Interrupt
§ 2021-04-05 00:00:44
[00:00] It took some time for Baishar to be ready for what Valcen asked of him. In the meantime, Valcen interfaced more gently with Baishar's qidravem at sporadic intervals, touching him in impossible places, turning the world into impossible colours.
After some careful tweaking to Baishar's sensorium that left him with no immediate, palpable changes, Valcen showed him that he could simply see the Torunyema's information without a cybernetic eye, revealing the broad strokes of the branching structure of his own mind to him, eeriely suspended in mid air in the middle of the Lair. The stars would have to wait, however, as there was no machine to talk of them to the qidravem, and the details or any control of the visualisation would have to wait for either a more refined program that Valcen was still working on, or, preferentially, simply a new cybernetic implant.
Then, finally, came the time that Baishar found the strength to try what Valcen had asked of him. It felt like a week had passed given how busy Valcen had been and how often he had woken, but it had surely been considerably less time, with his master simply calling on him at highly irregular times.
They were in the Den, where the soft ground would absorb the worst of his mistakes in timing. Valcen was running his fingers along the feathers of his spine. "You remember how everything disappeared for a few moments," he was saying. "You should be able to prompt that – the harmless variant – by trying to... fold your thoughts. Imagine they're the pages of a book and close it."
§ 2021-04-17 22:58:06
[22:58] All throughout Valcen's tinkering with Baishar's perception, the thought of turning himself off had been lurking in the back of his mind, lurking in the subtext. In between those moments, the thought wormed itself into his dreams, hovering between a promise of rest and a threat of all his desires falling apart.
In the end, though, none of it made a difference. Valcen had a reason for wanting Baishar to learn this. Valcen wanted it, and he couldn't hope to defy Valcen's wishes. If nothing else, the fact that Valcen was teaching him this proved that he trusted Baishar would use it wisely. He knew Baishar wanted to serve him, and would choose that over death if it was possible.
Valcen trusted him; Valcen believed in him. Even if he didn't believe in himself, perhaps that would be enough.
Baishar swerved his head in acknowledgement. The explanation made sense enough, though it hadn't really felt like anything had 'disappeared' the last time, so much as 'suddenly changed'. "Okay," he replied softly. "... And you're certain I'm not going to accidentally kill myself?" It felt like an admission of weakness; of course Valcen was certain. He wouldn't be asking Baishar to do this otherwise. But he still craved hearing Valcen say it himself. Surely that would put the last of his doubts out of their misery.
[23:26] Valcen chuckled curtly, as though Baishar had just asked him about something outrageously impossible, like whether he might accidentally displace himself into the centre of the sun. "Quite sure," he said, his tone carrying his smile. "The prerequisites are rather special; the chance that an accidental arrangement of thoughts would satisfy them is about as likely as would be you spontaneously combusting."
[01:48] Baishar couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, tinged with a note of embarrassment. Of course Valcen made it prohibitively hard for him to accidentally kill himself. Valcen had designed the qidravem, and he knew what he was doing. He took a breath and exhaled sharply, closing his eyes. All right, let's give it a try then.
Imagine your thoughts are the pages of a book, and close it. He imagined himself sitting and reading a book, the words splayed out in front of him. The book was his thoughts. The words he was reading were his thoughts.
Except they weren't really his thoughts, were they? Because he was still thinking outside of the book. He tried to shift his perspective, to become the book, the pages, and the thoughts all in one. 'These words are my thoughts', he thought, and read, and was. 'This book is my thoughts, and all I need to do is reach out and close it.'
Unthinkingly and without hesitation, he closed the book.
[02:02] Something mixed into his impression as he sank into it, something that sang to him that he was close to precisely what Valcen was explaining he ought to do, something that whispered across his vision as though to eclipse it, dimming the world well beyond the levels of even starlight alone, but it was clear throughout that it was strikingly subjective. The light never dimmed. The stimulus remained the same. But for a moment, it was nearly snatched away from him – a tangible transition into a void, unlike when Valcen had simply switched him off in all of its abruptness. Something had reached into his mind and, in time with how he had pictured his mind folding in on itself, squeezed, as though to help him with the gesture, pressing nearly all conscious breath out of him, leaving only the flimsiest gust to return him to awareness.
