familyproblem | Ryslig inbox

[She gives a derisive scoff.]

What a fine protector you are... To claim that you had no other option but to run off on your own family...

[Getting mugs out of the cabinet - DO NOT SLAM THEM ON THE COUNTER gently place them. Gently.]

I'm talking about now. [Deep breath!] Do you know where you were, Mother, the moment before I fell through to Felfri? On our side?

[It's obvious that her resentment still lingers, and a more scientific part of her had once been briefly curious to know what might have become of other iterations of herself, left behind worlds away, but in the end—]

What does it matter now? I have been here, in this world, for well over a year now... And you left me long before that.

[Why should she care about his side, she wonders, after all he had done and everything that had happened?]

Yet you call me Mother... It really is incomprehensible to me... when you are no son of mine...

[Tea thoughts. If his voice is a little unsteady, no it isn't.]

Then what does it matter to you what I am? [Get the milk and sugar out. He should probably take those over now, but no thank you. Watching the kettle is more pressing.] On our side you're not awake to protect anything, on this side you're not interested. Who's left?

[Not awake? For a fleeting moment, she's confused, then almost unnerved. If she deigns to think back to those moments before she made her escape into Ryslig, she can remember the creature and its horrible, burning light splitting her in two, then a bones-deep, overwhelming tiredness, all the power torn out of her along with her beast...

But she shouldn't. Where is the point in it? That aside, she cannot think of Gladion as truly honest.

It's telling, perhaps, that her silence lasts just a moment too long—but still she recovers, compensating for it by countering snidely:]

Oh... I suppose you are free to go on calling yourself whatever ridiculous thing you please. I only found it to be quite confusing, when your behavior has been so... diametrically opposed.

[Her voice still has a threadiness to it that suggests exhaustion or illness, but now it raises in strength to a sharp clarity.]

That is to say nothing of how there is no family even left to be protected! You made sure of that, after all...

[He has to keep reminding himself: she wasn't well, and she probably still isn't. He doesn't have to defend himself against everything she says, because a lot of it just isn't true.

And then she comes at him with that and, alright, he's glad he's over here and not over there because he genuinely feels light-headed. With. Anger? Anguish? Gladion braces his hands on the edge of the counter; the edge biting into his palms...helps. Maybe.]

I don't care what you think of me, but don't you dare act like Lillie doesn't exist.

[Lillie. Hearing her name spoken aloud seems to strike a nerve for Lusamine, sending a shudder—of discomfort? anger? revulsion?—through her. Then she sighs.]

Oh, I don't claim that she doesn't exist. Only... we cannot be called a family any longer, now can we? Certainly not! She left me just as you did. How can I call such ungrateful wretches my children?

[And yet... When she thinks of Lillie now, more often than she preferred to, she thinks of that determined face above her in Ultra Space, concerned, resolute, and...

Lusamine swallows, bringing her arms around herself.]

The both of you... have always conspired against me. But I am through with it now! I want no part in whatever it is you're scheming... I could have at last been happy here, don't you see? And you would have been rid of me! But now...

[Now things are changing and becoming ugly. Now this world is turning against her, too, like Gladion has poisoned it with his very presence.]

[DO NOT SMACK YOUR HANDS ON THE COUNTER-

-mission failed. Just a little bit. A little thump from his left palm. Shut up shut up shut up Mother what is wrong with you.]

For a year she has - put her blood, sweat, and tears into making sure there was a chance for you - maybe you weren't paying attention but she believed, she walked straight into danger to carry you home, she took your catatonic body to Kanto to find a cure even though I know she still has nightmares-

[The kettle starts whistling. Gladion jumps and swallows and finds his eyes hot. What is he saying? How is he supposed to - do whatever it was he thought he would accomplish, like this?

Lillie isn't even here.

He fumbles at the dial. The whistling slows and stops.

...]

[This outpouring of emotion, full of strange and entirely new information, has Lusamine unmoved. Through it all, she can only think, What nonsense. Even if she were to accept it as truth, she cannot conceive of Lillie's intentions as so altruistic.

There is a retort waiting on her tongue, but the kettle interrupts Gladion with its whistling before she can use it. As he fumbles with the dial, Lusamine sits silent, still, and straight-backed, pretending to be the more put-together of the two of them. Well, her face might say if he were to turn and face it, I'm so glad you've gotten that out of your system.

Her reply comes belatedly, in a low and vengeful voice.]

