The meeting had gone well enough, considering.
Madeline Fox, James Fox's wife, and Samantha, his daughter, had finally come to retrieve what personal effects Becket had been holding on to for them. Madeline, not wanting to fully face her husband's death, had been putting it off as long as she feasibly could; something Becket and Stokes (who had come for everyone's support) understood. But little Samantha wanted to put an end to things, showing a maturity far beyond her eight years.
And so, They had come to Becket's apartment. And while the meeting was emotional and tense…it ended peacefully.
*shouuuRIIIP*
"Hey Michael I wanted to-
At least…until Alma appeared.
Eyes wide at the sudden arrival of the psychic woman, her unfortunately loud teleportation causing both Madeline and Samantha to jump out of their seats in fright, Becket swiftly slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand, sighing.
"Oh you have guests. Oops."
Rolling his head back and glaring at the ceiling, Becket sighed.
"Oops she says. Just oops."
Alma scrunched her nose up in annoyance. "Well it's not like I have a direct line to your head! You're you, not Seth, y'know! Or that I planned on barging in on…whatever this is."
"Alma…"
"Wait." Suddenly Madeline spoke sharply.
"Your name is Alma?"
Becket suddenly felt great panic fill his heart. He tried to push the thought to Alma not to acknowledge the question but was too late.
"Yessss…?"
"You killed my daddy." Samantha suddenly spoke, softly, but directly.
Staring, without blinking, at Alma.
Her own eyes widening, she took a look at the two, before…
"When you make a mistake, be it because of you yourself or because you were led to it by someone else…own it. Own your part in it. Accept that Truth. You messed up.
This way, when someone else messes up, you'll be better able to see how much was them, and how much was that chucklefuck Dave not listening."
"…I killed a lot of people, little one. You have to be more specific."
And now Becket was gaping at her. "Alma! You can't just-
He was silenced.
Not merely by Alma's hand, but Samantha's as well.
"My name is Samantha Fox."
Alma closed her eyes, sighing. "…I see."
Madeline looked like she was fit to burst. Her face was turning red with mounting rage but…
But Samantha never stopped looking at Alma.
"Why?"
Why did she kill him. All those people. Why did she get to live when her father didn't.
Those and more questions, condensed into a single word.
"Because back then, I didn't know any better."
"What do you mean?"
"You're…seven?"
"Eight."
"Eight. So was I. When my own father locked me away. And left me behind. I was left alone for years, scared, asleep, until I got older. And older, and older. But he never taught me what was right or what was wrong. He didn't teach me anything. So all I knew, when he set me free, was hate. Hate and anger and pain and fear and all sorts of horrible icky feelings."
Samantha continued staring.
"You ever touch mud? Get it all over you? Or maybe the goopy stuff at the end of an egg? My mind, my feelings were like that. Slimy and icky and gunked up and blegh. I could only cry, I cried and cried and screamed and hated. You ever get mad enough to stomp your foot, so mad you feel like you're going to burst like a balloon? That was me, every day, even in my sleep, even when I was stuck."
The little girl nodded.
"I didn't know anything but myself and that I was forced to have children I couldn't even hold. Without knowing why, without being told or taught or shown anything. And I wanted them back. I wanted them back so badly. And when I saw your father…I saw you. I saw you and I saw how much he loved you and I hated him for it. Because it wasn't me. It wasn't my father and it wasn't me."
"I saw."
Now, Alma's eyes widened again. Everyone's did save Madeline's.
"For the last year, Samantha has been having horrible nightmares. She says she kept seeing James'…" She choked up.
But Samantha was stoic.
"…show me."
Everyone blinked. Even her mother was surprised.
"It's…it's not-
"I've already seen it from his eyes. I want to see it from yours."
Alma sighed. She wasn't exactly sure how to but…
Break the Rock.
"Close your eyes." The child did so.
"Take a deep breath." The child did so.
"Watch."
…they all. Did so.
Cold.
Wet.
Coldwetcoldwetcoldwetwarm. Warm? warmwarmwarmsadwarmsadcoldsadsadsadLOUD!
Where? Where! WHERE! WHEREWHEREWHEREWHEREWHEREWHEREWHEREWHEREARETHEY?!
Why? whyarenttheyherewherearetheywhydidheleavemewhydidhetakethemwhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhyWHY!
Wait
….whosthere?
Yourenothim.
Whoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyou?
