coppelganger | ic contact; MoM

[ Sarah listens to the whole thing without interrupting, although she does move her arm so she can watch Sarissa. It's only one she seems to be finished that Sarah says anything. ]

So what'd he want, then?

( A hesitation, then. She stops, watches Sarah, and that nervous ramble of before settles, recedes under her skin like the drag of the moon pulling the sea back from the beach. She was as cold as wet sand, heavy and solid, not hot and light. She was a winter beach, with salt stinging your skin just because of how the air whips it about. )

You don't need to know that.

( The tone isn't that she won't tell Sarah, just that she doesn't have to hear it, not if she doesn't want to. ) I just didn't want to keep it from you. Not putting more burdens on you.

( Laughable, given the collective weight those pigs would reach, but whatever. )

Don't you think I deserve to?

[ She doesn't sound angry or judging, just... tired. But after a few seconds of looking up at Sarissa from the bed, she pats the spot next to her, lightly, indicating that Sarissa should come over. ]

You can know whatever you want.

( A brief glance to where Sarah pats, and she doesn't exhale a sigh so much as swallow it. )

Just meant you didn't have to take it on.

( She doesn't know if Sarah means she deserves to in the sense that she has a right to, or as some sort of personal punishment, and she only then pushes up from her slouch against the door, and takes a step closer to Sarah, peeling her sweater off over hr head, and tossing it to the side. )

He almost killed me. I think I deserve to know what he wants.

( Sarissa bobs her head a little, and sighs, as she claims a spot on Sarah's bed. Her back is to Sarah as she sits on the edge, fingers curling into the sheets. )

He wanted to tell me that someone found him and— did stuff to him. Messed him up. Not for what he did to me, but— he murdered someone else, before me. I don't know if he just wanted to taunt me, or if he genuinely wanted to tell me that he didn't blame me for him getting tortured and stuff.

( She doesn't know if she should tell Sarah about Kavinsky; then she'd need to tell Sarah to keep quiet until she knows what to do, because she honestly can't piece it together, and if Sarah would want to lash out at him just for letting Sarissa think she was alone with this. Quietly, she adds: ) I feel sick.

Don't.

[ Sarah props herself up on one arm, eyebrows narrowed. ] He deserved what he got. He deserves a lot more. If I knew where he was I'd help out myself. Don't feel sick over him.

I know. I hate him. If I could I'd— I wish I was hurting him. And I hate the thought of anyone getting hurt the way I want to hurt him.

( Her voice is quiet and rough, and her head feels heavy and painful. Sarissa sniffs, wipes her nose with the back of her hand, and flops sideways onto the bed, curling inward, back still to Sarah. )

You're better than him. Better than hurting people.

Not really. There's a lot you still don't know about me.

[ Sarissa's not looking at her, but if she was, she'd see the hard smile on Sarah's face. It's brief, there and gone, and then Sarah reaches out and rests the tips of her fingers gently against Sarissa's spine. ]

Sorry I freaked out about the pigs.

You wouldn't torture people for fun.

( Quietly, as she stays curled up on her side. The contact to her back is a relief. )

No worries. It was stupid to get them. I'll figure something out.

It's fine. Whatever. What's done is done.

[ She doesn't respond to the first thing Sarissa said. No, she wouldn't torture someone for fun, but would she torture someone if it meant she got something she needed? If it meant Kira would be safe for another day? An image of Duko strapped into that chair enters her head, and she closes her eyes, trying to squeeze it out. ]

Did you—[ Her voice breaks the tiniest bit. Could be dust, or the first sign of a cold. ] Did you get why I was mad, though? Did you get why?

( yeah duko is barely a person though so it's fine )

( Sarissa almost looks over her shoulder at Sarah, and doesn't. Saying yes is necessary, and true, and involves acknowledging how shitty some of her behaviour has been. She tries hard, but she's still human, and for long moments Sarissa is desperate to hold onto the vague, quickly dimming hope that she might be right.

She curls a little more inward on herself, hates herself for being a coward, and makes herself nod.

And then, realising that she has her back to Sarah and maybe it wasn't that obvious, she forces herself to say it: ) Yeah. I got it.

I wasn't always such a little shit. Kids are just like the other animals when they're born, right? They don't hurt to be evil.

[ She opens her eyes, stares up at the ceiling. Her fingertips are still pressing gently against Sarissa's back. ]

I didn't understand at first why I got moved around so much. I'd start to love someone, 'cause kids, they love so easily, right? I'd be with them for a couple months and I'd think they were my mum and dad. I was just little. Then I'd go to a different place, different family. I figured it out when I got older—that they didn't care about me the same way they cared about their own kids. I wasn't really part of the family. Sometimes I'd come home from school and someone'd be waiting in a car to take me to a new home. The parents never even said goodbye. I'd have all my stuff in a garbage bag 'cause it was easiest to pack. That's when I got angry, when I started to do shit that got me kicked out on purpose. I just—when I think about animals all I can think is that they're never gonna grow up and understand what happened to them, why someone left them behind. They'll never know why someone they loved went away.

