[ Despite all the times Daniil has told him to get some sleep, Matt has not slept. He keeps staying up late, haunting his spirit board for any word from Parisa, from Erik, from Saxsice or Grace or the dead mother and son. From Embry. He feels less like a human person and more like an ambulatory divining rod, some spiritual tuning fork. The nicks on his arm are starting to look like a tally of days, or possibly regrets. Either way, he covers them with a sweater.
One of the staff directs him to the jail. It's strange how many doors here he's never seen before, after all his weeks-turned-months of cataloguing. Just head down to Otherworld, turn the other way, and you're there, wandering down a medieval row of barred cells. As if this really were still the game Portia planned, they cells have been lavishly appointed with clawfoot tubs, fridges, all kinds of amenities. ]
Alia?
[ Sorry Luci, he'll circle back with you later (never). As Matt heads down the grim hall, he's surprised when a familiar sound punctuates the air in the decidedly unfamiliar space.
[The strange juxtaposition of the rusty, barred doors (archaic, even to Alia, who grew up in a palace similarly appointed with a prison) and the relatively comfortable size and set-up of the cells themselves is strange. Alia's, when Matt draws closer, is like nothing so much as a cool girl bedroom, complete with a gaming corner, yes.
And yes, she's playing Mario Kart -- Rosalina main, of course. Her movements are practiced by now, her red-rimmed eyes following the screen, dropping banana peels and shells with expert timing. She hasn't slept either.
[ It's a startlingly nice setup. Looking into the Cool Girl Cell, Matt can't help fantasizing about curling up in that bed and just--well, probably just watching Alia play the game. He'd play with her if she really wanted him to, but she'd kick his ass.
They don't live in that world, unfortunately.
Alia doesn't make any sign of having heard him, and Matt doesn't press the issue for the moment. On the other side of the bars, he peers at the screen, waiting for a break in the gameplay.
[In another world, it could've been nice. Alia could've been just a girl, learning this strange new form of technology, forbidden in her world, but so easily available here. She could've asked Matt to play, squawking in indignant rage when he won, demanding they replay again and again and again.
Instead: this. A barred door at her back and a hollow in her chest.
The race ends, her racer triumphant, and Alia settles the controller in her lap and watches the victory animation play. For a moment, it seems like she hadn't heard him.
Then:] I am fine. [Quiet, hoarse.] I am safely contained.
[ Matt's wounds have been reknit. He's allowed to eat real food again, miraculously. The only flat note in all this alleluia are the gouging claw marks on his left side, hidden under a sweater. The same spot where Abigail stabbed him, covering much more territory this time, as if the manor wants to punish him specifically for healing the last wound it dealt him.
Walking winds him easily, and his side aches. But none of it hurts as badly as watching Alia right now. He should ask Dr. Baxter if anyone has ever died of a secondhand broken heart. ]
Yeah, [ he agrees, swallowing. ] You are.
And Jacaerys is alive again.
[ He's quiet for another long moment. What can he say to make up for Paul, the person she loves most in the world? "Maybe he can come back like Jace did"? Matt's clinging to that hope like ragged ends of driftwood, but he's not sure enough to offer it to Alia. ]
[Alia stays curled on her side, quiet, internal. Her mind is still too -- no gentle pinpricks, no teasing touches of her consciousness to his. It's still and flat as a windless dune, a still sea.]
I have seen him. [Soft, hoarse, hollow.] I have seen him and Paul and my father and my mother and my teachers and my lovers and my enemies all appear before my door to damn me further. Again and again and again.
[She slowly turns, cranes her head, eyes reddened and hollow and teary, a frightened girl's eyes, a trapped animal's eyes.] Are you here to do the same, Matt?
[ Matt's expression, lit with hope over the thought that Jace has been to see Alia, smothers as she goes on to describe something decidedly less attached to their common reality. Though Matt begins to wonder (again) how far they can trust that their experiences are really shared, here.
He meets Alia's gaze. As he takes in the look on her face, his own eyes well predictably with tears. ]
No. [ Matt steps forward, whisper distance of the bars. ] Never. [ He tries to think of how he can say what he means to with only the inelegant shuttle of his words. More warp than weft, clumsy, clumsy. Sure to tangle just when he needs to be fluent. ] I know how the house would use me if it wanted to. Or ... maybe I'm just scared of how it could, but I know it's fucked me up before. I was just lucky I didn't hurt anyone that time.
[Alia tilts her head slowly, thoughtfully, considering Matt like she's the impassive temple maiden she'd shown him a glimpse of. A god, untouchable, unknowable, unattainable. Only her bright eyes, hollow and haunted, remain those of a girl.]
Everyone sees me as I am, now. Perhaps it was foolish of me to assume I could hide from it forever. [She sits up, then, moving slow and careful, as if her body aches, as if grief is a physical ache.] I am safer contained. A knife belongs in it's sheath.
