"^Then maybe we should try just that.^"
Sundance's words echoed in Sue's head as she recovered from the blinding pain she'd spent her entire adult life trying to keep hidden. It took a while until her surroundings had turned from an indistinct blur, only dotted by her sixth sense pointing people out to her, back to the vixen's dwelling. And, of course, all the little people present in it. The edges sharpened, and the colors saturated by the moment, until Sue finally felt normal enough to consider Sundance's idea in earnest.
Grieving was something she never cared much for, even when it was just her mom who had tragically left her life. She may have prayed a lot for her to come back, shed mute tears at glimpsing her in the photos around the house before dad took them down, but she never sat down to just... let herself cry over the loss. There was always something else she could do, or that dad wanted her to do, something more active and yet more hopeless. Anything but truly acknowledging what happened.
Because the one person she had left to look up to never truly acknowledged it, either.
It was an awful thing, it happened, and then normalcy resumed, even more pretend than before. On one hand, Sue had a hard time rationally imagining why her dad never did anything like that. Why he never made peace with his wife's loss, why he never noticed that it was eroding the family he still had left, why he never noticed that it was tearing him apart, too. On the other... Sue already knew why. Because she was no better.
Because it hurt so much. Because running away from that pain hurt less in the moment than confronting it, even if not that much less. Because that momentary agony felt so much more imposing than an incomparably larger plateau of suffering, built one distraction at a time. The world could never wait for them, could never wait for her dad. And so, avoiding it became a survival tactic. If it was the only way to keep their family afloat, then it was what had to be done.
And with each passing day, the wound they tried to run away from only festered.
Sue shuddered as she clenched her fist tight, and gritted her teeth at feeling a wave of anger crash against her mind. Anger for what her dad's actions had taken away from her, for every unseen scrape his neglect had left on her psyche until it had accumulated into a goring wound. She wanted to punch and shriek, to scream in fury about all the ways in which he had hurt her, for nobody to understand. For everything he had done,
And which she had inevitably ended up repeating.
The bitter reality delivered another gut punch to Sue's brittle psyche, forcing a stifled cry out of her as tears resumed irrigating her cheeks. They had ended up so much alike, in good and bad. And with that insight, the awareness of how badly all this hurt her inevitably cooled her emotions towards him, too. Worse yet, he didn't even have anyone to help him with it all. Didn't have anyone to step in and give him a hand before all the anguish could metastasize into shame at itself, at one's coping mechanisms becoming so painful it was impossible to even examine them, let alone the wound they obfuscated. Sue looked up at Sundance through blurry vision, smiling weakly as she wordlessly thanked anyone who'd listen for having her around to listen to her...
...
...
I wanted to say 'nonsense' again, didn't I? Is this just another way I've been burying all this for so long?
The split-second realization sobered Sue up just enough to let her wipe the excess tears off her face, and give calming down another attempt. Ultimately, the very thing she'd been running away from for so long had come to pass.
All this hurt! Like an absolute motherfucker! And yet, beyond wanting to lash out at the pain, beyond the subconscious desire to shield her wounds from all sight even as they festered, she felt this pain would be good for her. It wouldn't be pleasant—for anyone—but at last it'd help in closing that entire chapter of her life. Sue could only hope for that, of course. For once, however, doing so was... almost surprisingly easy. She had swum down to the very bottom of her mind, after all.
Nowhere to go but up.
With that realization to comfort her, Sue closed her eyes and breathed deeply, putting herself together enough to resume the unpleasant chat without breaking down again. Before long, though, she felt something touch her arm, some kind of rough fabric—a pillow. A plain canvas pillow, neither the softest nor the most comfortable in the world, but at least something to hold. Something to cry into. Something the vixen on the other end of the room didn't really need three of underneath her and could spare one for her pupil.
As one hand administered pets to Spark and the other wiped her tears with the pillow, Sue craned her head to check up on how the little ones were doing; what kind of drawn masterpieces were they working on? She saw little of the latter. Hard to, with their wooden canvas being obscured by their bodies. To her momentary regret, however, she saw some of the former—and vice versa. Joy's effortless glance over her shoulder left the girl worried, making her drop the stick of charcoal she was holding and waddle over to her guardian.
Her untranslated words sounded concerned, leaving Sue worried about her troubles rubbing off on others. With a few deep breaths, though, she overlooked said worries for long enough to let herself actually address them. She leaned forward, making sure to not accidentally poke the curled-up Spark with her horn, before holding Joy's hand as the girl hugged her uninjured leg.
"I'm here Joy, I'm here," she whispered, shooting the girl a soft, if tired, smile. "I'm crying a bit, yes, but I'm doing well. Sundance is looking out for me, and everything is going to be okay." Of course, the lacking translation was an issue in the other direction too, but Sue didn't hesitate to ask for help. Restoring the translation between her and the kids was best avoided for now—they weren't quite done talking with Sundance, after all—but Joy deserved an explanation. "Sundance, c-could you pass on to her what I just said?"
Sue sighed as the fox responded with a wide smile and a slow, understanding nod. She watched Joy perk up and turn towards the vixen as the words were soundlessly passed onto her, all the while opening the girl to some more affection on her maw. And this time, she'd even figured out how to keep it gentle enough to not startle her.
I really wonder what her skeleton looks like, though.