It was a disorienting awareness, flooding back in in only an instant, sharp-edged for its comparative clarity. On the one hand, it was disappointing that he hadn't managed to do what his master wanted of him; on the other, he had come so close in even his first attempt. It seemed like he had been given a dangerous power to wield over his own mind, like a self-hypnotic trick that would make his heart stop beating.
§ 2021-04-24 20:30:43
[20:30] Baishar instinctively gasped for breath as full awareness flooded back into him. A shudder passed through him as he tried to process what had just happened.
It felt like he'd come frighteningly close to succeeding, and on his very first try, no less. He felt a pit in his stomach, but it wasn't clear if it was the sting of failure or the looming threat of successful oblivion. Baishar swallowed, focusing his attention on the present. He was safe in the den, Valcen was by his side, nothing was going to harm him. Not even this would harm him; Valcen had said this wouldn't kill him, the worst that might happen is he'd bruise himself by falling over.
And yet it still felt dangerous, like he'd found a way to twist his mind into snuffing out his own life. ...Was that the reason he'd failed? Had his own fear gotten in the way of crossing the threshold into emptiness? Or had he done something wrong?
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly. He would figure this out. Valcen was trusting him. Valcen was counting on him — although he wasn't sure why, it was not his place to question it. Long moments passed, until he found his calm, holding it close to his chest.
One more try. If he didn't succeed, he'd ask Valcen for help. But he at least had to try once more. He laid his thoughts out in front of him, recalling the imagery of his own mind the qidravem had shown him earlier, when interfaced with the Torunyema. He focused his attention into the imagery, letting it subsume him, become him. Then he reached out towards its edges and began to fold it — more slowly this time, deliberately, anticipating the crushing void and steeling himself to embrace it.
[21:45] There was a new taste to the experience now that he was exploring it with slower intent. It was as though something had turned his mind into a viscous liquid and his consciousness wanted to roll down and disappear into a storm drain. Palpably, he was disconnecting from his body, leaving control of his breath and heartbeat to more primal cognitive functions, receding from everything physical that was representing him.
The senses were the same, simply disconnecting, not quite as only a single instance each; the dimness he'd perceived before came from a strange sequence of failures at object detection. His understanding of shapes disappeared in ways he could have hardly fathomed, never before having attributed them to conscious thought. Now there were lines and colours with no relation, as though there was nothing to group them together, even though nothing in the stimulus told him otherwise. The shadows of all things were everywhere, not so much bothering to blur together with the light into a single impression, but indistinguishable nonetheless.
Then the rest of his conscious cognition folded into a thin line and disappeared, slipping through the cracks of reality.
As last time, his consciousness came back suddenly and immediately. He was lying on the ground with Valcen sitting beside his head, fingers running through his feathers again. There seemed to be no tool in his hands, nothing pressed to the back of Baishar's head, suggesting that his mind had restarted all on his own.
§ 2021-05-08 23:06:24
[23:06] It was a deeply strange experience, feeling the gradual disconnection from his senses. Somehow he could tell that the senses were the same, but they felt dimmer, paler. The den broke apart into shapes devoid of meaning; shapes broke apart into colors and lines; then even those faded. His breathing felt like it was far away, entirely functional but beyond his conscious control.
Then his ability to consciously observe the world fell apart. Even thinking became difficult, as mental words became impossible to form. He couldn't tell what was happening; he couldn't remember why he was doing this, just that it was important he continue.
The void squeezed his thoughts into a thin tube, and he flowed along with them into nothingness.
Abruptly, the world snapped back into place, and it took conscious effort to hold himself still for those few moments of waking. He was lying on the ground, much like had happened the last couple times he'd been switched on, though at least this time there wasn't the sickening disorientation — it was more like waking up from a blank, dreamless sleep.
