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[snow-system-wol]

Thinking about like, how S'ria might interact with child victims now that he knows and remembers things himself?

(nothing at all explicit, gently phrased, but putting the rest under readmore for topic)

He was always very gentle with them, before he remembered -- even if he took it very personally, unconsciously, it wasn't as though he found it odd to be so affected. I mean, it's an awful thing, there doesn't need to be another reason. (Menphina's empathy was there too, of course). With his years breaking up trafficking rings with the Rogue's Guild, he certainly encountered such things more than a few times.

Mostly it seems to really help them. Less feelings of shame and isolation, at least. But always, it's some variant of the same question. "When can I move on?" "When do I forget?" "When will I stop feeling afraid?" "When do I stop thinking about it?"

But now, he knows why he cares so much, and arguably cares even more. A few times, when joining Jacke for the occasional job, when trying to clean up messes in previously occupied countries, etc, he's come across freshly traumatized kids like that again and...

Sometimes S'ria tells them that he has been hurt in the same way. (Never any details, they don't need anything else to think about.) Lets them see that life goes on and one can still grow up into something like the Warrior of Light (and that, gender is not always a victimhood factor).

S'ria can't exactly answer "you don't, not really." and is instead stuck giving the very true but perhaps not fully reassuring answer of "it gets much easier."

It's true, he just hopes he's a trusted enough figure for it to not sound hollow.

[snow-system-wol]

Discord rambles about

Horror potential for healing

Menphina healer origins

Her actually training in postShB

🤲

[snow-system-wol]

And then after all that, he's just... walking away from her? How dare he? After all he's done?

Really, Menphina is not easily capable of feeling anger. The only recent targets of it have been Fourchenault and Zenos, and Zenos is the only one that it's intense enough that she'd like to physically harm him.

As far as whether she blames herself, with Zodiark -- over the next few hours, I am not certain she has even figured that out for herself.

(Fray is already getting a bit... tired. they only time they've done a dungeon-trial so close to each other was StB, and that was a continuous adrenaline rush. Letting Menphina do things for a bit, some of which distressed her, and then stepping back in for a fight to the death. It's not what they're used to. These two have already done more on their own today than they'd done in a while, for Menphina, possibly already more than she's done alone in the last year combined really. It's not sustainable, without S'ria.)

[snow-system-wol]

"Wow, I wonder where S'ria's location is. Somewhere totally normal I'm sure."

(me getting increasingly nervous as my wifi became as bastard, and the queue kept ticking up during the time it was behaving.)

But, for a blessing, the wifi behaved perfectly, and the snow system (well, Fray really, but I'd rather not randomly tank a trial) made it through with 0 KO's.

Congratulations, Fray has just unwittingly participated in the murder of a god. This shall have Consequences.

Thank you to Lorenza (@fell-court ) and Nimda (@soothingmind ) -- I mean, these tiny mysterious ancients -- for being along for the ride.

[snow-system-wol]

This, before Fray steps back in, is Menphina's first time truly meeting Zenos herself. She won't lie -- her trembling is as much fear as anger. She hates him, finds the idea of committing violence against him easy despite her normal opinions on such things -- there's an uncanny desire for revenge on S'ria's behalf, and that feels just a bit like it's corrupting her purpose. She doesn't like it. And on the other side of things, the fear... Even if she wanted to fight, should he attack and Fray not help, she would most certainly die.

But Fray does return, despite a lingering tiredness from the dungeon less than a bell prior, even if it doesn't end up being for the battle they thought it would be.

[snow-system-wol]

We have Menphina back again, and it's so uncanny for her to be roaming alone like this. She, of course, is a pacifist. Those little wisps of emotion, the tiny spirits called by the grieving shades -- surely getting rid of them was nothing bad, right? Just dispelling a small curse, not hurting anything?

With the shades/spirits themselves, she refuses to attack them. If she can gently urge them to fade, then that's fine, but she won't fight.

But even so...

...she wasn't sure what to do here. Even if she had to defend herself against so many, she simply didn't know how to. This was never her purview.

[snow-system-wol]

Menphina is the one to greet the Scions upon waking, not S'ria -- and thus is also the one to inform them that Zenos and Fandaniel's little trick has had...problematic consequences.

Namely that they'd somewhat lost the Warrior of Light.

Ao3

It was Menphina's hope that the next several minutes of her life would be as painless as possible, but in all honesty, she expected the discussion to get a bit messy.

“This is inherently going to be a difficult conversation and I thank you all for your cooperation – particularly as two of you needs must be caught up on your knowledge as is. I simply ask that you take this information at face value.”

They'd filed into a building together, Menphina trying to keep to some manner of discretion on S'ria's personal matters. As is, Lucia was the only non-Scion in the room, but it felt strategically necessary for at least one outside the group to be aware – and if anyone, she seemed the best choice.

Oh, but, to pull someone into the loop with very little context was threatening. At least others here could attest that it wasn't outright a lie or poor joke.

