly.]
Annette is definitely not selecting Connect 4some, if only because she has seen enough dicks, boobs, and other genetalia over the course of her ten-month stay on the island. It'd be one thing if they were attached to someone she liked and was interested in, but just randomly hanging out all over the place? No thanks.
She does like easy though, and it's with a matching easy smile that she pulls out the box of blocks and sets it in front of them. ]
Then let's start with the block-stacking one. And if it ends up being too hard or we get too bored, we can pick something else.
[ They've got all night, it shouldn't be a problem.
Naturally, there's still something incredibly sexual about the block stacking game once she starts taking the blocks out of the box. Maybe it's the color of the pieces, oddly fleshy, with a faint sweat-like (or lube-like) sheen to them. Or maybe it has to do with the instructions, containing one too many 'pulling out' jokes to be fully wholesome. But she's come this far and she'll be damned if she lets the island get in the way of their nice fun-filled sleepover.
Once all the bricks are stacked Annette sits back, motioning to Lys. ]
[Would she get her credits back if she returned these pornographic nightmares...signs point to no, but then, it seems like such a small thing to worry over. Too small to care about. Lots of things seemed like that now, with 6O gone. If Lys wasn’t deliberately focusing only on their game and Annette’s presence, she might stop to wonder if it was like that for everyone who went through dooms of love. Would it explain her older sister’s dark moods after a breakup? Her big brother’s despondent sighing that lasted for weeks?]
‘kay...
[Grimacing slightly in shared distaste, yet equally committed to powering through, Lys carefully pulls out removes one of the middle flesh-blocks from near the top of the tower—a safe move with no thought paid to future risk or gain. She rubs together the fingers that had touched it, frown deepening at the odd texture. Not quite like skin, just moist enough to be off-putting. Did the robots really think that kind of thing got anyone in the mood? Even if she wasn’t emotionally treading water right now, Lys doesn’t think she’d find anything exciting about watching Annette handle a bunch of sweaty block pieces.]
I was kinda hoping this one would be, you know, normal. It looked like it, compared to some of the other games.
[The less said about "Hole-y Guacamole" and "Pin the Dildo on the Donkey", the better. Not that keeping silent could erase the memory of the risque boxart she had seen, a blush rising in her face against her own will.]
[ Every day she wishes everything about this island was normal, so that's a sentiment she can relate to. ]
I guess you really can't judge a book by its cover. Or a box.
[ Terrible!
She smiles when Lys successfully pulls out removes her brick, though the expression fades real quick once she's forced to (once again) feel the moist texture of the brick against her fingers. It's honestly a miracle that they don't stick to each other during the process of extraction, though maybe she just stacked them incorrectly.
The tower is another brick lighter by the time she's done, but in looking over towards Lys and noticing the redness on her face, her bubble of triumph popping as concern swells up. ]
Are you okay? We really don't have to play this if you don't want to. [ Somehow, this feels like her fault. ] I'm sorry everything turned out like this.
[ This being 'sexualized to hell and back.'
Impulsively she reaches out across the table, taking Lys's hand in her own. ]
I'm just happy to be here with you. It doesn't matter what we do.
[Surprise makes her blush burn hotter, the unexpected touch like gasoline thrown on a dying fire. Then she's staring down at their joined hands, expression trembling more and more the longer that Annette speaks. Teetering, teetering, the urge to cry suddenly and distressingly close. It always felt too close these days, a mass of dark clouds constantly threatening on some inner horizon. Because you couldn't kill grief no matter how hard you tried; just like a werewolf, the damn thing crawled out of every grave you put it in.
Feeling like so much shattered glass, cracked but still somehow holding together, Lys tightens her grip on the greased wires of her emotions and turns her face away, blinking rapidly. Crying wouldn't help anything. Never did. Annette doesn't even know what's wrong, and if Lys had to actually say it...
But she doesn't pull her hand away. The thin thread of trust that drew her back after their fight in the snow won't allow it.]
...Annette...
[She needs to say something that could fix this, make it better. Now, before the awkward moment stretches out and out and ruins everything. Except nothing comes, her throat closing up with an embarrassing choked noise.]
[ Somehow, what she intends to be a comforting gesture ends up being anything but. Lys doesn't look the least bit reassured; if anything her face seems to burn even redder and her expression - or at least the glimpse of it Annette manages to catch - twists into something that's decidedly unhappy in nature.