Otherwise, things were more or less how they'd been a moment ago — or however long he'd been out. Valcen was still here, gently running fingers through Baishar's feathers. Baishar closed his eyes and smiled. "I did it," he whispered, proud of his accomplishment — though of course, Valcen had done all the hard work, making it even possible for him to pull this off. "...Did the qidravem restart on its own? How long was I out?"
[01:34] "About three sapo," Valcen told him. "It did restart on its own, as it will if you try the trick in this manner. You can actually influence how long you'd like it to take, by imagining, in your mind's eye, this 'closing' to take that long. Which is distinct from you spending that long imagining the 'closing'."
Mental states were apparently tricky to talk about even for those in the know.
"Do you want to try again, ensure this is repeatable? Shall we try it under duress? Or do you feel confident that you can repeat this in practically any scenario where it might be valuable to you?" Valcen asked, his attention entirely on his protégé, soothingly running his hands through Baishar's feathers, his muzzle hovering close, holding off on a friendly nibble only by merit of being needed for language.
[02:17] Baishar gave a light muzzle-swerve — so it hadn't been long at all, like he'd thought. It was a little hard to understand what Valcen meant by 'imagining it takes longer, without spending more time imagining it'; at least, not without trying it out himself. But he could experiment with it, now that he knew how to do it at least in theory.
Afer a moment's thought, he replied, "I think I understand how to do it now, but... I think, if there's a way I could practice it under duress, that would be for the best. To make sure I still can." There was a hint of nervousness in his body language at that — a stark reminder that he was in Katal, that in spite of how well he'd had it as a result of good behavior enforced by mental tampering, 'duress' still meant 'torture'.
But surely Valcen had some idea in mind that wasn't just tossing him to the Hesha.
§ 2021-05-15 22:28:25
[22:28] "Prudent," Valcen agreed, adopting a look of contemplation.
...maybe he did not, in fact, have an idea in mind. But at least his body language promised that he was considering something other than tossing Baishar to the Hesha. Indeed, given what he was being taught, it was likely best if the Hesha knew nothing at all about what they were doing. Learning how to kill oneself was taboo. Learning how to escape into unconsciousness was at the very least offensively inconvenient to the them.
No Hesha, then.
"The question is how we can adequately simulate 'duress'," Valcen remarked, his tone revealing that it was like any other question of science to him – a problem to solve. "But if we want any proper measure of that, it is, by definition, going to be very unpleasant. For everyone's safety, that means restraining you. Are you up for that?"
A long-forgotten version of Baishar would distinctly remember what had happened the last time he had agreed to be restrained, the last time he had been at Valcen-za's unfettered whim. How he had sounded so reasonable, so accommodating, right up until a frightened Baishar had challenged the fundamentals.
And then he had simply done away with courtesy.
[23:28] Of course, that had been a previous version of Baishar. While the memory of that day remained with him, the emotional resonances were entirely different. Had he some capacity to argue with the past version of himself, he'd reply that of course Valcen withdrew courtesy when Baishar had challenged the fundamentals; they were the fundamentals for a reason. Valcen had told him that it would be unpleasant, that there would be whiplash, and Baishar had been inadequately prepared.
Was he adequately prepared for this, though? As Valcen said, it would have to be deeply unpleasant at the very minimum. He was sure Valcen had the capacity, both emotional and technical, to turn his life into living tkanala if he so chose. Even just using the tool he'd used to manipulate his qidravem would be enough to do that.
And yet, the thought of being bound, restrained, left to Valcen's mercy — it had an undeniable allure to it. It was all too easy to bring up memories of being trapped in the Torunyema, his mind gradually rearranged by Valcen's whims; it was all too easy to imagine this would be like that. It was a dangerous fantasy.
Baishar closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deliberately, trying to push the mental image away and clear his thoughts. No matter what happened, he was in Valcen's capable hands; he would make it through this one way or another. "I am," he replied, giving a light nod in emphasis.
[00:03] Valcen-za mustered him for a moment, as though to assess whether he was ready for the step they were taking, then swerved his own muzzle in assent and rose, gesturing for Baishar to follow. For an instant, it was a disorienting gesture – where would they go to? Restraining Baishar should be as easy as—
Oh.
