orderfromchaos | 12. Mea...culpa?

[Public, video]

[They're the kitchen of Dillon's parents' house: relentlessly suburban, a few southwestern touches, from the touristy Navajo-ish vase on the table to the sepia color palette, well-coordinated. There are floral magnets on the fridge, and one Hannibal Lecter humming as he makes what appears to be gourmet tomato soup and fresh-baked bread. He's wearing an open lab coat over his suit that he grabbed while attempting to join an infirmary shift, right before Dillon hurriedly hustled him out.]

I kind of...fixed him.

[Not like you fix a car; Hannibal wasn't broken, he was himself. Like you fix a dog.]

I thought it would wear off but it hasn't, and his room is the same so it doesn't count for graduation but I don't. Actually know how to undo it.

He's not faking, either.

[Voice pitched more deliberately across the room, though he hasn't been been whispering or anything; Hannibal could have heard him before if he was listening.

Hey, Hannibal, say sorry to the nice people.

[Hannibal pauses, sets down the wooden spoon and turns to the comm, contrite, shifting, a little uncertain.]

I'm terribly sorry for what I've done. It seems almost unreal, but I do not mean to belittle anyone's suffering. I apologize.

[Dillon waves him back to the soup.]

[Private to Jean]

I'm pretty sure what you do is more. Versatile, than mine. I know it's a lot to ask, but could you check and see if you can reverse it?

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C'rizz.

Do you want to go to the CES?

[ Do you want me to help you calm down.

He has sympathy for C'rizz. A little, burgeoning connection. ]

Yes.

Yes, I --

That's a good idea. Thank you, Zane.

[ It's then that Zane realizes the flaw in his plan. He's speaking from his room, where he's been hiding. Where he's stayed, quiet and alone, and untempted by the living people around him. Where he doesn't have to be paranoid or afraid.

He retreats here every time something like this happens, he knows. It's developing into a vicious pattern. And he always has to leave, eventually. ]

Do you want me to come get you, or meet you there?

[ Helping people helps. He clings to that. ]

I can meet -

[No. Maybe it would be better to not wander the halls angry.]

Maybe it would be better if we went together. You know where I am?

No - which one is your cabin?

Level 8, cabin two. Thank you.

[ He can do this. He can leave.

He stares at the door for a long moment, irrationally terrified of what is on the other side. Until he thinks - no, he's not terrified of that. He's terrified of what's on this side.

He can be calm about Dillon and about Hannibal, and he can try to be calm about himself.

Soon, he's there, tapping on the door. ]

[There's a green-haired heap sleeping on C'rizz's spartan bed, but C'rizz slips out without showing much of his room.

He's stopped his aggressive defiant display and gone into his more common I-am-scared-and-so-I-blend; his skin is the colour of the reddish sandstone instead, blobby and striated. And in the hall, it quickly starts to go metallic gray instead.]

So!

[He's forcing a stiff upper lip.]

Your world or mine today?

[ He still looks somewhat the worse for wear because of the death toll. Pale, a little shaky. He's flaring pewter to counteract the effects, but it doesn't actually seem to do that much.

But, honestly, it helps a little. He would rather walk out here for the first time too weak to really attack. He'll be more in control. ]

Mine.

[ He nods for them to go along the hallway. ]

It might be ugly. But I don't think so, not today.

Just one sun, is that right? As long as it's warm, I don't mind.

[ It isn't ugly.

The world shines, warm under the sun. Long, flat plains, and a lazy, wide river cutting through ahead of them.

Zane relaxes, as he steps in. He breathes. It smells right. ]

12. Mea...culpa?

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the actual latest I am the actual worst sorry

no I win