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[Give her a second to process....that.
She tries to imagine it, lying to protect someone from another's lie, and feels her stomach twist up inside. It's not the lying itself that bothers her overmuch, the illegality of tampering with evidence—though it probably should—so much as the thought that Ema's sister felt she had to do it. That someone had driven them both into a corner.]
woah
yeah, i can see why it would
but, geez
she really does love you
that must have been so hard on you both
but why would anyone want to do that to you?
i can't see you having any enemies
She tries to imagine it, lying to protect someone from another's lie, and feels her stomach twist up inside. It's not the lying itself that bothers her overmuch, the illegality of tampering with evidence—though it probably should—so much as the thought that Ema's sister felt she had to do it. That someone had driven them both into a corner.]
woah
yeah, i can see why it would
but, geez
she really does love you
that must have been so hard on you both
but why would anyone want to do that to you?
i can't see you having any enemies
It was difficult at the time, but we've made our peace since then.
There's a lot to be said for coming clean with your secrets, even if it's frightening to think of what might come as a result.
You hold on to a secret long and tight enough and you'll just end up crumpling around it.
As for why? Blackmail, pure and simple. My sister was a detective herself back then. One of the best around.
She was primed to move into prosecution, and everyone knew she would rise to the top sooner or later.
By making her think I'd killed someone and helping her cover up the crime, the framer had a powerful hold on her. He knew she would do anything to keep my potential involvement under wraps.
There's a lot to be said for coming clean with your secrets, even if it's frightening to think of what might come as a result.
You hold on to a secret long and tight enough and you'll just end up crumpling around it.
As for why? Blackmail, pure and simple. My sister was a detective herself back then. One of the best around.
She was primed to move into prosecution, and everyone knew she would rise to the top sooner or later.
By making her think I'd killed someone and helping her cover up the crime, the framer had a powerful hold on her. He knew she would do anything to keep my potential involvement under wraps.
wish i couldn’t imagine that
i don't know how anyone could do that and live with themselves
but i guess it makes a certain kind of awful sense
back home, noble families did stuff like that all the time
killing this one’s cousin, kidnapping that one’s brother…
[She’s not trying to brush aside what Ema’s admitted, what she’s shared, only put something she finds so reprehensible in a context she’s a little more familiar with. And also, maybe, because Lys would rather not think too hard (or at all) about the very good advice that’s just been given regarding secrets, the damage they can cause simply by being carried for too long—like shrapnel inside a stitched-up wound.]
it’s messed up
i don't know how anyone could do that and live with themselves
but i guess it makes a certain kind of awful sense
back home, noble families did stuff like that all the time
killing this one’s cousin, kidnapping that one’s brother…
[She’s not trying to brush aside what Ema’s admitted, what she’s shared, only put something she finds so reprehensible in a context she’s a little more familiar with. And also, maybe, because Lys would rather not think too hard (or at all) about the very good advice that’s just been given regarding secrets, the damage they can cause simply by being carried for too long—like shrapnel inside a stitched-up wound.]
it’s messed up
[ What happened to Ema is an open secret, in a sense, so it doesn't bother her sharing it. When your whole traumatic story is public record, unraveled in front of multiple audiences, and then blared across the news, recounting it is old hat. ]
You can say that again.
But I suppose people who have power and riches are just wired differently. They're just as shifty where I'm from.
Better to stay humble, if you ask me.
[ Who needs a big house and popularity!! A few reliable friends (and science) are more than enough. ]
Anyway, I'm not sure how we got here from fun group activities, so I'll let you go before the topic gets any more depressing.
You can say that again.
But I suppose people who have power and riches are just wired differently. They're just as shifty where I'm from.
Better to stay humble, if you ask me.
[ Who needs a big house and popularity!! A few reliable friends (and science) are more than enough. ]
Anyway, I'm not sure how we got here from fun group activities, so I'll let you go before the topic gets any more depressing.
[ At some nebulous point in the future after Eustace has stopped being a dead furry and Ema has probably let out some of her stress by turning him into a punching bag, she will find three things stacked atop each other on her most used lab workstation counter.
The first is an oversized periodic table of elements poster, perfect for hanging up and referencing whenever the mood strikes. The second is a photo in a simple frame. The third is a note, though really it's more like two words carelessly written on a post-it note.
Merry Christmas
There's no name on the note but honestly, who else could it possibly be from. ]
The first is an oversized periodic table of elements poster, perfect for hanging up and referencing whenever the mood strikes. The second is a photo in a simple frame. The third is a note, though really it's more like two words carelessly written on a post-it note.