It was the Lair that Valcen was leading him into, opening the door to it and pressing his flank into the door to keep it open. The thought brought back a thrill of memories, but equally the knowledge just how effective the Torunyema's restraints were, how they erased practically all wiggle room.
It would certainly stop him from thrashing or from fighting his way out of a proverbial corner. It reduced all of his options to resist down to verbal pleas and Valcen's good will.
[01:10] There were a few moments of confusion at Valcen's gesture to follow; it wasn't until he'd fully stood up and gotten halfway to the door that his eyes went wide with the realization of where they were going.
For a brief moment as Valcen held the door open, Baishar hesitated; if Valcen's plan was to restrain him in the Torunyema, there really wasn't anything he could do short of pleading to be let out again. Memories ebbed and surged in his mind, the memories of his past selves being bound into it, of begging and pleading, of the overwhelming waves of pleasure crushing any hope of dissent, of axioms and certainties dissolving and reforming.
There was a very real part of him that wanted nothing more than to feel that again.
[01:11] Then the moment of hesitation was over, and Baishar was in the Lair, his gaze locked onto the Torunyema's sinister frame. This is a test, he reminded himself. The point is to be able to turn yourself off under duress. It wasn't going to be like the last times he was in the Torunyema; it didn't even have the ability to interface with qidravema. This wouldn't be pleasant.
After long moments, he tore his gaze away, looking up at Valcen, his expression suspended between quiet obedience and desperate yearning. If this is what you want me to do, you need but say the word.
[01:30] Valcen did not say the word. Instead, he gestured it – a silent request for his molded protégé to settle into the Torunyema's grip. "Should Tanak turn up," he said. "We're testing whether we can get the Torunyema to interface with the qidravem, purely on principle." It brought on a thrilling mental image – how wonderful if only it were true, if only there was a chance his master's hand might shape his thoughts yet again.
Of course, he still could – the Torunyema simply wasn't the right tool to do it. It was nostalgia that made Baishar yearn for this device in particular. If he wanted Valcen to interfere with his thoughts, to play his sensory input like a harp, there were now far easier ways to do it.
Valcen's flank pressed against Baishar's as he began to pull the straps tight around his wrists and ankles, then looped the firm bands around his torso and neck, gradually removing the last of his wiggle room. Even though it wasn't necessary, he even tended to his muzzle, binding it down as he might one of the Torunyema's victims – with the rest of his body bound, Baishar would hardly be able to bite him, but he might easily hurt himself on the headrest if his reactions were at all frantic.
"Comfortable?" Valcen asked. It was an odd question to ask, given the circumstance – discomfort was about to the entire point of their excursion. Perhaps even gods had the one or other conversational reflex.
§ 2021-05-29 01:12:06
[01:12] The gesture was enough to confirm Valcen's intentions; Baishar dipped his muzzle and dutifully began clambering into the Torunyema's embrace. It was an odd sensation, simultaneously familiar and alien, the frame subtly larger than he remembered it being. From his perspective, he'd last been here maybe a few days ago, when Valcen had read in his mind and stored it away for safe-keeping, until he was ready to plant that mind into this new body. It was hard to imagine, even knowing that it was true, that the last time he'd been strapped in, he'd been in a completely different body.
But as Valcen fastened the restraints to his limbs one-by-one, all the memories and associations of this wonderful, terrible machine came flooding back into his mind. He remembered the overwhelming waves of pleasure, the clean precision of Valcen's motions reshaping his soul like wet clay. He remembered the sight of the invisible strands, he remembered Valcen forcing him to come to terms with the knowledge of precisely how much he'd been rearranged.
Being here like that again, being strapped in like one of Valcen's victims, to be molded and redefined — it made his heart race. He stifled a whimper as the straps closed around his muzzle, closing his eyes and briefly, privately imagining that their private lie to Tanak were actually true.
Remember what you're here for. The goal was distress; to see if he could turn himself off. ...Maybe if he could do this, if he could show Valcen that he could do as he was asked, his master might be kind enough to let him experience that bliss again.