There's something deeper at play here, even her blithe unsubtle self can tell that much. But what, she doesn't know. Surely it can't be all the stupid board games, because they'd been fine when they started. Maybe it was something in the food? But Annette feels fine and honestly even if there had been, she's pretty sure anything laced would make them feel less likely to pull away than more.
She doesn't get up to cross over to where Lys sits. Instead, she reaches out her other hand, until Lys's hand is snugly held in both of hers. Her voice is soft, hesitant. ]
Lys? What is it? Do you wanna talk about it?
[ If this were Mercedes or even Dorothea, she wouldn't waste a second trying to pry the problem out, but something in her gut tells her it's better not to push right now, to wait it out until Lys feels like talking.
If she feels like talking. If a distraction is what she needs, then Annette will be happy to provide that too in place of a listening ear. ]
[No. No. Her entire body tenses up as she fights not to shake her head, to not give away even more of her increasingly obvious distress. Talking would just make her unravel all the faster; would peel away the last of her battered defenses and leave her feeling like a raw wound exposed to burning heat. This teetering on the edge, self-control cracked but still somehow holding together, was awful enough—claustrophobic like a straitjacket, desperately smothering her own reactions for fear of sharing too much. Actually breaking down in front of Annette would be even worse.
Stupid. She's so stupid. A few kind words and the platonic comfort of warm hands gently cradling her own shouldn't be able to do this to her, pushing her so far. She's faced death without flinching, endured insults beyond counting, suffered so many terrible injuries that the memories blur together. Simple kindness shouldn't cut this deeply. Lys takes a deep breath, then another, clamping down on her feelings with ragged determination. She turns her head back toward Annette, fully intending to school her expression into a blandly pleasant smile. To insist that she was fine and apologize for acting so weird. A little deflection, a little persistence, and Annette would surely play along.
Their eyes meet, blue staring into blue. Lys opens her mouth, already tasting the familiar white lie—and instead the truth leaps free, spilling out before she can swallow it back.]
6O's gone.
[Defeated, she bursts into tears, already moving to cover her face with her free hand.]
For a moment, she's too shocked by the sight of Lys crying - strong, easy-going, always good-natured Lys - to do anything more than stare wide-eyed. Annette would beat herself up for not noticing sooner - for not checking her bracelet and that stupid Sexscape Navigator directory sooner - but the truth of the matter is that none of this is about her. Lys is the one hurting right now, not her.
She lets go of Lys's hand—but only momentarily, so she can get up and circle around the small coffee table before plunking herself right down next to Lys. Without asking, without any sort of warning, she flings her arms around Lys, hugging the other girl as tight as she can. Maybe it's the wrong move but she doesn't care, physical comfort one of the few ways she knows how to express herself in times of distress. ]
Lys...I'm so sorry. It must hurt a lot, huh?
[ To find someone who loves you for you and then to lose it so suddenly. It's a reality of the island, she knows that, but it can't be easy all the same. ]
poses on the ground like one of your french girls, but while wearing a potato sack 1/2
[Wrapped up in Annette’s arms, fighting to breathe through the ugly sobs that rock her entire body despite every effort to keep them inside, Lys can’t help but lean into the embrace—and realizes too late the enormity of that mistake.
Every werewolf could shapeshift at will, from human to beast and back again. But a full moon dragged a transformation out of anyone who hadn’t trained themselves to resist the moon's lunar pull, and so did an emotional overload. More than a temper tantrum, more than a crying jag—a complete loss of self-possession, composure wrecked and ruined as their emotions ran haywire. Like hers were running now, what’s left of her self-control unraveling into tatters the longer that she’s held, comforted. It did something to a werewolf’s shapeshifting; made it erratic and uncontrollable, a supernatural incontinence that rose up and crowded everything else out.
Deep inside, too late to stop, Lys feels something tilting, teetering—and finally toppling over. A bolt of fear rips down her spine as she goes rigid in Annette’s arms, gasping: ]
[The rest dies in her throat as Lys changes—human form disappearing in a blur of motion and color. Until Annette isn't hugging a friend anymore, but a large wolf with black fur and mournful brown eyes.
This close, maybe Annette can catch more than a fleeting glimpse of the transformation. Maybe she can even feel it happen, the impossible way the human body in her arms instantly twists and compresses and seems to fold in on itself: muscles reforming, bones reshaping, fur replacing clothes and warm, clean skin. All of it instantly, painlessly. Unnaturally.]
[ With her eyes closed and her arms holding on tight - like she might clutch a lifeboat while drowning rather than a close friend in need of comfort - Annette feels like she can feel every slight shift of Lys's trembling body.
