regained: day 142 (game: jo the ghost's jello jenga) taken: day 142 witnesses: N/A
You go rigid beside your less-than-desirable companion when the office door of Sophia Lamb is approached. For just a moment, the mask of composed almost-insolence falls away and your aura erupts with a black, vicious hatred despite yourself — despite knowing better than to lose control. But it's just so difficult to stand here and feel nothing, to be utterly detached from the memories of various betrayals that now fill your mind's eye. Sophia Lamb reaching out to you, supporting you, teaching you.....and then stabbing you in the back, torturing you, violating your mind in an attempt to break you down and make you hers.
Part of you wonders how Eleanor must be feeling. The rest of you pushes that thought away. The facade of steely composure reasserts itself an instant later.
"Because you're not as stupid as she seems to take you for." It's a response delivered in calm, flat tones. Not an opinion, but a fact, as bluntly impersonal as the truth sometimes had no other choice but to be. Part of a not-as-yet remembered conversation. A pause, and then you reach out to open the door for Eleanor — that, too, is a lesson learned by heart during the formative years of your childhood.
Eleanor's shoulders are stiff with tension as she approaches that same door. The sudden flare of fury and hatred down your shared link catches her by surprise, and she stops in her tracks to stare at you as you pull open the door. Then bitterness fills her eyes and catches in her throat. She looks away, walking past you.
"And yet, here we are."
She steps through the door into a blue room, majestic and elegant with gold trim. You follow, ducking in a moment later. The woman behind the desk looks up at the two of you. A small, casual movement, yet Eleanor very nearly flinches away and it takes all of your restraint to not snarl. You had both forgotten the sheer power of Sophia's presence: commanding attention just by existing, the magnetic pull of her certainty that she is right in all things. She stands up from her chair, mouth curved in a welcoming smile even as her eyes remain cold, frozen.
"Hello, Eleanor, Mamiya," she says by way of greeting. Her voice is warm and welcoming, a mother's voice.
The use of your first name is like salt in an open wound. Before, you had politely corrected most of those in the Flock who had tried to refer to you as anything other than "Mr. Tomoe". Emotional distance, a defense mechanism, a small yet crucial bit of safety. It didn't matter with Eleanor — the mental link that had been forged between them without their permission meant it was far too late to build that particular wall. But you had trusted Sophia, once. You had even admired her, easily adopting the ideals she espoused as your own. For that woman to speak to you as though nothing had changed was a slap in the face.
"...Miss Lamb." The most shallow of nods. You rest your hands in the small of your back, where they curl into loose fists. The idle thought of could I freeze her solid and then smash her apart? do I have that chance? dances across the surface of your mind very briefly. But then Sophia looks at you, seems to see through to the heart of that dark fantasy. You settle instead for a thin, cold smile.
You're about to speak again, but Eleanor gets there first. Knowing the value of discretion, you hold your tongue and wait.
"Hello, Mother. Is this a bad time? I'm sure you must be very busy, when you aren't occupied smothering your daughter or getting your soldiers slaughtered." Eleanor is pleased to hear her voice shake only a little, as Sophia gives her a long, hard look, brows furrowed.
"Eleanor." Sophia's voice is chiding, and Eleanor's lips draw back from her teeth, voicing the snarl that you had contained.
"No, Mother. How dare you pretend you still have any claim on me. After all you've done to me, to the others....After what you did to Father—!" Hot fury burns in her veins as she strides forward, all caution thrown to the wind, slamming her hands palm down on the burnished wood of the table. Every loose object in the room jumps up by about a foot and stays afloat, drifting toward Eleanor in a tightening spiral, a maelstrom.
Sophia closes her eyes for a moment, and when she speaks, her voice is equal parts regret and command.
"Stop that once, Eleanor."
Like puppets with their strings cut, every floating object immediately drops to the floor. Eleanor jerks back in shock, hearing the crunch of broken glass.
"Sit down."
Eleanor refuses: her shoulders stiffen, body going rigid, eyes flickering from side to side as she fights her mother's command.
"What Delta did... that was unforgivable. You should have been... a leader, a paragon among men. Under his influence, you learned only violence and selfish corruption. Oh, Eleanor, I would have spared you that. I had hoped—" And here, the full force of Sophia's eyes turn upon you. "—that a new companion would ease the transition somewhat."
"But it may be that I was wrong."
It's strange, but Eleanor's outburst of fury manages to drag you away from your own boiling ocean of vengeful hatred. By the time that Sophia turns her attention upon you, it's clear enough that you have to try and defuse this situation somehow, or at least lessen whatever ugly fallout potentially awaited. You meet that steely gaze with one of your own, putting most of your considerable willpower towards keeping your gaze utterly flat, completely inscrutable. You can't afford to show the smallest shred of weakness; she would see it, exploit it, weave a noose from it to hang you with at a moment's notice.
