Jay nodded at each introduction with some variation of ‘Hey’ or ‘Nice to meet you’ for those who offered names. For those who didn’t, just a dip of the head. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it counted for something.

“Did you come here of your own volition, Jay?” asked Silver Blade, whose name and look both belonged on a comic book splash page.

One of Jay’s eyebrows did the facial equivalent of a question mark. It was like asking someone at the dentist if they wanted to be there. Nobody wanted to be at the dentist. You just... went. Before things got worse.

“Didn’t we all?” They shrugged. “I mean, I guess some people might be here because someone recommended it, but I’m pretty sure it’s against policy to force you here. Defeats the whole purpose.”

With a flick of their hand, Κάθαρσις’s front page shimmered into existence. They scrolled down, past the welcome banner, past the decorative flourishes, until they found what they were looking for. A tap, a pinch, a zoom.


Another scroll. Another pinch-zoom.


“As long as we don’t dox anyone,” Jay continued, “we can pretty much vent as long as we want. About whatever we want.”

The words came out easy. Confident, even.

For about three seconds.

Then Jay looked back at the page. Read it again. And again. The letters hadn’t changed, but they were less certain now.

Their gaze slid toward the Moderator. “At least… That’s how I understand it.” Or had they misunderstood the ‘obvious’ again?

"Wait. Where's Morgan? He was just here." Sirpa moved her hands softly across her warm mug. It was round on the sides, like a raindrop. The hell if I know. Sirpa just shrugged and returned her attention to the group circle she was unfortunately a part of. Best to remove any attachment now before she got too close again.

That didn't feel good, though. Sirpa gripped her mug tighter, pushing aside her internal metronome that threatened accelerando. She took a deep breath.

"Did you come here of your own volition, Jay?"

"Didn't we all?"

Sirpa listened as Jay continued to speak, followed by the being she met when she first arrived. "I didn't choose to come here," she said, shaking her head and keeping her gaze on her mug. "I didn't really think you could. Why...?" Wait, would this be a rude question? Or was it another one of those things her therapist said only "normies" were bothered by? She decided to ask anyway. "Why would you choose to come here?" Because really, why? This place was really weird. She would rather be at home.

At that thought, she noticed the fireplace to her left looked just like the one in her apartment. Then it went back to normal. Then it looked like hers again. She couldn't perceive the change in appearance--there was no flicker or morph. It just looked like her home fireplace, and then it didn't. Definitely weird. Sirpa settled in a bit deeper into the armchair with her mug.

“Why would you choose to come here?”

Disappointment settled, quiet and heavy, into the pit of their stomach like sediment finding the bottom of a glass. And with it came that old, familiar sensation of being gently, politely, inevitably edged toward the door without anyone actually pointing at it.

“Why would you choose to come here?”

They’d shown them Κάθαρσις’s exact words. This is a place to unburden yourself.

But if someone who was actually part of this was asking why someone like Jay—someone whose problems were six months stale and didn’t involve anything remotely life-or-death—would bother showing up, then... well.

Jay could tell when they weren’t wanted. They’d developed something of a sixth sense for it. And they knew how some people didn’t like to come out and just say we don’t want you here, so they found ‘softer’ ways. ‘Polite’ ways. Indirect enough to let everyone pretend no one had said anything of the sort. If and when you left, it was ‘on your own volition.’

Quietly, Jay stood.

“I came here because it was advertised that all are welcome to vent.” Their voice came out flatter than intended. Good. Flat was fine. Flat was better than cracking. “Obviously I’m not qualified to be here, though. Sorry to waste everyone’s time.”

A pause. A breath that didn’t feel like enough air. Then, because manners were manners: “Have a nice day.”

They turned and made for the exit—not running, because running would be dramatic, and this wasn’t dramatic, this was just leaving—but not dawdling either. The walk of someone who had somewhere else to be, even if that somewhere was just anywhere but here.

Heat gathered behind their eyes; their throat was constricting in a way that meant they had about five seconds before this was going to get dramatic.

Shame crept in alongside the heat. The kind that whispered you shouldn’t have tried and did you learn nothing from last time?

Apparently not.

You’re so fucking stupid, Jay.

Silas ponders on that rather than the presence of people increasing around them, the sounds of their words and laughter not really registering in an overlay of voices he doesn’t care enough to listen to fully.

Though, when he opens his mouth to respond, his body jolts when he feels the slightest jab into his side with a quiet 'gah!'