With the last of the affection received and her guardian's leg held tight one last time, Joy turned around and returned to the play area, catching Twinkle's attention with her sudden return. Or rather, making the ghost realize she had even left to begin with. They turned towards her, and she didn't hesitate to send a wave their way. To her relief, they seemed satisfied with that sight alone, especially when accompanied by Joy saying something to them in her rough, growly, cute voice. They didn't understand it, of course, but their... friend was calm. And that's all that mattered.
And Sue was calm, too. Enough so to finally tackle the heavy topic ahead of them again. "Okay. I-I think I can continue now," she said, petting Spark's back while the lil' fox tried her hardest to huddle even closer to her midriff.
"^Excellent. I hope this conversation has been providing some reprieve, however painful,^" Sundance answered, looking up from the little one's drawings.
"Oh, it's definitely painful; lemme tell you that much," Sue chuckled dryly. "But... yeah, it's still some reprieve, at least. It's easier to understand why I feel this way now. And even though I still do feel that awful way a bit, it's much weaker now. It feels like something I can face now, and not just something I'll have to run away from forever, like—"
Sue blinked at the tangent, thinking back to moments earlier with her thoughts about her dad. She sighed, and continued—"Like he's done in the past, and like I've been doing, too."
"^It gets tiring, doesn't it?^"
The Forest Guardian considered Sundance's question, slowly tilting her head to the sides. "Kiiinda. I suppose moment to moment it does hurt and tire you, but it's also hard to notice it doing that until it gets really strong. Just sits there in the corner, being a vampire and sucking a little bit of our strength at a time."
Sue put on a confident-ish smile at her point, glad to have finally made a decent comparison herself. Or, at least, a decent comparison to a potential audience who knew what the folklore creature she had referred to even was. "^...forgive me for the tangent, but—are there really creatures in your world that feed by sucking others' blood?^"
Oh, Neptune.
At least this question had a straightforward answer. Key word 'had', as the instant Sue thought about it, she realized that just answering with 'no' would commit the worst sin known to man, mutant or god—be technically incorrect. "Yes, but the 'vampires' I offhandedly brought up don't exist. They're—they're a folklore thing. It's only like mosquitoes and leeches that feed on blood like that, I think."
"^Ahhh, lesser beings, then. Either way, I see your intent now, and your comparison is accurate.^"
The phrase 'lesser beings' sounded very unlike what Sue expected Sundance to ever say, and a part of her really wanted to inquire about just what she meant by that. Alas, said part was summarily overruled by all the other neurons, eager to keep up their streak of tackling uncomfortable topics and get into the next step of the process. "I'm glad. So, this mourning. Is there anything specific you mean by that, or just... crying about the dead for a while until the tears stop?"
"^Your description is broadly correct. However, it ideally is much more than just crying,^" Sundance clarified. "^Beyond just expressing sadness, it's supposed to be a time for us to come to terms with all our feelings about those we lost, and let them out. Further still, even that description is incomplete, as it is just one kind of mourning.^"
Sue raised her eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'one kind'? What other kinds of mourning are there, then?"
The smirk on her mentor's expression grew two sizes at her words—seems she had inadvertently walked right into the point the vixen had wanted her to. "^The other one that I feel is relevant here is mourning for what wasn't. If you feel you're capable of it, think of what else you've lost with your parents' passing, beyond simply them as people.^"
The once-human wasn't yet convinced this wasn't a point made entirely out of pedantry, but she played along. "You mean like, their house, or...?"
"^Your future with them.^"
Sue leaned back at the straightforward clarification—and remained somewhat confused. Because... yeah, that kinda went without saying, didn't it? She lost her parents, which by definition also meant losing the future she could've had with them. "Riiiight. That feels kinda obvious," she muttered, uncertain.
"^Oh, I am not saying that it isn't obvious—but that, obvious as it is, we still need to mourn for it. Mourn for the future we never had, memories we could never remember, achievements we could never cherish. All the things we could never be, the different paths our lives might have taken, but didn't because of reasons outside of our control.^"
The clarification helped. To Sue's surprise, even it was enough to stir some emotion within her, catching her by surprise as she thought back to the times when she remembered hurting for that stolen future. "I-I used to daydream a lot about my mom turning out to have survived, or having suddenly showed up when everyone thought she was dead, and our life magically returning to how it was before. Is... is it something like that?" Sue asked, wiping her face of the tears that had sneaked up on her as she went over her childhood hopes.
"^Exactly. They... they are sweet. I know full well just how alluring it can be, that pretense that things hadn't gone wrong. And maybe, in some other time, some other world, things would indeed have not gone wrong. But they did in our world, and at some point we have to make peace with that. To look at everything we've lost, all the paths through our lives that had been stolen from us by cruel Fate or someone else's actions, and accept that they're gone without lingering on them.^" Sue was about to respond with an immediate point, before the vixen put a bow on her idea, taking her pupil aback. "^And to accept ourselves as we are, on the path we had either stumbled upon or been forced into.^"
Sue shifted nervously in her seat, one pointed fingertip repeatedly tapping on the pillow in her grasp. She didn't mind the broad outlines of Sundance's point, but didn't feel comfortable with all the implications. "What if the 'things that had gone wrong' were awful and preventable, though? I-I guess it's one thing if it's just entirely bad luck, but what if the thing that went wrong was something that can be stopped? Shouldn't we use the events that happened as motivation to ensure they won't happen again?"
Sundance nodded firmly. "^We should, you're correct!^"
...
