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GAL FRIDAY:


THE CAPTAIN:


unless he likes you then it's more like

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PIRATE JENNY GUABANCEX JENNY:

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[light_mischief]

Hm.

[yeah that's not reassuring. especially with how easily concealed something could be in this mess...

he's at least courteous enough to announce,] I'm going to do some tidying, [before he turns the room bare. or, you know, as bare as he can without getting rid of the couch they're sitting on. or whatever else the Captain might have a lock on.]

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[excuse you that's his emotional support clutter.

there are, in fact, no secret memory cracks hidden under the VHS tapes. which is why he's able to give a vaguely smug eyebrow-raise before returning his attention fully to his book.]

[light_mischief]

[he staunchly refuses to acknowledge that look as he replaces everything back the way it was... except the stacks of media are slightly tidier.]

Okay. Good. I would really be worried if it reached this far.

[a beat passes before he gets up and starts pacing. he tries to make it look like he's just poking around, but we all know how he gets.]

...Somebody dropped me a line about a memory they witnessed. From how they described it, I think it might have been one of yours.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

Huh. [beat] I wonder if it's one I have, or one I don't have. It'd be a little strange to think someone knows about a memory that I don't.

[light_mischief]

That's what I was wondering. Do you have any memories of an awkward teen-shaped storm hovering in the corner of a room trying not to be noticed?

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[thinks...]

Nope.

[light_mischief]

[he weighs the risks of saying too much and rushing them into a situation he isn't sure he understands, versus the desire to tell the Captain everything so that he can be prepared for whatever might come. his argument with Ava is looping over and over in his head, tangled with the multiple visions of his first family's death.]

Well, see? That answers that question.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

I suppose.

[a pause. tilts head slightly.]

What was it?

[light_mischief]

[he answers immediately.]

A woman working in a laboratory, somewhere in the late 1800s. There was a child struggling to keep their eyes from glowing. The woman ordered the child into a magic circle.... something about funding and departments and tests. She was apparently upset when her purchased familiar failed to keep their form under extreme magical duress. And apparently, the child's natural form was made of shadow.

[he taps his foot against a stack of manga.]

So, you can see why I suspect it belongs to you.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[before he's even finished the last sentence:] Matilda Nurse.

[pause]

I thought it was stupid to call her Master. Technically, my master was the alchemical department. She was just a grad student.

[light_mischief]

Oh?

...What do you remember about her?

[sictransitgloriamundi]

Not much. It was only a few years. She completed her dissertation, I was allocated to a few more students... Then sold again to fund the war effort during... one of the World Wars. I always mix them up.

[light_mischief]

[in this case, he doesn't think the sentiment means much. still:]

I'm sorry.

[no amount of sympathy will change the past, though. ...present circumstances excluded.]

Do you remember what she was trying to do?

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[sighs] Oh, I don't know. Lead into gold, or something equally as asinine. The magicians of my reality never advanced much farther than that.

[light_mischief]

Hm. Well, they could only get so far using other people as fuel.

[hah. that's some dramatic irony. Gordon would love that.

(Gordon also loved giving his heroes a glimmer of hope before burying him with grief. Skulduggery's just trying to avoid thinking about that similarity...)]

I was sort of hoping that memory would be the puzzle piece we needed. I can't help but think there's a reason why certain memories are cropping up...

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[just shrugs]

It doesn't feel particularly important to me.

[light_mischief]

[...]

No, I guess not.

[he turns away from the stacks to look at him.]

Does it feel like anything, when you think about those memories? Do you feel anything?

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[a pause. bending the corner of a page to save his place, he places the book on the ground.]

... I don't know. Something like... [he brings a hand up to his chest, then slowly balls it into a tight fist.] Like the first few seconds after pain stops, when you're waiting for it to begin again.

[light_mischief]

[so he isn't entirely dissociated from the memory. good. ...maybe. he hopes.

(trying very hard not to think about burning thatch and Serpine laughing at him.)]

I wish there was a way to ease that ache, but instead, I'll just be glad you still feel it. You've been around a long time and given up too much.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

Hm.

[...]

It's awful. I can see why I always tried to avoid it.

[light_mischief]

Hah. Yes. No arguments there.

[he could say that the pain makes the nice memories all the sweeter, or that it can be turned into motivation to change.

he moves back to the couch.]

I don't know if enough time can pass for it to ever stop aching. But it's part of you, whether you've forgotten it or not.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[sighs. closes eyes.]

You sound like a fortune cookie.

[light_mischief]

[he laughs.]

Oh, shut up. The point I'm getting at is... I love you. All of you. Including those painful parts.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[pause]

And I love a fortune cookie.

[light_mischief]

Notoriously one of the worst cookies out there, but I'll take it.