on children and games, from a weak-level telepath:

[tiring]

You don't think this is a fool's errand?

I used to-- I used to hate children, you know. I didn't want them. But now I can't imagine a life without him.

Comments

[itsjusta]

Don't tell me someone has been dumb enough to separate a mother from their kids? That's asking for trouble.

[tiring]

It's-- easy for them. They don't know what it's like.

[itsjusta]

No one can really understand but you, eh?

[sequestrated]

He won't forget you, at least. I can promise you that.

[tiring]

He shouldn't have to grow up alone.

[sequestrated]

No, he shouldn't, and it's not right. But boys do, and they survive.

There isn't anyone else who'll be there for him?

[tiring]

No. We just-- moved.

[ Or high-tailed it out of a demon town, maybe. ]

[sequestrated]

[There are metaphorical demons as well as real ones, Simon might say. But then, nobody ever tried to rip off his skin.]

I see.

Are you sure that—he? she?—that they'll end up sending you away? They don't always.

[tiring]

But sometimes they do.

[ She doesn't seem to be paying all her attention on the conversation. Hard to, when your world threatens to shift -- her son comes first. The mysterious puppet mistress comes second. ]

Does time work differently? Will I age while he doesn't? Nobody seems to be able to say anything definite.

[sequestrated]

I wish I could advise you. I'm rather new to this myself.

[You know where he won't be going? Off into the suggestion that her son doesn't exist at all, except in her constructed memories—like his lover, his friends and family, his home. There's just no call for such cruelty.]

But I think the reason nobody can advise you on this is that there is no advice to give. Cause and effect don't apply here. It's a question of what they want.

[tiring]

It seems cruel, but I suppose I'm stating the obvious.

[sequestrated]

Children are cruel. [He thinks of the muns as children.] Thoughtless. They don't mean to be, but in the end it's all the same.

I feel I'm not reassuring you as well as I could be. On the other hand, I'm not sure anyone could. Is the idea to separate the two of you, or is it just a side-effect?

[tiring]

A side-effect of being sent somewhere I don't want to be.

[sequestrated]

Maybe you can make a case that they shouldn't do it, then. That it would be too damaging to you. "Unplayable" is the word I hear a lot.

[tiring]

She wants to see how I will do. Left to-- fend for myself.

[ As if she'd go anywhere without her son. ]

I'm sorry. I'm being selfish; you must be alone, too. [ Which is a frank way of putting it, but it's the way she puts it all the same. ]

[sequestrated]

Maybe a little. [Just every person and place and thing he's ever known, gone. And Yuki, who never existed; who she made Simon remember just so they could be separated. He'd curl up and never move again if he thought about it too much.] But I didn't come in here to talk about me. I came in here to talk to you.

If it's helpful, though, I did grow up without my own mother. She died. [Not upset, but matter-of-fact.]

[tiring]

[ Anna's expression twists. Sympathy, clear and plain, though twisted a moment later into something kindly wry, if that kind of thing exists. ]

You seem articulate and intelligent, but I must ask for your forgiveness-- I don't know the kind of person you are, and it doesn't bring me much comfort.

But I am sorry, about your mother.

[sequestrated]

Yes, I'm sorry too. But thank you, anyway.

[She might be able to guess he's a good man, deep down, if sensitive and naive; something about the nervous way he smiles at the compliment. He came in to try and comfort her.]

I wish there was more I could do to help. That's the thing about being a dream. All you can do is come up with different ideas that they like more. It can work well. [This is his explanation for shipping.] Tell me to shut up, if you'd rather not talk about this—but what is he like, your son?

[tiring]

[ For a woman who seems to carry anxiety in the sheer bend of her spine, something about her body language relaxes at it. It's a good path to steer the conversation towards -- she doesn't look nearly as worried, if only for a moment. ]

Quiet. He-- takes too much after me, I think. So serious, sometimes. But he is everything to me. He makes me smile, and he makes me laugh. He's very creative, very good with pictures.

[sequestrated]

An artist. Gosh, I'm impressed. I was always so terrible at that. Always too busy— [He makes a little motion with his hand, like a mouth opening and closing: always talking.]

Quiet, you said, and he sounds clever, so—is he musical? Does he read? How old is he? Don't tell me, necessarily, but— [He nods up towards the ceiling: tell them.]

[tiring]

[ At length: ]

You good at this, for a beginner.

[sequestrated]

[He smiles again, nervously.] There were a few others here with me, for a little while. They're gone now. I listened, that's all. [And he thinks, and he theorises; it's part of what he was created to be.]

Do you see where I'm going? You can be more interesting together than apart. Make them care. Make them not want to separate you. I admit it didn't work so well for me, but— [And he shakes his head a little. He did his utmost, but he knows he didn't fight like a mother would for her child.]

[tiring]

But there are places.

[ She says, slowly. ]

Like where you are. That-- accommodate, to make sure those you leave behind are safe.

ooh yes come and join us! cdc == very oc-friendly

[sequestrated]

[He bites his lip a bit at that one; he's barely started, and working for the CDC already seems like hell on earth. But he gives her a careful look.] You really would do anything for him.

They're liars, you know. I'm not supposed to know that, but—well. [The metasetting. Right now, he knows.] If they were to tell you they'd keep him safe, they couldn't guarantee that. You might be able to have him brought to you after the first mission? But you'd only see him rarely, and he would be a prisoner then.

[His arms have folded around himself, hands on elbows.] And so would you be. I can't say. Perhaps it would be worth it to you.

[gingerbeard]

Will he be safe without you around? If you can't talk them out of it.

[tiring]

I don't--

[ A pause. ]

My greatest fear is that he might be safer without me.

[gingerbeard]

[ heavy stuff, doc ]

What about happier?

[tiring]

Not happier. But he would grow into it, wouldn't he?