Scene #8485: Silver Fills the Wounds

Owner	Pose
Lilian Rook	It's not even evening yet, never mind nightfall, which means Petra has been introduced to Lilian's room during the day. Odds and ends unpacked, furniture uncovered, desk littered with books, diagrams, alchemical equipment, magazines, and a gamebrick plus spent batteries and game cartridge, the thin layer of dust is like it's never been, the gigantic closet is lazily open and recently ransacked, her computer is actually unlocked, the curtains are open, and Petra has seen through the vast windows over the little balcony. A rolling expanse of whild cherry and hazel, daffodil and juniper and red clover, extends away from the less-ornamental rear of the house, so that Lilian's window overlooks a winding lightly-forested path down to a stripe of visible shore and placid grey-blue waters that stretch out to the horizon. It seems a million times more appropriate that she should have a penthouse apartment with a gleaming view of an entire city outside panoramic glass, but somehow this fits. The person, not the occasion. Presently, two sets of day clothes are scattered across the rug at the foot of the bed, beneath buckles and straps and a loaded messenger bag. Aside from the ticking of an antique clock and the distant sounds of gentle wind in trees, Lilian shares this little sliver of time in contended silence, settled heavily over the room five or ten minutes before. Lying on her side, her fingertip idly traces down the curve of Petra's shoulder, and her eyes wander down the tapestry of ragged silver wounds on her back and arms. A few red marks and pinpricks are fresh, but she doesn't seem interested in those. Rather, "So when were you going to tell me?" says Lilian. "Not about Dimo. I obviously found out, eventually. But about . . ." Her fingernail traces the very edge of an open, mercurial slash, without quite slipping in. "What are you doing, Petra? What's happened? Has anyone even asked what you think? Not about her; about this."
Petra Soroka	A short time ago, Petra was walking through the streets of the City to find some kind of furniture store, weaving through the streams of exhausted and unhappy-looking pedestrians. Mid-step, the dismal surroundings stinking of blood and rot vanished, and she appeared here, someplace that couldn't be any more different, emotionally. Now, Petra feels like she's still struggling to catch her breath and slow her heartbeat, despite not really having either. Small tremors run through her body as she slowly, finally disentangles her hands from the sheets, rolling her face to the side to excavate it from the pillows. Petra's first attempt to respond is a nasally, bleary failure to produce speech. "...Aaaaahhhmm?" She coughs, puts a hand to her neck and studies the tiny splotches of red blood that dot it, then blinks and tries again. "Oh. The... you know those don't-- don't heal, for me. Apparently even what Dimo did doesn't change that." Petra tries to readjust her position to sit up, but gives up before even getting a fraction of the way through the movement. She relaxes back into the bed, her back entirely free of tension beneath Lilian's touch. "No one... asked me, of course. I told you that no one would ever know, about all of this, right? I won't... they don't get to see any of it, until I get it fixed. And I will get it fixed."
Lilian Rook	Lilian wears an amused little smirk when Petra bleats her nothing-sound and fails to properly look. From the glimpse Petra saw, it reminds her of §someone§, but much more 'delicate'; reserved and lightly worn. "A little too much? Ah, but isn't it your own fault, for all that talk?" she giggles, stopping to push a lock of loose hair from out of her face. Her hand slides up to squeeze Petra's shoulder, smearing her palm. "I noticed." Lilian says, drily. "I believe I made a comment or two after the first time I strangled you." She says so with only the slightest wince of regret. She probably shouldn't regret it at all. "Never mind after a month of patching you up over and over again. I got quite good with that Paladins issue medkit, you know." It's so conversational. Light and wandering. Like idle pillow talk, which is sort of is. Lilian's breathing is far more even, but even her skin glistens with dried sweat when limmed against the window. "I don't mean the wounds, Petra. Of course . . . that stays between you and me. Not those alone, at least." she adds, followed by a reluctant pause. Her fingers slide up Petra's neck, and her nails catch on the silver collar. "She did this to you. She changed you into this. And I may be the only person who doesn't have all the right in the world to complain. But . . ." "They got angry, because they love having an enemy, but not really on your behalf, did they? They love an excuse to hate someone, but nobody stopped to ask what she really did; am I wrong? You were trying so hard to be something-- something other than 'Soroka', all along-- and they never even tried to notice it back then. They can't possibly know what it means to you, to be changed into this, by force, when you were finally starting to become what you wanted to be." Lilian reaches out another hand to cup Petra's from the back. The one with the number. "Or this. The second you found your corner piece, it's as if the entire world started cluttering it with all the rest of the puzzle they think you should be; all trying to fix you when they never even understood you." "So? Is it a sort of power you're glad for having, even if it feels awful, like-- . . . Is it something you barely notice, but feel violated for bearing? Is it something that keeps you up, disgusted by your own skin? Speak to me, Petra. You've said so much about me, but I barely know what's become of you." Lilian pulls her hands back. Brushing the hair away from her neck to prevent it from sticking, the pendant she'd left on jingles quietly. "All I know is that you feel harder, and tougher, and I can't feel your frantic little pulse anymore. I can live with it, but . . . Is this the kind of marred that you want?" "If everyone will only put words in your mouth, at least let me ask you how you feel."