From the moment she'd started to speak, Menphina knew she was getting a variety of looks.

Varying amounts of concern and realization from those who had directly spoken to her before, politely disguised alarm from Lucia, and an intense stare from Estinien where she could hear the gears clicking. Between the pitch and accent difference, it was clear something was happening.

G'raha and the twins looked worried but resigned, likely already understanding the current situation without anything being said.

“There is no easy way to say this, and I do wish we had a name for it, but the Warrior of Light does suffer from a…disorder, of sorts.” She chose her words so carefully, at least trying to avoid referring to S'ria separately or saying we before the explanation was fully out. “I believe both of you have seen some very atypical things happen in battle, in terms of personality?” The question was directed entirely at Lucia and Estinien, who simply nodded.

Menphina made a helpless gesture, of one who knew there was no making this casual, and continued. “There are multiple identities in this body, essentially their own people, that swap in and out of control – whose actions S'ria may or may not recall later. I promise that this is not possession or outside influence. The cause of such uncharacteristic intensity while fighting sometimes is that that is simply not S'ria – nor am I, if you haven't gathered as such by now.”

Estinien looked remarkably unbothered by this revelation. “Aye, fond of old sailor’s and soldier’s mourning songs are you? I recall your voice from the Churning Mists, even if I was too distracted to dwell on the strangeness at the time.”

Menphina had forgotten that Estinien was more perceptive than he seemed to be at times – and, for that matter, had nearly forgotten that she'd spoken directly to him in the past.

(Not just spoken, really, but that he'd heard her singing at the campfire as well. It had seemed to put his heart at ease.)

Lucia looked vaguely uncomfortable picking up such a concept out of nowhere, but recovered gracefully with a thoughtful look. “Hm…’twould explain some things, yes. If I may ask – have you always been like this?”

Menphina tightened her posture. She had neither the time nor inclination to deal with that one. “Ah, you may not actually, at least not right now. There are far more important matters.”

Thancred broke into the conversation. “Which brings us to the behemoth in the room, doesn't it? I mean no offense, but why are you present? I don't get the sense that you're much for military strategy meetings.”

Menphina smiled wryly. “Yes, that is the issue. S'ria is…presently unable to emotionally function following recent events, and we find ourselves in a somewhat awkward position. Without S'ria, it is mostly just myself and Fray that will be of use. Fray can handle a bit of extra fighting, as they used to handle so much themself earlier in our Scion days regardless, and I can manage rational decision making – but we cannot wholly compensate for his absence.” She made a nervous shrug-like gesture. “Hence why I felt it necessary to be more open about this than we are typically wont to do.”

G'raha spoke up in a quiet voice. “Is he – is S'ria gone? Will he be all right?”

Menphina rushed to respond. “No, no, this is not forever – that is not the sense I got. He'll come back to us. I know not if what he needs is just a bit of time or something else, but we must be patient.” She sighed. “Something we hardly have the luxury of, when time is not on our side. I am afraid we needs must proceed with just Fray and I acting as the Warrior of Light.”

Several people spoke up at once, the result disorientingly chaotic, but the general sentiment seemed to be ‘is that wise?’.

Menphina shook her head and waited for it to die down. “Please, storming the tower is perhaps the type of task Fray is best suited to handle without having S'ria – do not worry. That shall be fine. ‘Tis what comes after that concerns me more, but we need not address that yet.”

Alphinaud looked decidedly unreassured. “We can ill afford to lose either the upcoming battle nor the Warrior of Light, are you certain of this? Mayhap another day or two –”

“ – another day or two that we do not have, Alphinaud.” Estinien cut in, bluntly but not unkindly. “If they say they can do it – then they can do it.”

Menphina nodded gratefully and added a reminder. “And there is no guarantee another day or two would have improved matters.”

And that was that, really – Fray fought their way up to Fandaniel and Zenos with no unusual degree of difficulty and, once those two made their escape and the path forward became somewhat shaky, placed control back in Menphina's lap.

That was that indeed.

She had to think fast, with so limited of time, but she'd never really had to make important decisions before. It was always so easy for her – come in, be kind and heal injuries, and leave. As difficult and terrifying as this was, with explosions shaking the ground outside and time clicking by rapidly, it all suddenly became extremely simple. Just a simple series of facts.

One, Zenos specifically wanted the Warrior of Light to follow him. Two, no other Scion was likely able to fight him one on one. Three, people were dying out there, needlessly, while several highly skilled healers stood in this room waiting.

Four, irrationally – Menphina (though she would not be the one fighting him) wanted Zenos to die to this body and not to someone else, after what he'd done to S'ria. Wanting vengeance on his behalf was…a bit uncomfortable for her, actually, not how she was supposed to feel – but S'ria had never completely hidden himself from existence like this before and it scared and angered her.

With all of that in mind, it wasn't complicated at all.

“Please, stay here and take care of everyone as best you can. I'll go after them.”

It was hushed for a moment. Alphinaud was the first to speak up, sounding aghast.

