thundamoo
patreon
9. Someone's Gotta Keep People Functional
🕑 Added 2023-09-05 18:54:17 +0000 UTCA/N: Hey everybody! Sorry about dropping off the map for a week. I, uh, kinda had a big mental health crisis? But I'm okay now and I'm back to writing so here we go!
Like before, my power seems to slip through Anastasia's domain without much trouble simply because we're holding hands. Unlike before, thankfully, this doesn't flood me with a glut of information or push me to change my own body in response. She's far too similar to how she was yesterday, which, y'know, is exactly what I'd expect. What's interesting is I can still feel all the parts of her body that are ever-so-slightly different, all the little ways it has partially healed its countless scars, and all the little ways it has torn itself anew. I can feel her exhaustion, sleep not coming easily to a girl that has suffered so much trauma. I can feel her hunger, mild but ever-present because she hasn't adapted to her above-human metabolism. And I can feel her dehydration, partly due to the same but also due to the many, many tears she shed in the privacy of her room last night, the corners of her eyes still caked with salt.
Not that I really needed super powers to know Anastasia has been crying, but feeling it with my new senses is somehow even more visceral. Her domain laps against mine like a wounded puppy, scared of everything in the world but still not protesting the intrusion. She still feels like vengeance and retribution, a tightly-wound spring just waiting to lash out and hurt anything that might deserve it, but there's the start of a calmer undertone, too. Where it returns violence with violence and evil with evil, so too does it return kindness with kindness. It is not only a domain of death, and it's not too late for Anastasia to internalize that.
…At least, I hope so. These weird vibe checks I get from people when I touch them are of questionable reliability, to say the least. They feel accurate, in the same way that my more mundane judgements of people feel accurate. But when I look at someone and make a judgment about what they're likely thinking or feeling, I'm doing so because of years of careful observation, experience, and effort placed specifically into honing that skill. When I touch someone and my power just tells me things? That's a lot harder to trust, no matter how accurate my brain insists it feels.
I should definitely ask the instructors how common these sorts of feelings are. Guy-Lia-apparently-knew seemed to get a similar premonition from touching me, but I'm not sure how common this sort of thing is. I wonder if Anastasia feels anything right now.
I don't think my curiosity is more important than her comfort, though, so I leave her alone and just continue walking her to the cafeteria. It's a bland little thing, reminding me of the sort of room I've seen exploring abandoned public school buildings. Emily would always insist on dragging me along with Max's urban spelunking sessions to slow everyone down and make it harder for people to do anything too stupid.
A wave of numbness ripples through my body at that thought, the cold reminder that Max is dead and it's my fault briefly shoving away every other emotion. I never even liked him all that much, but I still lived with him for three years and knew him very, very well. His death is a heavy thing to think about. Those stupid nighttime outings through abandoned pre-war buildings were always exhausting pains in the ass, but all of a sudden I find myself missing them, as little chunks of my life I'll never get to have again.
"Lia?" Anastasia asks, looking up at me, and I flinch. Shit, I just stopped walking all of a sudden. I shoot her a reassuring smile and we head towards the small line, where all sorts of people from the base are picking up food, be they powered people like me, the various soldiers 'protecting' us, or more casually-dressed staff. They're serving some kind of potatoes-and-soup slop, but just smelling it makes my stomach ache with hunger and my mouth salivate like a mad dog. It's a weird smell, like all smells, but it doesn't matter. My body needs food, and it needs it badly.
"Is there a limit to how much you can give me?" I ask the lady plopping our food onto the trays.
"Yes," she answers. "But you kids are powered, aren't you? They'll probably approve you if you request extra provisions. A good chunk of people like you tend to need more food."
She goes ahead and slaps a double serving on my tray.
"I don't actually have approval for extra provisions yet," I tell her. "Though I think I'll probably need it. Anastasia might, too."
The lunch lady looks down at Anastasia, shrugs, and plops a second serving onto her tray, too.
"You don't make a fuss about the regulations and I won't either. No kids are starving on my watch. Just get your forms in as soon as you can, alright?"
I smile and nod at her.
"I will. Thank you."