Petra Soroka	Petra exhales serenely with a silent giggle, the sensation vibrating through her chest like the purr of a smooth engine. "Yeah. You said it was like 'jewelry'." She could probably do with a little bit more regret, but her mind is too clouded to really grasp on to those past emotions. Petra twists to the side to give Lilian her attention as she talks, not trusting that remaining face-down and still would convey that she's listening. Her eyes settle on Lilian's face, drunkenly rapt with the movements of Lilian's lips and eyes. She's attentively silent until Lilian pauses, blinking and breathing slowing like she's being lulled into a trace, back rising and falling beneath Lilian's hand. Then her gaze drops to the bed. "Oh." She'd assumed that Lilian had to have been talking about the thing that was relevant to her, the wounds, and not that Lilian-- especially her, but anyone, really-- would just be asking about her wellbeing. Which isn't fair to her. "Sorry, yeah." "God. No. You're not wrong. I don't think anyone's even... people don't even mention it. And that's-- I hate talking about it, and being reminded that-- that-- you know. But everyone just sees this, and-- and fucking shrugs their shoulders, makes some surprised noises, and then moves on. Most of them don't even ask who did it. Nephra is the only one who even bothered to get mad, like you said, to have an enemy, the rest didn't even-- I'm--" Petra laces her fingers through Lilian's hand when she overlaps them, then clenches it into a fist while a shudder runs through her body. "No. I fucking hate it. This, it's like-- I don't even know how to, if it's worth talking about, though, right? Why the fuck would I need to complain about being, being stronger and tougher, and not feeling sick or tired or hurt, and-- I mean, for weeks, I wouldn't even let myself think about it, since it was just a distraction, right? It wasn't as important as... and if I just let people fuss about me, if I let them fall right back into doing that, I thought they would just ignore what you needed, then. But they did anyways." "And now they ignore me, too. So opportunity missed, I guess." Petra hisses air through her teeth, releasing some of the energy she'd wound up while ranting. "But it doesn't matter. I feel stupid even wanting it to be fixed. It's-- it should be better in every way, Dimo keeps, keeps saying that, in--" Petra taps on the side of her head with her free hand. "But I hate it anyways, because it's not, like, mine. Which is kind of stupid and selfish. But I'm going to talk to Doctor Eggman, and see if he can do the thing that-- that he did, in Indus."
Lilian Rook	'Yeah. You said it was like 'jewelry'.' If Petra feels especially imaginative, she could assume the soft-tense tenor of Lilian's vague smile is, at once, a little embarrassed, a little guilty, and a little proud of her handiwork. If she notices, or at least dwells on, Petra's mistaken assumption, she doesn't show it. She only says, "You're a little stupid, aren't you?" and then reaches out to run her fingers through the hair beside Petra's face, pushing it back away from her neck to let her eyes linger overlong on the raw and red tooth marks left from weeks ago. And a couple more recently. "It's cute. So many people try to pretend they aren't, but you just fill your head with smarter people's ideas to figure it all out, don't you? And it works~ Silly girl." 'God. No. You're not wrong.' "I seldom am." says Lilian, and she sounds exhausted with the idea. "Only ever when I think I'm being kind to myself." Allowing Petra's fingers to slip between hers, Lilian gently squeezes her hand, but not nearly gentle enough to feel tender. She could call the feeling 'tension', if tension could be aloof and distant in nature. "Tangent had a pulse, when I 'visited' her at the tail end of your incarceration. But I wouldn't expect her to understand either. There are types and bands of those people, some better than others, but . . ." "What do they even think about? When those people speak to you and I, nothing going through their heads is even related to what's happening; what we're saying, to them, then and there. They don't think about us when we're right in front of them, never mind when we're gone; they just wrap up their own insipid fucking feelings in a little bow with our names on it and spew it out. Do they think about anyone? Is there anyone, anything else, that occupies their thoughts without a show on? Or do they really just go through their entire lives with their eyes only ever turned inwards? Just passively receiving the world as it's absorbed through their skin, and marvelling at the little patterns it makes inside them. Talking like they have to figure it out in reverse when they're pressed, instead of just fucking looking." 