"Pardon me so saying so, Miss Lamb, but I have to disagree. I think things are going quite well!" Your tone is quiet, pleasant, unerringly calm. A series of graceful, deceptively nonchalant steps are executed forward until you're between them. The bruises on your neck have already darkened, the skin around your blisters is red and swollen, yet you calmly smile as though this was just a discussion of the weather over tea.
You look to Eleanor for only an instant — the false smile that wreathes your face doesn't reach your eyes, but something that's almost supplication flashes briefly — before smoothly turning back to Sophia.
"After all, I'm still alive. Your hard work hasn't been wasted. And besides.....ah, how did the saying go? "Rome wasn't built in a day.'" A soft, rueful laugh that masterfully hides the disgust you feel at having to fall back on deceptive charm, especially towards this woman. "Something like that, right?"
Sophia lets the pause stretch and sharpen, her knowing gaze fixed upon you.
"Do you know why I chose you to partner my daughter, Mamiya?" Aside from the fact that he was the only one to survive the process, that is. "I chose you for your great strengths, the traits you have in abundance: control, restraint, compassion..." She smiles, and there is something (affection, approval) in the curve of her lips, tender benevolence in her expression. She does love her Flock, after all, she loves them all, even the stray sheep that have lost their way. "... and the wisdom to choose your battles."
Meanwhile, Eleanor has caught the look sent her way only to dismiss it entirely, throwing herself against the invisible shackles Sophia had wrapped around her with abandon. Her shoulders jerk forward as she voices a low and guttural snarl, feeling something give, fingers curling like claws.
Sophia merely casts another brief look at her, this time of disappointment.
"Eleanor is my final masterpiece, unfinished. But every perfect creation has its struggles; these are merely the birthing pains of the new world. Recent.... events have not been kind to her, but it is my sincere hope that you will be able to temper that wildness of hers."
Gasping a little with effort, Eleanor finds her voice, and the vicious words come pouring out of her mouth in a torrent.
"I will see you burn, Mother. You, and every person in this whole wretched city. When I'm done with you, there won't be anything left but ruin and rubble at the bottom of the ocean."
Sophia explains their purpose. 1/
taken: day 142
witnesses: N/A
You go rigid beside your less-than-desirable companion when the office door of Sophia Lamb is approached. For just a moment, the mask of composed almost-insolence falls away and your aura erupts with a black, vicious hatred despite yourself — despite knowing better than to lose control. But it's just so difficult to stand here and feel nothing, to be utterly detached from the memories of various betrayals that now fill your mind's eye. Sophia Lamb reaching out to you, supporting you, teaching you.....and then stabbing you in the back, torturing you, violating your mind in an attempt to break you down and make you hers.
Part of you wonders how Eleanor must be feeling. The rest of you pushes that thought away. The facade of steely composure reasserts itself an instant later.
"Because you're not as stupid as she seems to take you for." It's a response delivered in calm, flat tones. Not an opinion, but a fact, as bluntly impersonal as the truth sometimes had no other choice but to be. Part of a not-as-yet remembered conversation. A pause, and then you reach out to open the door for Eleanor — that, too, is a lesson learned by heart during the formative years of your childhood.
Eleanor's shoulders are stiff with tension as she approaches that same door. The sudden flare of fury and hatred down your shared link catches her by surprise, and she stops in her tracks to stare at you as you pull open the door. Then bitterness fills her eyes and catches in her throat. She looks away, walking past you.
"And yet, here we are."
She steps through the door into a blue room, majestic and elegant with gold trim. You follow, ducking in a moment later. The woman behind the desk looks up at the two of you. A small, casual movement, yet Eleanor very nearly flinches away and it takes all of your restraint to not snarl. You had both forgotten the sheer power of Sophia's presence: commanding attention just by existing, the magnetic pull of her certainty that she is right in all things. She stands up from her chair, mouth curved in a welcoming smile even as her eyes remain cold, frozen.
"Hello, Eleanor,
Mamiya," she says by way of greeting. Her voice is warm and welcoming, a mother's voice.The use of your first name is like salt in an open wound. Before, you had politely corrected most of those in the Flock who had tried to refer to you as anything other than "
Mr. Tomoe". Emotional distance, a defense mechanism, a small yet crucial bit of safety. It didn't matter with Eleanor — the mental link that had been forged between them without their permission meant it was far too late to build that particular wall. But you had trusted Sophia, once. You had even admired her, easily adopting the ideals she espoused as your own. For that woman to speak to you as though nothing had changed was a slap in the face."...Miss Lamb." The most shallow of nods. You rest your hands in the small of your back, where they curl into loose fists. The idle thought of could I freeze her solid and then smash her apart? do I have that chance? dances across the surface of your mind very briefly. But then Sophia looks at you, seems to see through to the heart of that dark fantasy. You settle instead for a thin, cold smile.
