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[serialskiller]

Messages will be answered when I'm done with this episode of my serial.

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[not_the_last]

She drags in a breath of cool salt-smelling air, lets it all out in relief.

"That's it," she says. "That's what I'm afraid of. Losing that perspective. Forgetting what -- what the whole shape of the situation is, or forgetting that it matters."

Pause. "Or just ... deciding that it doesn't matter, so long as I'm safe."

[serialskiller]

"That sort of decision is something people do when all they feel they can do is survive." It manages something that's almost a smile. "You've survived before. This time, you're taking agency. It's admirable, Cassandra."

Even if it worries, it wonders if she's okay with it not being in the same space, mentally, as she is. But the thing is, it's made some of its own decisions on things and as long as she'll still trust it to have her back, that's what matters most to it. The security (emotional and physical) of its crew, which she is a member of, even if she might not realize.

[not_the_last]

"I've survived before," she repeats, dully. "Yes. And I want to take agency this time, but ... that's what I set out to do then, too. All my plans, all my little secrets, and I don't know if any of them ever mattered. I ended up doing what they wanted of me. Always for my own reasons, until it wasn't anymore."

[serialskiller]

It slides its hand across the railing until its pinky finger nudges against hers. No grabbing, no demanding, no force, just...the offer of presence.

"Yeah. Can I ask--what do you think of Skulduggery, at this point?"

[not_the_last]

When its finger brushes hers, her hand loosens on the railing and nudges in its direction, as though trying to creep underneath its hand without either of them noticing.

A long sigh, at its question. "I think he's sincere," she says quietly. "I think he does want to save everyone on this ship, and believes he's found the best way to do it. And I think he loves a being who's caused immense suffering, and hasn't stopped causing it, and doesn't intend to."

[serialskiller]

Its hand moves to cover hers.

"I think one of the things the Captain does is try to work so he can point at us and say we cause our own suffering, or one another's. I also think Skulduggery and the Captain aren't lying when they say this voyage is different from the others. But none of that is a true end to the suffering, no."

[not_the_last]

"No," she agrees quietly. "Better treatment in captivity is ... still better. But still captivity. And I --"

She has to swallow, to clear the sudden painful lump in her throat, and speaks carefully. "I worry. About what we might do to keep that better treatment. If given a choice."

[serialskiller]

“I think that’s a very sane worry to have. And I think I’m glad to have you thinking about that sort of thing.” It tilts its head slightly to one side. “I trust you to be the one to raise a flag if people stop thinking about consequences. You’re…”

Ugh, words are hard.

“…determined and aware. It’s a different mission than I’ve given myself, but I respect it.”

[not_the_last]

She wants to lean into its arm. Doesn't, yet.

"What would you say is your mission, then?"

[serialskiller]

"To provide security for my crew." A pause, and then it smiles. "Physical and emotional. I don't think I can be the one to resolve the larger-picture problems here. But I will be here for those I care about."

And if that's what it was made for? Well. This time it's not being shocked into submitting to that purpose. This time it's defining its crew and choosing to be there for them.

[not_the_last]

A long sigh. "Security," she repeats, like it's a longed-for blessing. "Yes."

And after another moment: "In the interests of that mission, then ... may I ask a favor of you?"

[serialskiller]

Its hand squeezes hers when she repeats that word. Gently, but noticeably, as it looks firmly out at the ocean, but not like at the ocean. Its gaze is focused on nothing at all, and it is very still (partly because some part of it wants to almost wiggle happily, at hearing that word used with such warmth. But wiggling is inappropriate).

"Anything you need. Yes."

[not_the_last]

Her hand turns under its hand, so she can squeeze gently back.

"If you ever have reason to think I've lost sight of ... of my own mission. Please tell me. Remind me that I asked you to tell me."

[serialskiller]

It holds onto her hand, nodding.

"I will. Of course I will."

[not_the_last]

Now she does lean into it, her shoulder against its bicep, and gives a quiet sigh.

A long moment of gentle silence, broken only by the soft unceasing lap of the water against the ship.

"... Have I ever told you anything about my guards back home?"

[serialskiller]

"Not yet. I'd like to hear about them. How they protected you." It remains supportive, but relaxes just slightly.

[not_the_last]

"Trisha was the first one. When I was just starting out as the Lady de Rolo, just ... a little over a year ago, everyone agreed I needed a personal guard. And there was this woman from town, tough as boot leather --" She chuckles slightly. "Won the arm-wrestling competition at the Winter's Crest games. I think that might have been how Captain Linden picked her. I knew more or less who she was, but ... we'd never really spoken, and then she was my bodyguard. There to put herself between me and any danger."

[serialskiller]

"And she made you feel safe?"

It admires this woman it will never meet for that alone.

[not_the_last]

"... She did her best. I wasn't very good at feeling safe, that year." Cassandra smiles; it's painful at first, then smooths out a little. "She made me feel that someone cared if I was safe, and that meant a great deal."

[serialskiller]

"What happened to her?" The question is quiet, gentle. But necessary. It is necessary.

[not_the_last]

For the first time since the conversation really began, Cassandra looks up at it, a swift movement, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Nothing," she says after a moment. "I didn't mean -- She's still first of my guard. First of three, now. Guarding ... the me who's still there."

[serialskiller]

"Oh. Good. I'm sorry, I didn't mean...you know what I meant."

It makes the briefest moment of eye contact, then slowly blinks and looks away.

[not_the_last]

"I know."

She looks away when it does, back out at the water, and tries to swallow the ache out of her throat. Saying the me who's still there hurt so much more than she expected it to.

"Then there was Bell," she continues (in fluent headcanon), after a moment. "They started as Trisha's night-shift counterpart. Watched over me while I slept. Or while I didn't. They were a hunter, before, used to working nights. And then ... there was a young man from Emon named Kynan Leore, who came to Whitestone after going through some bad times, and joined the regular guard. And ..."

A pause. "There's a whole story there. I'll try to tell it briefly."

[serialskiller]

"You don't have to be brief about it. We have all kinds of time." It offers her a bit of a smile. "I'll say, though, there's definitely something...rewarding...about watching someone while they sleep. Knowing they trust you sufficiently to be completely vulnerable. It's good."

[not_the_last]

Cassandra nods. Takes another slow breath.

"I told you about the Briarwoods, yes? And how my brother and his friends came and dealt with them -- did I tell you how that ended? I can't remember."