[Had she known, on some level, up in the ballroom, that it was inevitable? Her sin unremembered, her crime committed by a force not her own -- yet it loomed, it waited, it stalked and swallowed her whole.]
[ Matt scrubs the back of his hand across his eyes, blinking back moisture as best he can. It's the least he can do for Alia right now: meet her eyes. Try to follow her down the labyrinth of her thoughts, powerful and sensitive and bright-gleaming beyond the compass of Matt's understanding, to find her where she is. ]
Does everybody? [ he echoes quietly back to her. ] See you as you are? Or did this place go to ... pretty extreme lengths to try and show us a specific version of you.
[ A second attempt at what he tried to express a moment ago. Alicent said they were all pawns on the board, and Matt believes it: No matter how strong they are, what powers they possess, who they are back home, in this house they're all movable game pieces. Incapable of seeing the hands that pilot them, only the mess that results. ]
[Alia seems to consider it, reaching up absently to smooth her tousled, tangled hair back into place. It isn't terribly effective, her messy curls beginning to mat, her fingers snarling in the tangle for a moment.]
You stood there, as I did, Matt. I was first convicted, first sentenced. You saw how all regarded me. What is there after this? [She slowly drops her hand, letting it rest in her lap, looking down at her fingers, her palms, upturned as if petitioning. Please. Please.] No matter how kind, how earnest their attempts to see me as more than a murderer, there will always be a moment of doubt -- remember what she did. Remember what she is.
[Alia sighs, closing her eyes and seeming to go inward for a long, long moment.] I will never be just-Alia again. This is a loss I must mourn. [She opens her eyes, regards Matt before her, says not unkindly:] Just as I must mourn Paul. There is no other way but through this grief. Do you understand, Matt?
[ Matt's still flailing, trying to come up with the right thing to say, the right rabbit out of a hat to transmute all these bars and locked door into a way out. Until Alia says, This is a loss I must mourn.
And then, like a flipped switch, he does understand.
He's been going about this all wrong. Trying to bargain with her, with their circumstances, to make everything okay. But it's not. And if he tries to force it, he'll be hurting her all over again. Matt swallows around the lump in his throat; scrapes his teeth across his lip. And he nods. ]
... Yeah.
I do.
[ A pause. ]
Is there anything I can do to make it easier? Anything at all? I can shut up and just stay down here for awhile. Or I can leave, if leaving would be better.
[Alia watches quietly, waits for it to settle, the weight of inevitable grief. There is no escaping it, when it drapes like a mantle over one's shoulders, when it weighs you down, down towards the earth. There is only enduring, taking one step after another, learning to exist with it until your muscles strengthen enough to carry it.
When Matt looks up, she half-smiles, tangled hair and weary face.]
You may stay. I would hear of what I am missing. Out on the grounds. The changing leaves and the crisp air. I imagine the distraction of this game means few are appreciating the seasons, but perhaps you could tell me some?
[ As she watches, Matt's expression drains of some of its desperate animation, the set of his shoulders sinking. It's a quiet shift, one that's not without its own strange form of relief. Part of Matt's pain comes from the situation, but another part comes from wanting to comfort Alia and not knowing how--comfort, in this case, meaning not "kiss it all better, all at once" but something more modest. Giving Alia something she wants to receive.
So he focuses a moment, thinking of the world outside. ]
It's definitely getting crisper out there. A lot of the outdoor flowers look like they're getting ready to go to ground for the season, although the aster and chrysanthemum are thriving. [ A sudden, startled look comes over his face, and Matt cranes (moving too fast, making himself wince) to pluck his phone from his pocket. ] Hang on--I never told you about my minnows. Or maybe I'm their human, but either way ...
[ Matt scrolls to his recent photos and turns the phone so Alia can see it. It shows a mason jar containing four minnows. ]
Their names are Summer, Spring, Autumn, and Winter. Bella found them in me when she pulled me out of the lake, and she thought I might want to keep them.
[ Normally Matt would try to talk around this, but he feels like Alia can hang. ]
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action!!! | sometime post-vote, the fancy jail (cw: some ritual self-harm)
One of the staff directs him to the jail. It's strange how many doors here he's never seen before, after all his weeks-turned-months of cataloguing. Just head down to Otherworld, turn the other way, and you're there, wandering down a medieval row of barred cells. As if this really were still the game Portia planned, they cells have been lavishly appointed with clawfoot tubs, fridges, all kinds of amenities. ]
Alia?
[ Sorry Luci, he'll circle back with you later (never). As Matt heads down the grim hall, he's surprised when a familiar sound punctuates the air in the decidedly unfamiliar space.
Is that ... a video game? ]
no subject
And yes, she's playing Mario Kart -- Rosalina main, of course. Her movements are practiced by now, her red-rimmed eyes following the screen, dropping banana peels and shells with expert timing. She hasn't slept either.
If she hears Matt, she makes no acknowledgement.]
no subject
They don't live in that world, unfortunately.