And yet it still catches her off-guard when it happens, the changes she never dreamed of witnessing. Truthfully, she barely even witnesses anything anyway, Lys's warning coming too late. She opens her eyes at the protest and starts to turn her head—but by the time she twists all the way, there's nothing but dark fur brushing up against her face.
She blinks. Gets a stray fur in her eye and blinks again.
The shock of it all, from seeing (the human features of) her friend one moment to nothing but dark fur and tipped ears the next is enough to rob her temporarily of her senses. All she can do is stare dumbly, her survival instinct completely buried in the wake of this revelation. ]
Lys?
[ If she gets her head bitten off as punishment for her immense stupidity, it will be her own goddamn fault. ]
[Frozen in place, brown eyes filled with an unmistakably human intelligence, Lys stares back. Doesn’t move except to breathe, shaggy chest rising and falling automatically—lupine body mechanically clinging to life despite how miserable it’s become to her again. Because she just couldn’t do the smart thing for once, could she? Couldn’t just follow her training and stay closed off to humans, to anyone outside the guild, suppressing her emotions like a good soldier and living only for the mission. And now here she was for not the second or third but the fourth time, unable to cope as the other shoe finally dropped and her world fell apart.
This close, Annette could blast her with fire magic at point-blank range, charring bones and fur to ash. She’d be dead in minutes—for a time. It doesn’t matter that 6O never attacked her, that Oran never tried to kill her, that Annette is supposed to be her friend; violent reprisals are what she’s been taught to always look for, to expect. Everyone was a potential threat.
But at least she doesn’t have to watch the moment when Annette’s expression inevitably changed from shock to fear and twisted into panicked hate. Knowing that it's cowardly, no longer caring, Lys ducks her head and looks away—eyes closing, tipped ears flattening against her skull, cringing away from the inevitable even as she resigns herself to it, a low and miserable whine bubbling up in her chest.]
[ Common sense dictates that she probably not keep holding onto...whatever it is she's holding onto right now. A really big dog? A wolf? Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to be out for her flesh, its body shrinking it on itself rather than turning to snap at her. Slowly her arms loosen, body pulling away so she can get a better look at the creature sitting next to her.
She's not unfamiliar with the concept of transformation and transmutation. Even though the idea still gives her heebie jeebies, Demonic Beasts had become a familiar enough sight by the end of the war that her heart had hardened towards them. Truthfully, the idea fills her with more sadness than it does with disgust or fear; what else is she expected to feel at the thought of someone having their life taken away solely to be turned into a tool of war?
Obviously whatever's going on with Lys might not be of the same nature—wait, hold on, maybe she should make sure that this actually is Lys first before barrelling ahead and assuming. It seems the most likely course of action, all things considered, but the island has done weirder things before. ]
Lys? [ Her voice is small, hesitant. ] Is that you?
[ Immediately after asking, she feels like a fool. Can Lys even answer her like that, if it really is Lys? But what else is she supposed to say? Bark once if yes, bark twice if no?? ]
[She doesn't move except to tremble, so tense that her entire body shakes. Death was coming—death and pain and loss, that central truth in any werewolf's life—and there's nothing she can do except pray for it to come swiftly, for this nightmare of waiting to finally end in a blaze of scorching fire—
Through the despair drowning her thoughts, filling her head like a toxic cloud, Annette sounds like she's underwater, speaking from across a great divide instead of mere inches away. The only thing that registers is that ridiculous tone: too quiet, absurdly hesitant. What was Annette waiting for? An explanation? What did that matter when Lys was sitting so close, too close, an obvious threat that needed to be destroyed now, now, right now?
The pained whine rising up and out of her chest twists into a choked noise of confusion, frustration—and then Lys is changing back just as suddenly, as unintentionally as before, nauseated not from the shift but from the sickening feeling of her self-control sliding away like marbles on glass. The fur and lupine body disappears like a mirage in a desert, a blur of motion and color that fades until she's human again: knees drawn up to her chest, face buried in both hands, sobbing hoarsely.]
[ She stares—and keeps staring, because if there's even a sliver of a chance that the animal in her arms is Lys, she doesn't want to spook it or hurt it or do anything that might come off as vaguely threatening. Truth be told, she should be the one feeling threatened now, but all she feels is a rising sense of anxiety over this animal that can't seem to do anything whine and tremble in her arms.
There had been plenty of wild animals in the hills surrounding Fhirdiad. She'd been warned never to stray too far from home during winter lest she meet with an unfortunate fate at the claws of a wild beast. But that had been when she'd been a child, powerless and afraid. Things have changed quite a bit in the last ten years, a repertoire of spells drilled into muscle memory after thousands of repetitions. She can defend herself now, though somehow she gets the sense she won't need to.
