Cara's Apartment, Saturday Morning

[wrongkindofsith]

Cara was not having a good day. Yesterday had been...unpleasant, the incident at the Onsen being followed by fleeting, yet vivid apparitions of things she'd done, things done to her, and more appearances of that other version of herself, ready with a cutting comment, a quick fist, or a quicker agiel, the embodiment of an ideal Mord'Sith. Of course, that wasn't the worst of it, it wasn't like she hadn't learnt to endure either physical or verbal blows long before. The other other her, the nine year old who who didn't say a word but just stood there looking at her, that she'd had little defence against.

Then she'd woken up, and, well, given she'd spent years beating down and repressing every single scrap of her natural inclinations towards empathy and compassion as a survival tactic, it wasn't entirely a surprise that she'd ended up pressed defensively in a corner, back to the wall, hands against her temples in a futile attempt to keep some, any of it out.

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[harpy-daughter.livejournal.com]

"Worse," Surreal repeated, dryly. "So she kicks you in the face instead of the ribs?"

[wrongkindofsith]

"If only." Cara, this was where actually using your words to clarify things might help immensely.

Though it turned out she didn't have to, as the 'other one' dutifully put in an appearance. Grubby, small and tear-stained, blonde hair tangled, bitemarks on her bare feet, the girl watched them with wide, sad eyes.

[harpy-daughter.livejournal.com]

"Oh sugar." It was addressed to both of them, really, and Surreal moved to a kneeling position.

"You talk?" she asked the tinier-Cara, offering her (it?) a hand. "Or you just sad?"

[wrongkindofsith]

The girl flinched as Surreal extended the hand, and this time, so did Cara, involuntarily mimicking the movement as her gut roiled with a twisted mass of emotions she wasn't even going to try to examine.

The girl looked from Surreal to Cara then back again before replying. "She doesn't like remembering being me."

[harpy-daughter.livejournal.com]

"None of us like remembering being you," Surreal admitted, even as a hungry-looking, feral Surreal of about the same age started forming behind the tiny-Cara. "No one wants to remember being hungry, or cold, or scared. Doesn't mean it's your -- our -- fault."

[wrongkindofsith]

Don't forget powerless and week, those two were prominent in the mix of feelings Cara was spectactuarly failing to repress.

And because her subconcious was just that fucked up, tiny-her looked over her shoulder at tiny-Surreal and turned to offer her a hug even as she argued "It is my fault. If she hadn't been me, they never would have chosen us."

Traumatised and brainwashed nine-year-old logic, everyone!

[Guess who lost power for EIGHT HOURS midway though typing this.]

[harpy-daughter.livejournal.com]

Tiny-Surreal stiffened slightly and regarded tiny-Cara warily, but let the hug proceed.

"People who like hurting children don't have good reasons for doing anything," both Surreals said in stereo. "It's their fault. Stab them, not yourself."

...Surreal, violence is not the solution to everything. We promise.

[wrongkindofsith]

"But I didn't want to hurt anything." Which was possibly a more surprising statement than the actively seeking and initiating hugs as opposed to awkwardly clinging. "It's why she had to kill me."

"You were a sensible child," was Cara's first contribution to the conversation, since her younger self appeared. "If I was more like you, I'd still be her."

Cara, no. Were you even listening to your own argument?

[harpy-daughter.livejournal.com]

"You are her. Otherwise she wouldn't upset you," Surreal pointed out, more gently than most people would have thought possible for her. "--And that one's me, even though I haven't been that hungry for years."

[wrongkindofsith]

Cara almost would have preferred Surreal stabbing her again to all this kindness and understanding. Almost. It was simpler and easier to deal with.

"She...I was gentle, and kind, and soft-hearted, and...loved. Happy," she said, not meeting Surreal's eyes. "But I look at her and I don't remember being those things, how they felt, just how it felt to lose them bit by bit as the Mord'Sith took my weakness and made me strong." There was far less conviction in her voice than the time she'd said that last part to Richard.

"They taught me to be hard, and angry, and cruel, and told me they loved me, and sometimes I was happy." She shrugged. "So if I'm her, I'm also the ribkicker. That's who I was for longer."

[harpy-daughter.livejournal.com]

"You were already strong; they wouldn't have taken you if you weren't," Surreal pointed out bluntly. "Mord'Sith don't like their toys to break easily, from what I've gathered."

"She's hard and angry and cruel too," Tiny-Surreal pointed out helpfully. "It's what I made her. We're the knife-edge, and she's really only happy when she's killing."

"I'm happiest when killing," Surreal corrected her younger-self absently. "--because it's what they've earned."

[wrongkindofsith]

"I don't feel strong," Cara admitted. "Unless I'm fighting."

"You deserve to be happy at other times too." Because it wasn't like Surreal was trying to make a remotely similar point about her or anything.

[harpy-daughter.livejournal.com]

"That's the pot calling the kettle black! I'm happy other times too!" Surreal objected, and Tiny-Surreal folded her arms.

"People think there's something wrong with us, that we like knives and murder so much," the small version said with a frown.

[wrongkindofsith]

"Good," Cara said, not address the whole pot-kettle part. There was a reason why Kahlan had decided it'd be more effective to talk to Surreal about her concerns than Cara.

"There's nothing wrong with you." It was debatable whether it was the presence of their tiny selves or just her general down-ness that kept her from mentioning that the knives and violence were actually highly attractive. "It's not like you've hurt anyone who didn't deserve it."