northling | INBOX

[He just buries his head back into her hair, reddening at her laughter. He doesn't know much about magic, or souls, or Natural Souls - just that it all unnerves him, and the thought of losing his identity to a monster within him even more so.]

Do you... think that happens? Can you see it the way you can others?

Yes! And they appear more similar than they once did. I think. It is difficult to say without record.

[She is not going to mention or confirm the drift towards their Natural Souls as well.] I enjoy being close to you.

[Probably best she keeps that to herself for now, given Pom's complete and utter uncertainty regarding the very idea of becoming more and more like his Souls.]

I know you do.

[Hunger continues to gnaw at his insides, but he pulls her closer.]

Maybe we can just stay like this for now? Until morning.

Yes. I would like that. [And she wiggles around, positioning him properly in the bundle of clothing and blankets she sleeps in with herself on top.

And... in the morning she will make him talk.]

Do not run away.

Hn.

[That's not a confirmation that he won't bail the moment the sun starts coming up.

And sure enough, he tries to slip out from under her when sunrise hits. To his credit, he is feeling better after being near an Imprint for several hours. Still hungry, but... better.]

[It's knowing him as well as she does that means she grabs at him with her claws as he tries to ease her off, sinking them into his clothing.] Do not run.

[Whoops. He pauses, lest those claws tear his shirt.]

It's more 'getting up' than 'running.'

Then I will accompany you while you [—she clears her throat from a sound that might have started with "r"—] get up. [The dreaded koala-bird, clinging to him with utmost ferocity.]

[Yeah, he's not getting out of this one. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, he lets her cling.]

I don't think you should.

Tough.

[:>]

[His voice rumbles.]

You keep making light of this, and I don't like it.

[At least he's being honest, which is... an improvement.]

[She tilts her head, bird-like.] Make light of what? [Of him running away? Of him not explaining the danger he sees that makes him run? She needs more words to understand.]

Of—

[He shakes his head; she needs more words, and he's having trouble finding the right ones.]

Of me needing to leave. Of the things I've done. Of these two Souls in me, and of what I might do to you and not even realize because I'm so hungry I can't think straight. The fact I can just... come in here in the dead of the night and you don't seem to worry one bit.

[So 'everything,' maybe.]

I have no need to worry. You will not harm me. Even were you or your natural souls to try in earnest, my magic has returned. I could hold you back with little effort. [Even monster dogs are made of water.

But, there was something that he said there, something new...] What have you done previously, to think you may harm me?

I don't—

[He doesn't want to talk about it; he never wants to talk about it. He's dodged it time and time again with her, and it's only gotten worse. He should start somewhere. Make an attempt, if only for her.]

I haven't slept well. Just... having a lot of bad dreams. Nightmares.

[He'll feel a bubble of hope, that at last he's letting her in, flow through their bond.]

Do you know their source?

[That bubble of hope is, unfortunately, met with guilt. Shame. Disgust.]

Yeah.

[A pause after that stellar explanation. He tries again. Fear lodges itself in his chest, though even he recognizes it as unjustified. She won't push him away, no matter how much she should. It's all the more reason he has to keep her safe. He has to keep her safe. He has to keep her safe.]

A couple of times now, over these past months, I've... been so hungry, I lost myself. Lost myself to it. Did some things. Became something worse.

[She lets out a sad, upset chirrup.] I have felt your hunger. [And felt his fear.] I wish to feed you. It can only help. [She won't claim to be able to fix it, to sate his hunger entirely, but... it should help.]

But what if I lose it when we do? Just- get started and can't stop?

[He says that worriedly, bordering on panic; it's something that's happened before, something that's a genuine concern.]

I shall fly away until you calm.

[Or swim, depending where they are.]

And what if I don't? What if I'm just- stuck like that? I wander back to town, find someone else, do something monstrous and can't stop, can't hear myself or anyone else, and I gotta- they would...

[Unused to talking so much, he runs out of steam, burying his face in his hands.]

[She swallows down her first words: it would serve them right. Those words are not helpful. And while she believes there are many in the city who deserve to be eaten, who will be most useful as fuel for those she cares about, Pom does not feel the same.] I would stop you. And then bring you to friends. We would care for you and ensure you find yourself once more.

Your self-healing is strong. Even if I must freeze and sever your extremities, you would survive and regain their use in little time.

[There's comfort in her words, as strange as some would find it. He's been given reassurances by others, told he wouldn't lose himself. It's difficult for him to believe that when it keeps happening, and none of them have stopped him, put him down the way he would were it a monster back home attacking a village, feeding on people.

And yet, there's something equally haunting about the image she paints for him: a beast caged not by bars, but mutilation. He closes his eyes behind his hands, and can see himself tied down, scales and claws and entire limbs removed, and yet he's still alive, angry, desperate. He saw far too many monsters like that in the Pens - ones he'd helped put there to be used as resources until there was nothing left.

His stomach lurches suddenly, and he's on his feet in an instant, his face pale, limbs shaking as he heads for the mirror without another word.]

Pom? [She asks as he pales, but he can't hear her. She's sure of it, their bond suddenly filled with... fear. The kind of fear that nearly has a taste it's so instinctual, so primal.] Pom! [She darts after him, clinging to his clothing once more.]

[Pom can't hear Northly through the sound of memory, so loud and clear and horrifying that it instills fresh panic in him. The groan of beasts reverberates around him, and he sees creatures kept and tormented for the profit their parts could bring; he recalls their labored breaths, their desperate cries, their death throes as he carved them. They weren't living things, a part of the world around him; they were only money to be made. When he was young, he'd been proud of being called a monster himself, but now, as he sees himself among them, still locked in the cage where he was kept when he couldn't be controlled... it terrifies him.

And for a moment, he can't help but consider that maybe he belongs there.

Pom wrenches himself from Northly's grasp, her confusion battering against his terror as he steps through the mirror and back into his room. He almost stops, his eyes lingering on Purl's doll on the bed - his most precious possession. He can't stay, can't think for another moment on her, lest he ponder how ashamed she might be with him now. As his mind paints him a picture, he makes for the window, sliding out of it, skidding down the wall to the street below - and then, he starts running.]

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