There's another motion and Annette expects the wolf to bolt, to slam through the door and run into the expanse of the city, never to be seen again. Instead, when she blinks, there's Lys right back where she was, head still buried in her face and sobs still clogging up her throat.
Annette doesn't know what to say. A first, considering she always at least has something to say, even if it's not the right thing to say. But the overwhelming sadness in the air, heavy and oppressive, turns every hesitant word blooming immediately into ash. So she just leans her head against one shaking shoulder, closing her eyes against a sting of tears, and keeps holding on as tight as she can. ]
[If she ran, there was nowhere for her to go. If she left, nothing would change. This wasn't her country, wasn't the world she'd come from, where the horizon never ended and anyone could reinvent themselves if they got over the hills and far away. The nameless island was so much smaller, and Annette—she could still find Lys, could tell people, could send them after her with torches and pitchforks.
Or maybe what it all comes down to is that Lys simply can't bring herself to move, body paralyzed no matter what her brain and instincts screamed at her. Maybe for all the running away she'd done, all the hopeless miles she'd put between herself and the home she believed lost forever, she'd never taken a step that actually mattered.
The realization that she's still being hugged filters in slowly, like weak sunlight through heavy clouds. Somehow, miraculously, she manages to rasp out:]
Wh...Wh-What are you doing?
[Her voice is stripped raw, ragged as though she's been crying for hours, accent thickened by tears and emotion. The only reason she hasn't shifted again is pure luck, but she can feel the power spinning loose inside her—it's so much like nausea that her stomach locks up, clenching with each heaving, sobbing breath.]
Y-You're supposed to k-kill me— [a strangled little laugh that's like so much shattered glass, shifting brokenly inside her chest and throat] —so j-just...just hurry up and do it—...!
[ A surge of white momentarily blinds and deafens her, stripping away all thought and sound until there's only the tremble of Lys's voice in her head, echoing loudly. ]
What?
[ The shrill edge to her voice is almost painful, a reflection of the gash that opens up over her heart at the implication behind those words. That Lys is someone who deserves to be killed simply for being nonhuman, that she thinks Annette is the type of person to turn her back so easily on a close friend. She's not sure which suggestion hurts worse, or which one she wants to refute first.
(Can she really refute the second point though, when that's exactly what she's done in the past—) ]
You're not—I don't—don't say that!
[ The words tumble out all once, a mess and barely comprehensible to even her own ears. Her heart is pounding loud in her chest, an awful mix of anger and anguish buzzing right below her skin. At some point her arms have gone slack but her hands tighten again now, this time to curl her fingers into the fabric of Lys's shirt in an almost desperate hold. ]
I'm not going to kill you! I don't want to kill anyone anymore!
[ Her eyes might be open, but instead of Lys all they see is a familiar battlefield and the stain of too much blood as it turns the ground a muddy red. The faces of her old classmates - her friends - as they stare sightlessy at a sky that shouldn't be nearly so blue and cheery in light of what's happening underneath.
She blinks. Draws in a ragged breath. Ignores the first few tears that run down her cheeks. ]
And you don't deserve to die just because you can turn into something else. Please don't ever say that again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[Don't ask me to make up a whole-ass calendar, I won't do it, je refuse and au revoir. It's bad enough they won't be able to tell they technically share the same birth month because the Fódlan calendar has it's new year in April for some fucking reason.]
"Harpstring Moon" is a way prettier name for a month, though it's a shame we can't tell when your birthday is...maybe I can ask one of the robots about it later.
[She hums, nudging another little block into place. And says, completely innocently:]
Mine might be soon, if I've kept count right.
[This is, perhaps, a mistake.]
no subject
Surely Lys wishes only for the joy of her friends, which in this case means a sudden widening of eyes, an audible gasp, and then a sudden clap of Annette's hands together as she stares unblinking at Lys a dazzling smile on her face. ]
Really? Soon? We should throw you a birthday party then!
[ Oh, hm, but wait, Annette might sometimes blitz ahead without thinking a lot of the time but she has the presence of mind to slow down now, doing her best to match her knowledge of Lys to her imagined knowledge of what Lys (being Lys) might want. ]
Only if you want one, of course.
[ Maybe she's not into parties? Some people aren't into parties. However— ]
But you have to let me get you a present at least. Have to.