"Thank you," Anastasia mumbles adorably, and I smile and give her hand an approving squeeze.
Well, I guess we'd better sit down and eat. I quickly spot Christine sitting over in a corner with Ed, so I figure that's probably the best place to go. I want to keep making sure my relationship with my roommate is good, and Ed is just a cool guy who Anastasia also likes, so I start to head that way.
"Hey, Lia! Over here!"
…Except there's still this guy. Damn it. It would be suspicious if Lia doesn't sit with and hang out with the dude that was apparently friendly with her in the past, wouldn't it? …Unless she has a good reason to, I suppose. And while I'm not sure what exactly that good reason would be, knowing Lia it's a safe bet to assume she and any given person have a reason to be mad at each other. So why pick anything specific? I turn to look directly at him, give him my absolute best angry Lia glare, and then simply keep walking to Christine and Ed. Considering what little I know about the people in Lia's life he's probably some incel anyway; if I just let him try to deconstruct the incomprehensible, unknowable anger of a woman without ever explaining it, he'll inevitably complain loudly enough for me to figure out what the fuck my relationship with him is supposed to be.
It's a bit of a mean way to get information from somebody, but frankly that just makes it more believable that I'm the real Lia.
"Hey Christine, hey Ed," I greet my roommate and the old man as I bring Anastasia over to sit with them. "Mind if we sit here?"
"Not at all, not at all!" Ed happily agrees, waving towards some seats next to him. I take them, leaving Christine alone on the other side of the table, but she doesn't seem to mind. "Did the two of you sleep alright? We certainly had an interesting class this morning."
"I slept okay, but waking up was a bit of an adventure," I answer, taking a bite of soup and resisting my urge to chug it all like a starving raccoon. Holy shit, this is… I don't even know what this is! It's good, though, soft and even on my tongue. The process of cooking everything has made all the vegetables and the broth taste more or less the same, a single flavor that is no less powerful for its ubiquitousness. Though there are variations in texture, it's all so easy to chew that it doesn't make a huge difference, resulting in a taste that's simple enough to not overwhelm me but still strong enough to be really, really good. This is the best thing I've tasted since gaining the ability to taste, and I just… wow. Wow! No wonder people get so obsessed with food!
"...Sorry," Christine mutters miserably, poking at her soup like it's personally offended her. Which kind of offends me because this shit is incredible but also: what? What's she sorry about? What were we even talking about? Oh! Right, this morning. Crap, of course she thinks it's her fault somehow.
"You have nothing to apologize for," I assure her firmly, gulping down another bite. God, what even is this, I want to melt with happiness but I can't be too weird about the soup because Lia wouldn't be. "If you see a fucking alien in our room again, you should definitely call the soldiers again, too. Sorry my power is so freaky."
"...An alien?" Anastasia asks, her body going stiff.
"Not a real alien," I promise her. "My power can make me look like one, is all, and I apparently use my power when I sleep. Spooked some people this morning."
"That sounds like quite a way to wake up!" Ed laughs. "I'm glad I don't have to worry about nasty surprises like that. I've ended up with something nice and simple."
"Oh yeah?" I ask, taking the bait. "What can you do, Ed?"
"Eh, nothing much. I'm a buffer!"
"A… buffer?" I ask. "Like a barrier or something?"
"No, it's… oh, never mind," Ed sighs. "I make other people stronger. I've got one of them… what'd they call 'em, tactical powers? I can turn soldiers into regular Captain Americas!"
Oh, I understood that reference. I nod along.
"That seems pretty universally useful," I admit. "Personally, I'm worried my power isn't going to be very good. It only really affects me, and the best I can do is copy the enemy. A single Behemoth isn't going to make much of a tactical difference, so I think I might end up stuck on backline domain duty."
The truth is, of course, that I want to be on backline domain duty. I intend to survive this damn war, and that means I need a healthy combination of 'too weak to send to the front lines' and 'too useful to sacrifice on the front lines.' But an ambitious, trustworthy soldier wouldn't desire an unglamorous position, and Lia probably wouldn't either, so I can't say any of that out loud.