“You're – you're going alone?!”

Menphina just smiled sadly at him – there wasn't anything to say. Everyone had already come to the exact conclusions she had about their options, whether they liked it or not. Then she looked across the room at G'raha and flinched.

He looked carefully neutral, in a way that was just barely hiding anger, and it had never quite been leveled in their direction before. Belatedly, Menphina realized that S'ria had promised G'raha that he would not do this exact thing. ‘Not on purpose’, he'd said, on going into danger alone. She was not S'ria, but she was not certain how much that actually made G'raha feel better.

She approached him after the others had begun planning amongst themselves, when the conversation would attract less attention.

“I–”.

“Please do not say that you are sorry.”

He sounded more defeated then he did upset and that was somehow worse. There was an unspoken tension in the air, the sense of ‘I want to argue with you, but if one of us dies then that would've been the last time we spoke’.

“Just – please do not be upset with S'ria. He truly is not present enough to have any input.”

G'raha started to open his mouth and nodded instead.

“If you were not needed here, to save as many lives as possible, I would ask you to join me.” She struggled for a moment, between what seemed right to do in the moment and what seemed appropriate for her specifically, settling on simply kissing his forehead. “We'll come home.” We. She swore she'd help S'ria recover, for all of their sakes.

“...I shall hold you to that.”

[snow-system-wol]

G'raha won't let her apologize, though. He clearly does want to say something, but perhaps not the type of thing he'd be okay with as "last words said".

Menphina has little to say as well, but she makes her own promise with him -- a safe return.

Before leaving -- Menphina felt that she had to do something, but also that it would be wholly inappropriate for her to kiss him. She's not S'ria, after all. So, forehead, then. It's something.

[snow-system-wol]

Has Menphina ever been forced to make a decision for the system in her life? No, not like this, but it's not a hard choice.

Innocent people are dying, and meanwhile there is a role to play.

And she appreciates it. She has no intention of dying up there.

Only... There was something... How had S'ria put it to G'raha? "Not going off and dying alone"? "Not leaving him behind when going into danger"? ..."Not fighting alone on purpose"?

S'ria had promised something, she knew that, and she isn't sure if the fact that S'ria didn't decide this made G'raha feel any better. He's standing away from the rest of the group, back to her. Surely, this must have been a misstep -- even if it was the only option.

[snow-system-wol]

This is simply the situation they're in now -- no choice except for Fray to handle things.

G'raha insists on coming along to heal, knowing that Fray...is not always even close to as careful as they should be. Yes, he will keep Fray alive.

(This is sort of an interesting situation for Fray? Usually when they do game content, it's because they just couldn't stop themself. Whether it be feeling deeply personally angry about who they're fighting or just the thrill of some of the trials, it's because they wanted to in some manner. I would not call them calm, this is the heart of the empire after S'ria has just been very badly hurt, but this is the first time they're leading the charge alone for a reason that could be called "being responsible". They must.)

Enjoying the Vibes

(once again, @\fortunafavore for system dialogue maker, as we continue our little "who are you playing as" notification bit)

[snow-system-wol]

In From the Cold

It's... not a very pleasant time for him, is it?

And the consequences are fairly severe.

(Handling this specific piece of writing a bit differently. Due to the more extensive nature of things, the trigger warnings themselves will be given below the readmore)

(Typically, we do not crosspost chapters from the more triggering side set of stories / ones including writing from other alters in our system, but this is 100% MSQ so, in this case, we will.)

•quest-typical triggers (possession, forced body swapping, implied drugging/similar state, kidnapping, violence)

•heavy paranoia regarding possibility of nonconsensual sexual interactions

•allusions to CSA

•emetophobia warning (after S'ria awakens safe in his actual body, just the paragraph beginning with "You force yourself upright")

You awaken and it all feels very wrong. The most obvious and pressing thing is the stupor you claw your way out of, the already too familiar sense of having been drugged present in the heavy way your eyes open (if not by substance then by some other means). The next is, of course, that you are not where you were before (nor do you have any sense of how long you may have been unconscious and that idea does not sit well.)

Looking up from your plate and across the table, you just have to bite down on a near-hysterical laugh. You don't really remember all that much of your childhood but – He had done these, right? Champagne socials and formal dinner nights? And at least a few times, just like this – you and Him seated at a too long table, playing out a parody of normalcy for a short while.

You wonder, sometimes, if He wished for actual family in those moments instead of…you. Or perhaps He had imagined it more like a romantic dinner for two, as if properly trying to court you first, before... well, ending the night as was typical in that place.

What a strange unintentional mockery of that Zenos had stumbled upon, though the original memory is a joke in of itself. This is barely weirder, somehow.

Perhaps it's all that, or perhaps it's whatever slumber you just snapped out of, or perhaps it's something else, but your mind doesn't feel…quite right. He may be acting too dull and placid to get a rise out of you, maybe, but Fray should've been stirring at the first sight of Zenos' face (and Fandaniel's for that matter, shite was he standing much closer than you'd expected him to be). They aren't though, it's just you, and a confusing and jumbled sort of “you” as well.

