[ 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.
[Somehow, impossibly, there's still no fire. No pain. Only Annette's hands curling into her shirt and the anguished sound of her voice jerking Lys out of her prone position, the admission of anymore like a fish hook in her brain. Her head lifts, red-rimmed eyes staring blankly down at Annette out of a tear-stained and too-pale face. She can't seem to find her voice—only mouth the shape of words as her lips move soundlessly, useless half-questions and confused denials, until finally she swallows hard.]
Y-You...you don't understand.
[To her endless self-disgust, she feels just a tiny bit calmer (though she certainly doesn't deserve to be), Annette's obvious distress pushing away a little of her own panicked despair. It was always so much harder to get swept up in her own pain when someone else was suffering right next to her, even when all she wanted was to block out the world entirely. Very, very slowly, as though afraid Annette might spook, Lys brushes her knuckles against the other girl's face with infinite gentleness, wiping away some of the tears.]
[ The words drop from Lys's lips and bounce right off Annette, whatever weight they might have held completely dissipating as they travel the scant few inches from one girl to the other. ]
So?
[ Her voice is still edged with panic, still too shrill for comfort. ]
I'm dangerous too. Dimitri is dangerous, Felix is dangerous, almost everyone I know here is dangerous somehow. Am I supposed to kill all of them too?
[ To her, it's such a paltry excuse and not even worth repeating. If she set out to kill every single person she knew that might possibly be a threat to her life, she simply wouldn't have any friends left. Maybe Lys is actually dangerous in her canine form and maybe she isn't, Annette doesn't have the wherewithal at the moment to think rationally about it, but either way she simply can't reconcile her gentle giant of a friend with the image of a bloodthirsty wolf that might snap her neck in one swift motion.
She should calm down, take a few deep breaths to calm the rapidfire beat of her heart. Instead, she grabs onto Lys's hand, her grip no looser than before. ]
If we're killing people just because they're dangerous, then you might as well kill me too.
[It's not a snap—even now, emotions running wild, Lys wasn't inclined toward anger—but there's a clipped, shrill edge to it to match Annette's, sudden like a wire drawn too tight. The idea of hurting (much less killing) her friends because of what she truly was never got any easier to contemplate, even after seven years. Lys shakes her head, grimacing as the power inside her continues to ricochet like marbles on glass, and forces herself to take the deep, meditative breaths that Annette does not.
It doesn't really help. Adrenaline's still pounding through her body like electricity through an overloaded power line, fight-or-flight instincts loudly shrieking that danger was threateningly near. But Lys tries anyway, putting her free hand over Annette's and making no move to pull away.]
You...you're dangerous because you've got powerful magic, okay, fine. You studied it and you practiced it, and you even went to school for it, because it's something normal where you're from. Something natural, like wind and fire and rain. But me...what I really am...we're not even supposed to exist. Our world would be better off if we were all dead.
[ Dimly, she can see Lys's mouth moving, lips forming shapes that correspond to words. Those words flit through her brain, alighting briefly on neurons just long enough to leave behind a thumbprint of meaning before they vanish again.
A hysterical giggle escapes her throat as she continues staring, mouth parting with each new word she hears. Normal? Natural? Is she hearing things right? What does that have to do with anything, especially considering where they are. The last thing any of them should be arguing about is what's considered normal or not. ]
We're not in your world anymore, or in mine. You think there's anything normal about being in a place where we're expected to—to have sex all the time and instead of buying things we want with money we have to use stupid squares?
[ It sounds even more ludricrous now that she's stated it out loud but she doesn't even pay it any mind, continuing her tirade now that the dam on her emotions has broken. Anger, sadness, disbelief...they come rushing out all at once. ]
I don't care about what's normal, Lys, I care about you! And I'm glad you exist, because if you hadn't I wouldn't have gotten to know you.