"Yes, I am ready," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.
[02:10] "Good," his master said, walking past him flank to flank, brushing feathers against feathers as he disappeared out of view. For a thrilling, frightening moment, Baishar was left to imagine that pain was about to come – then Valcen simply resurfaced at a leisurely pace on his other side, walking to his office.
It was bewildering for only a minute, an impression of being forgotten or abandoned at such a crucial time, for no discernable reason. But once the seconds drained out of the scene and Valcen returned from his office, it was clear why he had gone – he'd armed himself with a bag of tools. Baishar knew only little about them, other than that he'd used them to work on both the takchei resejash or qidravem... which meant that they were adequate to bend metal to Valcen's whim.
"I'd prefer if we can do something that isn't obvious to the Nayabaru," Valcen mused, as though he weren't talking about how to make Baishar's life hell. "So, nothing that will overtly wound you, or disable you in any way." ...surely that went without saying, even in absence of Nayabaru to judge them for it?
[04:10] As Valcen spoke, a thin wire of fear traced along his gut. A memory of an almost-forgotten past drifted to the front of his mind, of Valcen-za strapped into the Torunyema — no, of Valcen, before there was even a -sha. Baishar was looking into his master's mind, doing his best to follow his orders to prune Valcen's empathy for the kavkema. Most of the emotions he felt that day had since been erased, but he still remembered a sinking feeling of horror when Valcen said he could easily view Baishar the same way he saw his victims.
Baishar had done the best he could at the time, with the limited skills and knowledge that he had, to distinguish himself and Ryrha, to isolate them as deserving of compassion. But on rare occasions, such as this one, he wondered if he'd been entirely successful.
The pursuit of knowledge required sacrifice, though, and sacrifice was necessarily unpleasant. Baishar was grateful that Valcen was here to show him the way, to aid him in mastering the skills required of him. He was afraid, yes; but that fear was important. It would help ensure this was a fair test.
§ 2021-05-29 18:22:08
[18:22] There was another variable to consider: How long was this going to last? Did Valcen have the good sense to minimise Baishar's 'duress', or did he not care enough to be mindful of the duration? It was too late to worry about that now, of course, if it even occurred to Baishar to worry.
There were indistinct sounds of rummaging in the bag, correlated with useless impressions of motion at the edge of Baishar's vision. Then Valcen's left palm pressed lightly against Baishar's shoulder. "Remember," he said. "You can turn yourself off. You have that ability. You just need to draw on it." And with that the only further warning spoken, a tiny point first pressed against, then punctured the skin by his spine.
It was startling all by itself – the sudden, effortless invasion of his body, unexpected in this form – but only a harmless precursor to what came next. In an abrupt transition, the localised mild pain between two vertebrae of his spine morphed into a shapeless, smothering agony that crushed at the joints of his arms and drew in through his ribs, pushing its claws into the outside edges of his diaphragm.
It squeezed Baishar's conscious cognition to a dangerously flimsy point, tossed about in the waters of an instinct that alternately told him to thrash his way to freedom, or to throw up to get whatever poisoned food rested in his stomach out of his system.
[19:39] The suddenness of the pinprick in Baishar's spine took him by surprise, but it was only the beginning. Before he could even react, the pain flooded through his chest and arms, faster than he thought was possible. His breath caught in his throat, his face distorted into a silent scream of agony, eyes screwed shut. He instinctively tried to thrash, but the restraints held him firmly in place, just as they were designed to do.
The pain crowded out his thoughts, effortlessly overwhelming him. Even knowing what he had to do, the prospect felt impossible. How could he focus for long enough to make it happen? He couldn't even imagine his thoughts being laid out, the mental image was too flimsy to stand up to the storm. Please stop, was all he could think. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I'm not ready.
But he knew it wasn't going to stop.
[20:14] The pain grated across his bones as though to grind splinters and bone dust from them. It was too much, too quickly and it lasted too long – any number of seconds of this were that many seconds too many.
