Voice. (possible action outside of the wall) | un: ilikehorses

[shoplifter]

[It's been... a hell of a last two weeks for Laura. She had woken up with a chunk of memory inexplicably gone, uninjured as always, and yet — the faintest scent of blood under her scrubbed nails. She wasn't in a hospital, but some big room with heavy doors and Linda the social worker; her head was bandaged, her look one of bone-deep concern as she sits beside the girl.

Oh. The memory of her recapture sits heavy in her gut. The collar, the chair, the network recording, just before everything vanished from her mind. Linda runs a hand through her hair and explains things basically: Shiloh came, he took her, and he used something on her to control her. But it's fine now — all fine, his body was found, he can't do anything anymore.

Laura looks tiredly skeptical at the whole thing. She asks if she killed anybody. Linda dodges the question, which is answer enough. "We just... what he used might still be in effect, so we're making sure you're back to yourself." Linda knows her bad history with rooms like this. Maybe it's why it's so big and spacious.

But she stays, and days pass, and she's not sure what happens outside. She just knows people are dead, and she hasn't any clue who. There's something terrifying about not remembering if you took a life, even if such an act is too easy for someone like her.

When she's finally cleared to leave, there's a paranoia in her that maybe she isn't.

So she steers clear and packs a bag and runs away into the woods. But she at least leaves Linda little note this time, so she doesn't pull her hair out panicking. Out there where she can find comfort in isolation, she makes herself known on the network; she doesn't use text. It feels like an easy out.]

I do not remember... what happened. I know a man did something to make me hurt people, but...

[A pause, heavy and unsure how to proceed; but the guilt is there to carry her forward.]

I am sorry for any pain or suffering I caused.

I will be staying outside the wall for a little while, to make sure I am not a danger.

[She thought she'd maybe figure out something to say after that, but...

Her mouth just sort of freezes there.]

Comments

[jintetsu]

You find a workaround. Or that's what I did, anyway.

[It took a while, of course. He tried avoiding people altogether, but - even for a loner like him, total isolation had been unbearable. Then he tried surrounding himself with the kind of people the world would be better off without, so if the worst should happen, nothing of value would be lost. But it wasn't foolproof, and keeping bad company had a way of twisting him into bad company, too.

He looks down at Haganemaru, then pulls the sword from his belt without unsheathing it. The eye in the pommel meets his, then swivels to look at Laura.]

... All right, full disclosure, I guess. I'm the workaround. Name's Haganemaru, nice to meet you, et cetera. Jintetsu can't talk, but I know what he's thinking, so I do it for him.

[shoplifter]

[She looks at the sword, not quite as shocked as others probably were. It's very odd, but—]

I could tell. Your voice was not your own — not from your mouth.

How do you know what he is thinking?

[This is nifty; a complex mutant ability if she'd ever seen one.

... Or a curse. Maybe.]

[jintetsu]

Yeah? That's pretty sharp hearing. [He sounds impressed. As for the other thing, though...]

It's a bit complicated. Honestly, I'm not sure how to explain it. [There used to be a canon explanation, but it got retconned, so who even knows?]

The important thing is, while I'm around, Jintetsu can't be taken over so easily. And if fate brought even the two of us together, maybe there's something out there that'll work for you, as well. ... he says.

[shoplifter]

[She taps her ear.]

Mutant.

[Sometimes, you get lucky — her hearing is pretty good, but her nose was the most blessed of the senses. But as he explains, she considers how it had been similar to her own predicament with her father; she didn't talk to him, let Charles say what she was thinking, and that had been enough for a while. She gets it.]

... What happened, that you can't speak?

[jintetsu]

[He pauses. She's believed everything else so far, but... ah, screw it. He's already told her way more about himself than most people ever find out, and it's not like she can't handle the gruesome stuff, so why not this part, too.]

There was a huge bounty on my head for a while, and a lot of guys trying to collect it. One of them caught me off guard, eventually. His dogs tore out my throat.

... he says. [- Haganemaru adds, just for clarity.]

[shoplifter]

[Ahhh.

It's too bad, that so many people can't just... regenerate. It makes everything so easy.

Well... It was hellish to get to that point, so maybe it's not so bad.]

There are people who speak with their hands. Sign language.

Maybe you could learn some. But it would — put your sword out of a job.

[jintetsu]

["Sign language," huh? He's not sure how much good it would do, but he files the idea away for later. He's the kind of person who'd rather communicate through blank stares than resort to charades.]

Hah! [That's Haganemaru, with a smug glint in his eye.] Don't think that's the only thing I'm good for! Anyway, it's the other way around. Without me, he'd be out of a job.

[Jintetsu glares at him on principle, although ... he's not wrong? Jintetsu's kind of hyper-specialized for murder, he's complete garbage at things like "manual labor" and "being nice to customers."]

[shoplifter]

[She stares at the two of them with a sort of intensity — none dangerous, but the sort of studious eye that is probably none too comfortable. She's reading them, or doing her best to, though she supposes what he says tells enough of a story.]

Out of a job.

Killing people, sí?