[ Thinking about a life on the island without Lys in it....she would rather not think about that at all. ]
[Not now and not before. Not later, either. She can tell just by Annette's voice that all she's doing is making an awful situation even worse, but she doesn't know how to fix it. Claiming to care about her, to be happy that she exists despite now knowing the truth—it rings hollow and strange. Goes against everything she's been taught, everything that's been drilled into her. Everything she's already convinced herself was true.
Annette was human. Whole, complete, without a curse twisting her true nature and shadowing her soul. And Lys was not. They sat less than a foot away from each other, yet the distance between them might as well have been a thousand miles.]
No matter where I go, I'll always be a monster. My world, your world...and here, too. Caring about me is just gonna make you more upset and confused.
[A deep, shuddering breath that seems to claw its way slowly and painfully out of her chest. Lys shrugs stiffly, staring past their joined hands at nothing as she tries to steer the jagged mess their conversation has become.]
...listen, you...y-you can't tell anyone about this. You just can't. Please. If anyone from my guild showed up here, if they found out—they'd hurt you.
[ Slowly her mouth closes, teeth gritting together and the fingers of her free hand curling into a small fist, a paltry attempt at stopping herself from reaching out to vehemently shake Lys by the shoulders.
She's wants to scream, wants to repeat the words you are not a monster over and over again until they finally make it through that thick skull and into Lys's brain. But nothing she's said so far seems to have gotten through, the words Lys throws at her even now forming a solid and well-perfected defense. Whatever - whoever - had carved those beliefs deep into her had done so over with unfailing repetition over the course of a long time.
It's not something she's going to be able to change right away, and especially not in the span of a day. All she can do is set the other girl at ease, soothe any and all fears that crop up as best she can. Everything else she can work on untangling later, knot by knot.
Slowly, her nerves settle back down, her breathing evening out in her chest. Her gaze drops down momentarily, staring at a small spot on the floor. ]
Okay. [ Her voice is small now, hesitant. ] I promise I won't tell anyone about this. About you.
[ She looks up again, gaze frank. ]
But I'm not gonna stop caring about you. And you're not a monster, no matter what anyone else says.
every time you act nasty, i mail a potato to your house
[Lys doesn't say anything at first. Only nods and seems to deflate on the spot, numb relief soothing away some of the stress carving fresh lines into her young face. Shoulders slumping, she breathes out, listening to the rest of what Annette's says with only half an ear. The words are less important than the other girl's voice, the sound of it helping to settle the power inside her until it's no longer spinning out of control.
And then something pretending to be a smile slides across her face. Brittle as glass, oddly shadowed by the way her head doesn't lift to meet Annette's gaze.]
You're only saying that because you haven't seen everything. If you did, you'd change your mind.
[It's such a stupid thing to offer, like baring her throat to a hunter. Completely self-defeating. Just how many guild teachings has she broken now, anyway? Too many. And yet the idea twists in her like shrapnel trapped under flesh, needling her with a masochistic epistemology as familiar as her own face: whatever hurts is true.]
[ This, at least, she can deal with. There's enough reason still coiled in her mind that she sits up a little straighter at this admission, rather than letting it knock her back yet another foot. Her hand, still clutched around Lys's, lowers. The confidence unfurling in her body spreads to her voice, which rings out clearly when she speaks. ]
Then show me. Show me everything and I'll see if I change my mind or not.
[ It's a challenge for her as much as it is Lys. She can't fathom the depths of Lys's secrets, feels like she's only witnessing the tip top of the iceberg when so much of it still remains hidden under the water.
But if she knows anything, it's that she trusts Lys. Almost a year they've been together here on this island and not once has Lys tried to hurt her in any way, barring the strange machinations of the island. Even that had been tempered at the edges, both of them turning away before irrepairable damage could be done. ]
[The strange, unnatural smile lingers for several moments as Lys tilts her head ever so slightly toward the sound of Annette speaking, listening to the impossible confidence in Annette's voice. Then the expression breaks apart, replaced by nothing at all as her face smooths over; turns as flat and opaque as clouded glass. Raising their joined hands, Lys gently but determinedly breaks Annette's grip—peeling off her fingers one by one, if she has to. It's easy.