Alia doesn't make any sign of having heard him, and Matt doesn't press the issue for the moment. On the other side of the bars, he peers at the screen, waiting for a break in the gameplay.
Eventually: ]
I came to check on you.
no subject
Instead: this. A barred door at her back and a hollow in her chest.
The race ends, her racer triumphant, and Alia settles the controller in her lap and watches the victory animation play. For a moment, it seems like she hadn't heard him.
Then:] I am fine. [Quiet, hoarse.] I am safely contained.
quickly retcons
Walking winds him easily, and his side aches. But none of it hurts as badly as watching Alia right now. He should ask Dr. Baxter if anyone has ever died of a secondhand broken heart. ]
Yeah, [ he agrees, swallowing. ] You are.
And Jacaerys is alive again.
[ He's quiet for another long moment. What can he say to make up for Paul, the person she loves most in the world? "Maybe he can come back like Jace did"? Matt's clinging to that hope like ragged ends of driftwood, but he's not sure enough to offer it to Alia. ]
perfection~
I have seen him. [Soft, hoarse, hollow.] I have seen him and Paul and my father and my mother and my teachers and my lovers and my enemies all appear before my door to damn me further. Again and again and again.
[She slowly turns, cranes her head, eyes reddened and hollow and teary, a frightened girl's eyes, a trapped animal's eyes.] Are you here to do the same, Matt?
no subject
He meets Alia's gaze. As he takes in the look on her face, his own eyes well predictably with tears. ]
No. [ Matt steps forward, whisper distance of the bars. ] Never. [ He tries to think of how he can say what he means to with only the inelegant shuttle of his words. More warp than weft, clumsy, clumsy. Sure to tangle just when he needs to be fluent. ] I know how the house would use me if it wanted to. Or ... maybe I'm just scared of how it could, but I know it's fucked me up before. I was just lucky I didn't hurt anyone that time.
no subject
Everyone sees me as I am, now. Perhaps it was foolish of me to assume I could hide from it forever. [She sits up, then, moving slow and careful, as if her body aches, as if grief is a physical ache.] I am safer contained. A knife belongs in it's sheath.
[Had she known, on some level, up in the ballroom, that it was inevitable? Her sin unremembered, her crime committed by a force not her own -- yet it loomed, it waited, it stalked and swallowed her whole.]
no subject
Does everybody? [ he echoes quietly back to her. ] See you as you are? Or did this place go to ... pretty extreme lengths to try and show us a specific version of you.
[ A second attempt at what he tried to express a moment ago. Alicent said they were all pawns on the board, and Matt believes it: No matter how strong they are, what powers they possess, who they are back home, in this house they're all movable game pieces. Incapable of seeing the hands that pilot them, only the mess that results. ]
no subject
You stood there, as I did, Matt. I was first convicted, first sentenced. You saw how all regarded me. What is there after this? [She slowly drops her hand, letting it rest in her lap, looking down at her fingers, her palms, upturned as if petitioning. Please. Please.] No matter how kind, how earnest their attempts to see me as more than a murderer, there will always be a moment of doubt -- remember what she did. Remember what she is.
[Alia sighs, closing her eyes and seeming to go inward for a long, long moment.] I will never be just-Alia again. This is a loss I must mourn. [She opens her eyes, regards Matt before her, says not unkindly:] Just as I must mourn Paul. There is no other way but through this grief. Do you understand, Matt?
no subject
And then, like a flipped switch, he does understand.
He's been going about this all wrong. Trying to bargain with her, with their circumstances, to make everything okay. But it's not. And if he tries to force it, he'll be hurting her all over again. Matt swallows around the lump in his throat; scrapes his teeth across his lip. And he nods. ]
... Yeah.
I do.
[ A pause. ]
Is there anything I can do to make it easier? Anything at all? I can shut up and just stay down here for awhile. Or I can leave, if leaving would be better.
no subject
When Matt looks up, she half-smiles, tangled hair and weary face.]
You may stay. I would hear of what I am missing. Out on the grounds. The changing leaves and the crisp air. I imagine the distraction of this game means few are appreciating the seasons, but perhaps you could tell me some?
no subject
So he focuses a moment, thinking of the world outside. ]
It's definitely getting crisper out there. A lot of the outdoor flowers look like they're getting ready to go to ground for the season, although the aster and chrysanthemum are thriving. [ A sudden, startled look comes over his face, and Matt cranes (moving too fast, making himself wince) to pluck his phone from his pocket. ] Hang on--I never told you about my minnows. Or maybe I'm their human, but either way ...
[ Matt scrolls to his recent photos and turns the phone so Alia can see it. It shows a mason jar containing four minnows. ]
Their names are Summer, Spring, Autumn, and Winter. Bella found them in me when she pulled me out of the lake, and she thought I might want to keep them.
[ Normally Matt would try to talk around this, but he feels like Alia can hang. ]