Lars' description paints a familiar picture. Pinpricks of awareness crawl down her spine as the tale unfolds, and a hand presses against the back of her neck almost of its own volition.

"No." 

Yes. The lie is like venom as it slips from her tongue - and yet the sailor proceeds with steely, unwavering determination. While Darkrai's avatar is not anything that might resemble a friend, or even an acquaintance for that matter, Skyler cannot not bring herself to divulge her identity. 

Their clashes were their own - and existed, at least in Skyler's mind, apart from Rocket, League and the rest of reality. 

"A while back I was attacked by a nightmare-inducing entity."  That much, at least, was the truth. "They escaped before I could do anything about it. Took my treasure too." The annoyance in her voice isn't feigned - but it also doesn't last long.

Unlike Lars' plate, her own remains untouched.

Even the chilled tequila - no matter how high quality it might be - snags on the constricted walls of her throat, slipping down only when she stubbornly forces it to. The subsequent burn helps not at all with the encroaching memories.

She remembers all too well. She wished she didn't.

"I had nightmares." Her words come out sharp, short. A staccato of sounds that betray the sudden tensing of her muscles. 



For a moment silver eyes flicker razor-sharp and hungry; and then Skyler blinks, and it melts away.

"What did you see?"

There is nothing even remotely traumatic about Skyler's upbringing or her family story. One might even say she had a perfectly normal, perfectly boring childhood and that her nightmares are of her own making. Which is, in fact, true.

Regardless, as Lars' story unfolds, Skyler finds herself immersed in it. Despite spending enough nights (and some mornings) sharing drinks with her best friend, she knew little about his family and his life prior to her arrival. She wasn't one to pry, however, had never been.

"Wait, so-" She blinks, food forgotten as she reaches for another shot of chilled tequila. "Was that- a nightmare, or part of a memory?" Obviously dreading the answer, she downs some more alcohol. "Cuz that's fucked up, spiky." Her own had no memories, just terrifying possibilities, which she doesn't really want to think about now. Or ever.

Leaning back against the chair, Skyler feels her muscles seize for a moment. The skin between her eyebrows folds into a crease as she frowns down at her body.

What the hell...?

The story parts from Lars' lips in small bits and pieces, and Skyler does her best to not let her imagination fill out the rest. It's obvious that it pains him to tell it - to remember it - so the captain decides not to pry any further. Still, relief floods her at the thought that he still might have family out there that cares for him. And if he doesn't...

"You know you're always welcome in my house, right? And if you want, we'd be more than happy to have you 'round for Christmas."

Particularly aunt Jules.

The thought brings a small lopsided smile to her mouth, quickly erased when her own muscles pull tight. A small hiss escapes her, Lars' question receiving no immediate answer. Skyler shifts in place, frowning when a heavy exhaustion seems to settle over her shoulders.

"Nothing, I don't think-"

Her eyelids, she notices, are growing increasingly heavy despite her lack of sleep. And instead of lounging back against the chair, she's slumping forward.

"I think - I might get going."

Rising from her seat proves a more arduous task than she would've thought, and by the time she's heading for the door she feels as if she'd run a marathon.

What the hell?

But the sure sign that something's wrong is the leftover bottle of chilled tequila standing on the dining table.