Then she stands up. Steps back a few paces. Stares directly ahead at a random spot on the far wall.
And changes.
Another blur of motion, of color—skin giving way to dark fur, pointed ears framing a lupine head. But the creature revealed is so much bigger now, brawny and barrel-chested, standing upright on two legs with a huge fluffy tail out for balance. At least eight feet tall, it looms over Annette like a monolith, clawed hands flexing into huge fists as it pants through parted jaws filled with razored fangs. A mountain of fur and muscle and feral strength; a monster whose claws could rend flesh to dollrags, whose weight forces the sturdy floor to dip and creak under the strain; a werewolf.
It doesn't speak. Doesn't move except to breathe, intelligent brown eyes burning out of that animalistic excuse for a face. It only waits for Annette to do something, say something; scream, faint, run away.
Attack.]
that piss will be the perfect seasoning for the mashed potatoes i make you
[ Her heart beats quicker when Lys finally moves away, Annette's eyes widening automatically in preparation for what's to come. What exactly that is she doesn't know but she steels herself for it nonetheless, shoulders tensing and now-empty hands pulling closer to her chest.
Her eyes follow the short path Lys takes—and then widen even further when the taller girl changes right before her eyes.
It would be a lie to say she doesn't feel a momentary burst of fear at the swift transformation, her nails digging into the flesh of her palm as her fingers curl into fists and her already light skin paling further. There's only remnants of humanity in the creature in front of her now, a creature most others would call a monster. And if she hadn't known that this was Lys, if she had just seen this creature on the street without any warning or preamble, would she have immediately dismissed it for a monster too? She's ashamed to admit that she probably would have.
But this is Lys, she reminds herself. Even if she looks terribly different on the outside, surely she's still the same on the inside, warm-hearted and ever supportive. She should say something reassuring, something that will help cut the tension that still drifts between them. Something that will convince Lys that Annette won't run away or abandon her, even after all this.
Instead, in true Annette fashion, she fumbles and completely misses the landing. ]
[Expressions are a difficult thing when your face is too wolfish to be fully human—fangs, a muzzle, dark fur layered heavily over an altered bone structure—but somehow just human enough for emotion to manifest regardless. Brown eyes narrowing slightly, nostrils flaring as though scenting Annette's fear, the massive head dips as the pointed ears flatten back. Slowly, slowly, Lys drops to one knee, broad shoulders slumping in a laughably vain attempt to appear just a little smaller, less of an overwhelming threat.
More slowly still, she reaches out to try and gently cup Annette's face (her whole head, really) with a furry hand that's roughly the size of a dinner plate; large fingers with thick paw-pads fully extended, blunt claws held carefully out of the way. Lys doesn't have a name for the feeling twisting through her like barbed wire, pushing her to attempt such a ridiculous, foolhardy, embarrassingly sentimental gesture. Maybe she hopes Annette will spook and lash out, burning her to ash with destructive fire magic. Maybe she simply can't help but test the other girl's resolve.
Even if she knew what to call the feeling, she couldn't articulate it. Not like this. In lieu of words, Lys again watches for Annette's reaction.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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 subject
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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Y-You...you don't understand.
[To her endless self-disgust, she feels just a tiny bit calmer (though she certainly doesn't deserve to be), Annette's obvious distress pushing away a little of her own panicked despair. It was always so much harder to get swept up in her own pain when someone else was suffering right next to her, even when all she wanted was to block out the world entirely. Very, very slowly, as though afraid Annette might spook, Lys brushes her knuckles against the other girl's face with infinite gentleness, wiping away some of the tears.]
I'm dangerous.
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So?
[ Her voice is still edged with panic, still too shrill for comfort. ]
I'm dangerous too. Dimitri is dangerous, Felix is dangerous, almost everyone I know here is dangerous somehow. Am I supposed to kill all of them too?