Fandaniel is quick to make you aware of your new circumstances, a faux-polite smile on his face, and you feel – odd. This body feels unfamiliar and weak and ill-fitting, yes, but any truly upset reaction fails to come. You can't help but agree with him about it feeling rather refreshing. More than anything else, the long-ingrained phantom touch on your skin is finally gone, knowing that this is a body that He has never been able to touch. It's a relief.

A relief that lasts only as long as it takes to remember that your true body still exists and you have no idea where it is or what may have been done to it while unattended. Then the fear starts to set in.

You are trying to pay attention to Fandaniel's monologue, as surely important as it is, but you can't help but keep picturing mental images that distract and disgust you. It is the oddest thing though. The body doesn't seem to feel nausea and there's the sense that there isn't even anything in its stomach if it could – and while you can feel the body trembling with panic, the heart barely is beating faster.

You immediately suspect that this body is not alive, if it ever even lived in the first place. The unsustainability of this form only worsens your concern over what may have become of your true one.

You watch Fandaniel traipse over to refill the wine glass in front of Zenos and the giggle actually does slip out of you this time – where it is soundly ignored. That was your job when there were guests over. Gods, one really does need to be careful with those reds, though, they stain. Pour with a flourish, but never to the extent that one risked spilling. The difficult part is not flinching if you're touched, lest you shake the bottle.

You wonder if Zenos has noticed that you aren't paying much attention to him. It isn't like he can see your face at least, but, he'd be able to tell, right? You focus on him more once he stands up. He does not walk towards you though, no, striding towards a darkened section of the chamber while you try to follow his words with a mind clouded by that lingering tiredness and by anxiety both.

He talks about things the same way a predator kills a prey – circling vaguely around the point he wants to make before diving straight into the heart of it. The room brightens enough to see your body slumped loosely in a chair at the same moment that you realize what Zenos plans to do with it.

As horrified as you'd felt over the vulnerability of your abandoned body, the idea of him puppeting it about is viscerally worse. You'd been morbidly worrying about – well – it's not like your corpse-like vacant form would likely hold much interest for Zenos, if he prefers you as live prey, but you cannot deny that there is an edge to the violent obsession that has you afraid of what directions his fascination may go. There is an overlap between the carnal natures of violence and sex both, and if he craves one of those two with you…

But at the very least, your body looks precisely as dressed and put together as you last remember it. (And you are so intensely glad that G'raha had borrowed his scarf back while you were resting by the fire, because you fear you may have to burn these clothes when all of this is through, because one of the two of them had to have put your body where it currently sits and your skin crawls at either of them having done it.)

On the flip side of that coin, opposite to whether there'd be an urge to defile your body while it was unoccupied, is this new proposal – Zenos wants to feel what it is like to be in your skin, and gods help you, there is not a single thing to stop him from indulging in any whims he might have.

You have to remind yourself that you are being irrational, that the situation is already pretty damned bad without you drawing all sorts of horrifying possibilities out of thin air.

Your body sits up, smiles, and disappears – and it finally dawns on you that in your fear for yourself you had not considered what he may choose to do while wearing your face.

Gods, you are already physically strong enough to overpower any Scion in a one-on-one, maybe even two-on-one, fight – the ability to catch any one of them completely off guard just rendered it unfair. You could probably kill half of them before they even were fighting back, that is, if they'd fight back. You realize, your borrowed heart in your throat, that you don't know if… well, perhaps some of them could overcome it, but the twins, G'raha, could they even bear to fight back against you?

With them knowing you share your body and mind among multiple people, would they think that you'd just finally snapped before considering foul play? The idea of any of them spending their last moments thinking that you killed them has grey clouding in the corners of your vision.

You desperately hope that at least some of them know you well enough to see through such a ruse, if you can't get there fast enough.

And you suspect that you actually can't, this choice of body bordering on cruelty – feeble and tired, in a way that feels as though weakened by illness. You can't say you remember all that vividly, but you'd swear your body held more strength than this as a half-starved teen…or maybe your sense of scale has just degraded away from a normal person's over the years.

While the injuries are adding up as you pick your way through the ruined city, you really are trying, so it's just so utterly hopeless of a thing to be caught in that blast. And this damnable body – it was dead, you know it – it has to have already died before you were shoved into it and is desperate to return back to that state, having only half awoken in the first place. Heart: sluggish, mouth: dry, eyes: as you are presently realizing, seemingly unable to cry. (And fuck, you want to in the moment, the frustration and pain overwhelming.)

For a near mercy, you can't feel the cold very well, either. At least blood is working as it is meant to – not that it is ideal, the way the inside of your armor is slick with it, but it provides some measure of normalcy and sense of severity.

You don't need that anymore. Measuring severity, that is. Half-conscious and crawling, you know you won't be alive all that much longer, if you can't so much as stand.