"Stay away from her she's mine!"
Yours?
A small child.
Notminenotminenotmine.
WHY?!
WHYDOYOUFEELGOODWHYDOYOUFEELHAPPYWHYAREYOUSMILINGWHYNOTMEWHYNEVERMEWHEREARETHEYWHEREDIDYOUTAKETHEMGETAWAYFROMME
IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU!
It was…intense.
The most…basic of thoughts, of feelings, muddled and twisted and hazy. Barely any comprehension of what was felt or heard or even thought. It was like wading through a half-dreaming, half-drugged state of confusion.
And yet to little Samantha, it made perfect sense.
So when everyone suddenly snapped out of the trance, induced by the massive pressure brought by Alma's psychic field, it was Samantha, who recovered first.
And her eyes locked onto the psychic.
"…you took my daddy away."
"I did."
"But your daddy walked away from you."
"He did."
"You were locked up. In that bubble."
"I was."
"Why was he there?"
Suddenly all of their minds had the imprint of a single person.
And the unfettered sense of hate.
"A walking mistake named Genevieve Aristide. She was the real reason your father died. I was wandering, I was broken, I was confused, but I didn't care about anything but finding my babies. But because she's a greedy, soulless, disgusting piece of selfish filth, she kidnapped your father and his friends."
"…daddy was kidnapped?"
Alma nodded. "Yes, sweetie. Your father was kidnapped by that evil woman. His natural but weak psychic power was enhanced, along with Michael's and everyone else but his girlfriend's, and they were…"
Alma fidgeted in place a moment, trying to think of the words.
"…imagine…you're watching television…but then the phone rings. You can ignore it a little bit, but nobody's home but you, and you're not expecting any calls. So it just rings and rings and never stops."
"She turned daddy into a phone."
Not literally, Sammy.
"Yeah."
Oh goddammit Alma.
"Wait what do you mean?" Came Madeline, confused.
"Aristide wanted to capture Alma. It was Aristide that opened the vault that held Alma captive for years, trying to restart an old military contracted super soldier project. But Alma's…soul, I guess, remained, like a ghost. And when Aristide opened the vault, Alma's psychic presence was let out." Becket spoke up, for the first time in a while.
"When that explosion last year hit, that was the underground facility's nuclear reactor going critical, which knocked all of us out when we were redirected to escort Aristide into protective custody. Somehow Aristide was perfectly fine, but we were unconscious and experimented on."
"Michael and his team, which your daddy was on, were turned into…loud sirens, to me. I was looking for the presence of my children. Err…" Alma bit her lip in a rather cute way.
"People…people's minds have different feelings to them. Like…the difference in feelings between towels. Some feel rougher, some fluffier, some even somehow manage to feel sticky even when clean, right?"
Samantha nodded rapidly, fully understanding. "And they feel weird on your feet or your legs sometimes, like scratchy titches!"
"Exactly!" Alma cheered. "People's minds are like that, widely different in feeling, only it's in my head more than my body."
"So you were looking for the feeling of…the people your babies grew up into? And this…ugly lady turned daddy and his friends into more towels?"
"Pretty much. They were so bright and loud and irritating I couldn't look away. They were distracting."
"…so if the ugly lady didn't mess around with daddy's head…you wouldn't have noticed him?"
Alma shook her head. "Probably not. The reason she messed with their heads was to force them to be noticeable by me. Your daddy probably at best would naturally have had some instinctive knowledge or reactions to some things, the thing that people call a gut feeling, would be more exact, for him, but I never would have even cared he existed unless he actually got directly in my way."
Samantha frowned. "…so you were a gun."
Alma's head tilted. But even without her powers, she understood.
"Yes. I was the gun."
"And the ugly lady was the hand?"
"She is."
"…and you're not like that anymore?"
The psychic shook her head. "The last year…has been spent trying to not be that way…and I now have the help of a very wonderful man, guiding me to never being like that ever again."
"…then daddy was right to forgive you."
Incredulous looks all around.
"Sammy, honey wha-
"I told you." She said, never looking away from Alma. "Daddy came to me in my dreams. He said he died, trying to save a little girl who was turned into a monster. A little girl who had her own daddy walk away from her because she was different. The monster she was turned into, killed him. Not because she wanted to, but because the monster was like a wild animal. Like a big wolf, only the wolf could smash buildings and eat cars. (Alma's nose scrunched up at that) He said he forgave her, because the little girl just wanted a family, and so did the monster, but the monster couldn't control itself, and the little girl was too scared."