Christine, for her part, doesn't take the opportunity to explain or complain about her shiny new superpower, instead simply using it on her own bowl of soup. Without a sound, the mush lifts up into the air and separates into its constituent parts. The broth jiggles slightly in the air, floating above the bowl while still in the same shape it would be were it resting properly in that container. Every still-solid ingredient in that broth floats even further above it, still in basically the same configuration it was in while inside the soup, but now completely dry (if mushy) and, of course, levitating independently in a cloud about the size of Christine's head.
"Um," I comment, as she starts using her spoon to individually flick every pea out of her power's range and onto her plate before moving on to the beans. Once the cloud has been rendered devoid of any food item with an actual color or flavor, the exploded view of what's left of the soup collapses back into her bowl, and she finally starts eating.
"I want that power," Anastasia complains, since Christine apparently has a pretty good power for eating like a spoiled child. Even if I wasn't enamored by this unprecedented culinary experience, that sort of wastefulness would still irk me, since my homes have always been the kind to barely scrape by on government handouts. But obviously, bringing attention to any of this would only annoy Christine and make her more uncomfortable with me, even if it made any sense for Lia to say. Adult picky eaters tend to be sensitive about it.
"...I'll take your vegetables if you don't want them," I say instead. I'm certainly hungry enough, and Christine will probably feel a lot better about her habits if it seems like her habits are benefitting me rather than annoying me. I'm not sure I like the idea of making Christine more comfortable with eating this way, especially since she's going to be a soldier, but there's no point in criticizing someone if they don't like or respect you enough to actually listen. Camaraderie first, critique second. And sure enough, Christine seems more than happy to push her plate towards me, which I dump into my own double-portion wholesale. Yes, more food!
Anastasia, for her part, makes good on her claim of jealousy by trying to push her soup towards Christine and get the same treatment. I block her, though. The situation is different. Anastasia isn't an adult, which means teaching her is a responsibility, not an unwanted imposition. Plus, her crazy metabolism means she goes through vitamins, minerals, and other nutrients a lot faster than a normal person and she's in pretty desperate need for some of the ones in the soup. …Which is a thing I know, for some reason. Well, whatever, I can analyze that later.
"Eat your vegetables," I chastise her. "Your body needs them."
It's something I've said so often it comes out more or less automatically, having taken care of so many kids for whatever so-called parents I had at the time, but it feels weird now that I have an odd certainty about exactly how much her body needs them. Which, to be clear, isn't too badly; Anastasia thankfully doesn't seem like she was being underfed or physically abused before she got her powers. She's just had a really rough couple of days, but that's more than enough to make me worried.
"I don't like them," Anastasia scowls.
I sigh, turning and leaning down a little to speak with her face-to-face. …No, not like that, power, thank you. I think I will remain adult-height and not have all my clothes fall off in public, please.
"I know you don't," I tell her. "But we're not going to be able to choose what we eat for a while, and you're still growing. I think you're going to be a lot hungrier, a lot more often than you're used to. Have you been hungry, Anastasia?"
She squirms and mumbles something under her breath.
"What was that?" I ask.
"You're not my mom!" she says, louder this time as tears pool in the corners of her eyes. The table goes silent, since we all know her mom is alien chow. Anastasia obviously included.
Which, y'know, ouch. There's a lot I could say to that, but she's saying it partly because she's stressed and grieving, and partly because she's smart enough to instinctively understand that most people shut up and shut down at the prospect of death and let you get away with things for it. I've seen this done by a lot of kids before, because of course I have. I've been one.
"I know," I tell her. "I'm sorry. I still want you to eat, though."
She doesn't, unfortunately. She starts crying and leaves the table, and I don't really have much choice but to let her go. We don't have the sort of relationship that would make me physically grabbing her and sitting her back down go anywhere close to well, and calling out for her or trying to press the issue would end up similarly poorly. I have to let her leave and hope that she feels guilty about saying that to me, so she'll want to strengthen the relationship later, when she's not quite as overwhelmed. I'm sure I can trust the soldiers here to keep her out of too much trouble, if only because she's basically a prisoner here. Y'know, like all of us. The gilded cage is nice, sure, but it's still a cage.