…Even if you can't walk back to meet Zenos, you shall still crawl. 

The stars, for once, grant you a kindness and allow you just enough time to intervene. You don't even really care what you are seeing, what manner of form Zenos was taking, so long as you block the attack from landing on G'raha and Alisaie. Your eyes are blurry, but the sound of metal on metal is clear and your heart sings with relief. Summoning the last of your strength, you fling yourself at Zenos.

(Your body is tall, lanky, probably not all that hard to knock over if taken off guard. You are right.)

The rest of the Scions have gathered by the time you lose consciousness and it is a relief to know that none of them are unprepared now.

 

Your eyes open blearily and for a moment you are confused about if you fell asleep in camp. It's dark around you, aside from the lights about camp, and bitterly cold. The memories of the sudden tempering scream echoing from the tower begins to return to you. There is quite a group clustered around you, Scions plus Lucia and Maxima besides. Too many people, to be fully honest.

“Is everyone all right?” Your voice comes out strained and multiple people sigh in relief.

“Perfectly fine, yes. I hope the same can be said of you.” G'raha's voice is so gentle and caring with how he says it that you almost relax for a moment before the rest of your memory catches up with you and you immediately understand why he'd asked. The answer is most likely, ‘no, it cannot – fuck, absolutely not.’

Gods, you don't know how long you've been unconscious, but you can feel how recent his presence is, you doubt it'd been long at all, it barely even feels faded from you. There is an almost physical sense of residue clinging to you, on your skin and filling the spaces between your organs, and you feel defiled in a way that is near incomprehensible.

In a near hysterical train of thought, you almost rather he'd just have fucked you instead, something your mind could at least parse. (No, you don't. You don't wish that. The devil you know is no better than the one you don't.)

You bite your lip to try to ground yourself, nearly jolting at the pain of your tooth scraping an injury that is already there. You focus and feel a corresponding dull pinprick ache in your thumb. It's an easy sequence of events to follow – the mistake of Zenos catching your fangs on your skin, probably a common accident if not used to them – and then the wondering, ‘ah, I guess these are pretty sharp?’ and poking your finger solidly enough to bleed for your efforts. That's a normal thing to check, that's normal, of course he'd be curious about having fangs given his hunting and biting obsessions. Nothing needlessly unsettling about that, the possession part besides. You'd do the same, maybe, in that position. 

(It's easy to picture him doing that, but it's also easy to keep picturing things. Maybe he'd taken a moment to properly map out and feel how sharp all of your teeth are, heedless of the violation of jamming exploratory fingers in your mouth. Maybe the body's instinctive gag response to such a thing is just from your own broken psyche and he could've poked about to his heart's content. Maybe he'd been curious, had kept exploring this body just to know his enemy a bit better, while the ability to do so was right there and no one ever had to know –)

The ‘not knowing’ is almost the worst part.

It is very poor comfort to you that you genuinely and honestly do not think Zenos would go so far nor even want such a thing, because you can picture and feel it and so that distinction of reality no longer matters.

How alien your familiar flesh feels. You are staring down at your hands and legs as if they don't even belong to you and right now they do not and you can feel the way that you are shuddering and breathing so fast that your head spins, with lungs so tight that any attempts at sobs come out as squeaks (and you are tearing up, but you will not cry, you will not cry.)

Your ability to focus on more than your building breakdown is very limited, but you at least have the lingering awareness to be aware of much you're having a whole thing in public.

Someone, you do not know or care who, reaches for you and all you can do is press yourself further against the crate behind you and force out a desperate “don't.” The hand retreats immediately and you are glad for that. No one touches you, at least (the only hands on you are those that your mind conjures).

But there are still far too many people standing around you and talking incomprehensibly and looking at you and too fucking close to you – with the violation burning in your body from the inside out and knowing what is surely about to happen, you want them to stop looking and not see you like this. Let them avert their eyes to this, please.

You force yourself upright enough to at least get to your hands and knees before being sick. It is a miserable experience, your body fervently trying to reject any trace of him. It feels like it should help, but no such luck – the sensation is far deeper and harder to reach. You are reduced to empty dry heaving without the sense of defilement or the phantom touch having abated at all.

You'd rather be put back into that near-shattered corpse than feel like this.

The dissociative fog in your head is worsening and welcome. You find yourself not caring who steps in or what happens, so long as you don't have to experience the body like this.

Alisaie was very aware that S'ria had started to spiral into panic attack – but it didn't take someone who knew him to figure that one out, the way he had stiffened and begun hyperventilating. She winced sympathetically at S'ria turning over to empty his stomach, but Alphinaud seemed far more concerned at that reaction than she was. He paled and paused for a moment before snapping into something more put together and tersely focused. He firmly told everyone except for G'raha and herself to stop crowding S'ria and leave, and his tone left no room for arguments.