Alma sighed. "…that's basically what it was like."
Samantha nodded sharply once.
"You took daddy from me."
"Yes."
"But your own daddy walked away."
"Yes."
"But I still have mommy. You don't have one…do you?"
"I…"
Suddenly the phone rang in the other room.
"Sorry. I'll get that really quick." Becket got up, slipping past.
Alma shrugged and shook her head. "…I never met her."
"So you had nobody?"
"Not until now."
Again, Samantha nodded sharply. "I'm angry at you…for taking away my daddy. But…you were just a gun. Like daddy's gun. And you didn't want to. …so…I'm angry at you…but I forgive you…because…neither of us have daddies now…but I still have a mommy…and that's not fair. It's not fair at all…because you didn't want to take my daddy…but you did. And we both have to deal with that."
Alma sighed. "…Seth did say that death does strange things to children…"
Becket chose just then to stumble back into the room.
Yes.
Stumble.
"…Michael?" Alma looked at him, concerned. Gently she reached out and tried to 'knock' on his mind. Before she could even get 'close' though, she felt the spiraling whirlwind of confusion in his head.
"…that…that was Betters."
"What's wrong?" Stokes pushed, now worried.
"I…I don't really know…"
Confusion.
"But…he called cause…well…"
"There's a woman…who just showed up at F.E.A.R's front office…asking about you, Alma."
Her head jerked back. "Dafuq for?"
"…She's claiming she's your Mother."
A.L.M.A: Recurrence
Interval 20 - Mother
A day later saw Seth and Alma arriving at a fairly well priced hotel, meeting the woman who had appeared at FEAR headquarters, asking about her 'daughter'. A woman who had not existed in Alma's life prior, to the point where she remembered nothing about her, and never once did her father mention her.
A woman, that…actually did resemble Alma slightly. Pale, like her 'daughter', dark but heavily greyed hair tied in a low ponytail by red ribbon, blue eyes like Alma's, and…
And she spoke with a distinct British accent.
She introduced herself as Alessa Gillespie, to which Seth quickly retorted "please tell me you weren't born in Silent Hill."
The answer, was no. She was born in Bristol.
"Wait does that mean I'm british?"
"No, dear, you're American."
"But you're-
"Alma. American born children are automatically American citizens. Besides, the accent doesn't come from birthplace but who you learn to speak from."
"Oh."
Neither Seth nor Alma truly believed her, especially since the woman claimed to be telepathic, but for some reason failed to read Seth at all. She did, however get Alma's thoughts, which was enough for her 'daughter' to at least believe the supernatural aspect.
Still, though she was almost 70, the woman held herself at a stance that suggested strong living, and for a woman that could be his grandmother in age, she still retained some aspects of youthful beauty.
"So why now? Why after all this time?"
Alma looked once at Seth and turned back to the woman claiming to be her mother, nodding.
"You her boyfriend then?" the woman replied.
"Something like that." Came the swift, yet evasive answer.
Alessa's right eyebrow quirked. Not just in interest or irritation, but actual confusion.
She couldn't read him so simply.
Alma was like a brightly lit beacon. Her thoughts wild and rampant but oh so sadly readable. And she could feel it, a direct link to the man beside her. But attempting to go straight to his mind…its like he wasn't there. Interesting.
The woman sighed, leaning back in the loveseat.
"Because the last thing I saw tonight was the sky caking over in rivets of blood, fire dropping from the heavens, demons of the make of a bloody deranged artist, all backed by the shrill sound of a baby's cry."
The two blinked at that.
"I saw the wave of tangible hatred and rage ripple through the air like the writhing tides of a stormy beach. I watched people burst into flame, into sprays of blood and gore at random. I saw my apartment shudder and crack, before the ceiling collapsed upon my head. I felt the wooden beam stab through my arm, the plaster sting my eyes, as the concrete - and my bathtub - crushed my skull."
She sat straighter, suddenly.
"And then the next thing I knew, I was snapping awake, twenty miles from where I died, on my cousin's couch, in the middle of a Christmas movie, that I'd never seen before, because the Blu-Ray release happened a week after I left from the holidays."
"Sounds like a shit dream." Came the sarcastic counter from Seth.
"Believe me, kid, I know Time Travel when I live it."
