[It's night. The stars and moon cast a dim light on an otherwise darkened room. The kitchen table. Yuca, sitting in a chair, his head resting in his folded arms
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[She could heal his physical wounds and headaches, but nightmares she can't do anything about. She doesn't know Yuca well...but she doesn't like seeing people in pain.]
[She needs to talk to him moooooooooooore...SO I AM FIXING IT. WITH ANGST.]
I wish there was something I could do...unless you're physically injured or hurting I can't do much to help. Unfortunately, there's no cure for night terrors.
[Horst has been chickening out of going to talk to Yuca for days now. When that came on the network, though, he doesn't answer, he just goes. He knocks the door open and off one hinge in his haste, but there's a blur and then he's there, next to Yuca, steadying him.]
It's all right-- [No it's really not, he's just saying things to be reassuring]
And Yuca is sort of still trying not to cry. Horst catches him at the worst times, really. Understandably though, the figure of someone he doesn't know terrifies him. It's going to take him awhile to sort out a timeline, put the pieces together, remember things linearly instead of one gigantic, jumbled mess. And, for the time being, he can't place Horst's face.
Finally, he utters a few panicked words in different languages, none of them remotely close to English or German, and pulls away, sharply.]
[Horst lets him because they've talked about this and he feels like kicking himself for letting concern override all of that.
He keeps his hands up slightly, where Yuca can see them, where they won't be reaching for weapons. If he needs to he can intervene fast; for now he'll let his bff friend pull his mind together. He murmurs absently in German, something that he vaguely remembers his mother singing when he was ill.]
Mein Hut, der hat drei Ecken, Drei Ecken hat mein Hut, Und hätt er nicht drei Ecken, So wär es nicht mein Hut.
[There's a long pause, as Yuca swallows hard and looks at him, eyes wide with fear like a rabbit in the headlights. He remembers him. The curve of his jaw, the blue of his eyes, the tone of his voice. He's there- in there, somewhere. But where? What life? What year?
Yuca tried- contextual clues, his clothes, his hairstyle, but he couldn't focus on any bit of Horst long enough to glean anything- memories kept coming back, kept swirling and confusing him.
Softly, in a very small voice, he replies in kind,]
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...I seem to have forgotten your name.
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I almost killed you and then I didn't.
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[He repeats it, shakily.]
Flowers. No- not- just the dead ones.
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[He sounds sick or worse, and that means she sounds nearly panicked.]
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[Literal demons have been known to quiet down in the presence of her crystal.]
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people are- I have people
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Yuca....
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[He's at his very weakest point right now and he knows it. His voice is shaking, eyes almost brimming over with tears. Yuca shakes his head.]
I can't- do that. I can't- I didn't bury her. I didn't bury any of them, I'm sorry- it was my fault, but they just fall into pieces and I can't-
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You should have tried harder. This is punishment.
[What the PCD does record is what he says next: still softly, his voice shaking with concern]
You need to forgive yourself.
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[She could heal his physical wounds and headaches, but nightmares she can't do anything about. She doesn't know Yuca well...but she doesn't like seeing people in pain.]
Do you need help? Are you with someone?
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There's- people.
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I wish there was something I could do...unless you're physically injured or hurting I can't do much to help. Unfortunately, there's no cure for night terrors.
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....someone else will help.
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It's all right-- [No it's really not, he's just saying things to be reassuring]
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And Yuca is sort of still trying not to cry. Horst catches him at the worst times, really. Understandably though, the figure of someone he doesn't know terrifies him. It's going to take him awhile to sort out a timeline, put the pieces together, remember things linearly instead of one gigantic, jumbled mess. And, for the time being, he can't place Horst's face.
Finally, he utters a few panicked words in different languages, none of them remotely close to English or German, and pulls away, sharply.]
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He keeps his hands up slightly, where Yuca can see them, where they won't be reaching for weapons. If he needs to he can intervene fast; for now he'll let his bff friend pull his mind together. He murmurs absently in German, something that he vaguely remembers his mother singing when he was ill.]
Mein Hut, der hat drei Ecken,
Drei Ecken hat mein Hut,
Und hätt er nicht drei Ecken,
So wär es nicht mein Hut.
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Yuca tried- contextual clues, his clothes, his hairstyle, but he couldn't focus on any bit of Horst long enough to glean anything- memories kept coming back, kept swirling and confusing him.
Softly, in a very small voice, he replies in kind,]
...Wie heißen Sie?
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