'Why the fuck would I need to complain about being, being stronger and tougher, and not feeling sick or tired or hurt, and--' Lilian pulls Petra's hand by the laced fingers, all the way to her own lower back, dragging her closer, and then grips the girl's chin in that delicate-dangerous way she often does. It's strange, to see her up-close, unblinking gaze, filled with an intensity other than hatred. "Why would I need to complain about being loved? Privileged and admired, with rich parents, a long legacy, and a good name to my back? Why would I hate a life most people would kill for, to the point I burned it all down around me, and just lived in the ashes like nothing happened? Nothing comes before this, Petra. Fucking nothing. If you can't even be yourself then what fucking good does giving all those gifts to someone else do?" 'And now they ignore me, too. So opportunity missed, I guess.' Lilian sighs sympathetically onto Petra's collarbone, releasing her chin and letting her eyes wander down. She glances back up, a moment later, as she defeats the urge to leave it at that. Her palm strokes over Petra's cheek. "Why care? You traded up. Your real self being invisible to them made you miserable. Now that they're forced to see it, and they don't understand you any more than me, you have us. Me. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Lilian Rook	'But it doesn't matter. I feel stupid even wanting it to be fixed.' Lilian falls silent at that. It's a peaceful, contemplative kind; the sort of thinking she rarely shows, if not simply rarely ever having a reason to consider anyone like that. Her thumb strokes back to Petra's nose, then to her lips, and then a twist of her wrist brings her fingers up to her eyes, taking in the shape of her face by touch rather than sight. Unlacing her fingers, she reaches back under the covers and sharply pulls Petra closer by her rear, until the two fully touch; as if the warmth of another body were necessary to settle on a conclusion in confidence. "Don't. There are a lot of different ways to be break, and a lot of different ways to be fixed. Not all of them work out in the end. Not all of them are something people can live with. Some people need what others wouldn't even survive. She broke you into a pattern that pleased her, but if it's only sort of like what you need, then it's not as if you can adjust the shattered pieces." "This is her art. Not yours. Maybe it saved you at the time, and maybe even me, and I don't know how to feel when I fully well realize she knows what I did, and made sure to clean it up for me, when she could have ended my career, but that was that and this is this." "I sort of want you to be fixed. It's not fair for you to be beautiful like this. I wanted to smash you apart myself."
Petra Soroka	"What do they even think about?" "God, right?! I have no idea; I don't get it. They're-- they exist just as long each day as we do-- well, less, for you, but you know what I mean. They have time to think! What do they spend that time doing? I have no idea, and I was, like, one of them, surrounded by them. I don't get it at all." "If they were looking inwards, they'd at least notice that there's nothing there, wouldn't they? It's not hard to notice that you're hollow, if you show interest in other people at all, and then-- maybe that's why? They're scared of seeing how much they're lacking. I could never ignore it, though. I'd rather kill myself." "Nothing comes before this, Petra." Petra gasps when Lilian pulls her close, the contact of her hand on her back sending tingling cascades across her sensitive skin. If not for that still existing, really-- she might've ran to Eggman weeks ago. Petra tilts her chin up automatically, before Lilian even grabs it, breathing shallow and warm through parted lips as she matches Lilian's stare. Petra's breath is, she notices, with enough jarring discomfort to cause her to flinch and flicker her eyes down, completely dry, like wind across a desert rather than fogging chest-warmth. "I didn't mean to... imply that you... I guess I just feel, uncomfortable, thinking about it like it's the same thing, as that. Like it's appropriative, somehow. I mean--" Petra shrugs her left shoulder, the ragged cut that Lilian made to carve out her implant being one of the few wounds that actually healed away. "I don't even need those pills, anymore. I barely needed them for a month. Which should be-- even that feels shitty, and I just-- I don't know how to describe it." "Isn't that what you wanted?" Petra's chin stays upraised for a few seconds after Lilian lets go, slowly sinking down to normal as Lilian talks. Her shoulders sag too, and she leans forwards to lay her cheek on Lilian's shoulder. "Yeah. It is." There's no 'but'. "This is her art. Not yours." Petra presses against Lilian when she's pulled in towards her, leaning in as if even the narrow distance between them for the past few minutes was barely tolerable to her, and now she needs to desperately recover from it. She silent as long as Lilian is thinking, sinking back into dreamy thoughtlessness while her face nestles into Lilian's neck. Every point of skin contact tingles with heat, champagne bubbles popping against Lilian's skin, and though Petra's arm curls around behind Lilian, she doesn't squeeze, to maintain the illusion of softness. "... It's yours, a little bit, though..." It's a difficult process recovering Petra's mind from that serene abyss. She doesn't even feel like trying to-- the only thing that could get her to focus again would be anger, and she doesn't want to hold on to that right now. Instead, she just lets thoughts tumble out of her mouth, bleary and unfiltered. "That's a good enough reason, for me to get it fixed. That you would prefer me to. It's not like I don't want it fixed, but I was always... always putting it off, since you came first, and ever since then there's been all this other stuff.... But that's okay. I can do it, since you want me to." Petra giggles, then mimics Lilian's tone from earlier, practically seeming drunk. "'And it works~'"