Turning her focus back to S'ria, it seemed as though he'd physically settled enough to stop and slump back into his prior position against the crate. There are immediately concerns in her mind, looking at how weak and exhausted he seemed. He needed rest and to be moved somewhere warm (as well as hydration whenever it seemed manageable for him.) These seemed easy and universal conclusions to come to, watching G'raha knelt down by S'ria to try and convince him to relocate.

Alisaie wasn't sure what she expected to happen, but she was at least well aware of the sort of sappy ease and comfort they often had around each other. She did not expect him to flinch away from G'raha, curling up with a mistrustful look that held little recognition. G'raha looked stung but not surprised.

She remembered speaking with S'ria, sitting on some rocks together out in Ahm Areng, about the nature of his other parts – and immediately wondered if this wasn't the same one she'd briefly met (or only seen, not even spoken with) out in Gyr Abania, the way his body language made him look like a scared child. She also realized, tactically, that Alphinaud asking her specifically to stay wasn't only because S’ria normally trusted her as a person.

Alisaie shifted closer to S'ria, Alphinaud and G'raha backing up a touch in response.

“S'ria?”

He lifted his head to properly look at her, something he hadn't done for either of the boys. That was a good start. He shifted closer to her and further away from them, and she immediately realized they would have to split up for him to successfully rest.

She could do this – it was just like looking after Halric, wasn't it? That had been nice, in its own way. A catharsis at being able to provide a sense of safety and comfort to those who needed it.

While her place on the battlefield would always differ from Alphinaud's, she fully understood why he'd followed a healer’s path – as she'd done much the same outside of battle, and was prepared to do so again now.

“It's really cold out here. Do you want to come inside, where it's warm?”

S'ria made a noise that might've been agreement but made no attempt to move.

Alisaie tried again to prompt him, hoping it would not backfire. “Ria? Can you stand for me?” She'd never asked if that name was okay to use, before this incident.

His eyes snapped to meet hers, finally looking clearer, and he struggled to get to his feet. Alisaie nearly sighed in relief when he took her outstretched hand and let her help him up.

She quickly led him back to the small house they'd been occupying before they could get intercepted by anyone unaware of the situation. S'ria seemed to largely relax once they were safely in the tiny bedroom with the door closed, where Alisaie immediately turned the heater back on to full blast, remembering how icy S'ria's hand had felt in hers. She opened a bottle of water she'd grabbed on their way through the house and handed it cautiously to S'ria, waiting to see if his hands would support the heavy glass.

“Here, drink – slowly.”

S'ria drank most of the bottle over the course of several minutes, thankfully without incident. Alisaie started running through a mental checklist of physical health needs and comforts.

“Ria, is there anything you want? Food, something warm to drink?”

He shook his head cautiously. “...hurts."

It was almost startling to hear him suddenly speak, sounding completely different than normal as well. Alisaie also almost swore over the fact that medical aid as a potential need had slipped her mind, given the lack of major battle as a reminder.

“I'm sorry I didn't ask sooner – what hurts?”

S'ria quietly raised his shirt on one side and Alisaie winced. She understood the impulse, given who was in the body at the time, but trust S'ria to body ram himself hard enough to damage his own ribs. She supposed future consequences were not on the table in that moment.

She hated that S'ria had quietly wandered about for several minutes without complaining about the injury just as much as she loved that S'ria let her sit down right next to him without flinching. He looked calm and peaceful for the duration of the healing process. 

By the time the healing glow had left her hands, S'ria looked to be falling asleep sitting up. She urged him to properly lay down and drew the blankets over him. Alisaie made it a few steps away from the bed before a soft voice spoke up again.

“Menphina, wait.” Alisaie's heart lurched. She turned around and made eye contact with S'ria in the dimly lit room. “Don't go.”

“All right, I'm not going anywhere.” She sat back down, fighting with the straps of her boots and kicking them off gently enough that they wouldn't absolutely thud onto the floorboards. The moment she crawled under the covers, S'ria more-or-less immediately latched onto her as a physical anchor.

There was a moment of mental readjustment when he started purring, of confusion about if she'd misread his emotional state, until she remembered that purring wasn't just for contentment – it was also an instinctive self-soothing response to distress or pain, especially among miqo'te children. (Which, according to his mind, he probably was one right now.)

Alisaie adjusted them into a position that seemed most comfortable for both of them. S'ria appeared to fall asleep before long and she waited to see if enough adrenaline would leave her body for her to do the same.

 

Alisaie awoke, disoriented, knowing it was probably some odd time in the afternoon by now. The obvious cause of her returning to the waking world was one Warrior of Light somewhat awkwardly wiggling free of her arms. It was… hard to interpret, especially while half awake. It didn't seem like the movements of the child from last night, but she also suspected that S'ria's reaction to waking up unexpectedly in someone's arms would be far less subtle.

“S'ria?”

There was an immediate freeze and then a slow exhale. “No, I am sorry.” The voice was high and soft, properly enunciated – and very clearly not S'ria, yes. Alisaie struggled with her reaction. Her first instinct was to demand to speak with him and see if he was okay, but he'd been very clear with them about requesting a different person not being something that really works, so that would just be… cruel of her to say then, she supposed, rejecting Menphina’s presence immediately.