[ She will not budge on this. ]
no subject
A...party? Just for one birthday? ["My birthday?" goes unsaid, obvious just the same in the exaggerated lift of her eyebrows and the questioning tilt of her head.] I’ve heard about that, but we never really did it back home. Just little get-togethers every month for everyone born in that month.
[Who would Annette even invite to such a party, anyway? There’s Ema and Kainé and Summer, Lys supposes, but that only comes out to a total of five people. Would Annette bring her own friends? Would it inconvenience them? Make them feel awkward? What would it cost Annette to throw a “proper” party?
Her hands reach out and grab the bag of chips, simply holding it instead of trying to eat any, cellophane crinkling audibly as her grip tightens in a faint show of nerves. No, she doesn’t want a party. Doesn’t need one. Like Anja has said before, counting off another year wasn’t anything for a werewolf to brag about. No real achievement, nothing special. You could even look at it as a particularly tasteless joke, a kind of blasphemy; celebrating a life that shouldn’t exist in the first place.]
I won’t tell you not to get me something if you really want to [conceded with a rueful smile] but don’t you think being my friend is already enough of a gift? ‘Cause I do.
no subject
You've never had a birthday party before? Not even one?
[ That's just so...sad! Sad and upsetting and even if Lys is apparently unbothered by this lack of festive celebration Annette is plenty bothered on her behalf. The rest of her words go completely dismissed as Annette latches onto that singular piece of information. ]
Then we definitely have to have a party, even if it's just you and me. [ Though obviously the invite list can definitely be expanded if Lys wants! ] A party with a cake and decorations - I wonder if I could make some simple ones - and I'll definitely sing the birthday song...
[ What was that about being a friend already enough of a gift? Annette has already moved on, her own brows pulled firmly together as she goes through the veritable checklist of things required (in her opinion) for a proper birthday party, muttering low under her breath. ]
no subject
You make it sound like nobody cared! We had parties, just...not personal ones, I guess.
[She doesn't mention that such a way of doing things made it possible for some of the poorer families in her village to have a celebration at all, that gathering resources for one party a month versus several was infinitely more doable when there was never very much to go around. Doesn't even think to, releasing her death grip on the chips bag to reach out and lightly touch Annette's shoulder, trying to disrupt that obvious reverie.]
But I think a party with just you and me [and the robot stripper (?)] could be really fun. You could sing me the birthday song, whatever that is, and we'll eat a whole bunch of sweets. Doesn't have to be cake.
[Speaking of cake...somewhere in all the hustle and bustle, she's gotten the plates and cutlery arranged just so, not trusting the robots to do even that much without some additional and entirely unnecessary commentary. Chips bag nestled securely in her lap—yes, she intends to eat both snacks at the same time—Lys opens the cakebox and starts divvying the chocolate cake inside into neat slices.]
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The casual pressure against her shoulder is enough to disrupt her chaotic train of thought and she blinks, pulled away from her frantic party planning and back into the present. It probably would be rude to ignore Lys for half this sleepover, huh... Annette offers up a smile of apology, voice slowing down. ]
Then we'll have one personal party just for the experience and after that you can do whatever you want.
[ Group parties, no parties, whatever Lys and her oversized heart desires. For now, they can move on to the much more exciting activity of stuffing their faces. ]
Speaking of whatever you want, was there anything you really wanted to do during the sleepover?
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[She smiles back—a little tired, a little vague—offense clearly not taken. It was (cute) (adorable) oddly charming, the way Annette sometimes got so distracted by an idea that she forgot about the rest of the world, chasing it down as avidly as a squirrel after acorns. Lys takes a moment to hold that mental image clear in her mind before answering, savoring how apt the metaphor felt, then breathes out the faintest sigh of relief.
Comparisons to 6O had not intruded. Maybe tonight would be okay.]
Well, I figured we'd stuff our faces and play some games. Maybe sit in front of the fire—unless you're already feeling too warm, of course. And...maybe you could read out some of those books you brought?
[She tries (and fails) not to let herself sound too hopeful. Lys could read them herself, she's knows she could, but simply listening to the other girl's voice seemed so much nicer.]
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Her stomach, presented with delicious sweets, rumbles in anticipation. She ignores it and pushes on. ]
That sounds great! You can pick the first game then and we can switch from there.
[ How many games....are they going to play....? Only time will tell. The point of a sleepover certainly isn't to sleep, in any case. ]
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Well, this block-stacking game is supposed to be pretty easy. We take turns pulling out the pieces, one at time, and whoever makes the tower falls over is the loser. Or there’s this, uh..."Connect 4some” game.