With a sigh, I return to my food, eating it faster than before. I feel like I could eat all of Anastasia's double portion, too, but I want to see if it's possible to send it to her room first. She does need to eat, and while she might be one of the kids who'll straight up torture themselves to avoid vegetables it's equally possible she's just throwing a tantrum because she's stressed and will eat at least some of it when she gets hungry enough.
"...Poor kid," Ed sighs, watching Anastasia run off with a frown. I mostly watch the soldiers in the room to try and note which ones follow her out. "You're doing a good thing by being a friend for her, Lia, but try not to push her too hard, alright?"
I glance at him, seeing his wrinkled hand clenched tightly around his cane like he wants to get up and rush after Anastasia. But naturally, he'd never catch her.
"I don't think she's going to be able to avoid being pushed hard," I answer him. "And my power says that her power has altered her metabolism pretty significantly. I don't really know how accurate that is, but I'm still worried what will happen if she doesn't eat right."
"I see," Ed sighs. "I guess that's a tough situation, then. But if she's going to be worked to the bone by the army like the rest of us, I think that's all the more reason you should go easy on her. Kids should have some time to be kids, no matter how bad things get."
"Yeah," I agree. "I'll try, Ed."
Truthfully, I don't know if I'll be able to make good on that. Anastasia will certainly be a little fucked up when she's older if her childhood is completely ripped away, but… well, it already has been, right? That ship has officially been sunk. I feel like it might be better to prepare her for the water as best as possible.
That might just be my bias, though. I like to think I'm good at helping people, but while I know how to make people feel better about themselves, and I know how to get people to shut up and do what needs to be done, I can be pretty shit at getting them to do both.
Maybe if I could be honest about it, I could figure out a way. If I could relate to her by talking about my parents, my families, my tragedies. But Lia hasn't ever experienced that. Lia's family is alive. Lia has never had to worry about running out of food. Lia hasn't raised a dozen little brothers and sisters all crying and screaming and wishing they could see their real family again, just one more time.
Lia can't say any of that, and I'm Lia now.
"Hey, Lia! Come on, why are you ignoring me?"
I flinch, looking up and seeing that the moron from my fake past has come over to chat with us. Shit. No time for melancholy when I have a painful lie to uphold.
"...Why do you think I'm ignoring you?" I sneer at him, because I would very much like to know myself.
"Don't be like that," he pouts. "We're still friends, aren't we? Come on, introduce me."
"Introduce yourself," I snap back. Tell me your name. Please.
"Do you, uh, know this guy, Lia?" Christine asks, looking very uncomfortable with the sudden intrusion. Not that I blame her.
"He certainly acts like he knows me," I deadpan.
"We used to date," he insists, exasperated. Called it. "My name is Andrew! Seriously, Lia, what is the matter with you?"
Thank you. Andrew. Andrew Andrew Andrew. Lia's ex-boyfriend. I've never dated anyone before, so I don't really know how to act around an ex, but he's at least under the impression that he and Lia are still friends, so maybe it was an amicable breakup. Given what I've picked up so far I'm going to place my bet that Lia found out that she was gay while dating him, and he was at least kind of understanding but isn't over her and has privately been a bit bitter about it.
It's the type of thing I've seen before, but that was from the outside. It's a totally different situation when I'm one of the supposed partners, so I'm completely playing this by ear.
"The matter with me is that the first words out of your mouth when we meet after a deadly crisis situation should not be 'you still dating that orphan chick?'" I say, making sure to quote him in the most mockingly facetious voice I'm capable of. With Lia's well-practiced vocal chords, I think I do a pretty good job. "Quit trying to figure out if you can put your dick back in my pants. And what if she was dead, huh? I'd have fucking killed you."
"Alright, alright, Jesus," he mutters, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, Lia. I take it all back, okay? Now can you stop being so pissed and just be happy we're both alive? Because I'm sure happy to see you in one piece. I had no idea if you were even okay, let alone if we'd be able to see each other again."
"...Yeah, alright," I concede, crossing my legs. I don't want to push him away too hard, or else his obsession might become suspicion. "How have you been holding up, then?"