[ To her, it's such a paltry excuse and not even worth repeating. If she set out to kill every single person she knew that might possibly be a threat to her life, she simply wouldn't have any friends left. Maybe Lys is actually dangerous in her canine form and maybe she isn't, Annette doesn't have the wherewithal at the moment to think rationally about it, but either way she simply can't reconcile her gentle giant of a friend with the image of a bloodthirsty wolf that might snap her neck in one swift motion.
She should calm down, take a few deep breaths to calm the rapidfire beat of her heart. Instead, she grabs onto Lys's hand, her grip no looser than before. ]
If we're killing people just because they're dangerous, then you might as well kill me too.
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[It's not a snap—even now, emotions running wild, Lys wasn't inclined toward anger—but there's a clipped, shrill edge to it to match Annette's, sudden like a wire drawn too tight. The idea of hurting (much less killing) her friends because of what she truly was never got any easier to contemplate, even after seven years. Lys shakes her head, grimacing as the power inside her continues to ricochet like marbles on glass, and forces herself to take the deep, meditative breaths that Annette does not.
It doesn't really help. Adrenaline's still pounding through her body like electricity through an overloaded power line, fight-or-flight instincts loudly shrieking that danger was threateningly near. But Lys tries anyway, putting her free hand over Annette's and making no move to pull away.]
You...you're dangerous because you've got powerful magic, okay, fine. You studied it and you practiced it, and you even went to school for it, because it's something normal where you're from. Something natural, like wind and fire and rain. But me...what I really am...we're not even supposed to exist. Our world would be better off if we were all dead.
sets you on fire
A hysterical giggle escapes her throat as she continues staring, mouth parting with each new word she hears. Normal? Natural? Is she hearing things right? What does that have to do with anything, especially considering where they are. The last thing any of them should be arguing about is what's considered normal or not. ]
We're not in your world anymore, or in mine. You think there's anything normal about being in a place where we're expected to—to have sex all the time and instead of buying things we want with money we have to use stupid squares?
[ It sounds even more ludricrous now that she's stated it out loud but she doesn't even pay it any mind, continuing her tirade now that the dam on her emotions has broken. Anger, sadness, disbelief...they come rushing out all at once. ]
I don't care about what's normal, Lys, I care about you! And I'm glad you exist, because if you hadn't I wouldn't have gotten to know you.
[ Thinking about a life on the island without Lys in it....she would rather not think about that at all. ]
finally
[Not now and not before. Not later, either. She can tell just by Annette's voice that all she's doing is making an awful situation even worse, but she doesn't know how to fix it. Claiming to care about her, to be happy that she exists despite now knowing the truth—it rings hollow and strange. Goes against everything she's been taught, everything that's been drilled into her. Everything she's already convinced herself was true.
Annette was human. Whole, complete, without a curse twisting her true nature and shadowing her soul. And Lys was not. They sat less than a foot away from each other, yet the distance between them might as well have been a thousand miles.]
No matter where I go, I'll always be a monster. My world, your world...and here, too. Caring about me is just gonna make you more upset and confused.
[A deep, shuddering breath that seems to claw its way slowly and painfully out of her chest. Lys shrugs stiffly, staring past their joined hands at nothing as she tries to steer the jagged mess their conversation has become.]
...listen, you...y-you can't tell anyone about this. You just can't. Please. If anyone from my guild showed up here, if they found out—they'd hurt you.
barfs on you with my barfhands too
She's wants to scream, wants to repeat the words you are not a monster over and over again until they finally make it through that thick skull and into Lys's brain. But nothing she's said so far seems to have gotten through, the words Lys throws at her even now forming a solid and well-perfected defense. Whatever - whoever - had carved those beliefs deep into her had done so over with unfailing repetition over the course of a long time.
It's not something she's going to be able to change right away, and especially not in the span of a day. All she can do is set the other girl at ease, soothe any and all fears that crop up as best she can. Everything else she can work on untangling later, knot by knot.