[Because the robots just couldn’t help themselves, apparently. It looks like an ordinary Connect 4 game, but with hearts and dicks and breasts, etc. stamped on the plastic discs. Moving on!]
Or maybe this "Scrabble" game?
[Where you can get extra points for spelling out words like "kiss" and "hug" and "blowjob", but she sees no reason to mention that. And yeah, Annette had said she could pick, but that's like asking Lys to sprout wings and fly.]
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Annette is definitely not selecting Connect 4some, if only because she has seen enough dicks, boobs, and other genetalia over the course of her ten-month stay on the island. It'd be one thing if they were attached to someone she liked and was interested in, but just randomly hanging out all over the place? No thanks.
She does like easy though, and it's with a matching easy smile that she pulls out the box of blocks and sets it in front of them. ]
Then let's start with the block-stacking one. And if it ends up being too hard or we get too bored, we can pick something else.
[ They've got all night, it shouldn't be a problem.
Naturally, there's still something incredibly sexual about the block stacking game once she starts taking the blocks out of the box. Maybe it's the color of the pieces, oddly fleshy, with a faint sweat-like (or lube-like) sheen to them. Or maybe it has to do with the instructions, containing one too many 'pulling out' jokes to be fully wholesome. But she's come this far and she'll be damned if she lets the island get in the way of their nice fun-filled sleepover.
Once all the bricks are stacked Annette sits back, motioning to Lys. ]
Here. You can go first.
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‘kay...
[Grimacing slightly in shared distaste, yet equally committed to powering through, Lys carefully
pulls outremoves one of the middle flesh-blocks from near the top of the tower—a safe move with no thought paid to future risk or gain. She rubs together the fingers that had touched it, frown deepening at the odd texture. Not quite like skin, just moist enough to be off-putting. Did the robots really think that kind of thing got anyone in the mood? Even if she wasn’t emotionally treading water right now, Lys doesn’t think she’d find anything exciting about watching Annette handle a bunch of sweaty block pieces.]I was kinda hoping this one would be, you know, normal. It looked like it, compared to some of the other games.
[The less said about "Hole-y Guacamole" and "Pin the Dildo on the Donkey", the better. Not that keeping silent could erase the memory of the risque boxart she had seen, a blush rising in her face against her own will.]
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I guess you really can't judge a book by its cover. Or a box.
[ Terrible!
She smiles when Lys successfully
pulls outremoves her brick, though the expression fades real quick once she's forced to (once again) feel the moist texture of the brick against her fingers. It's honestly a miracle that they don't stick to each other during the process of extraction, though maybe she just stacked them incorrectly.The tower is another brick lighter by the time she's done, but in looking over towards Lys and noticing the redness on her face, her bubble of triumph popping as concern swells up. ]
Are you okay? We really don't have to play this if you don't want to. [ Somehow, this feels like her fault. ] I'm sorry everything turned out like this.
[ This being 'sexualized to hell and back.'
Impulsively she reaches out across the table, taking Lys's hand in her own. ]
I'm just happy to be here with you. It doesn't matter what we do.
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Feeling like so much shattered glass, cracked but still somehow holding together, Lys tightens her grip on the greased wires of her emotions and turns her face away, blinking rapidly. Crying wouldn't help anything. Never did. Annette doesn't even know what's wrong, and if Lys had to actually say it...
But she doesn't pull her hand away. The thin thread of trust that drew her back after their fight in the snow won't allow it.]
...Annette...
[She needs to say something that could fix this, make it better. Now, before the awkward moment stretches out and out and ruins everything. Except nothing comes, her throat closing up with an embarrassing choked noise.]
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There's something deeper at play here, even her blithe unsubtle self can tell that much. But what, she doesn't know. Surely it can't be all the stupid board games, because they'd been fine when they started. Maybe it was something in the food? But Annette feels fine and honestly even if there had been, she's pretty sure anything laced would make them feel less likely to pull away than more.
She doesn't get up to cross over to where Lys sits. Instead, she reaches out her other hand, until Lys's hand is snugly held in both of hers. Her voice is soft, hesitant. ]
Lys? What is it? Do you wanna talk about it?
[ If this were Mercedes or even Dorothea, she wouldn't waste a second trying to pry the problem out, but something in her gut tells her it's better not to push right now, to wait it out until Lys feels like talking.