When the pain stopped in favour of a dull, inconsequential ache where the needle rested in his skin, it felt as though an eternity had come and gone. His indecisive instincts rapidly switched gears to consensus: He'd eaten something spoilt and it was best to get rid of it.
Valcen made a cooing noise. "Too much?" The concerned tone seemed laughable in light of what he was remarking on.
[21:30] Baishar wanted to retch; it took concerted effort to keep the feeling of intense nausea under control. Coming from anyone but Valcen, the casually concerned tone would sound patronizing — as if he'd merely gone a little overboard, rather than... whatever he'd just experienced. A part of him wanted to ask, but he didn't want to know. Perhaps some things were better left unknown.
Of course, this was Valcen, and so the concern must have been genuine... right?
As the freshness of the pain faded and his consciousness found its way back into something vaguely resembling control of his body, the sting of failure came to replace it. Baishar shuddered in his restraints, making a pitiful mewling sound. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry. I can't."
[23:43] The silence that followed had the horrible taste of disappointment. The needle was still lodged in Baishar's skin, barely registering. Then Valcen exhaled, rubbing his muzzle soothingly along Baishar's neck, using his right hand to gently ease the needle back out. It wasn't so much a feeling of relief as it was a new aggravation of the status quo, but it was mercifully brief and inconsequential compared to what it had brought about before.
"Too much?" Valcen asked again, softly. "Do you think you could manage with something... less?" There was definitely concern there, but whether it was concern for Baishar or just for Valcen's careful plans, now threatened by his minion's weakness, was a different question.
[00:33] I don't know if I can. Fear coiled around Baishar's throat, constricting his windpipe to a thin line. What if he simply couldn't do what his master wanted of him, when under duress? What if he was simply too weak?
Slowly, he managed to breathe. You're panicking. Stop it, he admonished himself. The only way to know if he could was to try... and yet, the prospect of trying loomed like a threat, the memory of this last attempt looming like a threat. Please. Valcen needs this.
The silence dragged on for perhaps a minute longer, before he managed to break it: "I... can try." There was still fear lingering in his voice, but he was more afraid of failing again than he was of the temporary pain.
[03:48] Whatever Valcen had done to him, it had completely dissipated, leaving only the memory of the pain and the mild ache left in the wake of the prick of a needle. It already felt dangerously far away – he remembered his fear and the abstract notion of his suffering better than he remembered the pain itself. Minds weren't made to hold onto such concepts.
"Are you comfortable trying?" Valcen asked, mistaking the tension in Baishar's voice to be mostly apprehension in light of the pain, not concern for his own ability.
§ 2021-07-24 21:00:26
[21:00] The question lanced through Baishar's gut. It felt like a dangerous question, a test of his loyalty; it felt like if he said anything but 'yes', the entire house of cards keeping him together would fall apart. He was doing this for Valcen; Comfort had nothing to do with it.
And yet he knew the answer to Valcen's question was 'no', and he couldn't just lie to Valcen.
The tense silence dragged on for far too long, before Baishar finally inhaled deeply and spoke. "I appreciate your concern," he replied softly, his voice still shaken. "But please... please don't offer me a way out until I've succeeded." I'd rather be trapped like this forever than fail you.
§ 2021-08-01 00:53:41
[00:54] An obvious but invisible debate played out in his master's head, manifesting as a palpable hesitance. Valcen was smart enough to know that Baishar was not ready and that he was pressing forward entirely out of a desire to please – the kind thing would have been to abandon their present course of action.
But whatever had driven Valcen to pursue this scene in the first place ultimately decided his hand, and so he said, softly, "Okay," as though the gentle acknowledgement were at all in proportion to what it implied.
Then knuckles probed softly at the left joint of Baishar's jaw, bringing with the gesture the chill of knowledge what was likely to happen next. And indeed, the needle slipped in between feathers and under his skin, resting mutely for a moment between apprehensive fibres, as though Valcen honestly considered asking Baishar one more time, give him the option he had asked not to be given.
Then the moment was over and the thin metal implement twisted. With it came pain that flowered out from the point and rolled over Baishar's skull like a mounting pressure, invading the back of his eyes, closing his nostrils from the inside, infusing his muscles with an instinctive strain that dragged the back of his tongue down his throat from tension.