Lilian Rook	'I could never ignore it, though. I'd rather kill myself.' "You say that a lot, Petra. I'd rather you didn't." A beat. "Didn't do it, obviously, but didn't entertain the idea so much, too. You don't need to. You'll never be like them. You'll never hurt that way, feel that ache, ever again. Not as long as I have you; which is forever, by the way. 'I didn't mean to... imply that you... I guess I just feel, uncomfortable, thinking about it like it's the same thing, as that. Like it's appropriative, somehow. I mean--' "Perhaps a little bit." says Lilian. "Or at least, I doubt I'll ever meet anyone who doesn't make me feel like I was worse; in a way that I hate, and can't feel proud of." she sighs. "So what would be the point in measuring? I'll never be happy that way. I'll never help anyone, because I'll just feel angry and lonely and too bitter and scarred for anyone to have any reason to care about. I don't want people to hurt as much as I did. I just want it to have been worth it. And whether you realize it or not, you're hurting too." Lilian lifts her head, hair pooling on the pillow, and leans forward to kiss Petra on the cheek; gentler, less urgent and greedy, than before. "I don't really care if it's a lot or a little. Someone sees me, and she understands me, and she's here for me. Isn't that enough? She tried, and it hurt, and she did her best to deserve something, and that's all there is in the end. There's never a way to know if you did enough, but there are people who did something and people who never will,; I don't know if what I have now is worth it, but it's inarguable that I did more to get it than any of them." "If it feels like you don't deserve to be 'Petra' now, or like you don't deserve for me, just keep trying until you've earned it. I'll consider it a payment in advance. I'm actually pretty generous, you know." '... It's yours, a little bit, though...' Lilian hesitates. She breathes in deep, holds it, and assembles a sequence of clever words. A thoughtful sentiment is dredged up out of the riptide of dark and tumultuous feelings she still struggles to sort out each day now, and it's cleaned off and polished and made sensitive and presentable and exactly what Petra doesn't need right now, and she tosses it from her mind. Lilian stares for a few seconds, and then breathes, "Not enough. Not nearly enough. I'd never be so lazy, and I'd never get bored so easily." She bites her lip, eyes running down Petra's body, from red to silver to back. "Don't think I don't notice that asymmetry, Petra. You aren't satisfied either." 'That's a good enough reason, for me to get it fixed. That you would prefer me to. It's not like I don't want it fixed, but I was always...' "Then do it. If you don't know how you feel, and you don't know what you should be allowed to, just feel however feel about you, okay? You do that with words all the time. You don't have to . . . perform the whole fucking act; tell everyone how you're a victim and didn't want this, or pretend you don't appreciate the power. You don't have to feel one, set, two-dimensional way about Dimo, or these changes, they their tragic fucking backstories always are. If you think you have a shot at being more beautiful then take it." "Nobody can tell you otherwise. Someone who was built perfect can't tell you about healing or completeness. She doesn't know what the right shape for you to be is. Fucking none of them do. It's just us."
Lilian Rook	''And it works~'' "Slut." Lilian laughs. "You're cute when you can be my brainless little toy, too." She shifts in place, placing her elbow down to prop herself up. Her leg slides someplace it has no business being, ankle around Petra's. "I won't complain if you just do every little thing I say~ Then nobody can argue you don't deserve whatever I give you. Listening to me is the single biggest thing they all refuse to do, you know? I don't know about you, but when I say 'fuck what they think', I mean it." She uses her leverage around Petra's leg to pull herself up in the same motion as flipping Petra onto her back, lacing fingers with both hands at once and pinning them against the mattress. Locking gazes, needy and starved with ecstatic and drunk, Lilian leans close enough for Petra to feel her breath in lieu of having any herself. "But, you know, if you keep being this good, I'm going to have a difficult time staying focused~ Let's pick this back up again in half an hour~ Then you can tell me all about that familiar pattern, too~"