"I mean, I'm okay. The incursion didn't reach Glencoe, though we still had to evacuate since we were so close." He shrugs, sitting down next to me without asking. But… I guess he thinks we're friends, and probably not even in the creepy, overly-presumptuous way. Even if Lia never actually liked this guy, I have no way to know and no real reason to assume. Besides, I'm sort of the one being the creepiest in this situation, what with the whole 'impersonating a dead girl' thing.
"You got powers and you weren't even in the incursion?" I ask. That's some unfair bullshit right there, but I don't know what I expected.
"Yeah," he nods. "I mean, we could see it, but our area wasn't attacked by the Queen or anything. I didn't even realize I had powers for the longest time, because I was high as fuck for most of it. I figured it out when some asshole at the shelter picked a fight with me for no reason and I clobbered his ass without even trying. It was like I was possessed by the spirit of Batman. And now I'm here!"
"...I see," I say. There are a lot of other things I want to say, ranging from 'were you seriously stoned through the entirety of a localized apocalypse' to 'somehow I doubt that anyone could talk to you for more than five seconds without finding a very good reason to pick a fight with you,' but maybe some of that at least carries via my tone.
"What about you?" he asks. "How did you find out?"
I sigh. This is truly the dumbest guy alive.
"I found out when everyone who wasn't touching me exploded into bloody meat chunks, Andrew," I tell him flatly. "Then I got impaled by a Behemoth and lived."
"...Oh," he says awkwardly. "Right. You were in the incursion, then?"
No, of course not, I obviously got impaled by a Behemoth during a lovely stroll to the local bakery!
"I was in the incursion, yes. I was at…" My own fucking birthday party. "...some dumb thing for Emily's older sister. She insisted that Emily and I attend. If we had just gone on our date instead like we planned, none of this would have happened."
Lia would be alive, and I would be dead. Is it fucked up of me to not regret that call? To say, looking back, that I would absolutely risk Lia's life for mine a second time? I suspect the answer is 'yeah, probably,' but fuck Lia. I feel a little bad about putting Emily in danger, but she apparently already has powers and was in the least danger out of all of us. Plus, Peter survived because we had Lia's car! That's a real, tangible benefit. He might have found someone willing to drive him to safety without that head start, but he also might not have. The actual Lia, of course, would not quite have that opinion, so I need to act bitter about nearly dying.
"Is that the disabled girl you're always bitching about?" Andrew asks, and I twitch, suppressing a sudden urge to just reach over and strangle him. That's me, you fermented turd! Don't fucking talk about me that way, what the hell is your problem? But like. Yes. I guess that is technically a completely accurate way to describe my relationship with Lia. I was the 'disabled girl she was always bitching about.' You asshole.
"...She's dead, man," I growl, not quite succeeding at hiding my anger. "Let's not talk about her that way anymore, alright?"
"Oh," Andrew says awkwardly, giving me a pretty worried stare. "R-right."
God, I want to rip this idiot to shreds all of a sudden. I'm already stressed enough about not getting to be me, but having to put up with people badmouthing me is pushing me over the edge. My power hums in the back of my mind, making part of me wonder what the best way to do that would be. I could just make a big deadly Behemoth arm and impale him, sure, but that would be… energy-intensive. Maybe something more miniaturized? He implied his power has something to do with like, martial arts somehow, which seems like a weird power and probably isn't super accurate to how he works, but it's still a hint that I don't want to let him safely get his hands on me. Not to mention that the idea of him touching me, or even thinking it's okay for him to touch me, is vaguely revolting.
The body I'm currently in might have had sex with him. I want to vomit.
"I, uh, think I'll head back to our room for a bit before the practical class starts," Christine says, abruptly standing up and awkwardly shuffling away from the table, presumably because the sheer tide of awkwardness emanating from Andrew and I has knocked her clean out of her chair. Frankly, I wish I could do the same. Can this stupid asshole not read the mood? Would I want him to read the mood if he could? His idiocy is probably the only reason he hasn't already called me out on not acting like Lia, but I don't even know this guy so I don't know what to say!
"Lia?" Ed says, staring at my face and clearing his throat politely. "You're..."
