I don't know what to do, or where I lost my way

[fightsfaithless]

[Teru doesn't know where he is. This is bad, it's terrifying, but it's not the worst thing, which is that he doesn't know how he got to wherever this is. He knows exactly where he ought to be - in Kamchatka, huddled inside a crowded tent among dozens of other people with nothing to do now that the fields are frozen. And he was there, just a few

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[faithinthefire]

[The layers, the glasses (in his world, you make what you have last, or you go without), the crowbar, and, most of all, the trapped look, the echo of the one Mello knows he wore when he first got here: they all say refugee. He holds up his hands to show he's unarmed, and greets the unfamiliar man in Russian.]

You're not in any danger here.

[Not in the hall, anyway.]

[fightsfaithless]

[And everything about this man says military, to Teru. It's almost a relief to see one of them here - whatever it is they want with him, at least now he can hope that all this will make sense. That he's here for a reason, other than that he's fallen into madness.

He can't let go of the crowbar, but he lowers it, makes his posture and expression go neutral and his mind blank. It's an instinct, by now, when he's drawn the guards' attention for whatever reason - don't provoke them. Don't give them any reason to do anything, to assert power over you. There's still a part of him left that screams at that, but it's getting quieter, every day.

(And for most people, a reaction like this would be self-preservation. For Teru it's not, quite. He's more afraid of hating than being hurt, the damage he could do...)]

...sir.

[That one's a scripted response, easy. The words for where am I, what's happening, how can there not be any danger? - he can't find those yet.]

[faithinthefire]

[If he had any doubt this man was from his world, it's gone now.]

Not here. We're a long way from Kamchatka.

[Much like Matt did when Mello first arrived, he takes a step back and spreads his arms slightly, as if to say: See? He's filled out to about the usual weight for a version of Mello, and though his outfit is still a rather severe dark grey, it's clean and unpatched.]

I'm called Mikhail.

[fightsfaithless]

[Teru looks him up and down, wary still, taking this in or trying to. A long way, oh yes. He's suddenly very aware of his own clothes, and the knots in his hair.]

...Mikami Teru.

[That's another automatic response, five syllables that don't have to mean anything, as long as he knows when to make them. The next thing takes more effort, but he manages to form the word anyway, after a moment's quiet struggle.]

Where...?

[faithinthefire]

A mansion that straddles realities, as far I have heard, and seen. It sounds unbelievable, but...

[He lets this trail off. Mikami will know that the end of that sentence is along the lines of 'so does what happened to us.']

You'll be hungry, I think.

[It's close to an admission that he knows what conditions in the Empire's refugee camps are like, though he would blame the shocking shortages on the climate, and the war, if asked.]

[fightsfaithless]

...no.

[Yet another reply that he doesn't have to think about, and can therefore say - this is already more than he normally speaks at one time. Part of it's that Mikhail is something familiar, a point of sense among the madness. It's not even really a lie - he's always hungry, just as he's always cold and dirty and afraid, and he never, never lets himself feel it.

He can believe that he's in some parallel dimension. He can also, and much more easily, believe that he's dying in a corner somewhere, catatonic. Which option is better, he hasn't decided yet.]

[faithinthefire]

[Mello knows he must be lying, and shrugs: whatever you say. He's seen people crack in ways far stranger than going nearly mute. But even though this man isn't really a citizen of the Empire, Mello finds he feels responsible for seeing him out of the hall, at least. He huffs, irritated with both of them.]

Follow me.

[fightsfaithless]

[Teru nods, once, and follows. There's a part of him that worries about this, about trusting the illusion too much, but the alternative is staying in the corridor where he doesn't want to be. And protesting would take too much energy, anyhow, even if he felt like it.]

[faithinthefire]

[Mello starts for a kitchen at first, then remembers how claustrophobic he felt when he first arrived, and passes by the kitchen door in favor of the stairs that'll take them to Matt's garden room.]

Most people here don't come from worlds like ours.

[fightsfaithless]

...hmm?

[Go on? he means. Non-verbal conversational sounds like that are much easier, and they cover a lot - but that's back in Kamchatka, where there's not so much he has to say, and people don't expect it of him. He doesn't think of it as covering, most of the time. He can speak, but he isn't inclined to -

- it's so much harder to believe that, here.

Stairs. Stairs are another thing he hasn't seen in years.]

[faithinthefire]

They don't have the plague, though I would hesitate to call them fortunate. Their war is on a smaller scale. But all the variations on us seem doomed, all the same.

[He says this with a certain grim equanimity, as if it's only to be expected.]

Don't be surprised if you meet yourself one day.

[fightsfaithless]

[And Teru freezes again, right there on the staircase, every muscle locking up all at once. Hard as it is for him to take all this in, it's not impossible, and two of those statements in particular just collided. Himself, from a world without the siafu. With his life, his career, his home, with faith in the justice he used to believe in so fervently, with hope - despite what Mikhail said about another war, that's all he can see, and it's the most dangerous thing he could ever have let himself imagine.]

[faithinthefire]

[Mello stops too, and looks back, misinterpreting Mikami's distress, though he would probably give this same advice if he did understand: it's the way Mello himself faced each day back home.]

It's best if you don't think about it.

[fightsfaithless]

[Oh, he knows. He's already pushing the image far down inside him, deleting it, emptying his mind again. His mouth opens a little, as if he could say I know. I try, but there's no way on earth he could let that one out, and after a moment it closes again.

The glasses are always askew, and they sometimes make him look very young, never more so than now. He doesn't know that. This is probably for the best.]

[faithinthefire]

[He takes another couple of steps up, then looks back. Mikami does look young, though he's still clearly older than Mello.]

What did you do, before?

[Not the safest topic, though some people do find it comforting, and it ought to at least get the other man talking.]

[fightsfaithless]

[Not a safe topic at all, no. But he wants to answer - wants to be able to answer - people still talk about this, some people, and it shouldn't be hard. Teru shuts his eyes, braces himself with a hand against the wall. It can help, not having to look at the other person (not that he needs help, he can do this, he can.) The words are right there in front of him - I was a prosecutor. Just that. He doesn't have to say I qualified shortly before the Great Panic or it was my lifelong ambition, to serve justice, fight against evil or anything below the surface of those few words. Doesn't have to open himself up. Only say something.]

...I...

[And he can't. His chest tightens. The knuckles of the hand still wrapped around the crowbar go white. It's not rational, he knows, and he must look crazy, he must look broken, but he's said too much already today. Open his mouth again and he'll spill out, all over the floor.]