Connor – 35 years ago
----------------------------------------
I think they broke my sister. More than broke her. Asteria fucked with her head, which I’m actually mostly thankful for. Why? Well, for starters she didn’t wipe her ass with me when she purged her memories. Small mercy, but what got taken in the process did rip out all the proprietary bits. You know, the ones making her a decent human being. Protection mechanisms allowing for self-control and thoughtful approach. Shit like that. What did she get? Emotional reprieve. What did she lose? A filter. She has absolutely no safety on that sauce shooter of hers. If her brain thinks it, it comes spewing out her mouth with reckless abandon. What did she one hundred percent not get? Rainbows. No damn rainbows, unless unicorns shit rainbow sauce that’s not delicious. I guess they do have those treacherous death horns. Maybe it tracks.
It’s ironic they’re allowing her here to babysit me. Meanwhile, I’m the one trying to keep her out of trouble. I have a different respect for my wardens now. Trying to wrangle someone who gives zero fucks is not a fun job. I’m surprised they didn’t recycle me years ago. Props to the Scholars and their golden relay for making that sun shine right out my ass.
Again, I’m mostly thankful. I’m getting sugary sauce. I’m the only one. Everyone else gets salt, pepper, jalapeño powder, or whatever the fuck else. Part of me selfishly likes that shit. I’ve held onto the idea of familial connection being my gravity for fifteen years, and I was right. We’re tightly knit. That’s indisputable. Two peas in a pod if one of the peas is chewed up by a caterpillar. Shit, I hope she has her butterfly moment soon. The other part of me is scared to death. Of our death. Literally. If she keeps pissing on the welcome rug, they’ll recycle her ass and mine by association.
She’s settling in well enough. Objectively. She doesn’t freak out or have any night terrors. Nothing like that. She’s just…hollow. It’s sort of fucked up. Asteria scooped out all the good shit inside her and funnelled it into me. My guilt bucket? That bitch is full as fuck from how happy I am having her near me.
I’ll tell you this. Her being here has an undeniably positive impact on me. My behaviour? Top notch. I’m the best little soldier that ever could. Yes sir is my middle name. Right next to joy. Connor Joy Yes Sir Doran. I mean, it probably has more to do with fear of her saying something inexcusable to the wrong person, but improvement is improvement, and any improvement can’t be bad, right? The reason is moot. Besides, it’s fairly unlikely she’ll have the opportunity to piss the wrong person off. Tyler enacted a communication embargo with the Sentry. Silence is golden, Folks. The team treats her like mud. Well, not quite like mud. More with indifference. She’s not even a fly worth swatting.
She doesn’t seem to mind either. No complaints on that end. Her acceptance of all this is baffling but not unappreciated. Not that complaints would change the shun front situation. When any higher ranking member gives an order, we follow. That’s how this shit operates. A well oiled machine…with a few squeaky wheels.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
The Sinsear Tribunal is split in quarters. Each element has a different faction, with different responsibilities. The air element, led by Asteria, handles the Scholars, containing the Readers, Writers, and Archives. The water element, led by Murphy, handles the Senate, which is halved down the middle. One side represents humans, while the other represents elementals. Any formal laws flow through them. The earth element, led by Tyler, handles the Sentry. I’m a Scout. That’s a specialization. We’re feet on the street. We provide protection and maintain order. The fire element...well, there’s only Shane. Fire Supreme. He doesn’t really have a faction. He’s the whole firing squad. Judge, jury, and executioner. Seriously scary dude not to be trifled with.
Anyway, the gag order isn’t terrible. It’s working as much in reverse to protect her, and subsequently me, as it is to maintain Tribunal security. I do wonder how that’ll function long-term though. She needs more company than me and Asteria. I don’t think you can technically count Sheelin because that bitch doesn’t talk back, or maybe that makes her an ideal sounding board, considering the state of Molly’s trigger happy sauce shooter.
She’ll get bored before long, sitting around watching black and white reruns on her memory stone. Then what? Sheelin has sweet fuck all in terms of entertainment, outside the pit. Would she want to watch Sentry members pummeling the fuck out of each other for shits and giggles? Hmm. It’s an idea. She might like it. Then again, she might be appalled. Things as they are, I’m leaning on the heavy side of like. Worth a shot.
That still doesn’t answer the problem of duration. Seems there are three potential paths here. One, she stays human and eventually dies, leaving me alone. Two, they try to convert her and she dies, leaving me alone. Three, she pisses the wrong person off and she dies, leaving me alone. Nah. They’ll kill me too in that case. I’m good as dead without her anyway, so I may as well put my bet on the third path. A jaunt to the recycling room. At least it’ll be quick. Efficient.
Honestly, the ideal scenario would be them converting her into a Sumair, yet that prospect brings with it a litany of other problems, the major one being she wasn’t chosen by anyone but me. I was the chosen one. She’s just an accessory facilitating that, so the conversion could go wonky in any number of ways. Best case? Standard Sentry conversion. Worst case? Death. Yeah, quite the high and low of options on that table. I suppose there’s some middle ground. She could wind up with some other Earth Sumair specialization, without direct ties to the Sentry. That doesn’t leave me in better standing. She’ll still get the boot, leaving me alone. Back to the starting line of my solo Sumair problem.
End of the day, it’s not my call to make. Too bad knowing that doesn’t help in freeing up any weight from my heavy as fuck guilt bucket. Guess we’ll just have to ride this joy train to the end of the line and see where it stops. Is it a bumpy ride? Sure is, but it beats the berserk bus every day of the week. Hopefully, it’s a return trip. If not? Fuck knows.