…I'm what? I reach up to touch my face and see a collection of those sharp sapphire crystals jutting out of the back of my hand, along with Anastasia's claws protruding from my fingers. My face is even worse, though, a wall of crystals interlaced closely enough to be scales covers half of it almost completely, broken up only by the occasional obsidian orb that I quickly realize are smaller versions of the Behemoth's eyes. I realize, in retrospect, that I could feel all of this happening, I was just tuning it out like I'm trying to do with my sense of touch all the time.
I know I've had my power for less than two days, but it still bothers the fuck out of me that I seem to have such terrible control over it. Nearly twenty people here have brand-new powers, but I'm the only person I know that uses them by accident. I'm sure I'm not actually the only one struggling, since I've hardly even paid attention to most of the people here beyond the few that rode in the truck with me, I could be doing above-average for all I know. But I still hate it. I hate it a lot. It makes me feel worthless to not be in control of myself, like this. Self-control is the first step to any level of competence, be it physical, mental, or interpersonal, and I am failing that first step. I normally pride myself on my self-control, too, which makes it all the more frustrating. I should be better than this, but no. Instead I'm freaking people out and causing problems.
I take a deep breath, focusing on my body and the hundreds of little crystal-growing organs I unconsciously developed in place of skin. I can feel how they grow, how the crystals get constructed from inorganic material using organic processes. Oddly, though, I can't feel the crystals themselves in the same way: I can feel them, but just as blocks of inert matter, not the complex, overwhelmingly detailed sensation I get from most of my body when I focus on it with my power.
Still, I don't want these crystals all over me. Far more people than just Ed and Andrew are staring at me, the freakish color of my makeshift scales doubtlessly reminding some of the soldiers here of some bad memories. I need them off my body, and I can tell there's only two real options on how to do that: I can extrude them out of my flesh, letting them all clatter to the floor, or I can… pull them back in.
So I do the latter, for obvious reasons. I'm not entirely sure this is a great idea, but I still do it, sucking the crystals underneath my rapidly-reforming skin and into my arm, where I don't need them anymore. And then, one by one, I feel them start to shrink into nothing and disappear, the usual flesh and fat filling in the spaces they left behind.
I have no idea what happened to them. The crystals simply aren't in my body anymore, nor are they anywhere else. They aren't even deconstructed, they're straight-up gone. As far as I can tell, I just removed matter from existence. But… that would be absurd, right?
"Lia," Ed repeats, and I realize I've just been staring at my arm, which no longer has any crystal scales on it but definitely isn't Lia's arm. A swirl of skin tones dances rapidly around my body, twisting happily as my face shapes and reshapes itself like putty, combining features from every person my power has ever scanned in an ever-changing tapestry, like watching an AI dump a hundred thousand different versions of the same made-up face and showing them quickly enough to turn into a video. The entire rest of my body does the same, my gaze slowly shifting up and down as my spine shifts in length and my thighs waffle between tree trunk and toothpick. It feels like hearing the final chorus of your favorite song, an exultant release of pent-up energy that the piece has been building to since the first note.
I huff, and I wrench it all back under control with sheer force of will. It feels awful; I guess like shutting the song off halfway through the good part, to continue the metaphor. Everything snaps uncomfortably back to Lia, a heavily suboptimal form that completely wastes the potential possibilities of what I can do. But as much as I want to experiment, as much as I enjoyed the sudden rush of… whatever that was, I can't. I have to get control of my power.
Though… I guess part of learning to control my power is going to be using it more often. That's just how learning to do something works. For now, though, I need to at least be able to be the one deciding when I actually do that, rather than having it simply happen to me.
"Sorry about that, Ed," I sigh, once I'm finally back to… well, not normal, but what my current equivalent of it happens to be.
"Oh, nothing to apologize for, Lia!" he insists, because he's very kind. He's a liar too, though. The look he gave me was very much one of recognition, of knowing exactly where those crystals came from and not exactly having good memories of the situation. The kindness of his current expression is just there to hide the haunted nature of his prior one.