Merry Christmas
There's no name on the note but honestly, who else could it possibly be from. ]
[ Sometime during the day on Christmas Eve, a strange man in a Santa suit and his cute helper elf are delivering gifts to familiar faces. On Ema's doorstep, Siegfried leaves a small box. Within the small box is an assortment of cookies, and a small handcarved figurine. ]
Merry Christmas, Ema! This is not quite a bonobo, it's a chimpanzee, but I couldn't find a visual aid for a bonobo on hand. I hope you will still accept him as a suitable holiday friend. Warm Regards, Siegfried.
Merry Christmas, Ema! This is not quite a bonobo, it's a chimpanzee, but I couldn't find a visual aid for a bonobo on hand. I hope you will still accept him as a suitable holiday friend. Warm Regards, Siegfried.
[Sometimes a conversation is like an onion, with layers, and sometimes those layers are topics that don't overlap so much as loosely orbit each other, like an archipelago seen from space. Lys herself doesn't wonder at the "how" so much as blink in surprise over how long they've been chatting, the ground they've covered.]
oh, it happens!
but i bet you're pretty busy yourself
so that's fine
depressing or not, i'm glad i got to talk to you
and i won't forget about having a movie night!
[As soon as she has any, plus a television and movie player, not to mention a couch…..with her priorities, it might take awhile. But it'll happen!]
see ya, ema
oh, it happens!
but i bet you're pretty busy yourself
so that's fine
depressing or not, i'm glad i got to talk to you
and i won't forget about having a movie night!
[As soon as she has any, plus a television and movie player, not to mention a couch…..with her priorities, it might take awhile. But it'll happen!]
see ya, ema
[ Is this his version of drunkenness?? He may have missed a period, but he did manage to bust out "supervision", "overestimated", and "tolerance" without a hitch, which frankly she finds a little sus. Sus of what, she does not know yet.
But, whatever. If he is bothering to ask for help, then he must really need it. She will dutifully do for Eustace what she would for any of her youthful, overexcited, unhinged partygirl friends of tender drinking age. ]
Fine. Location, please.
But, whatever. If he is bothering to ask for help, then he must really need it. She will dutifully do for Eustace what she would for any of her youthful, overexcited, unhinged partygirl friends of tender drinking age. ]
Fine. Location, please.
[ Not pictured: the number of attempts it took him to correctly spell those three words. ]
The bar
[ Which bar?? Please give him two minutes to scrunch his face as he looks around him for some kind of recognizable landmark, and then another minute to slowly type out the following. ]
next to the [ ... ] big pink dick statue [ That's new. ]
The bar
[ Which bar?? Please give him two minutes to scrunch his face as he looks around him for some kind of recognizable landmark, and then another minute to slowly type out the following. ]
next to the [ ... ] big pink dick statue [ That's new. ]
[ All she gets in reply is a (slightly blurry, very NSFW) photo. She can make her own judgement call from there. ]
[ Sigh. ]
Right. I suppose I asked for that.
OMW
[ She doesn't know how familiar he is with texting acronyms, but it can be something for him to puzzle over as she makes the trek over.
As she leaves the house, a couple of dogs decide they want to slip out and join her for the field trip. Thus, Eustace will find that the first harbinger of Ema's arrival is a pair of pups (choose your poison) bumrushing him, with Ema herself following at a more normal pace. ]
Right. I suppose I asked for that.
OMW
[ She doesn't know how familiar he is with texting acronyms, but it can be something for him to puzzle over as she makes the trek over.
As she leaves the house, a couple of dogs decide they want to slip out and join her for the field trip. Thus, Eustace will find that the first harbinger of Ema's arrival is a pair of pups (choose your poison) bumrushing him, with Ema herself following at a more normal pace. ]
[ OMW? One meticulous woman? Open my window? Operation Man Walked-home??
He spends too long mulling over the mysterious trio of letters as he sits on the curb before just resolving to ask Lottie about it later, which is right about when his field of vision is filled with eight legs and two slobbery tongues. The alcohol still buzzing through his veins means he is not shy about lavishing attention upon Marie and Albert despite being out in public, and he barely spares the two-footed person following behind them a second glance.
Sorry Ema, you will just have to wait. ]
He spends too long mulling over the mysterious trio of letters as he sits on the curb before just resolving to ask Lottie about it later, which is right about when his field of vision is filled with eight legs and two slobbery tongues. The alcohol still buzzing through his veins means he is not shy about lavishing attention upon Marie and Albert despite being out in public, and he barely spares the two-footed person following behind them a second glance.
Sorry Ema, you will just have to wait. ]
[ She was prepared to find him sloppily stumbling over some trash can or passed out ass-up on the side of the street, as the hammered are wont to do, and she planned to be accordingly disgruntled and head-shaky over the poor state of him. What she finds instead is Eustace openly doting on the dogs. It's a surprisingly warm scene, where he's involved, but what's more surprising is the ease with which her mild annoyance melts into a soft buzz of fondness.