"I feel like I'm missing something," Sue admitted, petting Spark's back.
"^Sounds likely, yes. To elaborate on my point—making peace with the tragedies that have happened is not the same as not finding them atrocious. It's not the same as not fighting to make sure nobody else suffers the same fate, either. More than anything else, it is accepting that they have happened and that their awful consequences are here to stay, without denial or fury. As with everything else—you cannot move on if you're unwilling to acknowledge where you stand.^"
Sue stewed on her thoughts before responding, chuckling under her breath at how tied together everything she'd discussed with Daisy and Sundance over the past couple of days had been. The topic differed each time, of course—guidance on facing one's desires wouldn't ever be identical to a pep talk about how to learn to move on from mistakes—but the core thrust remained the same.
It all starts by facing oneself in the mirror, and coming to terms with what one finds there.
The realization calmed Sue down more than she expected it to. Maybe because it was another hint that she was on the right track, maybe because she'd walked this general trail enough times by now to make the rest of this trek easier than what came before. That didn't mean she didn't have any objections, or any doubts about some finer points—but this entire neighborhood of her mind was one that only ever grew more familiar with each passing day. Once terrifying, once disgusting, and now?
Now, it's just in need of some professional cleaning. Doubt these chats with Sundance count as more than a broom and a dustpan, but they still beat nothing.
"R-right. If there's anything else I've learned so far, it's that, heh. I still have more questions if it's alright."
The vixen smiled. "^It always is, worry not Sue.^"
"About being at peace and accepting ourselves with how we are now. Won't that lead to complacency? None of us are perfect, and I've always felt like I should strive to be a better person, even if my execution has sometimes been... yeah. B-but, if we get too comfortable with ourselves as we are right now, won't that lead to us just falling into complacency and resting on our laurels, so to say?"
Sundance's eyes danced around the room as her blunt claws tapped rhythmically on the stone floor. Of all the responses Sue expected from her mentor, a cheeky chuckle wasn't one of them—especially not one accompanied by such a sharp point. "^That sounds like it would only be a serious issue if you think that you as you are right now isn't enough and that you need improving.^"
Sue froze at the piercing remark, mentally scrambling to find a response. Try as she might to deny it because of it being reaching, though, the vixen's point struck true the actual motivation behind Sue's point, leaving her hunching over in her seat. Guess for all her progress, she still had a lot left to do. It was a realization that would've been crippling to face just a few days ago, and now...
She felt just about strong enough to keep moving on.
Just because her mentor was right, it didn't mean she had nothing to say in response. A response that never came, however, as the vixen out-sped her once more, continuing her point. "^If you genuinely believe you ought to improve something about yourself, then no—it is not an excuse for that. It has to come from your desires, however, from you looking at who you truly are and only then deciding on what, if anything, you ought to change. It is much too easy to look at all the people you could have been and exclaim that those are who you should be, however possible that feat even is.^"
'Coulda' and 'shoulda', my old, beloathed friends.
"^I cannot claim to know what person you truly wish to become, Sue, so I ask you—what is the one trait you wish you had more in abundance?^"
Sue nodded absentmindedly, calming her fidgeting hands by holding the pillow closer as she thought through the question. The answer was 'many different things on many different occasions', but from them all, there was one thread that was clearer to see than others. "I suppose I could stand to be more courageous—w-with the Northeast matter and all."
"^That is what you discussed with Daisy earlier today, if my memory holds?^" the vixen asked. Her pupil nodded firmly, making her continue—"^In that case, some other area would be preferable. Not to diminish what her chat with you had accomplished or the relief it provided, but I believe an older, much older example might illustrate my point better.^"
It was time to dive into the mental murk of memories again, and Sue... dreaded it less than she thought it would. It was still unpleasant, obviously, but shifting her focus from the events of the past couple days lessened shame's grip significantly. And since Sundance asked her for something 'much older', Sue guessed she meant an occasion from before she had become one of Duck's own chosen. "Before I ended up here, I wasn't very social. In college—think like an advanced school for adults—I was always too scared of people to talk much, so I stayed this eternal outsider. It didn't feel good then, and it doesn't feel good thinking back to it now, heh..."
"^That is a great start. What does thinking about that situation make you feel?^"
"Just kinda embarrassed. Not terrible or anything, but I continuously flunked my one good chance to meet people. I already had a year of it taken away because of the pandemic we had at the time, so the remaining time was even more important. It felt like I should've, had to take that opportunity because once it ended, meeting any other friends would be impossible. Which... I now realize is something that is quite hard to believe considering how social Moonview is," Sue chuckled, gaze sweeping nervously around the floor.
"^Well—yes,^" Sundance admitted, looking at her pupil in disbelief, "^but that isn't the point. The point is about how that self-perceived failure made you feel.^"
"Disappointed, mostly. It was something simple I knew I could do, I knew I should do, but which I never did, and eventually just seeing the cafeteria was a big downer in itself and so I stopped—oh."
The vixen tried—and failed—to hold in a chuckle. "^Ha. I will spare you another conversation about how shame ties into it all, because you already have a decent grip on it. Instead, let me ask you this—why do you think you didn't rise to your expectations?^"
That was something much simpler to answer. "Because I was scared of people. S-still kinda am, even. And everyone already had their cliques, and I was worried I'd come off weird if I just sat down with someone, and... piles upon piles of other reasons. Most of them probably silly."
