Notebook

You said Vik was really different. What was Vik like before?

Viktor was gentler. Eager to learn? They were upset after the accident. I gave their life purpose again. Now they want to wallow in uselessness.

Actually, explain. Do they really torture people?

It's not Vik's fault! There are extenuating circumstances (a situation or condition that provides an excuse for an action). If Vik doesn't hurt people they'll get hurt worse, and they'll hurt other people worse! Besides, Vik says that Harold Parker makes sure they only hurt people who deserve it.

p.s. Sorry I called Parker Harold. Vik says I need to be careful to call people what they want to be called and that they don't know where I got that name from. I got it from a book I found with a funny little clown on it.

I'm sorry I broke the pen, Yongki. I'm not angry at you. I know it helps to hear that.

I don't think I deserve to be hurt by Vik. We were friends once. Or at least teacher and student.

I don't understand why things had to change while I was gone.

We should talk about something different.

Why don't you make the good flavors anymore? Banana is disgusting.

:(

If I make them smell good, you eat them. If you want the better smells, stop eating them.

That's not equitable ('fair and impartial') because only you would be able to decide if I'm ready. I know they don't taste like they smell now. I don't know why you had to make them look like desserts either, if they weren't food. That is bad camouflage.

Okay. fair. I'll stop following the tutorials all the way through. If you can handle mango for a week without eating it, I'll make something better. Like orange.

I would like to change the topic back.

You never leave the room anymore. When it's your turn. Ever since I confronted Viktor.

Is this something we should talk to the Doctor about?

I didn't realize Vik thought I was a burden. I did realize they thought I was your memory.

I never liked that. I never even knew you. Why did I have to be someone's memory? Why couldn't I just be me?

I thought we were friends. Me and Vik. I thought they liked me. They said they liked me, and K said so too. But now they get so mean to you, even though I'm watching too.

And they say such mean things about me to you.

I don't want to leave my room because it feels like a lot of work. Figuring out if Vik is my friend or not. Seeing them figure out if I'm you or not.

I thought I knew how Vik worked but now I don't know anymore. I don't know if they've always thought I was a burden. Maybe it's just 'now' me they don't like.

I don't know if I want to talk to the Doc about it. What if she says I'm a burden?

Yongki, you don't deserve to be treated this way.

You are not a burden. Even if you were, you never asked for Viktor to take care of you.

I don't think Doc will say you're a burden. If she does, I will tell her she is wrong. I think she can help you.

If we don't see her soon, you will hurt even more. Putting things off never helps.

Like that time you put off replacing the expired scents and everything smelled gross for a week?

Yes, exactly like that, Yongki. Exactly like that.

Captain's side

The former Captain of the Information team sits at his desk, back rigid, staring down at a notebook. A single line rests at the top, written in a bright lime glittery gel pen.

"You said Vik was really different. What was Vik like before?"

He sighs. What is the point in thinking too much about things he cannot change? He'd had enough time to learn that in his previous 'home', playing the part of some stranger in a strange land.

(In a lot of ways he still is, just in an even stranger one. One with just as many monsters and tunnels, but twice as much junk food.).

And yet, it can't be denied that he owes the boy. As much as it galls him to pay 'rent' for his own body... an agreement is an agreement. He'll answer any question the boy has.

Besides, the boy is most definitely something he can change. This little conundrum might be a great opportunity to teach him.

Careful to not let his eye hit the table mirror to his left, he picks up the plain and serviceable blue ballpoint pen to his right and neatly scratches out his response.

"Viktor was gentler. Eager to learn? They were upset after the accident. I gave their life purpose again. Now they want to wallow in uselessness."

A pause.

"Actually, explain. Do they really torture people?"

He meets his own gaze in the mirror. He feels a swirl of vertigo as his world view shifts.

The eyes he's peering out of shift from the mirror on the right. The right hand picks up a bright lime glitter pen and transfers it to the left; it gets spun around a few times, then beats out a staccato little tune as the eyes go over his sparse response. The body gets up and starts moving around, eyes roaming from spot to spot, pen being twirled around and tossed from hand to hand.

He hopes the boy doesn't forget that it's technically his turn. Sure, he switched over on purpose, but it was so they could have a conversation.

Finally, the body sits back down, and the pen messily scrawls out a response, eyes occasionally glancing at a pocket dictionary. It seems like a long one. He doesn't bother with the headache of trying to read it early; reading it backwards is a challenge with little reward.