Not that that will stop her from bending over him to pinch the very tips of his ears and give them a little upward tug. ]
Hey. You.
[ You would think she would have gotten around to addressing him by his actual name by now, but no. ]
Not that that will stop her from bending over him to pinch the very tips of his ears and give them a little upward tug. ]
Hey. You.
[ You would think she would have gotten around to addressing him by his actual name by now, but no. ]
[ What kind of greeting is that to give to your inebriated housemate currently ignoring you in favor of a handful of tiny dogs? The right one, that's what.
He looks up, eye(s) blinking as her face swims into his vision. It's stupid, how seeing her in person suddenly sets him at peace, as though he hadn't just spent the better part of two hours slowly drinking his misery away. (Or maybe that's the alcohol talking.) ]
Mm?
[ That's it, that's all he's got. ]
He looks up, eye(s) blinking as her face swims into his vision. It's stupid, how seeing her in person suddenly sets him at peace, as though he hadn't just spent the better part of two hours slowly drinking his misery away. (Or maybe that's the alcohol talking.) ]
Mm?
[ That's it, that's all he's got. ]
[ And now the mild annoyance is back. She crouches down purely so that she can pinch his cheeks as punishment. ]
Don't "mm?" me. You're the one who called me here.
[ That said, she hasn't seen him drunk before, and she is a little surprised that he let himself get this out of it. Maybe he got involved in something dumb like a drinking contest or a haywire island effect? ]
What happened? Partied too hard?
Don't "mm?" me. You're the one who called me here.
[ That said, she hasn't seen him drunk before, and she is a little surprised that he let himself get this out of it. Maybe he got involved in something dumb like a drinking contest or a haywire island effect? ]
What happened? Partied too hard?
[ He is not so far gone as to let this mild physical abuse pass without comment and he frowns. ]
I don't party. [ Sometimes he will deign to attend a party (noun) but certainly he does not party (verb). ] I just wanted a drink.
[ And sometimes one drink becomes three. It's no big deal.
The alcohol may not have made him any chattier than usual but it has lowered his inhibitions in other ways. Both hands lift up to take hold of hers, gently pulling her hands away so his poor cheeks can get a break. The weather is cool as always and her hands are pleasantly warm in his, and instead of letting go right away he tugs on them instead. ]
Help me up.
[ May as well get started on the walk home unless she really wants to loiter out in front of a bar all night. ]
I don't party. [ Sometimes he will deign to attend a party (noun) but certainly he does not party (verb). ] I just wanted a drink.
[ And sometimes one drink becomes three. It's no big deal.
The alcohol may not have made him any chattier than usual but it has lowered his inhibitions in other ways. Both hands lift up to take hold of hers, gently pulling her hands away so his poor cheeks can get a break. The weather is cool as always and her hands are pleasantly warm in his, and instead of letting go right away he tugs on them instead. ]
Help me up.
[ May as well get started on the walk home unless she really wants to loiter out in front of a bar all night. ]
[ She?? Hello??? Her bothersome cheek-pinching was supposed to be answered with annoyance, not soft hand-holding. Congratulations, it's a kick in the knees to whatever Ema was about to say, the words jamming stupidly in her throat.
If it were nearly anyone else suddenly grabbing her hands, she would be quick to shoot them an odd look or glare, and then probably thwap them with a whole bag of Snackoos or a mystery test tube from her science bag. But since it is Eustace, he gets a flash of suppressed panic followed by a firework burst of red rapidly overtaking her face. Why??? There is something wrong with her, but also him. The only issue is that he has inebriation to excuse him, and she does not.
She's valiantly struggling not to make any kind of eye contact with him or think about how very warm and gentle his hands are, choosing instead to urgently look at that trash can to the left or that giant penis statue to the right, when he says something and pulls at her hands. It takes a moment for her brain to catch up. ]
Um. Yes. Alright.
[ If her brain were really actually caught up, it would consider the folly of trying to pull up a man the better part of twice her weight. What happens instead is that she immediately decides to give it the good old college try, if only to grant reason to them (god) gently holding hands. She firms up her grip and straightens. ]
Okay! One, two—!
[ She tries to pull him up!! Assuming that he will be little to no help, she puts her whole back into it. ]
If it were nearly anyone else suddenly grabbing her hands, she would be quick to shoot them an odd look or glare, and then probably thwap them with a whole bag of Snackoos or a mystery test tube from her science bag. But since it is Eustace, he gets a flash of suppressed panic followed by a firework burst of red rapidly overtaking her face. Why??? There is something wrong with her, but also him. The only issue is that he has inebriation to excuse him, and she does not.