"Time travel?" Alma blurted. "You…show up, claiming to be my mother, because you think you traveled through time?!"
"Not think, dear. Know."
"Prove it!"
"She can't."
Alma, and Alessa both, turned to Seth.
"Time is fluid. And even if it weren't, its entirely possible that just her mental presence in our time period, knowing what she believes she knows, altered its flow ever so slightly. Her foreknowledge, assuming she has it, may be 100% accurate, or completely wrong, on a totally random vector."
He turned to Alma.
"Considering what our Oracle did not long ago, the idea of this woman coming back from right now, in the future, is valid. And given that she outlined a lot of what was going to happen in the Bad Future…"
"…it's entirely possible." Alma muttered, with a bit of annoyance.
"Your father, Harlan, convinced me to keep you." The woman broke in, softly.
"We were young. I was twenty-five, he was twenty-two. Neither of us were ready for children, but he wanted to try, since it was already happening. He was…well he used to be a sweet-talker. A real charmer. And then…well…I had you. It wasn't a difficult birth, but…"
She shrugged.
"Despite the attempt for about a year, I couldn't handle it. Having a child was not something I'd intended to do any time soon. I had too many things I wanted to take care of, too many goals to fill. We argued for months after you were born but in the end, I gave him full custody of you and left."
"But why?! He could have used a psychic to help me-
"He didn't know, sweetie." Alessa interrupted.
"…what?" came Alma's whispered reply.
"I never told him. He always just thought I was really good at remembering things, and I let him. You weren't born with powers, Alma. You apparently awakened them later on in life. But what I need you to understand, is that in my-…in our family, I was the only one who had them. I was the outlier, not the norm. And I had them since I was a baby. Every now and then I'd poke your mind to see if you responded with any sort of twinge of psychic ability and there was nothing at all. That's why I was able to walk away. I knew Harlan loved you dearly and honestly? I was so caught up in myself I wouldn't have been able to."
Alma's fists clenched. Her mind was reeling. The woman before her was so…so…
"Shitty." Seth said, cuttingly. "But logical. An idiot's logic, but still logic."
Again the eyebrow rose. Alma turned to him, tears and fire in her eyes. But he just shrugged.
"Better the parent unable to handle child, leave them in the hands of one who can, than to try and fail and fail and fail, building resentment towards both self and offspring."
He turned to Alma, stroking her tears away. "She made a common mistake. But in the end, before it got too late, realized she wouldn't have been able to be mother, so instead, left you with the one she thought could at least be father. She was wrong, obviously, but…" he shrugged again, before turning to Alessa.
"Why didn't you check in on her?"
"Honestly? Harlan had cut all ties with me after that, and without that reminder, I practically forgot I had a child out there in the world. As far as I knew, she was in good hands, and I could finish my degree and go for the profession I wanted."
Seth nodded, even as Alma tensed next to him. He gently pat her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb.
"So the sequence of events is that you two had Alma, but because she didn't display any psychic ability immediately, you thought she was a normal girl. One you didn't really want in the first place, but tried to keep up with, only to have the self-awareness that you couldn't. And because you didn't tell the idiot that you had powers, he had no way of knowing that you could have helped Alma in any way, so even if you were of a mind to give the whole motherhood thing a second go, it wouldn't happen."
Alessa nodded softly. "Well put." But Seth wasn't done.
"So that leads to now, where you are aware of Alma's presence as a psychic, because you lived through the Bad Future and…" he trailed off, eyes narrowing.
"You think it has something to do with that point where Alma was pushed to change?"
Something or someone showed her the future that was going to happen if she went through with her instincts rather than trying to think.
"And I don't…remember what it was." Alma suddenly spoke.
Seth nodded. "But it spooked you enough that you spent nearly a year trying to get control over yourself."
"Think it was her moover?"
"It could have been…" Alma hedged, responding to Wes.
But Seth shook his head. "No. Because the lady in front of us said she reset too late."
"How do you figure?"
"Elaborate."
Both Alma and Kira queried him at the same time.
"If it was Alessa doing the warning, then she would have reset before the explosion of Origin. But she reset to after the explosion, and after you'd already made the decision to change for the better. So something that wasn't her, warned you about the Bad Future, but Alessa didn't reset until months later, while you were in the middle of trying to keep yourself together."
I feel as if I'm missing pieces of this conversation. The woman thought to herself. But still, though she couldn't read him directly, she could read Alma, and her daughter's mind was racing.