( Sarissa is very still as she listens. Very still and ver quiet - pretty much holds her breath as she listens.

Sarah's words are painful for a whole mess of different, complicated reasons. She's angry anyone could hurt a kid that way, devastated people did that to Sarah. She's hollow and waterlogged at the same time, and guilt drags at her unhappily.

Sarissa rolls over, so she's facing Sarah, and looks at her with a tangle of expressions that wash over her face and might be hard to follow. )

You aren't a shit.

( Quiet, stubborn, as she settles down to rest her head on sarah's shoulder and drop an arm over her waist. ) I'm sorry.

I am, though. [ She smiles. ] It's fine. I've got the biggest family ever now. Making up for lost time.

[ She taps a finger along the edge of Sarissa's arm, thinking. ] Do you wanna see something?

No.

( Stubborn, as she gently bumps Sarah's neck with her nose.

There's a quiet moment of a consideration. )

Yeah? Yeah, definitely.

Okay.

[ She places her hand, palm down, against Sarissa's arm, closes her eyes, and concentrates. It takes several moments, but then—

Sarah is small, seven or eight, sitting alone in an overgrown back garden and pushing herself on an ancient swing tied to a tree branch. Ahead of her is the group home, what they used to call an orphanage, before the term fell out of use. A tall building, dark brown brick, dark windows, and inside, communal bedrooms with old, uncomfortable beds, long dining tables meant for too many kids, and all of them overcrowded and ignored and built with sharp edges.

"You must be Sarah," a woman says, approaching from the side yard. She's Irish. "Heard quite a bit about you."

Well, that's never good. Sarah doesn't bother looking up. "Did you change your mind?" she asks dully, like this has happened before. Like she's tired of trying anymore.

"About what?" the woman asks.

Sarah shrugs. "You're the new one, right? Until the next new one."

"So sure it won't work out already?" Mrs. S asks, approaching the makeshift swing.

Sarah finally looks over, but not really. She peers out from behind her hair, eyes downcast and suspicious, mouth set in a thin line. "It never does," she says. Not sadly, really. Just stating a fact that's been drilled into her all her life. "Pretend parents are stupid anyway."

"Oh," Mrs. S says, kneeling down to be on her level, "real parents can be stupid too. Or even worse. Luck of the draw, really."

Sarah looks away, up at the cloudy sky, and scuffs her shoes into the dirt. "Guess I'm really unlucky."

"I could say the same," S says. She doesn't smile, and her eyes are sad. "But you know what? You can learn to make your own luck. You can even make your own family. One you choose because you want it."

Sarah looks from the sky to her shoes, says nothing.

"Not saying it's easy," S says. "Family almost never is. But I'm ready and willing to give it a go. Are you?"

Sarah, finally, looks up, blows the hair out of her face. The expression in her eyes is very much like hope. She doesn't believe, but she wants to. "Maybe for a little bit," she says finally. "Like a few days." ]

( Tumbling through memories is always a strange experience. She wishes she could go to Sarah as she's sitting on the swing, tell her how much family she'll have. How important they'll be to her, how vibrant they'll all be. She wishes that even if she couldn't, she could sit down next to Sarah and just hold her hand, or something. Try to think of anything that'd make it better.

Mrs. S isn't how she imagined her, but she's not sure how she imagined her, exactly. The words resonate though, feel like something Sarissa can relate to so much, and before she knows what to do with that painful, desolate feeling that she knows comes from Sarah and that discomfort that comes from herself, she's drawing out of the dream.

Sarissa exhales, slow and shaky. If she weren't already cuddled against Sarah that's what she'd do now, but instead she leans up, presses a kiss to Sarah's forehead, and hugs her closer. )

I want to be your family forever, Saroula.

[ Sarah turns and presses her face into the crook between Sarissa's shoulder and her neck, breathing in the familiar smell of her and closing her eyes. She wraps her fingers loosely around the fabric of Sarissa's shirt, a small child pulling somebody closer. ]

You are.

( Sarissa leans onto her back, rolling Sarah with her so that Sarah's on top of her now, and pulls the blankets over them, before wrapping her arms around Sarah. )

Good. ( Another kiss to Sarah's brow, and she settles down to just— stay with Sarah. Be here, with Sarah, and focus on nothing else. )

ic contact; MoM

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