Formally, it was less overwhelming than the previous invasion, leaving more than a flimsy trace of instinct in Baishar's skull, but even terrible pain was quickly forgotten by the body, and it felt every bit as bad as before – although in looking back on it later, Baishar might then recognise that it had left him with a much greater capacity to act with conscious intent.
§ 2021-09-04 20:55:35
[20:55] Even moments after the needle twisted, it was clear Baishar wasn't truly ready for the task he'd set himself. If anything, he felt less prepared. He'd been so focused on trying not to disappoint Valcen that actually doing what he'd been told to do — even trying to visualize it, in the moment — felt impossible. It hardly mattered if the pain was, in an absolute sense, somewhat lessened from what he'd felt before; it still effortlessly overwhelmed him.
[23:27] As before, the pain dissipated almost as rapidly as it had appeared. There was a pregnant silence beside him, as though perhaps Valcen were caught somewhere between a perfectly natural urge to apologise and some emotion of looming failure.
Quietly, he licked at the feathers where the needle had punctured through Baishar's skin, no doubt to remove any trace of blood that might have surfaced through the tiny wound.
"The question," he mused quietly after a moment's prolonged, awkward pause, practically muttering the words into Baishar's mane. "The one we should ask ourselves, is whether whatever the Nayabaru might do to you is any less than what you just went through." The words did not sound like disappointment by tone – he seemed concerned, considering what their realistic options were, not yet frustrated with the outcome – but the question revealed they had taken broad steps toward failure.
[00:52] Baishar gasped for breath as the pain ceased, a fresh wave of nausea washing over him. Yet more failure.
Even if Valcen didn't sound particularly disappointed — more concerned than anything else — it sounded as if he was already planning around failure, trying to salvage the situation.
He couldn't fail again. He couldn't lose himself to becoming Valcen's failed minion. Not when he'd come so far, and sacrificed so much. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth, and forced himself to visualize what he'd been taught — to try and imagine his thoughts laid bare, ready to fold in on themselves at a moment's notice.
The mental image was surprisingly easy to call to mind — he'd seen plenty of kavkema bound into the Torunyema, the coral structure of their mind plainly visible in one eye. He'd been bound in this way himself a number of times, the hint of memory sending a chill of elated yearning down his spine. He imagined a part of himself reaching out to grasp the edges of it, and held himself there, focusing on it to the exclusion of all else.
It wouldn't be a completely fair test. Right now, though, it didn't matter to him. He had to prove to himself that it was possible for him to succeed. Once he did, maybe it would be easier to succeed without cheating. And if he couldn't... he dismissed that line of thought; it would do him no good to think about the alternative. "Please," he whispered, his voice wavering. "Again."
[01:02] Valcen did not react immediately – at least as far as Baishar could tell. His hands were out of view, somewhere under Baishar's muzzle, near his mane, not even brushing his feathers, obvious only by the geometry of Valcen's body.
No doubt an 'Are you sure?' practically lay on Valcen's tongue, waiting to be spoken – but what kind of god would he be if he couldn't effortlessly deduce the answer? Every fibre in Baishar's body willed the answer to be 'yes'; his instincts declared it a blatant lie, but no other word would ever leave his mouth.
A slow, soft, barely audible sigh. "All right."
There wasn't much more warning. Rather than slip the needle back into the already tender side of Baishar's jaw, Valcen reached around, leaning over Baishar's torso, and pressed the needle into the other side until it struck the previous nerve's twin.
§ 2022-01-02 22:21:35
[22:21] The silence pressed tightly against Baishar's chest, making it difficult to breathe without concerted effort. It strained against the mental image of his thoughts, but Baishar would not let his focus waver. He couldn't afford to. Valcen's spoken response only barely registered.
When the pain returned from its new origin, the whole thing nearly came apart again. Instinct tensed Baishar's body; an aborted scream caught in his chest; tears welled in his eyes. A single, coherent strand of thought screamed at him through the onslaught: Pull. And so he pulled, dragging his mind downwards in the desperate hope of abolishing his senses and freeing himself from the overwhelming pain.