"I'm…having a hard time following, honey." Alma admit.
"Ok, it's like this. If I'm right, at least. Alessa's resetting is only partially tied to whatever showed you the Bad Future. In that, if it were her presence that showed it to you, in any form, then she would have woken up before the explosion that set you free. Any point before. And if that was the case, she would have put foot to ass in getting ahold of the idiot, right?" He turned to Alessa for that one.
And she nodded.
"Yes. If I'd known at any point before then, about Alma, Harlan would have definitely had a lot to answer for."
"Which means your awakening had nothing to do with her."
"So why is she here? Now of all times?" Alma grumbled.
"Honestly? Semi-random chance." Was the response.
"Semi-random?"
"The semi part, comes from that it was clearly tied to your awakening in some way. She died in the Bad Future, and then suddenly she gets thrown 'back' into the new timeline where that future, if for some ungodly reason is still a thing, is drastically delayed. That it happened when it did, how it did, is likely because that was the only point in the new timeline that her mind was available, and you were stable enough, for it to happen."
"…why would I need to be stable for that?"
"Because you're leaking, dear." Replied Alessa.
Alma blinked. "…leaking? Dafuq?"
Again, the eyebrow rose. But before she could explain, Seth cut in.
"I dunno about leaking but I was implying that because Alma's that powerful a psychic that she can basically block things out the world over, subconsciously. And that point where she started stabilizing, was when she was trying not to spread her field into the world, thus letting your consciousness slide into your current body."
"I suppose that's a fair assessment."
"Right. Leaking?" Alma pushed.
"Your mind, dear. You're practically broadcasting your thoughts at high volume."
Alma blinked. "…I…am?"
"Yes. And it's at a constant rate. The odd thing is it doesn't have the pressure most leaking psychics have. Just the noise. Its loud enough to drown out the passive tones of other telepaths, of which there were two in this building alone."
"It is? There are?!"
"Dear, you're like a fog horn on a sunny day. Not so much intrusive as it is continuous and completely random while being unignorable."
Alma nodded absently. "Like a dog licking its balls in the middle of a crowded room where everyone tries not to notice it but its just so random that you can't help but watch."
Seth snorted.
Alessa blinked. "…yes…right. Anyway. It is a problem. Not merely because it stops you from properly being able to detect others like us, but because it broadcasts who and where you are at all times…along with who you are with."
"Hmm." Was Seth's response to Alessa looking pointedly at him.
"But…is that…really a problem?" Alma asked, genuinely confused.
"Dear, your mind is an open book. Written in excessively large font. That talks. Someone could easily slip into your mind, ferret out your secrets, and then hunt down any connections you had to do the same to others."
"What do you mean?"
Alessa sighed. It seemed she would have to do something…distasteful.
She looked her daughter in the eyes.
And pushed.
Blackness.
That's all she saw.
Blackness and silence.
She couldn't see anything. Not even herself. There was no sound. No noise no movement no nothing. She felt her head turning left and right. Felt her clothes weighing her body down as she lifted and moved her arms. She was she, she was existent…but nothing else was.
Everything was black. She couldn't even see her own body. Felt it. But not see it.
And then red.
She jolted in place, seeing the blackness move. It moved…revealing a single, glowing red eye, pupil slit like a rabid beast's.
She felt her own eyes widen, as she took a 'step' back.
The eye moved. Not in that it turned, but in that its location was no longer static. It rose, higher, and higher, angling until it was looking down at her.
And then it crinkled.
But the feeling she got (she could FEEL now!) was not joy…but hunger.
She could do nothing but scream as the blackness shifted once again, a gaping maw of rows of razor sharp teeth, lashing out and engulfing her.
Alessa Gillespie padded into the hotel's bathroom. Her guests, her daughter and her daughter's keeper…boyfriend…whatever he was, having left. As soon as the door closed, she collapsed onto the sink, arms shuddering.
Her stomach heaved inward, her breath caught in her throat, and her chest caved as a torrent of red-tinted bile erupted from her mouth.
For over a minute, the room echoed with the sounds of hoarse gagging, the splatter of wet upon marble, pained coughing, and low sobs.
Then the squeak of a turning faucet, and the soft fizz of rushing water from a tap. The splitter-splash of liquid slapping flesh after the noise of fluid being spat.