"^Not silly if your mind takes them seriously enough to act on them. Misguided, incorrect, sure—'silly' is not the right adjective for them, since those impulses aren't stupid. They're not fooling around, they're not pranking you into coming short of your goals, they're doing what they can based on what you've been through,^" Sundance clarified.
Her pupil rolled her eyes. "Sure, incorrect then, nitpicking."
"^I disagree with it being nitpicking, but—not the point. Now, why do you think all those misguided impulses had their hooks in you?^"
This was where the conversation stepped into painful territory. Nowhere near as blindingly excruciating as it would've been mere hours ago, but still unpleasant. "Probably from how I grew up with my parents, right? I wasn't a very social kid even before... even before I lost my mom, and after, it got even worse and I basically became a shut-in growing up. Never as bad as some people on the internet—I still showered and didn't become a violent misanthrope—but it wasn't pretty. Guess that was enough to just make social interaction too scary by the time college came."
"^Are you surprised, then, that you failed to reach the expectations you had set at that point?^"
"Surprised? No, obviously," Sue chuckled, sighing in defeat. "It was quite the predictable outcome. I still felt disappointed, though."
"^Why, though? If you acknowledge it was predictable, then why feel disappointed with it?^" Sundance kept pressing the point—much to Sue's confusion.
"Because I could've done better! Yes, it was unlikely, but it was still possible."
"^That 'better' word you used there is quite indicative. That's not what I want to focus on, however. More so on the assertion that you 'could' have done better.^"
Sue blinked. What in the world did Sundance mean by that? Obviously she could've done much better; she had free will. It wasn't some magically impossible task for her. "Is there... something wrong with that assertion? Of course I could've done better."
Without skipping a beat, her mentor doubled down—"^Could you? From the explanation you just provided for why you think you fell short of your expectations, it certainly sounds like the odds of you accomplishing them were vanishing, if even that.^"
"It wasn't likely, no, but it was still possible," Sue insisted, growing slightly annoyed. "It wasn't a problem for almost anyone else there. Yes, I grew up as a shut-in, but there was no other way for me to get to where I wanted to be but to keep trying, even if it hurt."
"^Was it where you wanted to be, or where others insisted you should be?^"
The line between these two was a blurry one. Even in her terseness, Sue wasn't naïve enough to think that her desires were pure and untainted by her surroundings. The influence was there; the pressure was there; but in the end, they only acted on a yearning that has been there all along. "Where I wanted to be, yes."
Sundance waited for a few moments, looking over Sue with a raised eyebrow. In not too long, she was satisfied with what she saw and sensed, though—Sue had really meant it. "^Good! So, you wanted to talk to people more, wanted to become that more social Sue, right?^"
"An odd way to phrase it, but yes."
"^Was that more social Sue someone you could have become, considering what you told me about your experiences with your parents?^"
Sue was getting an idea of where Sundance was trying to lead this entire discussion towards, and she wasn't sure whether she liked it or not. "Yes, of course I could—actually, lemme just ask that head-on. Are you trying to imply that it was impossible for me to become more social?"
"^From what you've described so far, yes—barring any external influence outside of your control.^"
"So I... shouldn't have even tried to get better?" Sue asked, disbelieving.
"^That is not what I said~. Striving to become better is admirable, yes, but refusing to acknowledge one's circumstances in that striving only leads to further misery. Because of reasons outside of your control, you went through years of not receiving the attention you needed. You grew up lonely and weren't as good at socializing as you wished you were, on top of eventually losing your dad, too. These are not setbacks we can just brute force our way through, they require help from others.^"
It might not have been the bad-faith interpretation Sue had brought up earlier, but she still wasn't entirely convinced. "So what was I supposed to do instead if I was so doomed? There's nothing I could've done about what happened to my parents."
"^Yes, exactly!^" Sundance replied, making her pupil's heart skip a beat. "^Nothing you could've done there, nothing you could've done to prevent yourself from ending up in that miserable spot you ended up in. And from there, is there any wonder you failed to pull yourself out of that dark pit alone?^"
"No, but—" Sue began, cutting herself off right as she noticed the vixen perking up, as if about to stop her herself. She waited for long enough for her mentor to come to rest again, receiving nothing but an amused smirk in return. "I'm still not sure where you are going with all this, in all honesty."
The vixen nodded, taking a moment to gather words before replying, her voice creeping towards seriousness again. "^Let me be as direct as I can, then. It's not about not trying to be better, it's not about thinking you're a perfect being that needs no changes. It is, above everything else, accepting ourselves as we are, together with our shortcomings brought onto us by forces beyond our control, without shame. It's about not using 'what could've been' as a cudgel to beat 'what is' with. It's about realizing where our limitations lay, and reaching outwards for help with overcoming them if we feel we need to do so.^"
Now that was something more concrete—but also, which left a detail unaddressed. "But what if that help never comes?" Sue asked. "Or what if we keep reaching out for it, doing our best to change ourselves and reaching for others, only for all of them to ignore or blow us off? What if we fail?"
"^Then that... *sigh*, is a sad outcome,^" Sundance whispered, memory venturing towards all the people in her past who didn't succeed despite their best efforts. "^That is an important point as well. Not blaming ourselves in such a situation is one thing—we did our best—but it is not the crux of the issue now, is it? Ultimately, it's an argument and encouragement to help those you can; for us all to help one another. Sometimes, a nudge is all a person needs. Sometimes, it's just having someone, anyone by their side to ease the load of their anguish.^"
All wonderful messages—but still incomplete. "So, if you're unlucky enough to not have anyone to help when you need it, you just... fail? Die?" Sue knew the answer to that question already. Earth had already beaten it into her plenty. She still hoped that her mentor would have some out, just to let her avoid that cruel reality for a bit longer.
