#// Also I can no longer trim the reblog I am so sorry Heysel

[tacetnix]

---- If there was anything that Mary doubted, it was that she would have loathed the boisterous, insufferable optimism that Heysel wrought with every step. Her dour demeanor had nary an opportunity but to be unabashed in her presence. And, maybe, just perhaps, that was one of the reasons that she felt so assured in the face of this woman. This person that, above all else she considered as friend.

How did one even try to express, that against her picking and prodding nature, the willingness to turn anything and everything into a jest, that Mary could not afford to be anything but sure of herself?

And that, mayhaps, Heysel's presence, companionship, and camaraderie had tempered the ill-mannered scholar, ensuring that nothing resembling self-doubt had remained. For while she may not have believed that gods were nary more than things to be consumed by the worms... she had naught but faith in her fellows.

---- "Where do I begin? That there is no 'before Yharnam' for myself? That I am an orphan with a speech impediment, who failed at every turn to earn kinship with those of fairer skin and finer hair? Outcast, left to study and to steal, as many did? That some old misers offered me their library in exchange for a child to defeat in chess and checkers? Perhaps that I learned to pull my punches, so they could feel better about themselves, so I could continue to peruse their shelves... Yes, that should do for us. Where I filled my head of knowledge that was woefully beyond me, and nary the foundations to make use of it. But it was enough to get me a sponsor when schooling was offered. And with it, was opportunity."

Mary shrugs, and tries to continue spinning a (to her) perfectly mundane story into something worthy of confession. It is awkward, and she is not certain what to add or what not to. But she tries.

"Eventually, my steps lead me to the School of Mensis. I begin to study with them, and through them, I learn much about the Cosmos above. Of the stars and the Great Ones that inhabit them. I learn invocations, rites, and other such things that would get me crucified as a witch by the people of Yharnam, so I distance myself. I consider myself 'other', I try to train the accent from my breath. The city gifted me nothing, so I gave not a thing back. I -- do tell me if I ramble too much, my friend..." She had been bid to confess. But what was there to?

---- "I studied, I learned that the rituals we were aiming to conduct were going to put the students at great risk, and so I instead began to look elsewhere. My lineage can be traced to the Tombs of the Gods, and so I began to study the Pthumerian people more. It then made sense to, potentially escape my fellows, and to learn more of where I came from, to join the Prospectors hired by the Church. Which -- as I'd mentioned prior -- was why I was never one for the superstitions held by our cadre. As much as I survived our expeditions, and learned to thrive in the depths as my ancestors did... I will always be a Scholar, first and foremost. Of Pthumerian Blood, but never of any god or Great One."

A pause. There was a point she could confess. There was no room for doubt. There never had been, with Heysel. So, Mary would trust in her as she always had, and lay bare her secrets.

"In the Tombs, I drained my kin of their blood, and transfused it into my own body. Through trial and error, learning to starve and subsist as they did. I tested my limits, and now, I'm as you see before you. Longer of life, free of the Beastly Scourge, and able to toil for who knows how long, 'ere my natural life comes to its conclusion? We have seen the Pthumerian Elders. We have seen the magics and arcane geometry they wield. Maybe one day I will be a decrepit old crone, still capable of fighting a hunter on more than equal footing? I have my entire life ahead of me to learn and fail. To flounder and to succeed. And, in a way, I am happy. And too, along the way, did I find certain agreeable comrades, for whom I would kill and for whom I would lay my life down. For it with with them that I found my first family. To be taken, as most things in Yharnam are, but mine all the same."

---- "One of whom, in particular, I never thought I would see again. So imagine my surprise, when a certain smiling, beaming, bloodied woman graced me with her brilliance once more." She trails off, happy to leave at least a tiny mote of playfulness in her confession.

"Ah, but to answer your question; 'I do what I do, because I can. And anyone who would stop me has either died, or has yet to be killed. For I am free to pursue as I wish, and neither the Church nor the School of Mensis will pull my strings any longer~'" A playful smile is written on the scholar's face, as she looks over to Heysel. Contented that when sleep took them both, that she would wake to her comrade's presence.

She had no idea how much she had yearned for that kind of stability again. For something as simple as 'waking up beside someone you could trust' to be such a distant dream.

tacetnix​:

—- Hearing Heysel speak in contradiction caused a sharpness to return to the albino’s gaze. Was she really about to entertain her with matters of debate and semantic? To trigger the memories of long years in halls and forums, speaking feverishly and tearing down the hypotheses of others to stand lofty above them all on a pedestal of being more correct.