The eyes meet the mirror on the right and--

He eagerly tears his gaze from the mirror on the left, preemptively picking up his blue pen as he does so.

He's not thrilled to be having this conversation, but it's always nice to be in control again.

"It's not Vik's fault! There are extenuating circumstances (a situation or condition that provides an excuse for an action). If Vik doesn't hurt people they'll get hurt worse, and they'll hurt other people worse! Besides, Vik says that Harold Parker makes sure they only hurt people who deserve it.

p.s. Sorry I called Parker Harold. Vik says I need to be careful to call people what they want to be called and that they don't know where I got that name from. I got it from a book I found with a funny little clown on it."

A blue cloud rises from his hand as he forgets this body's strange and monstrous strength: the pen in his hand cracks under his calloused hands, the ink splattering all over him. A huff of both surprise and indignation at the pen escapes him, and he can't help it but feel something indescribable and gut wrenching at the mess.

No matter. He gets up from the chair and starts the rote work of cleaning it up and getting himself a new pen and new clothes, as well as starting laundry on the old.

Vik only hurts people who deserve it.

That phrase stays in his head the whole time, like the steady beat of a drum. "Only hurt people who deserve it". Deserve it. Deserve it.

He didn't deserve it. He didn't do anything wrong.

Well. Besides the obvious, of course. He's not about to say that his little ◼◼◼◼◼◼ was entirely fair of him, but this universe is yet to disprove any of the points he'd raised during ◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼-- if anything, it'd only proven correct. This universe offers things their old home didn't, but ultimately, a tool is a tool. He was hardly an asshole for proving ◼◼◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ ◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼◼.

The bitterness only worsens with each passing thought, arms crossing almost on instinct. There was no logical reason why Viktor had to be so... mean, about it all. In the end no one was hurt, and this strange universe cleaned up even the fall out of his actions-- something ◼◼ ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ couldn't. Hell, it would even be fair to say he's benefited Viktor's little group by stabilizing the boy. He shudders at the thought of what everyone must have gone through, to meet a new 'Yongki' every few weeks or so. At least now there's just the two.

Finally, with his body and his surroundings clean and neat, he feels calm enough to resume the conversation. He sits down, picks up his blue pen, and begins to write.

"I'm sorry I broke the pen, Yongki. I'm not angry at you. I know it helps to hear that.

I don't think I deserve to be hurt by Vik. We were friends once. Or at least teacher and student.

I don't understand why things had to change while I was gone."

A knot settles in his throat.

"We should talk about something different."

He lets himself drift after looking into the mirror.

The body stands with some hurry: it grabs a little jar out of a storage bin and opens it up. The feeling of squishing between the fingers is ever present as the slime is gripped and squeezed, and with it, the strong scent of banana.

He can feel each muscle in his face contort into a grimace at the smell.

Ah. He must have upset the boy. He'd tried not to. Regretful. At least that fascinating Doctor had been helpful at finding ways for the boy to work all these new feelings out without harming anyone or letting him poison himself...

...and-- he has to admit-- it was quite relaxing to make the stuff. Helped him get a handle on the quirks of this strange new body, all the ways it demands for its tendons to stretch and pull with the force of a hydraulic press. Not for the first time he wonders about what happened to it while he was gone. How had it gotten so inhumanely powerful?

Perhaps at this point only Viktor knew. With that, his mood is spoiled.

He waits patiently for the boy to be ready to talk again. Yes, it was encroaching on his time, but... he'd just take a little extra time when they were done talking, to make up for the delay.

Finally the body sits down and scrawls out a new line, then looks into the mirror.

"Why don't you make the good flavors anymore? Banana is disgusting. :("

Ah, an easy enough thing to respond to. He picks the pen up, carefully scratches out a response, and abandons control to the mirror.

"If I make them smell good, you eat them. If you want the better smells, stop eating them."

The boy responds quickly as well.

"That's not equitable ('fair and impartial') because only you would be able to decide if I'm ready. I know they don't taste like they smell now. I don't know why you had to make them look like desserts either, if they weren't food. That is bad camouflage. "

He sighs, a smile ghosting his lips. The slime in its little jar hasn't been put back all the way, and he can't help but squish it into its container. He spends a bit longer than is strictly necessary feeling it as it deforms-- the body responds well to it too, as the shoulders relax and the back eases its stance. The Doc sure is a smart woman. To think such a childish toy could have such practical uses!

He writes his response.