"^It is possible to make no mistakes and still lose, yes. Pretending we're in complete control of our Destiny is a blanket of falsehood that lets us avoid acknowledging that grim fact. Avoid facing our successes not being entirely our own, and avoid facing others' failures not being theirs. Comforting as it may be at times, it is still a lie. One as harmful to us as it is to others.^"
Sue nodded idly as she took the wisdom in, shaking in her seat despite Spark's warmth. She wasn't ever particularly religious, not even when both her parents were still alive and regularly took her to church, but the comfort of preordained Destiny wasn't lost to her. The prayer that doesn't ask for a different, more just world, but one that claims the world is already just as is. Where everything happens for a reason, where those who succeed are saints and those who fail sinners, where everything is its own justification.
Where there is no Capricious, Fateful Chaos—merely a Just, Destined Order.
A very cold, cruel world.
Even if she knew better than to assume that everything that happened to others was their own fault, it was exceedingly hard to pull all the hooks that line of thinking had left in her mind. Despite being reassured again and again, ad nauseam and then some, she had a hard time seeing her being unable to make those changes she wanted to, not being able to apologize to Northeast when she had that chance, as only a personal failure. As only her own sin.
Sue was trying her best to pull them away, at least temporarily, and it was just barely possible now that she was consciously aware of them. She didn't know how long such a state would last, though. Had to make it count. "H-how do I just... accept myself, both back then and now? How do I look over all my flaws, all the things I did wrong, all of it?"
"^You do not look over them,^" Sundance replied, keeping her voice calm at seeing the tension shoot through her pupil's body. "^You accept them, too. Pretending your flaws don't exist doesn't bring freedom—it merely gives them more power over us, lets them bind us all the more effectively. No, you need to embrace them, just as you embrace your strengths. Make peace with yourself as you are, woeful and flawed, burdened by grief and shame and a thousand different scars that make up our minds—and yet, beautiful all the same. As are we all.^"
Spark's quiet whimpers went unheard as Sue tried to focus, closing her eyes and gripping the pillow tight. Her mentor continued; "^Don't let those echoes of paths untaken, of things that could've been, of the people you could've become, browbeat you into misery over not being who you could never be. I don't think they would like that, anyway—to know they're used in malice, as a mallet for your mind to inflict harm onto you with.^"
Sue tried to focus on herself in the way the vixen had described, tried to encompass all of who she was as a person and bring it into her arms to embrace—but couldn't. She could try to make peace with some of it, with not fulfilling some of her dreams, but many parts of her psyche were still just too raw to touch. If she was to grow more comfortable accepting her mistakes, this sounded like a good one to take on—not being ready for the worst of that introspection.
Doesn't mean I can't do anything else, though.
Instead, she clasped her hands and clenched her eyes even tighter, shifting gears towards the kind of mourning she was more familiar with but one she'd still not done as much as she probably ought to. Sue thought back to her parents, trying to put together a vague prayer in her mind based on the little she could still recall from church. She doubted anything she'd come up with would comply with what her local priest's teachings, but neither she nor they cared for that. The latter, not least, thanks to no longer sharing a universe with her.
She had to start somewhere. And of the two people she'd lost, one was much more recent, and the wound left in their wake much larger.
Dad?
Her mental whisper into the void went unanswered, but she was too focused to care.
I-I hope you're happy, Dad, wherever you are. It's been hard to really process it all, everything that happened to both of us after Mom died. I'm only now realizing just what kind of impact it left on me, and it's scary to think about. I don't want to be angry at you. You were just as stuck in that position as I was, after all—weren't you?
Sue's expression scrunched, tears remaining in their ducts thanks to sheer willpower alone.
Just like I ended up in a spot where I couldn't grow more social by myself, you... you weren't able to come to terms with it all, were you? It's so obvious in hindsight, good god. We were both so destroyed by it all, maybe you even more than me. It's little wonder we ended up like we did. I wish you would've reached out for help when you had the chance. Maybe it would've helped us both overcome her loss sooner, maybe it would've at least helped me. I don't know, and... I don't think fantasizing like that is the best idea, either. All I know is that you tried your best, but I was still hurt afterwards for years to come. I miss you.
It was awkward; it was painful; but she was doing it.
I don't have to be ashamed of the person I became anymore, though. I don't—don't want to be ashamed.
Sue focused on that thought, repeating it in her mind as many times as she could stomach. She wasn't sure what effect it was supposed to have, whether the relief from it was supposed to be immediate or not. Either way, it wasn't doing as much as she wanted it to, even if she could feel the headache-inducing pressure in her head grow just a bit more bearable with each repetition.
The relief didn't last forever, and at a certain point the words had turned from reassurance to just empty sounds—as good a moment as any to take a breath and refocus onto something else. Mourning for her dad had been a… limited success, which left her antsy about how doing the same with her mom would go.
Only one way to find out.
Mom?
To her relief, the thoughts associated with her other parent were much easier to stomach, despite the much more gruesome way in which she'd lost her. There wasn't any drawn-out decline to remember, no second hand shame or trauma passed onto her. Only the image of a loving, radiant woman, colored that much rosier with the passage of time, and the accident that took her life.
