wickedchouette | (no subject)

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[Alfie greets and makes nice with newcomers when he comes across them, but he doesn't go out of his way to seek them out. He's not interested in being part of any de facto welcome wagon, especially not now that more and more people are filtering their way in, either to use the Meadous as a waypoint or to settle down and stay; that can be a job for people like Meulin and Harley. He does, however, notice new houses as he passes them by, and today there's one on his regular walking route. He takes note of the name on the mailbox - Beauregard, good lord - and is all set to continue ambling onwards when a flash of movement catches his eye. Is that--

-- yes. That absolutely is his cat, leaping up onto the windowsill and slipping in through the open window.

With a sigh, he turns and heads towards the door instead, giving it a firm knock.]

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Oh, for fuck's sake--

[He cuts a hand through the air, agitated.]

I do hope you asked if that's what they would have done. I am absolutely fucking positive that it wouldn't have been.

[ sniff. ]

He suggested it because that's what he did in his own game, but. [ a pause. ] He was the mastermind of his own game. He picked people to kill for him under the influence of the island he was on.

I don't think he ever actually did any kills, though. He just picked people he trusted to get the job done.

Picking people who you trust to kill for you is very different from killing people who you care for simply so you can feel righteous. The first - that's smart, right; I do it myself. The second is someone that I would not trust.

[ her gaze turns to the floor. she's still absently playing with the beanie. ]

They all would've done the same as me. [ she murmurs. she's good and tipsy now, almost drunk. ] I think... I think if I'd had to kill Phoenix I would've - I would've broken entirely.

Did Phoenix make it out all right, in the end?

Yeah. [ she says, finally smiling a little. she looks over to alfie, a bit glassy-eyed. ]

He lived to the end. He figured out it was me before we could tell everybody. He stuck with me even so. [ she sounds immeasurably fond. ] He died the first time. In our first game.

And was brought back?

Mmhm. [ shift, shift. ] The, uh. The fifth week we were there, he died. I found his killer.

And then at the end, all the dead came back to help us fight the house. We beat the house and we were gonna go home. And then we walked through the portal and woke up on a bus to the murder camp.

Did those dead come back as well?

[ she nods. ]

They did, yeah. [ another sip of her drink. ] We brought 'em back. Everybody.

I'm curious about what they thought of all this.

Who? The dead from camp?

Yes, the ones you killed. A death one is able to come back from is not the same as one that sticks.

[ she takes another drink. ] Most of them were angrier than the living.

[ she swallows hard. she'd had some... very fraught talks. ]

Mmmm.

The anger is understandable; all of it. The feelings of righteousness are not. If I had been there, and you had chosen to kill Royce, I would have killed you - but that does not mean I wouldn't have understood the position you were in, yeah?

[ she nods a little. ]

I get being mad. [ sniff. ] That's fine. I expected mad.

[ this is where she struggles, though. ] The - the understanding is what I'm after. I think. That I wasn't possessed but I was still... forced.

Mm. Would they have taken it better if you had been possessed?

Yeah. People were possessed in the first game I was in. They were possessed and they turned into monsters.

And no stubborn folks who went on about how you should have resisted more?

No. Not in that game.

[He snorts.]

Small mercies.

You're a good kid, Beau. And do not fucking get after me for calling you a kid; you're young compared to me. You've been here-- two, three months, was it? Moving past this sort of thing, sorting through it, that all takes time.

[ she's tipsy and sad enough that she doesn't bristle at being called kid. maybe she feels like one. out of her depth, trying to deal with the amount of guilt and trauma the game gave her when she was never really good at handling her emotions in the first place.

she sinks further into the couch and rubs at her eyes again, holding the bottle like someone might hold a stuffed animal. ]

I'm trying. [ she says, and it's clear she's drunk by this point with the way her speech lags. ] I'm trying to be good. It's really hard.

[Alfie is sitting just close enough that he can lean over and pat her on the knee.]

What is there that's both easy and worth doing, eh?

[ she makes a hiccupy sound that could almost be a laugh. ]

Guess that's true. [ she sniffs. ] I didn't mean to come in here and get all emotional on your couch, man.

If I had a problem with it, I would have shown you the door.