Slowly, her nerves settle back down, her breathing evening out in her chest. Her gaze drops down momentarily, staring at a small spot on the floor. ]
Okay. [ Her voice is small now, hesitant. ] I promise I won't tell anyone about this. About you.
[ She looks up again, gaze frank. ]
But I'm not gonna stop caring about you. And you're not a monster, no matter what anyone else says.
every time you act nasty, i mail a potato to your house
And then something pretending to be a smile slides across her face. Brittle as glass, oddly shadowed by the way her head doesn't lift to meet Annette's gaze.]
You're only saying that because you haven't seen everything. If you did, you'd change your mind.
[It's such a stupid thing to offer, like baring her throat to a hunter. Completely self-defeating. Just how many guild teachings has she broken now, anyway? Too many. And yet the idea twists in her like shrapnel trapped under flesh, needling her with a masochistic epistemology as familiar as her own face: whatever hurts is true.]
good, i love potatoes
Then show me. Show me everything and I'll see if I change my mind or not.
[ It's a challenge for her as much as it is Lys. She can't fathom the depths of Lys's secrets, feels like she's only witnessing the tip top of the iceberg when so much of it still remains hidden under the water.
But if she knows anything, it's that she trusts Lys. Almost a year they've been together here on this island and not once has Lys tried to hurt her in any way, barring the strange machinations of the island. Even that had been tempered at the edges, both of them turning away before irrepairable damage could be done. ]
you're getting piss potatoes
Then she stands up. Steps back a few paces. Stares directly ahead at a random spot on the far wall.
And changes.
Another blur of motion, of color—skin giving way to dark fur, pointed ears framing a lupine head. But the creature revealed is so much bigger now, brawny and barrel-chested, standing upright on two legs with a huge fluffy tail out for balance. At least eight feet tall, it looms over Annette like a monolith, clawed hands flexing into huge fists as it pants through parted jaws filled with razored fangs. A mountain of fur and muscle and feral strength; a monster whose claws could rend flesh to dollrags, whose weight forces the sturdy floor to dip and creak under the strain; a werewolf.
It doesn't speak. Doesn't move except to breathe, intelligent brown eyes burning out of that animalistic excuse for a face. It only waits for Annette to do something, say something; scream, faint, run away.
Attack.]
that piss will be the perfect seasoning for the mashed potatoes i make you
Her eyes follow the short path Lys takes—and then widen even further when the taller girl changes right before her eyes.
It would be a lie to say she doesn't feel a momentary burst of fear at the swift transformation, her nails digging into the flesh of her palm as her fingers curl into fists and her already light skin paling further. There's only remnants of humanity in the creature in front of her now, a creature most others would call a monster. And if she hadn't known that this was Lys, if she had just seen this creature on the street without any warning or preamble, would she have immediately dismissed it for a monster too? She's ashamed to admit that she probably would have.
But this is Lys, she reminds herself. Even if she looks terribly different on the outside, surely she's still the same on the inside, warm-hearted and ever supportive. She should say something reassuring, something that will help cut the tension that still drifts between them. Something that will convince Lys that Annette won't run away or abandon her, even after all this.
Instead, in true Annette fashion, she fumbles and completely misses the landing. ]
You're even taller like this.
[ It comes out a squeak. ]
i got psychic damage from reading that, thank u
More slowly still, she reaches out to try and gently cup Annette's face (her whole head, really) with a furry hand that's roughly the size of a dinner plate; large fingers with thick paw-pads fully extended, blunt claws held carefully out of the way. Lys doesn't have a name for the feeling twisting through her like barbed wire, pushing her to attempt such a ridiculous, foolhardy, embarrassingly sentimental gesture. Maybe she hopes Annette will spook and lash out, burning her to ash with destructive fire magic. Maybe she simply can't help but test the other girl's resolve.
Even if she knew what to call the feeling, she couldn't articulate it. Not like this. In lieu of words, Lys again watches for Annette's reaction.]