I hope you're happy too, Mom. It's been so long, and I still think of you often. I remember the things we did together, all the camping trips you took me to, all the guitar lessons you gave me, all the strawberry ice cream you got me whenever I was feeling down.
The memories ached to be recalled, and the fight against her own expression of sadness was swiftly lost. Though, in a way, those were the easy, straightforward tears, something she knew that at least she had the full right to cry over.
It hurts to know you're gone. I wish you were still with me, that you were there to see me grow up and how similar I ended up looking—but you weren't. And I think... I think I'm finally okay with that. I think I'm ready to move on, after all these years. I still love you so, so much though, and I wish I could've expressed that to you while you were still around. I'll be okay now, I think. I have people looking after me, little people I look after, m-maybe even someone looking at me the same way you looked at Dad. Maybe if you'd been there, then stuff with Dad wouldn't be anywhere near that bad, but—it's okay. It's okay.
Sue held in a small flinch at that last point, at the release of tension turning sour because of the impact her mom could've had on her dad. She ignored that thread in her mind, hurriedly shoving it off to the side to concentrate on everything else instead. To grieve and mourn over the things she was ready to, to make a long overdue peace with that reality.
And, that small tangent aside, she'd managed just that.
Goodbye, Mom. I'll always love you.
The discarded thought was still there, small and shriveled and refusing to be forgotten wholly. For better or worse, she'd just have to endure it for now, grumbling to herself as she withdrew from her focused state. It wasn't a total success, not by a long shot—but it was progress. She didn't succeed at everything she wanted to, but... it was okay. It was okay to not succeed at things.
Things were okay.
With one final deep breath, Sue pulled her palms apart and opened her eyes—and almost broke into laughter instantly at the sight that awaited her. On the floor, beside her seat, Joy and Twinkle were mimicking her prayer to the best extent their respective anatomies allowed them to. The metal girl was clasping her hands while pointing both her face and her maw at the floor, while the bundle of ghost beside her was reaching up with a pair of tentacles, intertwining them in lieu of keeping them pressed together.
Both of them sat still and with closed eyes—and they weren't even the only ones in that regard. Further into the room, beside Sundance, Comet was just as focused as his friends pretended to be, entirely still as he sensed all the emotions in the room, now that Sundance had dispelled her sparkling barrier. Sue wouldn't maintain her focus at seeing all the tykes being so focused, and as much as she tried to hold her amusement in,
She just couldn't pull it off, not this time.
Instead, she broke into loud, relieved giggles, forcing Spark to scramble off her lap as she leaned in and pulled both the little ones onto it. Their reactions were positively confused, squeaking and clinging to their guardian as Comet babbled and wriggled at the emotions in the room finally clearing up. Twinkle wasted no time wrapping as many of their tentacles around Sue's stomach as they could, easing out only with her touch. Joy, in the meantime, pulled the arm, petting her into a tight hug—and spotted the glistening wetness on her cheeks. Taken aback, she asked, "M-more cry?"
Indeed—but those are the good sort of tears.
Glad at her mentor for having restored the translation in the room, Sue responded. "Mhm! I'm—I'm still doing good, Joy, and Sundance is still helping me. I was sad earlier, but I'm good now. Those were good tears."
Fascinated, Joy nodded at every translated word. "T-Tears not bad?"
A smile bloomed on Sue's face before she even realized it, the pride accompanying it warm and radiant. "Not always, no," she answered. "Some tears can be good. And even the 'bad' tears aren't naughty or anything. It's okay to cry."
It was such a massive insight for the lil' metal girl she had a hard time processing it all, her hold of her guardian's arm growing weaker as she considered it. No words in response—only a lot of relief and scooting even closer to the tall psychic's body.
Just a couple feet away, a much older girl had her own question. "Are you feeling better, Sue?" Spark asked, leaning on her friend's uninjured leg.
Not as much as Sue would've wanted, but... yeah, the answer wasn't really debatable. "Yeah, I'm feeling better now, had a long and very needed talk. Thank you, Sparkie."
"Yay yay yay—*ow*," the fiery kit shuddered, curling up to Sue as she turned around to address her mom. "Thanks, mom!"
"You are very welcome, sweetie," Sundance replied, clearing her throat as she switched back to spoken word.
Sue looked up at her mentor, the wordless gratitude clear in her expression. "Still a lot of... well, everything on my mind, and I'm quite tired, but I am better now, I'm sure."
"That is great to hear, Sue. None of this is easy, and any progress is something to cherish and be proud of," the vixen beamed. "And speaking of nothing being easy," she groaned, her expression noticeably faltering. Before Sue could speak up in concern, Sundance looked over her shoulder towards a basket of elongated sticks. She then rifled through them with her mental grasp, before settling on the straightest, most cane-like one. "I sure wouldn't mind having something to eat before bedtime."
Won't say no to that either.
Sue didn't even think about dissuading her mentor away from going out on a walk—she sure was attempting it in a much more responsible way than her pupil could've ever claimed to. Instead, she stuck to the vixen's side, offering her a shoulder to lean on, alongside her makeshift cane. The resulting march wasn't fast, but it was much more steady than Sue's early attempts at walking, while inflicting notably less injury to the vixen with her every step.
Not an especially high bar to clear, but Duck be my witness, it is possible to fail it hard.