“Is he all right, at least?”

Menphina seemed to be struggling with how to answer that question, but her face and body language did that for her. She brushed Alisaie's sleep-mussed bangs out of her face with an expression that was equal parts concerned and apologetic.

“Pray give me a moment to fully wake up and settle in – and then I believe a conversation with everyone else present would best serve.”

[snow-system-wol]

S'ria is still out of it when he wakes, enough to sit up and ask if everyone is alright?

It's only after G'raha responds that everything clicks back into place and S'ria has what could politely be described as a Mental Health Incident.

Alphinaud quickly tells everyone that isn't himself, Alisaie, or G'raha, to leave immediately. S'ria ends up being switched out for his youngest alter, who is only willing to trust Alisaie. She's able to get him inside, treat any injuries, and let him rest a bit.

When the body is next awake, it's very clearly now Menphina and not S'ria back -- bearing... unfortunate news on that matter.

S'ria...appears to have made himself psychologically inaccessible for the time being. So between Fray's combat skills and Menphina being a fairly level-headed person, the can at least try to approximate one Warrior of Light. For a little while. Hopefully.

(@/fortunafavore for system dialogue box tool)

[snow-system-wol]

Brief rundown of some In From the Cold mid-quest reactions.

(This is just uncanny for S'ria, accidentally a childhood callback in some ways)

S'ria himself wasn't really present for all of those really charged moments with Zenos and Fray, so he's only now realizing just how accurate the weird descriptions of his demeanor were.

S'ria is reacting extremely psychologically poorly to this, honestly barely listening to Fandaniel monologue, and the following possession thing only makes it x10 worse.

Don't make that face with his face!!!

We may have managed this on the first try but it was still an absolute nightmare aaauaugh. Yeah. Had 0 med kits at the end.

Definitely ranked high on the list of "two people S'ria wouldn't want to meet Zenos as him"

Once again. STOP MAKING THOSE FACES WITH S'RIA'S FACE. it's so wrong.

(hi!!!!)

(note: S'ria is going to feel that one later.)

[snow-system-wol]

A completely normal quest!

Look, it's fine! He's soft! He's happy

:)

[snow-system-wol]

Did too much MSQ and the body is sludge now

[snow-system-wol]

They weren't lying, that In sure can From the Cold

[snow-system-wol]

S'ria and G'raha are allowed one night after a very long day to try to recover -- and S'ria ends up taking the chance to talk through a bit of it, particularly about Quintus.

Ao3

(tw for discussion of suicide -- alea iacta est aftermath)

As much as S'ria did want the refugees to be moved to camp as soon as possible, he was deeply grateful that he could finally end this day early. It was already late at night, even colder, and with little visibility – trekking with these weak and injured individuals should wait until the sun rose again. They were at least able to leave enough ceruleum to keep the heaters running at full blast again, some food, and could begin administering preliminary medical aid immediately.

S'ria being able to just teleport immediately back to Camp Broken Glass and rest was a blessing, though it was unfortunate the aetheryte would not work to transport the people here without attunement first. He'd return in the morning, of course, to see to their safety.

It'd just been… far too long of a day since arriving at Camp Broken Glass, and he was just hoping to fall into some citizen's abandoned bed and pray that his bones hurt less in the morning.

G'raha had expressed some sort of very soft-hearted guilt at the idea that those had been people's homes – S'ria could understand the sympathy, but it wasn't as though they were doing anything worse than taking shelter (and even doing some repairs.) Should these villagers return safely someday, they would find their homes intact and none the worse for someone having slept there.

S'ria's anticipation towards having a half decent bed instead of sleeping mere ilms above frozen ground was dwarfed by the relief upon an Ishgardian machinist happily informing him that heating in at least half the buildings had been restored. S'ria was not a religious man, but he wanted to thank at least some higher power for that mercy.

G'raha hovered nervously near him as he got food and began to wind down for the night, as outside began to fully empty except for the night watch, and S'ria began to wonder what additional thing may be occupying him. S'ria finally placed it as “uncertainty” and smiled at how simple and mundane of an issue that was compared to everything else today.

“That sleeping arrangement from the tents is still an option, if that's what you're dwelling on.”

G'raha startled. “Wicked white, was it that obvious? I – with the heaters working, I did not wish to assume...”

“The heating will keep me from freezing, but all things considered, I'd like to be warm.” 

G'raha finally relaxed his shoulders. “Full glad am I to donate my services as a space heater, then.”

Huddling by the fire was so cozy that S'ria almost didn't want to brave the cold journey to travel inside and wait for the room to warm up. Still, it was necessary.

The building they'd been directed to was a tiny two-room place, with a warm fire burning in the hearth – as well as two twins flopped across a couch and one Thancred occupying the floor. S'ria had more than a light enough step to sneak past, but G'raha luckily managed to avoid disturbing them as well.

