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Sylvia's fine.  She's fine.  She keeps repeating that to everyone who asks.  She's all right.  John kept her whole, not even a scratch on her.  She's fine.  She's fine.  She's fine.

She keeps seeing Hamilton, feeling Hamilton, feeling her/his thumb on the trigger, the bleak resignation of an empty life unfulfilled, everything up to the microsecond that intuition told her to look away.  She felt everything but that final flash of agony, everything but the (not quite) instantaneous conversion from cognizance to oblivion.  She felt his placid despair.  She felt his anger and his narcissism.  His life flashed before her eyes, and it was a miserable life.  Not knowing any better, she wonders if that's how things are supposed to be once the illusions of childhood fall away.  She doesn't sleep very well.

But she's fine.  She's fine.

When her phone rings and she sees Donnie's name flashing, framed by pink plastic and LCD hearts, she lifts the thing to her ear and tries to affect normalcy.  "Hi.  How are you?  Is everything okay?"

"Hi Sylvia. As okay as it gets, considering. I'm gonna have to thank John for saving your life. Look, Colin is still in the hospital, unconscious or something. Mom was going to drive me down, and I wanted to know if you would like to come too. You know, get out of the house. I'm sure Mitzi is pulling her hair out with worry about now, even though it's done and over. Plus, I want to talk to you about it all. I.. I think I can guess that you were in more than close physical proximity when it happened. I'm here for you, okay? I won't make you talk about it if you don't want to, but I'm here. I wnat to be near you right now. Do you want to go?"

Donnie pretends not to notice his mother's tears. They will have time to talk in the car ride. As he's talking to Sylvia, he gingerly pulls a shirt over his head emblazoned with a d20 resting on the 20 and the phrase "That's How I Roll" beneath it.

"Yeah," she says.  She doesn't really want to be around humans now, but from her room it feels like she can hear the whole neighborhood muttering about what to have for dinner or where to get the car fixed.  If Colin has temporarily left his body, that makes him perfect company.  "Thanks.  Should we--"  Numbed, she tries to grope out the items on the social checklist.  "Do you think he wants balloons or flowers?  Are flowers not a boy thing?"

"Nah, not flowers. Something potted and alive. We can pick something up on our way. Do you think Mirtzi or Carolyn might want to go with us? I'm sure Colin's mom could use some emotional support right now. My mom will be there, but I think she's near cracking herself."

He says the last just after his mom passed into the garage and he was still in the kitchen, gingerly putting on his jacket.

"Yeah, I think Mitzi will come."  She pauses.  If their mothers will be in the car, this might be the only time she gets to ask him without stirring Mary and Mitzi into a frightened tizzy.  "Donnie, have things ever been so bad for you that you wanted to die?"

Donnie doesn't snap out a response, but gives it some thought before answering. "No. Suicide is an escape from dealing with the difficulties of life. Plus, you have to think about how your death would hurt the people who love you. Maybe it's the whole 'destiny' thing about the BorderLord, but I know I have a future responsibility that I refuse to turn my back upon. My dreams have come true. My desire for there to be real magic in the world has become a reality. That is a tremendous gift from God, Gaea,  whatever belief system one may worship. I am lucky, blessed, and I don't want to waste it."

He's silent for a few heartbeats, then says "What Mr. Hamilton did was a coward's move. He nearly became a mass-murderer. He could have killed or injured hundreds of kids, and for what? Because someone found out about his crime? He was a pussy, plain and simple. Snuck around, and freaked when he got caught. Piece of shit."

"I pushed him," Sylvia says.  "I wasn't trying to make him end it.  I was trying to make him freak out for a little while so the guys at his house could set things up.  I think I killed him," she says with grave detachment.

Donnie takes her upper arms in a steady grip and looks directly in her eyes. "No you didn't. He made a decision. You didn't open those gas lines, you didn't flick that lighter. He did, and in doing so nearly killed hundreds of students."

"But that wasn't his original intention.  He didn't walk into that room with the intention of blowing himself up.  He was going to call a taxi and go home and check on his data.

"I'm not upset," she tells Donnie.  "I'm fine.  I'm just accepting my responsibility.

"I wonder if I should turn myself in."

Donnie narrows his eyes. "You will do no such thing. We can accept responsibilities for what we percieve to be our decisions, but you cannot take responsibility for his decision, just because you happened to be in his head the moment he made it."

She understands what he's saying.  She understands that he doesn't want her to take the fall for Hamilton, who was, by any sensible definition, evil.  But the fact remains:  she pushed him.  She didn't mean to push him so hard, but there it is.  He was weaker than she thought, and she broke him.

She should feel something about that.  She's not sure she does.

Still, even in detachment, she's innately stubborn enough to try to build her case.  "If a bull happens to be in a china shop and everything breaks, whose fault is it?"

"The owner of the bull? The China shop owner for not having a sign say 'No Bulls Allowed' on his door? The Bull? Are you the bull here? I'm not sure I understand.." He lets go of her arms, not wanting her to feel as if he were trapping her or forcing a desired response.

"I'm the bull," she says.  And she repeats herself, trying to make some sense of what happened and what she should do.  "I pushed him.  I mean, I know you don't completely understand what I mean, but it's like pushing someone just to make him fall over, and instead he falls off a cliff.  It was an accident, but there he is at the bottom of the cliff.  I just wanted to slow him down, but I'm not like Sarah or Smith.  They have control.  Me, I'm a blunt instrument.

"I should tell someone.  I should tell someone just so I'm not hiding this.  I don't want to be the criminal here."

"Talk to Beetlejuice. Or that little old lady you told ma about. They are much more familiar with these type of things than anyone else. Between them, you can likely find some sort of medium." Donnie slumps, scratching idily at his itching shoulder and the bandages beneath his shirt. He hates not having the answer for her, but some things are just out of his realm of right and wrong.

She nods, tired but comforted.  "I'll do that.  Thanks."

OOC: We all done here then?

[Dunno.  Bill's usually busy on Mondays.  Maybe he'll be around today.]

ooc: seemed like a good spot to flow into the Awakenings thread. I'm good.