She chased me. She and that hateful little trainer... hunted me down when I had finally found paradise... I would not have been in the state you describe at all if she just had the sense to leave me be...

[Vexed, she takes in a breath and releases it in a shaky exhale.]

But you just cannot stand it, can you? Neither of you! You cannot stand to see me find any small bit of happiness, in any world...

[Happiness.]

Right. Sure. Maybe they would have just liquified you completely.

[She exhales another short, sharp breath—almost, but not quite, a derisive laugh.]

Yes... And what a relief that would have been for you.

[It's then that she decides that she's wasted more than enough breath on this conversation. Gathering up her meager strength once more, she sets her hands on one arm of the couch (ignoring the way her flesh crawls at feeling the clumps of fur under her fingers) and pushes herself to her feet before glancing around the room again.

The layout is nearly the exact same as her own apartment; surely, she'll have no trouble finding the door...]

[She's still like this. She'd rather be out of her mind than home with them, and he still doesn't know how to make it any other way. No diversions, no obstacles - just him, after everything, screwing it up all over again.

As if running around tidying up after Faba meant anything. As if Mother would wake up magically restored, and Father would remember enough to hand out forgiveness, and - ]

Wait, [he says limply, turning away from the stove. Because he has to. Not because he knows where to take that, with everything that made him strong waiting a world away.]

[Lusamine doesn't wait, finding her path to the door and starting down it as if she hadn't heard him at all. She had done more than enough waiting for him, hadn't she? And what had it brought her? Only pain, and nothingness, and...

And... the room is spinning even more viciously than before, darkening at the edges of her vision. She hardly manages to make it a couple of steps before her knees buckle and the floor rushes up to meet her.]

[She's leaving. And he got his little protest in, so he can tell himself he tr-

what the fuck]

Moth—

[He turns at the odd sound, sees her going down, and

darts across the room, heart in his stomach. To keep her from hitting her head, at least—

He breaks her fall awkwardly, his knees hitting the ground in time to catch her around the shoulders as she keels sideways onto him.

(There's a moment, a snapshot, of familiarity in the weight of her head and other insignificant little details, where this could be another time and place entirely and nothing is wrong and there won't be any consequence for this. But also: there's carapace under his fingers.)]

[At first, there is no response from her, her shallow breathing the only indication that she is alive at all—but then her eyelids flutter open, and for a moment, she looks at him. There is no resentment or malice in her expression for those few seconds. Her gaze is gentle, even fond, like she's only just now seen and recognized him...

And then it's over. Her eyes widen and, sucking in a sharp breath, she tries to maneuver herself away (weakly, with limbs that seem reluctant to cooperate with her). It's difficult to tell if the way she doesn't employ any of her new sharp edges is a conscious effort not to hurt him or just her current illness making her too clumsy for it. Either way, only her wings brush harmlessly against his arms, and her voice is frail when she protests:]

Don't... you touch me...

[That expression is like - like a knife to the gut. Hope and dread together - she could be just like she was before. She could be just like she was before. That's right - she's unwell, she's practically dead, and if she needs help then he needs to do something, living with her again will be - it won't be easy, but he's stronger now, and he doesn't have to worry about Lillie, and -

she's pulling away again]

You collapsed. [He's tense as iron, not moving when wings scrape over him. This is what he needs to do. What's coming? What version of Mother is this? When she was acting shocked earlier, was she this frail the whole time? Should that...be the case here?] What's going on?

[She takes in a deliberate breath, steeling herself, before exhaling just as slowly. All the while, she glowers around the room from her new spot on the floor.]

That creature... [She swallows then, fighting off nausea. This is loathsome, unjust, utterly humiliating... The vitriol returns to her tone when she attempts to answer,] The cat...

[Wh

???????

OH THAT CAT]

It...brought you here...

[THAT MAKES SENSE. Actually NO THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE BUT FUCK, IT'S AN EXPLANATION

And it attacked her somehow. That must be how it - what the fuck she hasn't been lying stunned in his closet all day, has she? What the fuck.

And in the midst of this puzzling, it hits him like a Thunderbolt: remember what else it brought? It set you up for this. Do Lillie proud.

With his free hand he fumbles suddenly at his neck for it.]

Mother, [low, wary, urgent,] look.

[And, captive audience that she is, he holds it open for her to see.

If his hand is shaking a little, no it isn't.]