Which is fine, to be clear. More than fine. The dude has PTSD and he's still being polite about it, because he understands this wasn't something I was in control of. So I smile at him and give him a thankful nod, and we leave it at that. The rest of my lunch, thankfully, is relatively uneventful. I eat all of my food, ask somebody if I should deliver Anastasia's food to her, and when I'm told she has some in her room I eat all of the food she left behind, too. Which is like four bowls of soup, an amount so obviously in excess of the volume of Lia's stomach that the only explanation is that I'm somehow digesting it faster than I can swallow it all in the first place. Sure, I'm not the fastest eater ever, but this metabolism is still absurd! Emily's probably right; my power is fueled by food somehow.
I'm tempted by a thought to eat less in hopes of the power self-activating less in turn, but that seems… well, that seems like it would give me an eating disorder, and I don't even know if my power works like that. In fact, considering how absolutely starving I've been feeling today, I'm worried my power might not care how much food I've had and will quite happily starve me to death if I don't keep up with its ravenous demands. So… yeah. Eating food is the plan.
"Are you about done eating, Ed?" I ask, standing up slowly and stretching.
"Yes, I suppose so," he nods, moving his cane off his lap. I offer him a hand up, which he accepts with a broad grin. Instinctively, I feel a flash of fear the moment he puts pressure on my hand, my brain insisting that this is going to cause me to topple over and fall. I'm not, of course, and supporting Ed's weight is actually quite easy, but I can't stop the muscles in my arms from bulking themselves up out of nowhere in response to the terror. Annoying, but not terribly important right now. I make sure to guide Ed up to a standing position and then give him space once he has all three of his points of contact stable.
I was never a huge fan of being helped this way, mainly because my families tended to 'help' just as a method to try and get me to go faster rather than any particular empathy for my condition. I keep that shit under control, making sure to just offer myself as a handhold and stay steady. The worst fucking thing in the world is somebody offers a hand and then they pull on you without you asking. If I don't ask for help, I didn't even need your goddamn hand in the first place, and I certainly don't want you yanking me around! Of course, that also means I'm watching Ed as I do this, trying to judge from his expression and posture if the hand was even welcome in the first place. As expected, he seems quite happy with the offer. I've found that to be more common among older handicap people, for whatever reason.
…I guess, in retrospect, I could have just asked if he wanted help initially rather than offer a hand and look for his reaction like this, but oh well. It worked out.
"Thank you, Lia," Ed says, giving me another big smile. I smile back, though my gaze wanders to Andrew as he starts to get up as well.
"Sorry again, Lia," he mumbles. "Um, I'll see you around?"
"You'll see me around," I confirm. Whether I like it or not.
"Would you actually do me a favor, young man?" Ed says, smiling at Andrew. "Would you be kind enough to help me get outside, for our next little lesson? I could do it myself, but it'd put my mind at ease to have you nearby."
"...I can help," I frown. Andrew's dumb ass probably wouldn't do it right.
"I know you can," Ed agrees, a twinkle in his eye as he pats my hand. "But I think it might be best if you went to gather the girls. They're both in their rooms, and it might be good to have a talk with them."
…Hmm. Not a bad idea. My personal assessment is that Anastasia probably needs more time to stew, but the soldiers will likely get her to class anyway. Christine, though, I might need to apologize to if I scared her with my powers again. She did run off right after I used them on accident.
"Sure," I agree. "Thanks, Ed. Just do exactly what he tells you to do, alright Andrew? Don't overthink it."
"Uh, sure," Andrew nods, and I figure that's good enough. I nod back and walk off, Ed quietly chuckling to himself about something as I depart.
The walk back is fairly straightforward, at least. Being able to walk around quickly and easily is kind of bullshit. None of the soldiers even stalk me out of the lunch room like they did with Anastasia, so I guess I'm at least trusted slightly more than a nine-year-old. When I reach my room I knock on the door before entering, just so I don't surprise Christine too badly, and then let myself in.
I'm not sure what I expected when I came in here, but it wasn't to find her curled up in a ball and crying on her bed. Which… alright. I guess I'm dealing with a breakdown today. Fucking neato.
"...Hey," I greet her hesitantly, not entirely sure how to handle this since I'm not entirely sure as to the cause. Her body is dangerously tense, though, gripping onto one of her pillows hard enough to pull a muscle. I don't see any red marks or other signs of self-harm, which is good, but I guess they could always just be hidden from my view. She doesn't answer my greeting or respond to me, so I press on.