Even Comet was cooperating so far, not wriggling too hard even as he squeaked in Sue's arms. He took up most of her attention, leaving the other little ones to march beside the adults on the ground. They didn't seem to mind that—all it meant was that Twinkle clung to Joy's maw instead of Sue's torso, the difference in weight unnoticeable for the girl. And even if it had been, having a wispy, pitch-black tentacle to hold with her hand as they walked through Moonview was worth all the extra weight. Spark walking beside her, keeping her company and warm, helped too.
If only she'd been tall enough to hold Sue's hand.
The increasingly orange sunlight nudged them to keep up their pace, but they weren't in any rush. For once, they could take their time, get comfortable, and just have something to eat. Tomorrow would be a big day for some of them, even if Sue was still doubtful if she even should contribute to carrying all the supplies towards Newmoon. Largely because... yeah, there was no way she'd be carrying anything worth a damn there, not with her slow pace and general roughed up state.
On the other hand, maybe they'd be happy to see her again? Even then, just getting there was itself a problem Sue didn't know how to solve. Again, something for tomorrow. Right now, they had arrived at the clearing.
The bulk of the tables were already occupied, but there were a couple of stragglers, and a few more that had just one or two people sitting at them. Sundance homed in on the almost-empty one not far from Poppy's stall, the plate of the person sitting there already almost empty. Sue, however... was focused on somewhere else.
Someone else.
To her relief, Sundance didn't react as she paused, instead trying to make it the rest of the way to the table by herself. It gave her pupil all the time needed to chew through the sight, her pointed fingers nervously tapping on her forearm as she thought through what to do here. Because she wanted to do something with the sight ahead, didn't want to waste the first good chance she had to talk with them in a while.
But what exactly she could talk about with Willow, she didn't know. She still didn't trust them, but... there were just so many unanswered questions. They weren't feeling angry or vengeful, merely distraught and broadly sad. Enough so to draw quiet, concerned squeaks from the lil' Moon Child in her arms, but nothing more.
Sue just couldn't get it. Couldn't comprehend how someone who had been so incredibly kind toward her and Joy could have such an issue with the night kin, something that should've meant so much less to them since they weren't even psychic themselves. She didn't understand—but wanted to. For all her past anger towards them, she didn't want to just leave them there, didn't want to discard them over just that. There had to have been an answer to this, maybe something she could say to sway them the other way. What exactly... she didn't know. Couldn't know. Only one way to find out.
Joy's harsh, confused squeak snapped her out of any further daze, prompting her to catch up and take a seat at the edge of the bench. Joy and Twinkle to her side, Comet on her lap, Sundance off to the stall. A perfect opportunity to chill and grab her bearings. If not for one tiny logistical detail, that is, one that she'd have to intervene with sooner rather than later.
No way is Sunny gonna be able to carry all the dishes by herself.
Sue patted the two kids and got up, walking up to the fox right as she was talking to the unpleasant ghost behind the counter. Trying to not pay attention to Hazel, she spoke up. "I-I don't think you'll be able to carry it all back to the table."
"—and for them—oh? Well..." the vixen began, searching through her mind for an excuse that would let her carry the dishes regardless, to let her feel more helpful. Alas, no catch, again and again. Her psychics weren't reliable, and her physical paws especially weren't, either—best to just call this one a loss. "Sure, sure," she answered, rolling her eyes. "Before I head off, I need to finish the order. Any requests?"
"I suppose something sweet for me and the little ones? Don't have anything more specific in mind, sorry," Sue answered. Comet didn't even come close to understanding her words, but couldn't resist squirming in her arms at the mention of sweetness.
"Sure," Sundance replied, taking the lil' Forest Guardian from Sue. "Hazel, something sugary and nourishing for Sue and all three little ones, please. Wonderful." With that, she headed off to the bench, Comet vocalizing his displeasure at being carried away from all the yummy scents through his many baby sounds.
Truthfully, Sue didn't care for a waiter position, especially not while possibly having to deal with any more of Hazel's... pranks? Shenanigans? Assaults? All three fit in different measures. Either way—not for her, and she made that distaste clear by leaning on the stall's wall and looking away from the ghost. To her dismay, that didn't guarantee she'd be left alone, and she was very aware of that. Though, considering the intense discussion going on between Poppy and her wife, she might've just been able to get through this without any further incidents.
Sue couldn't care one Duck less what they were talking—or more accurately, bickering—about, keeping her gaze trained on something that brought her joy instead. Namely, Joy. And Twinkle, too, the two soon catching onto their guardian smiling at them from afar and waving at her as hard as they could manage. Adorable enough to melt her heart on the spot? Check. More than welcome considering all the struggles and strains of the past day? Check. Eagerly replied to in kind? Check.
Rudely interrupted? Check.
Hazel's ethereal, croaky voice made Sue jump a bit, afraid to look at the prankster that now stood beside her, lest even more nonsense happened. Still, it seemed like she had no choice. She kept her expression flat as her eyes met Hazel's fiercely red ones. And, for the first time in her recollection, she saw in there one emotion in particular that seemed to be the ghost's anathema—hesitation.
Without any reply on Sue's end, Hazel spoke up again. Unfortunately, the communication would be necessary. Pushing through the many, many desires to flip her off or continue to just stare idly at her in a sort of juvenile battle of disrespect, Sue sighed and went through her linking ritual. Her arms were sore after a long day and she really, really didn't want to deal with the ghost's nonsense, but figured Hazel felt just about the same and wouldn't be bothering with her unless it was important.