If she feels like talking. If a distraction is what she needs, then Annette will be happy to provide that too in place of a listening ear. ]
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Stupid. She's so stupid. A few kind words and the platonic comfort of warm hands gently cradling her own shouldn't be able to do this to her, pushing her so far. She's faced death without flinching, endured insults beyond counting, suffered so many terrible injuries that the memories blur together. Simple kindness shouldn't cut this deeply. Lys takes a deep breath, then another, clamping down on her feelings with ragged determination. She turns her head back toward Annette, fully intending to school her expression into a blandly pleasant smile. To insist that she was fine and apologize for acting so weird. A little deflection, a little persistence, and Annette would surely play along.
Their eyes meet, blue staring into blue. Lys opens her mouth, already tasting the familiar white lie—and instead the truth leaps free, spilling out before she can swallow it back.]
6O's gone.
[Defeated, she bursts into tears, already moving to cover her face with her free hand.]
crawls back to this 2 weeks later
For a moment, she's too shocked by the sight of Lys crying - strong, easy-going, always good-natured Lys - to do anything more than stare wide-eyed. Annette would beat herself up for not noticing sooner - for not checking her bracelet and that stupid Sexscape Navigator directory sooner - but the truth of the matter is that none of this is about her. Lys is the one hurting right now, not her.
She lets go of Lys's hand—but only momentarily, so she can get up and circle around the small coffee table before plunking herself right down next to Lys. Without asking, without any sort of warning, she flings her arms around Lys, hugging the other girl as tight as she can. Maybe it's the wrong move but she doesn't care, physical comfort one of the few ways she knows how to express herself in times of distress. ]
Lys...I'm so sorry. It must hurt a lot, huh?
[ To find someone who loves you for you and then to lose it so suddenly. It's a reality of the island, she knows that, but it can't be easy all the same. ]
poses on the ground like one of your french girls, but while wearing a potato sack 1/2
Every werewolf could shapeshift at will, from human to beast and back again. But a full moon dragged a transformation out of anyone who hadn’t trained themselves to resist the moon's lunar pull, and so did an emotional overload. More than a temper tantrum, more than a crying jag—a complete loss of self-possession, composure wrecked and ruined as their emotions ran haywire. Like hers were running now, what’s left of her self-control unraveling into tatters the longer that she’s held, comforted. It did something to a werewolf’s shapeshifting; made it erratic and uncontrollable, a supernatural incontinence that rose up and crowded everything else out.
Deep inside, too late to stop, Lys feels something tilting, teetering—and finally toppling over. A bolt of fear rips down her spine as she goes rigid in Annette’s arms, gasping: ]
W-Wait, don’t—
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This close, maybe Annette can catch more than a fleeting glimpse of the transformation. Maybe she can even feel it happen, the impossible way the human body in her arms instantly twists and compresses and seems to fold in on itself: muscles reforming, bones reshaping, fur replacing clothes and warm, clean skin. All of it instantly, painlessly. Unnaturally.]
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And yet it still catches her off-guard when it happens, the changes she never dreamed of witnessing. Truthfully, she barely even witnesses anything anyway, Lys's warning coming too late. She opens her eyes at the protest and starts to turn her head—but by the time she twists all the way, there's nothing but dark fur brushing up against her face.
She blinks. Gets a stray fur in her eye and blinks again.
The shock of it all, from seeing (the human features of) her friend one moment to nothing but dark fur and tipped ears the next is enough to rob her temporarily of her senses. All she can do is stare dumbly, her survival instinct completely buried in the wake of this revelation. ]
Lys?
[ If she gets her head bitten off as punishment for her immense stupidity, it will be her own goddamn fault. ]
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This close, Annette could blast her with fire magic at point-blank range, charring bones and fur to ash. She’d be dead in minutes—for a time. It doesn’t matter that 6O never attacked her, that Oran never tried to kill her, that Annette is supposed to be her friend; violent reprisals are what she’s been taught to always look for, to expect. Everyone was a potential threat.
But at least she doesn’t have to watch the moment when Annette’s expression inevitably changed from shock to fear and twisted into panicked hate. Knowing that it's cowardly, no longer caring, Lys ducks her head and looks away—eyes closing, tipped ears flattening against her skull, cringing away from the inevitable even as she resigns herself to it, a low and miserable whine bubbling up in her chest.]
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She's not unfamiliar with the concept of transformation and transmutation. Even though the idea still gives her heebie jeebies, Demonic Beasts had become a familiar enough sight by the end of the war that her heart had hardened towards them. Truthfully, the idea fills her with more sadness than it does with disgust or fear; what else is she expected to feel at the thought of someone having their life taken away solely to be turned into a tool of war?