"Christine," I say her name, as soothing as I can. "Can you talk?"
Her breathing is slow (which is a good sign) and her tears are quiet (also good) so I figure we're already past the hysterics stage, if there was one. So that means she's probably calm enough for the distraction stage. I've got to get her thinking about something new so she doesn't fall back into… whatever the fuck triggered this in the first place. There are simply too many possible options for me to guess the cause.
"What do you want?" she mumbles.
To help? No, that could go poorly.
"To talk," I say. Repeating myself is usually safe the first couple of times. "What's up?"
"Nothing's up," she mutters. "Don't you have a class to go to?"
I do, but if I go there without you I have a sinking suspicion that Commander will ask me where you are, if she's there. Can't say that, of course.
"I think I'd rather make sure my roommate is okay," I say instead. "You wanna talk about it?"
"...Not with you," Christine mutters. "But I guess they won't let me talk to any of my actual friends."
Mmm. Yeah. We don't have internet or phone access here, do we? I haven't even really thought about that yet, but it's probably a big deal to a lot of people.
"I'd like to be your actual friend, if you'll let me," I say. It's not even entirely a manipulation tactic, though… I mean, it's definitely kind of a manipulation tactic. But the fact that it'll be easier to help her if she's more comfortable around me doesn't really scream 'evil mastermind,' it's just… true. I guess I don't actually have much interest in getting to know her as a person beyond what I feel like is my obligation, but that's just… how I am with everybody before I get to know them, I guess. I'm a cynical bitch. Hopefully, putting in the effort to be friends with Christine will crack that shell and get me to actually like her, but I have minimal ability to control whether or not that happens and I'll be trying to befriend her either way. Hopefully that doesn't make me some kind of sociopath? Eh, this isn't what I should be focusing on either way.
"Why?" Christine groans. "I'm not going to be able to do this, Lia. I'm not."
You won't have any choice in the matter, Christine. What part of that don't you get?
"It'll be alright," I say. "I'll help you."
"I don't want help, I just want to go home."
You think I don't? I hated that place, and I'd still go back in a heartbeat if it meant I didn't have to be here.
"Unfortunately, I'm probably going to help you regardless of whether or not you want it," I tell her frankly. It's the first fucking day, for crying out loud. "Can you sit up?"
She groans, but extracts herself partly from the bed, her puffy red face even redder on the side she was pressing so firmly into the pillow. I smile, and offer her a hand to help her off the bed. …Geez, why am I doing this so much all of a sudden? Are these Lia instincts or some shit? Christine even waves me off, declining the hand and leaving me feeling even more like a fool.
"...I don't want you to touch me," she mumbles.
"Oh, uh, okay," I nod. "Just in general?"
"You can turn into people you touch, right?" she asks. "I don't want you to touch me. Ever."
Oh. I guess I honestly can't fault her for that. I nod seriously.
"I promise to do my absolute best," I tell her. "Though if I brush up against you on accident, you'll probably still be fine as long as your domain is dense enough. And since there's a good chance that's what we're going to start learning to improve…"
"Uuugh, fine," she whines. "Fine, I'll come with you. Why do you even care?"
Because your failures will reflect on me? …No, honestly, I could probably weasel my way out of a responsibility like that. It wouldn't be clean, but I'm just a recruit. At the end of the day, I'm doing this for a much simpler reason.
"It's just what I do, I guess," I tell her. "Someone's gotta keep people functional, right?"
People, after all, damn well do not do it themselves.
Comments
Simca
Based on the number of times she's touched other people or offered to touch other people without prompting, I think this is either A) a reaction to being touch-starved for years since she was unable to feel her skin or B) something her powers are subtly urging her to do - get more data, collect more templates.
Sindri
See if the uniform includes an option for thick gloves. You can't be the first recruit with an inconvenient power that triggers on touch. And it might help a little with sensory issues, dulling the feeling of contact?
Kennyevilmonkey
Ah, social interaction. The bane of my existence. Thanks for the chapter, I'm really looking forward to the training.