You're about to speak again, but Eleanor gets there first. Knowing the value of discretion, you hold your tongue and wait.
"Hello, Mother. Is this a bad time? I'm sure you must be very busy, when you aren't occupied smothering your daughter or getting your soldiers slaughtered." Eleanor is pleased to hear her voice shake only a little, as Sophia gives her a long, hard look, brows furrowed.
"Eleanor." Sophia's voice is chiding, and Eleanor's lips draw back from her teeth, voicing the snarl that you had contained.
"No, Mother. How dare you pretend you still have any claim on me. After all you've done to me, to the others....After what you did to Father—!" Hot fury burns in her veins as she strides forward, all caution thrown to the wind, slamming her hands palm down on the burnished wood of the table. Every loose object in the room jumps up by about a foot and stays afloat, drifting toward Eleanor in a tightening spiral, a maelstrom.
Sophia closes her eyes for a moment, and when she speaks, her voice is equal parts regret and command.
"Stop that once, Eleanor."
Like puppets with their strings cut, every floating object immediately drops to the floor. Eleanor jerks back in shock, hearing the crunch of broken glass.
"Sit down."
Eleanor refuses: her shoulders stiffen, body going rigid, eyes flickering from side to side as she fights her mother's command.
"What Delta did... that was unforgivable. You should have been... a leader, a paragon among men. Under his influence, you learned only violence and selfish corruption. Oh, Eleanor, I would have spared you that. I had hoped—" And here, the full force of Sophia's eyes turn upon you. "—that a new companion would ease the transition somewhat."
"But it may be that I was wrong."
It's strange, but Eleanor's outburst of fury manages to drag you away from your own boiling ocean of vengeful hatred. By the time that Sophia turns her attention upon you, it's clear enough that you have to try and defuse this situation somehow, or at least lessen whatever ugly fallout potentially awaited. You meet that steely gaze with one of your own, putting most of your considerable willpower towards keeping your gaze utterly flat, completely inscrutable. You can't afford to show the smallest shred of weakness; she would see it, exploit it, weave a noose from it to hang you with at a moment's notice.
"Pardon me so saying so, Miss Lamb, but I have to disagree. I think things are going quite well!" Your tone is quiet, pleasant, unerringly calm. A series of graceful, deceptively nonchalant steps are executed forward until you're between them. The bruises on your neck have already darkened, the skin around your blisters is red and swollen, yet you calmly smile as though this was just a discussion of the weather over tea.
You look to Eleanor for only an instant — the false smile that wreathes your face doesn't reach your eyes, but something that's almost supplication flashes briefly — before smoothly turning back to Sophia.
"After all, I'm still alive. Your hard work hasn't been wasted. And besides.....ah, how did the saying go? "Rome wasn't built in a day.'" A soft, rueful laugh that masterfully hides the disgust you feel at having to fall back on deceptive charm, especially towards this woman. "Something like that, right?"
Sophia lets the pause stretch and sharpen, her knowing gaze fixed upon you.
"Do you know why I chose you to partner my daughter,
Mamiya?" Aside from the fact that he was the only one to survive the process, that is. "I chose you for your great strengths, the traits you have in abundance: control, restraint, compassion..." She smiles, and there is something (affection, approval) in the curve of her lips, tender benevolence in her expression. She does love her Flock, after all, she loves them all, even the stray sheep that have lost their way. "... and the wisdom to choose your battles."Meanwhile, Eleanor has caught the look sent her way only to dismiss it entirely, throwing herself against the invisible shackles Sophia had wrapped around her with abandon. Her shoulders jerk forward as she voices a low and guttural snarl, feeling something give, fingers curling like claws.
Sophia merely casts another brief look at her, this time of disappointment.
"Eleanor is my final masterpiece, unfinished. But every perfect creation has its struggles; these are merely the birthing pains of the new world. Recent.... events have not been kind to her, but it is my sincere hope that you will be able to temper that wildness of hers."
Gasping a little with effort, Eleanor finds her voice, and the vicious words come pouring out of her mouth in a torrent.
"I will see you burn, Mother. You, and every person in this whole wretched city. When I'm done with you, there won't be anything left but ruin and rubble at the bottom of the ocean."