“ – when you have miserable meatsacks like this one over here,” He hears more clearly when he feels the jab, like his head knows this voice is part of what so rudely interrupted him. It has a pretentious tone to it, makes his head turn to try and see what the hell touched him but the lighting and his own lack of decent vision allows the culprit to easily escape him. Though he looks and sees that thing is still there at the counter, the large lizard dragon thing. Maybe just paranoid, it isn't real, just tactile hallucinations and needing to blame it on something.

He lets out a small growl of displeasure, drowned out by the club’s ambience. Whatever. Probably just some weirdo, people like to get touchy in these places, he just lets it go and the irritation drains away immediately.

Instead, he waves down a passing bartender behind the counter, not bothering to look up as they stop with a simple order in a flat tone, “Jack Daniels.”

He props his head up on the counter with his hand and scratches the blunt edge of his nail against the neon glass, bored maybe but he may as well bother the chick who started conversation with him first. That’s how socializing works, until they get annoyed and back off from his delightful people skills.

“So how’s your drink?” Silas says casually to the same woman sitting beside him. Riveting conversation, he loves talking to people so much. Maybe she'll do him a favor and leave or have a subject to blab about without his input that he cares little to add.

"Why would you choose to come here?" Silas hears underneath all the sound, so quiet nearly but he knows he heard it, his head locking into random bits and pieces of what people are saying. Yet, this particularly makes his brain spin with thoughts again. Who'd choose to come to a club? Ridiculous question. For fun, right. To be human or something. That why these places exist, to be near people. Or have nice beats and drinks while making bad choices with people, which is what he's more privy to personally.

Either way... He rather not dwell on that. He just wants a damn drink.

Silas' perception [+]

Silas felt Vicis poke him with his tail hehe.
He heard Sirpa somewhere in the background of the club he's in, I feel he can hear just about any of them if he focuses hard enough with moments of clarity but otherwise it's all just jumbled noise to him under club ambience and music.

Sirpa looked up when the being's hand touched hers. It wasn't the tiger thing anymore, but some other odd-looking creature that was just as frightening and comforting at the same time. She held its--their?--gaze as it stared at her uncomfortably. Then it spoke, and the coffee shop around her started to fade as if someone turned the brightness down on her surroundings. The other people in the room slowed. Sirpa couldn't tell if they had stopped or were just moving verrry slowly.

"What the fuck?" Sirpa's eyes searched the room, then looked back at the creature. Could it read her mind??? What was happening? What- "No, I-"

Then she saw Jay again, like a hologram. She watched as they spoke. How was this happening? Or really, how was she still surprised that something like this was happening after Wesley?

She looked back at the being when it spoke with her voice in a mixture of fear and, yes, still surprise. Mostly fear. This was creepy. Sirpa instinctively gripped the armchair more firmly.

"They had already told you. You asked anyway. Was it not the answer you were looking for? Or did you think they were lying?"

Again, her voice was small. "No, I-" She faltered. "No offense, but this place is scary, kind of. Why would someone want to come here to talk about their issues? Why not somewhere less...creepy?"

Jay disappeared. And the coffee shop...changed? The vision was sharper than the fireplace. It was like someone tore her visual field like a sheet of paper and put two other pictures on each side of her view. How?

Then everything went back to normal. Well, mostly normal. The room was still dark. The people were still frozen.

"Did you not believe us when we said you were always able to leave? Is that why you are willing to use Jay to test it?"

"I..." Sirpa's voice trailed off.

Truth be told, with all the commotion, she had forgotten that someone had said that they could leave. She could leave, so why hadn't she yet?

Sirpa looked around the armchair again toward the door of the coffee shop. It looked like a house door, wooden with a round, metallic doorknob. It felt blocked. Locked. Fake, or otherwise off-limits. Was that why she had assumed she couldn't leave? Why did she assume that? She imagined herself standing up and leaving herself. She could just go, right? But it felt like she couldn't.

She thought about what the being had said to Silver Blade. "So if you're stuck here? That's 'cause deep down you don't wanna leave."

But she did. Didn't she? Right? Was this another thing she just couldn't perceive in herself? No, she did want to leave. She wanted to be at home, comfortable in front of the TV with a warm cat on each side. She wanted the stillness of her home. She wanted to be in bed, asleep and cozy. She wanted to be home.

She wanted to be home.