The bedroom was (predictably but unfortunately) barely warmed by the fire in the other room. S'ria turned on the ceruleum heater in there immediately, huddling on the floor by it and waiting for the warmth to begin radiating. G'raha sat down next to him, weathering the short wait together.

“I am sorry. While none of it has been firsthand from your mouth, all I've heard sounds as though today has been… very unkind to you.”

S'ria made a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement and leaned into G'raha's shoulder, sitting in silence for some time longer. 

Eventually S'ria turned towards him, cupping his face in gloved hands. He tried not to let his body's shivering shake G'raha as well.

“Is it okay for me to…? I-I don't want it to go anywhere, though.”

G'raha closed his eyes in an affectionate blink. “‘Tis always okay – and it does not have to.”

S'ria relaxed and leaned to kiss him, G'raha's lips feeling just slightly warmer than his own. S'ria had always thought he ran a bit cooler than the average person, but it was nice to have proof. It was a pleasant enough way to occupy himself while he waited for the heater to fully kick on, the layers they both still wore a comfortable barrier for S'ria. A part of him worried about this, kissing G'raha somewhat less than chastely with the intent to crawl into bed together after – but he did trust G'raha.

(And besides, should that trust ever be shattered, Thancred was a light sleeper.)

S'ria pulled away and the room was finally warm. He stripped out of his boots and coat and crawled into the bed. The sheets were still cold, but that should hopefully pass quickly. He zoned out for a short while until his reverie was broken by the feel of the bed dipping under G'raha's weight. There was a very brief moment of panic at that sensation. Pulling G'raha against his chest, though, reminding his senses that none of the scents are right for whatever was scaring him – S'ria was able to get past the worst of that feeling.

S'ria was very exhausted, the fear he'd just felt was mostly abated, and the warmth of molding himself to G'raha's back was settling in… and yet, sleep felt malms away. His heartbeat just wouldn't quite settle – not pounding but never reaching calm – and he wondered if G'raha could feel it against his spine. Despite just finally getting warm, he had the twitchiest impulse to go run laps around camp before trying to lie down again. He made an effort to stay still for a while, before G'raha spoke up.

“You are…still awake. Is there aught that I can do?”

S'ria flinched as if he'd been caught. “Am I keeping you up? My mind is just a bit busy.”

“I would not be surprised, today seemed painful for you.”

S'ria chuckled humorlessly. “You'd think it'd be one of the worse things eating at me but, no – it's about Quintus… I want to feel glad that he's dead, but I don't.”

“If you feel the urge to mourn him or simply just do not rejoice in his death – there is nothing wrong with that.”

S'ria stilled and then slowly shook his head, ruffling the back of G'raha's hair with the movement. “That's…not the way I mean it. I fear I may be a much worse person than you are assuming.”

“I very highly doubt any of your thoughts will lead me to that conclusion – but you may speak, if you'd like me to confirm or deny that judgment?”

S'ria's arms tightened around G'raha's chest. He was silent in hesitation for a while, but once the words began to flow, they did so unimpeded.

“I'm not upset that Quintus committed suicide, I'm angry at him for why he did. The things Garlean soldiers do, once the dust has settled and the adrenaline and powertrip is still in their system – that is indignity and humiliation, not whatever he was experiencing.”

S'ria made a conscious effort to relax instead of squeezing G'raha too hard and continued.

“And to receive the barest hint of that which he's inflicted, a far kinder truce than they've ever offered, that's too much? His damn pride couldn't take even that? He spoke of collaring me and dared to make this about dignity?” The words were spat out and S'ria could feel a brief anger ripple through G'raha's frame as S'ria mentioned the collars. It made him feel just the tiniest bit validated. “I need to live with my shame, have remained alive despite the constant memories and reminders and fear, and then–then he thinks it's all well and good to die at the first hint of – !”

S'ria made an uncomfortable wheezy exhale, drastically lowering his voice before he could wake someone. “See? It's bad.”

G'raha brought his arms up to lay his hands over S'ria's, taking some time to consider his response.

“None of that makes you a bad person. It is unfair, all of it – and your thoughts alone can hardly do any harm just from thinking them either.” He gently squeezed S'ria's hands and added, quietly, “and I'm very glad that you're still alive.”

Whatever response G'raha might have received died under the weight of that near-desperate addition. S'ria curled more closely around G'raha's back, shifting to press his face into his neck. The first hitching sob was muffled into fabric, as were the next few, but it was impossible to mistake the sound for anything else.

S'ria wanted to be doing almost anything except starting to cry while cuddled up against G'raha. If he drew away, though, G'raha could look at him in the dim lighting, and that would be too much. If he stayed like this, hiding his face, maybe they could both pretend it wasn't happening.

The worst part was that it felt good despite it all. Much-needed, if nothing else. The bitterness and anger quickly burned off of him for at least a time. Nearly the same moment the tears finally tapered off, S'ria fell into a restful and dreamless sleep.