that's right.

she remembers, vaguely. she remembers the blood, she remembers the chat. she remembers a lot of things, but she doesn't quite remember what she's said. she remembers the pain in her leg, which was brought up shortly after the memory of the door locking shut behind her. she remembers it all too well (and she hopes that she'll never have to again; that she'll be able to laugh it of as but a figment of a shattered thought).

and this was reality: one where she knows she can't exactly escape. even if she wants to - even when she desperately hopes to - she knows she can't.

with a deep and shaky breath, she enters the room and closes the door behind her, just as asked. her pokemon were the only form of comfort and source of solace she had in the presence of this cold, terrifying man. "i-i'm sorry.." she apologizes for nothing in particular. for intruding? even though she was the one who was called here. for her nervous behaviour? anyones guess was better than hers.

she seats herself, hands in her lap as she tries to hide her anxiety (albeit, poorly). "m-my leg is doing better.." she had it patched up by others, only for the sake of not putting them through what happened only a few days ago. "i-is.. uhm.." she fumbles with her words, trying to find her question "mcflurry o-okay..?"

Cillian Quinn

she's tried.

but when she did, she was turned away and asides. the shock, she imagines. she'd ask if she were okay, people would update her on the situation but, as a doctor, she didn't know how she was going to gauge it herself. after all, she was the one who dealt with the injuries (physically, but she was at least present to see the degree). yet she can't bring herself to attest: she could never. it would involve raising her voice. it would involve snapping back. it would involve the people around her snapping in response. she wanted none of that.

"i'm sorry.." she holds back the tears while paralyzed in her seat. she can't cry, not now, as she desperately tries to hold back the fear. she was a member of rocket, god damn it. she was a member of a pokemon mafia, yet here she was quivering like a child ready to be scolded by her parents (not that it was unfamiliar. not that she wasn't accustomed).

she knows she would die. she's narrowly escaped it, multiple times. each one less necessary than the last. she's too scared to answer, but she's too scared of the outcome if she didn't. so, at most, she gave a sheepish nod while her fists are pushed into her lap. her feet gently fidget on the ground, trying to contain her anxiety.

"th-the alter.." she starts, voice low. she's scared to go on. "i-i'm sorry, for wh-what they said... a-and did.."

Cillian Quinn

she's scared.

terrified and petrified, yet she doesn't know: did she actually do anything wrong? she doesn't know if the alter did anything wrong, and she's scared to ask. did she actually hurt them? did she endanger a life? she didn't know, and she'd have been too scared to face it, either way. her hands fumble against her stomach as it began to fester, with butterfree fluttering their wings and threatening to rip her asunder.

"th-they've never..!" she starts, mulling that over. they never what? they've never killed? she doesn't know what to say. Was she going to be kicked out again? was her father going to throw her out too, because of something like this? she was scared. she was terrified, enough for the tears to well up in her eyes. "th-they're smarter than that.." she sheepishly tents her fingers together, eyes lowering down to the ground. "th-they come out because th-they know i'm scared of blood! i-i know that they're a.. a handful.. but they've never killed anyone.." they just dissected them out of amusement, soiled themselves in blood and sewn them back together like pretty little dolls.

of course, wendy herself doesn't know that.

"they always come out when i'm doing my work like that, and no one has died..!" she clumsily explains, grasping for straws while trying to retort. she didn't want to raise her voice. she was scared.

Cillian Quinn

ah.. this was a dilemma.

she knows there was no death under her care. although the alters and stuff weren't entirely familiar with her, herself, their shared memory, however slight, would have been enough for her to know. she could only remember vague bits and pieces, but she knows they all left alive. she knows that the patient from that day left alive. she was more concerned about her mental wellbeing.

ironic.

"... th-then prove it.." her voice shakes, hands balled into fists as she holds them close to her stomach. the butterflies festered, threatening her with nausea from the anxiety of it all. "i-it should be easy, shouldn't it? i-if i actually killed anyone under my care.." because she would never. she'd already come to an agreement with said alter, though she's clueless as to whatever agenda they may be working with.

"i-i really don't remember what happened..! i just s-saw so much blood, a-and.. and.." her words stammer again, tears welled up in her eyes as she struggles with her own memory. it was foggy, and she didn't like it.

"if s-someone has died in my c-care, you can easily look that up, can't you..?"

Cillian Quinn