Obviously whatever's going on with Lys might not be of the same nature—wait, hold on, maybe she should make sure that this actually is Lys first before barrelling ahead and assuming. It seems the most likely course of action, all things considered, but the island has done weirder things before. ]
Lys? [ Her voice is small, hesitant. ] Is that you?
[ Immediately after asking, she feels like a fool. Can Lys even answer her like that, if it really is Lys? But what else is she supposed to say? Bark once if yes, bark twice if no?? ]
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Through the despair drowning her thoughts, filling her head like a toxic cloud, Annette sounds like she's underwater, speaking from across a great divide instead of mere inches away. The only thing that registers is that ridiculous tone: too quiet, absurdly hesitant. What was Annette waiting for? An explanation? What did that matter when Lys was sitting so close, too close, an obvious threat that needed to be destroyed now, now, right now?
The pained whine rising up and out of her chest twists into a choked noise of confusion, frustration—and then Lys is changing back just as suddenly, as unintentionally as before, nauseated not from the shift but from the sickening feeling of her self-control sliding away like marbles on glass. The fur and lupine body disappears like a mirage in a desert, a blur of motion and color that fades until she's human again: knees drawn up to her chest, face buried in both hands, sobbing hoarsely.]
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There had been plenty of wild animals in the hills surrounding Fhirdiad. She'd been warned never to stray too far from home during winter lest she meet with an unfortunate fate at the claws of a wild beast. But that had been when she'd been a child, powerless and afraid. Things have changed quite a bit in the last ten years, a repertoire of spells drilled into muscle memory after thousands of repetitions. She can defend herself now, though somehow she gets the sense she won't need to.
There's another motion and Annette expects the wolf to bolt, to slam through the door and run into the expanse of the city, never to be seen again. Instead, when she blinks, there's Lys right back where she was, head still buried in her face and sobs still clogging up her throat.
Annette doesn't know what to say. A first, considering she always at least has something to say, even if it's not the right thing to say. But the overwhelming sadness in the air, heavy and oppressive, turns every hesitant word blooming immediately into ash. So she just leans her head against one shaking shoulder, closing her eyes against a sting of tears, and keeps holding on as tight as she can. ]
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Or maybe what it all comes down to is that Lys simply can't bring herself to move, body paralyzed no matter what her brain and instincts screamed at her. Maybe for all the running away she'd done, all the hopeless miles she'd put between herself and the home she believed lost forever, she'd never taken a step that actually mattered.
The realization that she's still being hugged filters in slowly, like weak sunlight through heavy clouds. Somehow, miraculously, she manages to rasp out:]
Wh...Wh-What are you doing?
[Her voice is stripped raw, ragged as though she's been crying for hours, accent thickened by tears and emotion. The only reason she hasn't shifted again is pure luck, but she can feel the power spinning loose inside her—it's so much like nausea that her stomach locks up, clenching with each heaving, sobbing breath.]
Y-You're supposed to k-kill me— [a strangled little laugh that's like so much shattered glass, shifting brokenly inside her chest and throat] —so j-just...just hurry up and do it—...!
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What?
[ The shrill edge to her voice is almost painful, a reflection of the gash that opens up over her heart at the implication behind those words. That Lys is someone who deserves to be killed simply for being nonhuman, that she thinks Annette is the type of person to turn her back so easily on a close friend. She's not sure which suggestion hurts worse, or which one she wants to refute first.
(Can she really refute the second point though, when that's exactly what she's done in the past—) ]
You're not—I don't—don't say that!
[ The words tumble out all once, a mess and barely comprehensible to even her own ears. Her heart is pounding loud in her chest, an awful mix of anger and anguish buzzing right below her skin. At some point her arms have gone slack but her hands tighten again now, this time to curl her fingers into the fabric of Lys's shirt in an almost desperate hold. ]
I'm not going to kill you! I don't want to kill anyone anymore!
[ Her eyes might be open, but instead of Lys all they see is a familiar battlefield and the stain of too much blood as it turns the ground a muddy red. The faces of her old classmates - her friends - as they stare sightlessy at a sky that shouldn't be nearly so blue and cheery in light of what's happening underneath.
She blinks. Draws in a ragged breath. Ignores the first few tears that run down her cheeks. ]
And you don't deserve to die just because you can turn into something else. Please don't ever say that again.
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sets you on fire
finally
barfs on you with my barfhands too
every time you act nasty, i mail a potato to your house
good, i love potatoes
you're getting piss potatoes
that piss will be the perfect seasoning for the mashed potatoes i make you
i got psychic damage from reading that, thank u