[22:38] Somewhere between the desperation, something happened. It was a tangible process, like a previously well-oiled machine suddenly grinding against itself. It provided traction and support, dulling the edges of the ghastly pain, as though charting a way through it, providing a map—
Abruptly, the pain was gone, along with a sizeable chunk of time. Gravity had yet again chosen to shift entirely — Baishar lay beside the Torunyema, with Valcen petting his mane quietly with one hand, applying pressure against the back of his skull with the other.
A manual reboot? He'd implied that wasn't necessary, that it would come back on its own, as it had last time. Maybe he'd simply gotten impatient. Baishar couldn't remember choosing a time frame for his shutdown; there had been very little folding. Maybe the default, in absence of folding, was indefinite until someone turned him back on?
Either way, he seemed to have successfully escaped the torment.
[00:29] Baishar shuddered as awareness returned to him; the change in gravity thankfully registering as only unusual rather than disorienting. As if he'd just passed out from the pain, and was now coming back to his senses.
Of course, that wasn't what had happened. He'd succeeded, barely, but the victory felt hollow. He was free of the Torunyema's grasp, but hadn't properly earned it. If he hadn't had the chance to mentally fortify himself, it wouldn't have worked. Was it enough? Only Valcen knew.
A part of him wanted to ask to be put back, to keep trying until he could disable his mind with ease in spite of duress. But the words wouldn't form in his throat; even the prospect of speaking felt beyond his capabilities at the moment, let alone asking for more torment. And so he remained silent, staring into the middle distance, trying to keep himself together.
[00:40] The shudder evidently brought him to his master's attention. Valcen's gaze slipped down, looking down at Baishar-sha with renewed interest. "How are you feeling?" he asked, as though it were a simple question to answer, as though there weren't multiple possible responses Baishar could give, depending on context.
[01:36] The question rippled through Baishar's psyche, demanding an answer. How was he feeling? Relieved that the torment was over. Terrified that it wasn't enough. Torn between wanting it to continue and wanting to never be in the Torunyema again. Yearning to be in the Torunyema again. Valcen could fix this, a part of him whispered. Valcen could fix you.
"Overwhelmed." It was the most honest answer he could bring himself to give, and yet it still felt inadequate. Overwhelmed with the faded sensations of pain. Overwhelmed with the burden of living up to Valcen's expectations. Overwhelmed with the fear of failure. After a long moment, he closed his eyes, tears softly leaking out. "I need more practice before I'm ready."
[02:36] Valcen's soothing motions paused. Either he hadn't anticipated that response or was putting in an effort to give that appearance. More likely he hadn't anticipated the response.
"What, exactly, are you hoping to practise?" he asked, gently. "That seemed to work fine just now. Do you think it was a fluke?"
§ 2022-01-04 00:44:37
[00:44] For long moments, Baishar was silent, the questions nagging at him. Had it just been a fluke? Valcen didn't seem to think so; and if Valcen didn't think so then surely that was a good reason not to think so either. And yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd cheated.
"I... only barely managed, that time," Baishar admitted softly. "Even being as prepared as I could be, even focusing as hard as I could on being in the right state. I... got lucky. If I wasn't... if I hadn't had the chance to mentally prepare..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, instead curling up on himself. "I need to get better at it. At turning myself off." He opened his eyes, twisting his neck to look up at his master. "Don't I?"
§ 2022-01-04 20:31:19
[20:31] There was no immediate yes or no answer. His master was clearly thinking it through. The attempts they were making were not free – each time they tried, they ran risk of the Nayabaru turning up and asking questions. Their cover story would surely work once, but it was still best not to have to use it at all.
Valcen's tongue probed at his teeth in a contemplative gesture. Finally: "Going by your own self-assessment, how realistic is it that we can do this without strapping you down?" It was, effectively, a prerequisite to being unable to mentally prepare himself – if he was being strapped in, that was a clear, unambiguous warning sign.