"Okay. fair. I'll stop following the tutorials all the way through. If you can handle mango for a week without eating it, I'll make something better. Like orange."

He taps his pen against the notebook in thought. Is this really a good idea? He had been the one to ask for the topic to drop, but... now that he's thinking about how good the Doc has been for the boy...

"I would like to change the topic back.

You never leave the room anymore. When it's your turn. Ever since I confronted Viktor.

Is this something we should talk to the Doctor about?"

When the changeover happens, the boy is completely still. Oh, no. This is never a good sign. The boy is always in motion, always fidgeting and pacing and poking at things.

The body swallows, thickly, then pushes up from the desk all in one motion, tense like a coiled spring. It reaches for the slime again, only for both the slime and the jar to shatter under its grip. He wonders if there's a way to improve the formula, to make it tougher?

The worry is palpable. The body gets up, greedy for more slime from storage. It opens jar after jar, smell after smell, all of it mashed together into a big blob of colorless slime on the desk, the notebook carefully moved aside as the body works through it all. The smell is overwhelming, fruit and floral and spices all at once.

He experiences that surreal feeling of his own tension mounting, even as the body begins to loosen up.

Finally, the slime is shifted aside, and the notebook is given pride of place once more. He waits for the lines upon lines of text to finish as patiently as he can. It's irritating that the boy clearly doesn't intend to clean up after himself, but it's minor compared to his more pressing concerns.

"I didn't realize Vik thought I was a burden. I did realize they thought I was your memory.

I never liked that. I never even knew you. Why did I have to be someone's memory? Why couldn't I just be me?

I thought we were friends. Me and Vik. I thought they liked me. They said they liked me, and K said so too. But now they get so mean to you, even though I'm watching too.

And they say such mean things about me to you.

I don't want to leave my room because it feels like a lot of work. Figuring out if Vik is my friend or not. Seeing them figure out if I'm you or not.

I thought I knew how Vik worked but now I don't know anymore. I don't know if they've always thought I was a burden. Maybe it's just 'now' me they don't like.

I don't know if I want to talk to the Doc about it. What if she says I'm a burden?"

The vertigo that comes with the changeover turns into a more embodied type of nausea as he reads.

Stupid! How could he be so stupid?! Of course the boy was listening to every vile thing his former student threw at him. Every piece of vitriol Viktor had to share, he'd heard-- and Viktor had a lot of that to spare.

Sure, he could endure it just fine. He was strong in ways the boy was not-- at least, not yet. But every word he endured hit deep in the boy, it seemed. Hurt his confidence.

Wait. What the boy had said earlier. Vik only hurts those who deserve it. Those... who deserve it.

Ah. It all clicks into place. It's simple, really: the boy thinks he deserves the venom being spewed at him. If not 'him', then some other version, or the general concept of him. The boy believes himself to be the problem.

He lets the slime sit uncleaned. This matter deserves his full attention.

"Yongki, you don't deserve to be treated this way.

You are not a burden. Even if you were, you never asked for Viktor to take care of you.

I don't think Doc will say you're a burden. If she does, I will tell her she is wrong. I think she can help you.

If we don't see her soon, you will hurt even more. Putting things off never helps."

He changes over in a rush, hoping he said the right things.

Admittedly, he's never been good at this sort of thing-- rarely bothers paying attention to his own emotions or desires... and those of others, well, they are irrelevant. But watching through the boy's eyes, seeing the raw intensity of them and the difficulty the boy has in working through them...

There is no other choice but to be aware that ignoring them has never helped.

He doesn't let himself acknowledge the fact that maybe that's true for his own emotions as well.

The body reads over his words, pen tapping, slime squishing absently. The writing comes quicker this time. Good, good. The boy must be calmer now. The changeover is quick.

"Like that time you put off replacing the expired scents and everything smelled gross for a week?"

His spine goes rigid as he reads and rereads the words. That mistake... couldn't he bring up something else? That was going to stay with him forever. He had just been learning how to make the slime and didn't put as much stock into the instructions as he should have. A rookie mistake, especially in his field of work. The reminder that Yongki is watching his every move and recording his every mistake is not welcome, either.

But as repeats the action of processing those words a thousand times, he relaxes, inch by inch. Finally, he finds himself chuckling softly to himself.

To think that his embarrassing mistake could be used to help the boy understand something so important and complex! Perhaps it was not a total failure after all.

Pen to paper, he is gentle as he writes back.

" Yes, exactly like that, Yongki. Exactly like that. "