The woman, panting heavily, pulled her hair to the side, looking in the mirror.
Where a series of red welts had appeared on her pale flesh.
She shuddered again, looking up, only to freeze.
Letters, written in blood, had formed on the glass.
Dii iisk um hin ruus
Fang mea houd corpu yor
My fangs around your neck
And the face of a pink haired, pale skinned, glowing red eyed girl, giving a feral grin.
Two days later saw Seth in contemplation. Surprisingly keeping it from the bouncing and panting women before him. Marie had gotten his permission – not that she needed it, he told her, to which she disagreed; "I wouldn't be much of a Servant if I acted against orders." "You already did once though." "Exactly, sir." – to join Alma and or Medea in their morning workouts of Stepmania and light weights and stretching.
But he was watching. And drinking in the sight. And for once…not ignoring it. The actual feelings futzing around in his heart and mind. The Others were silent, as he wasn't thinking anything directly, just…swimming.
There was naught to do that day, so for the rest of the day, he would just…sit. Silently watching the girls as they did their thing. Letting everything wash over him. Thinking of exactly what these two women had come to mean to him.
The meeting of the Cult, learning what his clusterfuck of a word-dump had meant to so many people…
He'd managed to secure ten minutes alone, before the two of them left that place, where he forcibly shattered his mental walls and let the everything crash into him.
The first time he'd cried in years, he mused to himself. He didn't mean to. Enthrall them, that is. The two younger girls were right, it was too much. But he did. He meant something to people. Even if at the time they didn't know it was him him, but his written self…which was little different than his actual.
That Alma hadn't come running was…unusual. Very unusual. She'd been trying her best to give him space but that jumble of emotional turmoil should have been like the damn Bat-Signal for her. But it wasn't, somehow. He knew that with how…abused she'd been, growing up, the neglect and sorrow would have demanded she join him, if she'd felt it.
But he had a Cult now. And the…the him that wrote the book. The him that needed someone like himself so many years ago, that never got it…it pushed at him to take responsibility. They were doing good work, policing themselves, keeping themselves to the positive or at least neutralities of his written words, but that could change. Power…changes people.
So he took control. Thanked them, congratulated them, apologized to them, but asked them, keep an eye on themselves, on each other.
"Being in the position of leader, a position of Power…it can fuck with you. It can change and warp you in ways you never thought of. You won't even see it coming. So look. Look to the person next to you. Each and every one of you. Do it for them. Even if they don't know your true pain, even if they can't hear your true voice, do it for them.
Change, evolution, Growth; is not the total destruction of the old at all times. It is the matching of the old and new, merging them together, minding what works and what doesn't, and proceeding from that point. Don't lose yourselves in your pursuit of growth. Don't break yourselves in the pursuit of getting someone's understanding.
When you go out…I expect you all to come back Home."
"Yes Sir!"
And then he found out, that originally he was nobody.
In the time that Alessa remembered, either he didn't exist, or he was unimportant. Meaningless. Died just like the rest.
Admittedly, the information stuck in his head. He didn't show any hint of it but it shook him a little. He understood the idea of differing timelines perfectly fine. It was a common media trope and the various methods of telling that story were always interesting. But…
That meant that Mariko…that Medea…they didn't make it either.
He understood the pattern of his life. It was his power over Gravity that made him more than just another negro with a chip on his shoulder. It, for ignorance of pun, gave his words, his being, weight, in the world. He recognized that it was a key, a…lynchpin, in making his being have meaning to someone.
Alma would, had she known his thoughts, refute the hell out of that, but he would be steadfast in his belief. Just as it was her unfathomable power that made Alma important in the world, it was his Gravity Well that did the same for him. Neither of them would have had the pull they did, otherwise.
It was his power, that allowed him to make changes.
But it would be egotistical to say that Medea and Marie were alive because of him…or would it?
If he never had his powers…he wouldn't have had the courage, let alone the ability to go against that group of armed assholes. Medea would have died that day, the day she was supposed to. And then nobody would push him to write that book. And Marie…
Marie would have committed suicide long before this equivalent point in the timelines.
And then Alma would have ended the world.
And he would have died anyway.
He couldn't, and wouldn't, say that his powers were tied to Alma choosing a different path. Even that seemed farfetched to him. But everything about Medea, and Marie's current selves…they were tied to him having his powers. And while not psychic in nature, its possible that had he his powers back then, he'd have been the type to try to stop her rampage. Or save as many lives as possible during the Armageddon.