Dial-up noises, dial-up noises, ding! There.
"*Sigh.* Yes, Hazel?" Sue spoke, not even trying to mask her emotions.
The ghost blinked, taken aback at her bluntness. Still, she continued. "Wanna... thank for caring Joy and lil' ghost," she grumbled.
It was Sue's turn to be stunned, focusing on Hazel as she tried to suss out whether there was any ulterior motive to her words, any sense of mischief in her mind. No such thing as far as she could tell, with the ghost's emotions dominated by unease, mixed with warmth as she turned towards the kids in the distance herself. The once-human still wasn't entirely convinced that the interaction was in good faith, but... why not play along. "Um... thank you, Hazel. I'm glad I could help them out, too, especially Twinkle. The ghost," she added, sensing the seed of confusion in the ghost's mind.
"Bag ghost Twinkle," Hazel chuckled, her unnatural smile gradually creeping back to its full size. "Very happy, they."
"I hope so, yeah."
The conversation wasn't gonna be winning any awards for the best flow or the least awkwardness, but at least it was progressing. Not even that was enough for the pink cook behind the counter, though. Poppy raised her twinkly voice from behind the backdrop of searing sounds, leaving Hazel cringing despite its gentleness. "Really?" she asked in return, looking over her shoulder with an embarrassed, almost pleading expression.
The unenthused flatness and tapping of Poppy's foot against the beaten dirt floor she got in return straightened her out soon enough.
Take that, you—
"Want sorry for prank," Hazel unknowingly cut the nasty thought off, almost bluescreening Sue's mind.
Out of everything she expected the ghost to do, apologizing was almost at the very bottom of the list. Though... sure, the apology was entirely unlike her, but when it was nudged by her wife and also motivated by Twinkle doing better under Sue's wings... she supposed she could see it.
Anger was tiring, and she really didn't want to push herself through any more of it. Sure, why not. "Well... thank you, Hazel. Apology accepted." Sue then did something she knew was a bad idea, bracing for regretting it soon.
Second by second, the hand she'd extended towards the ghost remained un-taken and un-pranked, though. Until, at last, she felt the unnaturally cold touch return her handshake, without anything underhanded. Hazel was even appropriately anguished for wasting such an occasion to inflict misery on prank someone, only proving to Sue that she meant it this once. "Thank, Sue. Look Twinkle, please."
"I will."
With the handshake over, Hazel wasted no time retreating into the kitchen, to Sue's relief. She returned moments later, carrying a wooden plate and a couple of small bowls. The two more bowls Poppy then placed on the counter in her wake, one larger and one smaller, completed the order. Sue realized what was going on just soon enough to grab them before the ghost could get back, wanting to bring them to the table herself. That's what she was there for, after all.
Ignore the thick, sweet aromas emanating from the bowls, please.
With all the bowls brought over and the little ones sat down in places where they could eat from them—mostly on the table—they all got to eating. Everyone sans Sundance and Twinkle got the same meal, though the portion sizes differed. It almost reminded Sue of one of the very unhealthy kinds of cereal. Marble-sized, gently fried balls of what seemed to be molasses-flavored cookie dough, mixed with seared black... spheres. They kinda looked like the individual granules blackberries were made of, but scaled up to the size of blueberries, tasting somewhere between the two. All that drizzled with a pinch of ginger and three pinches of sugar.
It was almost enough to make Sue overlook the topic her mind had latched onto earlier, especially when she crunched through the individual marbles of dough and berry and let their flavors mix in her mouth. Only almost, however. Sooner or later, it'd still return, and only nag her into finishing her meal faster before she'd waste the opportunity.
Once her greedy fingers felt nothing but the wood of the bowl and a few loose grains of sugar at its bottom, she made her move. Without saying a word, she got up, looked past Sundance's furrowed brows, and made her way to a table further into the clearing.
Willow was still there, having long since wrapped up their meal, but still lost in thought. It was only when she sat down at the opposite end of the table did they finally notice her presence, perking up as their eyes went wide. For a moment, Sue worried they'd just run away there and then, unable to look her in the eyes ever again. The medic sure looked like they were about to do it... and then, they deflated with a sigh, resigning themselves to whatever was to follow.
One more repetition of her ritual, one more ache in her horn—onto a long overdue conversation. "Good evening, Willow."
They perked up at her voice, looking away with an absentminded nod. "Evening, Sue. Hope day good, injury good. What thank for presence here?"
"I want to ask you something."
They didn't immediately react to the elaboration, evidently waiting for the inevitable follow up. Before Sue was about to present it, though, someone else butted in, someone that brought a pained smile to both their faces.
Joy smiled brightly at the medic who had bandaged her maw just days prior, waving and pointing at where the barely visible by now scar was. After her efforts were acknowledged with a gentle head pat, she ran towards her guardian, squealing happily as she was lifted onto the bench beside Sue without another word. At least she was happy about this interaction.
With one hand passed onto the girl for holding, Sue got to thinking, mobilizing whatever wits she still had about her to come up with the question. The one that would accurately sum up all her feelings about the medic, about their past, about their choices and beliefs, about their situation. One that would cut through this jagged, uncomfortable contradiction and maybe even convert them to her position.
Alas, try as she might, the words escaped her. Which left the fallback option, one almost as evocative if much simpler.
"Why?"