Again, there was that rushing feeling. Was it anxiety? She didn't know anymore. It didn't matter, anyway. The creature was speaking again.

"Is that what makes someone a Normie? Expecting the worst of others?"

Painfully aware again that they--it?--could apparently read her mind, Sirpa looked back at the creature. Her face flushed. "No, um," she said, embarrassed, "I'm sorry. I know it sounds like it's mean. It's not." Sirpa looked down and away. She fiddled with the ridge in the fabric of the armchair and pulled her legs in closer. She spoke again, just loud enough to be heard. "It's just someone who's normal. Someone who's not...different." Different. Like the snarl on her mother's face when Sirpa pleaded innocence throughout childhood. Responding was not the same as talking back, Sirpa was sure of it. How come she had to understand adults but she wasn't allowed to be understood herself?

"I don't know what's wrong with her. She's just different."

Different like the top of her class. Different like getting abandoned at her middle school lunch table. Different like the sound of a word that was spoken so often that it became alien.

Sirpa felt a shudder move across her chest. She pushed her thoughts aside. "Expecting the worst of others?" She spoke in a near mumble, "Sometimes they do, I guess." She made herself smaller in the armchair. She wished the being would leave.

"There was annoyance, when you labeled Jay a Normie."

Sirpa thought about responding, then decided against it. Afraid of having her mind read again, she just fixed her gaze on the floor. Fragments of thoughts pushed their way into her awareness, anyway. It was frustrating for her words to be taken the wrong way again and again when she meant no harm. And it was irritating when it had a dramatic effect.

Stop thinking.

Then, a warm blanket appeared. Sirpa's shoulder muscles relaxed a bit, and her mind softened. She found herself looking back at the being out of the corner of her eye. She listened as it spoke, and felt unexpectedly comforted as it tucked the blanket over her shoulder. She absentmindedly held onto the blanket at the hem with one hand. It was soft and warm to the touch.

Sirpa followed the being's gaze to the coffee shop windows. It was dark, a winter evening black as night. But in the light of the shop, she saw the fog. And something moving in it.

Sirpa blinked in a fleeting recognition. Something felt familiar about this, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Even so, it was unsettling. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

"Do you find comfort in fear?" The creature asked suddenly. The shape in the fog had left, but the discomfort it caused remained.

Sirpa looked in the direction of the being, but did not make eye contact. It was odd. She had been asked some version of that question before from other people. "Is anxiety comfortable?" "Do you like being depressed?" "Why do you do this to yourself?" She didn't mean to do "this" to herself. If she could stop, she would. But maybe the creature had a point. Discomfort felt familiar. But comfort in fear?

"I don't know," she said after a moment. "...I don't think so." If anything, maybe she liked the comfort she could get amidst fear?

If the internet hadn’t taken its sweet time buffering, Jay probably would’ve blipped out of Catharsis before Silver Blade’s voice caught up with them. “You misunderstand. It isn’t a matter of qualification.”

Jay scrambled to cancel the exit—once, twice when the first didn’t register—and spun to face Silver Blade. Lag pretty much killed any chance of replying in real time, but at least she’d see they were listening.

“I… apologise for making you feel unwelcome. I’ve been told I can be overly blunt at times.”

Reflexively, Jay raised their hands. “No, no, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. (Not that Silver Blade did anything wrong—she didn’t. The apology was nice. The hand was nice. Everything was fine, actually, except for the part where Jay wasn’t okay.) “It’s okay” was the automatic default setting for every people-pleaser who ever existed. Factory-installed, impossible to uninstall.

Silver Blade’s hand hovered between them. Jay’s gaze drifted past it, past her, to Sirpa.

Disappointment radiated off Sirpa, pressing against their chest like a physical weight.


“Jay.”

The Moderator’s voice interrupted what was shaping up to be a really productive spiral.

“You’re welcome here. Whatever is troubling you—I’d love to help. Even if all I can do is sit with you and listen.”

Based on how Sirpa had gone quiet, visibly trying to shrink away from them, Jay had their doubts. They’d seen it. That flash of annoyance. That flicker of hope when it looked like Jay might actually leave.

The urge to do exactly that spiked. They were already composing the exit line in their head (thank you all for your kind words, I’ll come back another time), without any intention of coming back. But Silver Blade’s hand came into focus again.

Jay looked up into the hero’s face. Searched her expression for anything that suggested she thought it would be better if they left.

Found none.

So they took her hand.