So for Alessa to have died when she did, with no inkling of her daughter's power until just before the end came, meant he could do nothing. Meant that…something was different. That he'd either not had his powers and thus never truly met Mariko or Medea, or he was so different from his current self that he didn't bother trying.
Of course there was always the possibility that something killed him before that point.
But regardless…it didn't paint a good picture.
And that bothered him a little as well.
That old…weak but still present, self-confidence issue. His power was what won him his freedom. Broke the shackles of his shitty family. They saved lives. Pushed him to keep bettering himself by learning new ways to use them, which came hand-in-hand with new ways to understand people.
Thus, the whole day, he sat in silence. Thinking quietly to himself, while watching two of the three most important people in his life now. Even though both of them were not around for the same length of time Medea was, they'd quickly attached themselves to his heart.
And they meant something. Something powerful. Something he'd been trying to…well not so much ignore, but…delay.
He trusted in…believed in Medea's vision. It is as he said: If his Oracle sees it, then it must be True. But he also knows that you have to work with it, to make it real.
He wanted their relationship, as a collective unit, to be done right. No questions, no thoughts, just trust and belief. Understanding.
And maybe…he was a little scared too. Scared to lose them. Scared he wouldn't be good enough.
They were all a little (a lot) broken. He was just better at acting as if his own scars didn't bother him much.
He may have wanted them to be equals…to make everything be on the same page…but even he had to admit that it was him that brought all four of them together.
He was the one who stepped up and smashed Medea's vision.
He was the one who wrote the book that kept Marie afloat for years.
He was the one who became anchor point for Alma's very being.
…and it was him that made them all interact. It was because of him that Alma rediscovered her passion at Medea's touch.
It was because of him that Marie did…whatever she did (they still hadn't gone into detail about exactly how Mariko managed to get Alma's force to reawaken) that pulled Alma's most important power back out.
And it was because of him, that Medea practically killed herself through her own powers, to protect them all.
He was the core. And while he wanted all four of them to be balanced with one another, he knew that being the one in the center meant he had the biggest responsibility to open the positions for them to take. They may be the ones walking through them, but the doors had to be opened by him.
And so…as the day passed, as he came to that conclusion, he started doing.
Small things. A gentle brush of the arm here, a soft touch on the back there. A pat on the head, a touch on the shoulders. Feathered grasps of the waist for balance, repositioning.
All while drinking in the grins, the smiles…all the slight responses.
…they loved him. They really did. For whatever their reasons, that was their truth.
And ultimately, he loved them too.
He knew what they wanted. He knew what he wanted.
I shall have no regrets.
For this is the path I have chosen.
They were beautiful. All three of them.
And it was high time he let them feel that.
It started simply. Alma had just gotten done helping Marie wash off and dry the larger pans they used for breakfast that day. The dishwasher had been running for the past hour. The psychic's hair was in a loose ponytail…and then suddenly a hand reached up and pulled it free.
She'd blinked, turning around, only to be surprised as Seth's hands reached up, stroking her temples and gently entwining themselves in her hair, until they rest at the back of her head.
Her confusion was evident, but last only a few seconds before she was nudged closer to him, where he caught her in a soft kiss.
Even Mariko blinked at that. It was Alma that initiated the more…obvious affection.
…it was when it didn't stop at a peck that Marie began getting suspicious.
And it was when Alma's hands twitched, before they grabbed his arms and pulled herself closer to him, that made Marie understand. A gentle sigh, and a soft (if slightly sad) grin, and she turned to walk away.
And then yelped when a powerful force grabbed her whole body and yanked.
With the seeming practiced ease of a sliding train-track shifting lines, as soon as Marie's fluffily endowed chest crashed into his and Alma's torsos, pinning Alma's arm to his chest but being caught in his free right; he swapped Alma's lips for Marie's.
While keeping the intensity.
As Alma's mind rebooted from its near carnal setting (there was something in that kiss that ripped through her body and started putting her dangerously close to primal levels) her eyes drunk in the sight of happy tears gently leaking from Marie's closed eyes, as the half-asian gripped at his back, silently begging this moment to not be a dream.
Hell she was practically sobbing it in her mind. Which Alma could hear. And then responded to, by sandwiching the girl between herself and Seth, while gently nipping at her exposed neck.