She's valiantly struggling not to make any kind of eye contact with him or think about how very warm and gentle his hands are, choosing instead to urgently look at that trash can to the left or that giant penis statue to the right, when he says something and pulls at her hands. It takes a moment for her brain to catch up. ]
Um. Yes. Alright.
[ If her brain were really actually caught up, it would consider the folly of trying to pull up a man the better part of twice her weight. What happens instead is that she immediately decides to give it the good old college try, if only to grant reason to them (god) gently holding hands. She firms up her grip and straightens. ]
Okay! One, two—!
[ She tries to pull him up!! Assuming that he will be little to no help, she puts her whole back into it. ]
[ Ema will be pleased to know that he is too drunk to notice how red her face instantly becomes, still too fixated on the feel of her hands in his to pay attention to anything else.
Somehow, the lone brain cell occupying space in his mind wrongly assumes that the slight tug of his hands will be met with the same tug back from hers. She is half his size after all, and the likelihood of her actually dragging him up all by herself is slim to none. This assumption is immediately dashed to pieces when he does his best to meet her halfway, despite the heavy anchor of inebriation slowing him down. Instead of a smooth upward rise he stumbles, balance upended, the full force of Ema's efforts enough to send him lurching forward.
Only years of training save them both from ending up in a heap on the concrete, sharp reflexes kicking in at the last second. He finally lets go of (one of) her hands, arm snaking out to grab her by the waist and yank her towards him in an attempt to revert their previous forward momentum. It works, barely, and they stumble-sway back into a sense of equilibrium.
Standing like this, with his arm wrapped around her, he notices three things. One: she smells nice, a mix of her usual clean scent and warm brown sugar. (The latter from her constant snacking habits, probably.) Two: her body slots in nicely against his, the top of her head tucking in neatly under his chin. (Technically he'd noticed this before, but it'd been a side thought and pushed out by other, more important thoughts.) Three: his heart is pounding strangely fast and loud in his chest. (Isn't alcohol supposed to be a depressant...?) He does not notice the fourth thing, which is that Marie and Albert have started barking excitedly in approval. Very 101 Dalmations of them, to be quite honest.
His brain, already slowed from all the alcohol, stutters momentarily to a stop. ]
Hm.
[ Hm?? He's really 2/2 in the useless replies department tonight. At least he has the good sense to peel himself away and let go of her waist before she punches him in the face or knees him in the crotch or even both at the same time. The good thing about all the alcohol sloshing about is that once his brain boots up again, he doesn't (over)think anything, skipping straight ahead to the important bits as he peers down at her. ]
Sorry. [ For nearly slamming her head into the ground and giving her a concussion. ] You okay?
[ Notably, he does not let go of her other hand. ]
Somehow, the lone brain cell occupying space in his mind wrongly assumes that the slight tug of his hands will be met with the same tug back from hers. She is half his size after all, and the likelihood of her actually dragging him up all by herself is slim to none. This assumption is immediately dashed to pieces when he does his best to meet her halfway, despite the heavy anchor of inebriation slowing him down. Instead of a smooth upward rise he stumbles, balance upended, the full force of Ema's efforts enough to send him lurching forward.
Only years of training save them both from ending up in a heap on the concrete, sharp reflexes kicking in at the last second. He finally lets go of (one of) her hands, arm snaking out to grab her by the waist and yank her towards him in an attempt to revert their previous forward momentum. It works, barely, and they stumble-sway back into a sense of equilibrium.
Standing like this, with his arm wrapped around her, he notices three things. One: she smells nice, a mix of her usual clean scent and warm brown sugar. (The latter from her constant snacking habits, probably.) Two: her body slots in nicely against his, the top of her head tucking in neatly under his chin. (Technically he'd noticed this before, but it'd been a side thought and pushed out by other, more important thoughts.) Three: his heart is pounding strangely fast and loud in his chest. (Isn't alcohol supposed to be a depressant...?) He does not notice the fourth thing, which is that Marie and Albert have started barking excitedly in approval. Very 101 Dalmations of them, to be quite honest.
His brain, already slowed from all the alcohol, stutters momentarily to a stop. ]
Hm.
[ Hm?? He's really 2/2 in the useless replies department tonight. At least he has the good sense to peel himself away and let go of her waist before she punches him in the face or knees him in the crotch or even both at the same time. The good thing about all the alcohol sloshing about is that once his brain boots up again, he doesn't (over)think anything, skipping straight ahead to the important bits as he peers down at her. ]
Sorry. [ For nearly slamming her head into the ground and giving her a concussion. ] You okay?
[ Notably, he does not let go of her other hand. ]
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