It was an instinct not unlike the hound seeing bared teeth or hearing a bark. And so it was that she was already formulating ways to assail Heysel’s points of persuasion. That the notion of what was Godly and what was not would have to be defined before they could reach a consensus. That if such a thing could be bled and killed that it did not deserve to be her God.

But Heysel, lovely, mischievous Heysel, let her joke be laid bare. Her savior whipped her head back aside, to hide the embarrassed scowl now featured on her lips.

—- “…Shut up. You got me. You’d have made a fine scholar. Too good of one, even. Were you my classmate… perhaps I would never have left.�� Whether that was a positive or negative thing, Mary herself didn’t quite know. But… More was to be said. From the corner of her eye, she listens to Heysel further. Hearing an apology that… helped, in a way. Reminding her that the mere act of surviving the circumstances was in of itself something worth celebrating.

The prospector did not respond. Did not say it was okay. Did not say that it was not Heysel’s fault. It would have been the only thing truly useless.

Her companion then complies. With the context known, she begins to weave the tapestry of the stars. Recalling memories of gazing out beneath the night sky and being transfixed by its majesty.

Mary’s eyes closed, and she listened to her spin the story. Just as she so often had beneath the Earth. Below the city where the secrets were theirs to plunder. The story turned to her, and she could not help but feel her arms around Heysel tense, turning into the hold and looking down at the woman with that fiendish glint in her eye and that chaos in her grin. A mote of distaste flicked in her brows, as Heysel offered her gun. “I won’t patch that one up.” she mumbles, still collecting her thoughts.

—- “Your presence here is everything to me, Heysel. Right here. Right this night. You could not promise to stay forever – I noticed. – But. You are here. Now. And you will be here when next I wake.” A plea hidden beneath a command. 

“…Ask away. I am not sure how much I have to confess, but my knowledge is yours, Heysel. Anything, for my only friend in the world tonight. I’m yours.”

“You would have loathed me, Mary, if my university years are something to base statements upon. I was insufferable, and oh yes, way more than I am now,” Heysel smiled, consigning the steel back to its leather holster, shifting lightly, and again she could do nothing but accept her friend’s candor- the undeserved beauty of it, the unearned trust. Blade-bare she proffered herself. Grasp and wield me. I’m yours. Heavens and stars unknown, the impossible  strength to say such thing. God might have been a perfect absence within this woman but what was this if not utter faith in another and the bright purity of it could have wounded worse than the bullet that had grazed her. Could she do the same? Or was she too bent towards the center of herself, too compactly curled and grown nautilus-shell inward- yes, too afraid- to ever hope to concede wholesale unraveling and not have her heart stop?

She swallowed. Worried her lower lip. Exhaled, guilty, guilty, as she voiced what she’d tried to not speak herself.

“I…I refuse to tell falsities to you. Even I have a limit to the injustice I can create and I do believe I’ve been cruel enough towards you. You deserve better than an oath I might break. You have meaning to me.” Her tone, low and soft. Her clawed hand, reaching for the back of her friend’s, resting there. “I promise that when you’ll open your eyes it shall be me and not the lack of me that you’ll behold. That much- I swear. I do.”

A slithering many-limbed part of her sighed in relief at the opportunity of retreat that now presented itself before her. She wanted the history of Mary exposed to her, of course she did, because she cherished her, cared for her, worried about her, and all of this translated into a desire to better understand her and to learn her, but it would have been one of those lies she could have not spoken into being if she’d said this desire didn’t walk hand in hand with, in small measure, a wish to also not speak about herself anymore- to not even circulate around the subject of her and all it contained. No more scrutiny of her, gods, no more. No more interpretation of her unwellness, no more attempts at plucking even a string of her thoughts from its nautilus shell. Tiredness and pain had left her raw-bruised, and perhaps, under the light of a dimming sky she only could see as studded with the light of stars, exhaustion was beginning to make itself visible across her face too. Hours had not passed yet. But it felt like they’d both done nothing but endure for months.

“Tell me of yourself, then. It is a shame for us to have worked together so long and for me to know so little about you, and I won’t tolerate such situation further.” Not, she didn’t say, with how everything seems to precipitating towards something comet fast-

“Who were you before Yharnam? Why did you choose to do what you do, here? I won’t inquire upon the exact why you reached this place in the first place. Volunteer this information if you so wish, but I won’t pry.”

Dread disease bound their steps all. Only the name changed.

“Go on, miss Stermann. If you are mine, then I am thy confessor. Offer.”