Carnal setting. Best way to put it really.
And then her mind came back to her. And she realized exactly what it meant.
Thus Alma, gently detached herself, catching both of their attention.
"I'llberightbackipromise!"
*SCRRRIIIP*
And then she vanished…leaving Selh'teus and Mariko holding each other…blinking in unison at the spot Alma had just teleported from.
For five seconds.
Before a second tearing noise heralded her return.
…holding a damp, naked, Medea.
Who upon seeing the two, promptly blurted out: "Okay. Why am I here, and why, for the past thirty seconds, has my head, been filled with the vision of that god-forsaken giant green penis riding a golden chariot?!"
Seth's eyebrows shot up.
Medea's answer, was Marie slipping out of Seth's grasp, grabbing the damp, freshly showered Oracle by the shoulders, and firmly planting their lips together.
…yeah that's…that's definitely hot.
"Fuckin right it is." Alma retorted to his thought, slipping past the shocked Medea and focused Marie, to do the same to him.
It was when Marie pulled back, with a whispered "forgive my impudence, Mistress." That Medea started to understand.
Not the Mara part. Though that would later make sense.
Medea declined to let the maid go, however, grasping the girl's wrists as she looked at the liplocked Alma and Seth.
"I see." She said plainly.
…well…I have just had a fairly stressful day…
Turning back to the would-be Tengu, she queried her junior. "Have you been…given any experience?" It wasn't a taunt. She genuinely wanted to know not only if Marie was truly ready, but also if she'd have to be eased into things.
The Maid just blinked at her. "You're not the only one whose been knuckle deep in psychic, Mistress."
Medea's head jerked back, both at the implications as well as the absolutely blunt statement.
That Marie kept calling her mistress was being put aside, for the moment.
"Wait." Came Seth's voice, Alma clinging to him like a leech. "That's how you-gaAK!"
Alma had silenced that inquiry by way of biting his neck while also grabbing his ass, quite roughly.
And growling. Can't forget the growling.
Medea just gave a soft snort of humor. "You may be in over your head here, dear. All three of us?"
He retaliated to the psychic by grabbing her ass, just as hard. To which she just moaned. Figures. Attack's been negated. End your battle phase and your turn, idiot.
Trying to push aside the feelings that the psychic was doing to his neck, he responded to Medea.
"I hope my body can take it."
It was Marie, this time, that giggled. She got that reference.
Alma however just growled louder. "Bedroom! Now!"
*SCCRRRRRP*
And then teleported the two of them away.
"You must be chilly, Mistress. Shall we warm you up?" how she managed to mix innocence with carnal lust is something Medea doubted she'd ever figure out in her lifetime.
But of course…she wouldn't be left behind.
His First…and for the longest time, his Only.
"Lead the way, Raven."
It was getting late. Time to wake her up for dinner, it seemed. Eveline had come to enjoy dinners at this place now. Ever since their Angel had demanded they hire an actual cook. Frozen meals were alright but having an actually cooked dinner on occasion was something to be cherished, Eveline would admit.
It also helped bring up the mood in the place. They all knew what they were doing was skirting the line between right and wrong, and that Angel could, at any point, become another Alma. That the Director was slapping Aristide down every time the bitch would try to put pressure on them, also helped.
But that wasn't important right now. Food was calling and Angel hadn't come out for a while now. She sure did sleep a lot. But as Evie had noted, Angel was much like a cat.
Thus, Eveline had strode into the girl's bedroom (she was already in her room proper, the bedroom was an archway attached to the main area) announcing her intent.
"Angel, honey, its almost time for diiiiIOH!"
Only to find, said teenager, face down, ass in the air, and going to town on herself.
Well she was. Until a pair of glowing red eyes, snapped to Evie's position.
Eveline quickly whirled around, flushing heavily, heart racing in absolute terror.
"S-sorry! D-don't mind me! G-go ahead and f-finish up I'll be outside!"
And then promptly power-walked away. Pulling the door open to leave the teen's rooms proper, she stopped, heart skipping a beat.
Because right in front of her, was a red-faced, red eyed, panting, naked, Angel. Hair wild, eyes glowing, body tense and rigid.
…oh god I'm going to die.
"Ang-
The teen's arms lashed up, palms slamming into Eveline's chest, throwing her backward into the room.
Where Angel stalked after, akin to a hunter following wounded prey.
And without touching it.
The door slammed shut.