[Lusamine doesn't say anything to confirm that, but her silence and continued simmering seem answer enough.

When Gladion brings the locket to her attention, through her tangling thoughts, she—thinks she—recognizes it, and, against her better judgment, look she does. She finds herself smiling back at her, together with the children. Her Gladion and Lillie, smaller then, back when they were obedient and beautiful, and their father was still...

A flash of pain crosses her expression—and then her face hardens again. She turns her glare onto Gladion, looking at him as if all he'd shown her was a new weapon to wound her with. An urge to snatch it away and toss it aside rushes through her, but passes harmlessly.

He'd spoken just then with such finality. What did he expect this accomplish? It means nothing to her.

It hardly matters at all, but she hears herself start to voice the question all the same.] Why... do you have this...?

[Fuck. Was it like this for Lillie? It must have been.]

Father had this. And then he gave it to a traveler, so they could help him find us. He's on a small island, somewhere out west of Alola. He had amnesia. [Trying to stay clear, and steady, but the urgency in his voice shakes, trying to run ahead so that he's said it all. So she doesn't remember the details - that's fine, that makes sense, she was more Nihilego than human. To do this right, he just has to be patient. Right?]

[By the first word of his explanation, she's frozen. For a long, excruciating moment, she can only stare at him, helpless as her mind slowly processes it piece by piece, each sentence like a needle being driven into her skull. He had this; a traveler; west of Alola; amnesia... She had braced her hands and knees against the floor, and now a tremor starts in her arms.

It's impossible—isn't it? She'd searched, spent night after night poring over his research, agonized over it, gone mad with hoping...

(Distantly, if she wills herself to, she can still recall large sections of that research—notes describing how those sent through an Ultra Wormhole into another dimension carried with them a trace of its energy and arrived confused, as if out of time, and often with a loss of memory...)

She can't accept it. Something within her snaps.]

How... dare you...! [Suddenly, she draws herself up, eyes blazing and wings unfurling wide. Even with her still on her hands and knees, it makes her seem abruptly larger, multi-eyed and monstrous.] How dare you use him against me... You hateful... scheming... liar!

[After this, he won't be able to explain to himself why he didn't expect this outcome. Right now, he doesn't bother.

It's a threat display, and it freezes his blood. Gladion yanks the hand away, close to his body to guard the pendant, and lurches backwards, up against the wall of the little apartment entryway.

In the same motion, his free hand slaps at his belt - a reflex not yet abandoned, from places where Mother ought to be. There's nothing there to grab, of course.]

[She breathes raggedly between bared teeth as she watches him, her face reflecting pure disgust—but she doesn't come after him. She's wasted enough energy on him already, and she has no more words left for him either.

Slowly, she lowers her wings, folding them across her back, and when she stands again and staggers toward the door, still reeling with fury and sickness, this time she makes it out. A few Faerie rings (circles of white poppies and mushrooms than sprout only briefly from the floorboards before disappearing again), and she's gone, evaporating into pale light.]

[And she's gone.

There are a few dizzy seconds after the ring vanishes where he's not sure that any of this actually happened. This could be a stress dream. But the longer he sits there, the more it's just...exactly what really happened.

He gets up. He wanders back to his room, and tends to the upset plants properly. He pushes the closet door open and peers in, as if there would be any...trace left behind her, of what kind he can't imagine. But there's not, and he isn't sure where exactly the cat might have left her to wait out the whole day, and the uncertainty chases him back out into the main room and to the entry. The door that doesn't need to be locked behind her, because it was never unlocked, because she left in a ring of flowers (not lilies. something else.)

He could go check the Guide to recall the details of that power. Instead, he goes to the dracaena, feeling suddenly like he should practice his own - that he's behind, that time is racing ahead and he needs to press himself to keep pace with it. He was caught unawares; it doesn't have to happen again. The little tree reaches and spreads, urged onward and onward - with this, someday, he could make a wall out of wood, he could see for miles, he could make up the difference somehow.

And then it falls over onto him.

The crown is too big for the root. It's top-heavy; the pot is too small, the soil too shallow. He can't reverse it without cutting away healthy growth. He needs to repot it (with a pot he doesn't have at the moment), or find a place to plant it (which doesn't exist here, on the cold peninsula of Ryslig).

Instead, for now, he turns it around, props it against the wall, presses his hands to the trunk for a moment in apology, and goes to shut himself in his room for a while.]

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