Sojourner, Pt 3

Rays from the dark orange sun peek through the thinning clouds, as the sun itself moves ever closer towards high noon. Along with it comes the intense heat, which still radiates through the thick cloud cover. The drainage canals on either side of the highway are almost clear - only thin amounts of water line the bottom, along with whatever detritus the rain carried along with it.

Similarly, the forest floor has numerous small puddles where its soil dips lowest. The ground there is no doubt rather damp, but thankfully no longer half-flooded. That means that if things get too hot out on the asphalt, then at least you've got the forest canopy to bring you some shade. Even if you'll have to trudge through the mud.

Not that you have to resort to it - you're practically at your destination.

You follow the long offramp down towards the service station a few dozen meters away. Hopefully there's some food and decent shelter there.

From far away, it looks like any usual highway gas station. It's relatively small, and only has a couple of pumps - one pair in front of the shop and another to its side. The shop portion also appears to be split into two, with half of it being a storefront and the other half a garage. There's also a five-spot parking area with a derelict car in the furthest corner.

From what you can see, the place is workable. There's plenty of shade from the sun, and there could still be some food inside. You can just see a bunch of snacks lined up on the shelves, along with drinks in the coolers.

But as you get closer, your Scan and Telepathy pick up a mind inside the shop. A human one.

Whoever it is, their thoughts and emotions waver and change almost randomly. But it's nothing like the wild shifts that the Crazed go through, though it feels similar. These thoughts seem to intensify significantly, then waver drastically over the course of a half dozen seconds.

A bit like the ebb and flow of waves on a beach. But perhaps rather more forcefully, as though driven by a storm's wind.

You immediately get on your guard and minimize your surface thoughts. Not only that, but you withdraw much of your psionic energies to make you seem 'smaller'. A part of you wants to crouch down and sneak towards the service station, but the other part tells you not to bother.

You're walking openly down a flat-ish highway offramp. If they haven't seen you already, they might have sensed you psionically a while back. There's no point in hiding at this point. Then again, they haven't seemed to have moved or shifted from their position, nor have they changed their mindset. It's very likely that they haven't noticed you physically or psionically.

Though the person's energies make it seem as though they're Crazed, none of their impulses are violent or extreme. They just swing wildly from one to another with deep intensity. A part of you can definitely relate to that.

You decide to relax your guard, and re-extend your psionic energies outward. Almost as far as you can reach. It gets to a point where it brushes up against their lashing energies, but gently. You want to let them know that you're here.

Still, you keep a hand on your pistol just in case they react poorly.

And boy, do they react. You feel alarm sweep from their mind, and can practically feel them jump up in surprise.

Then you see them - her - run out of the shop, then glance out in your direction with wide eyes. Though you're still a few dozen meters away, you can tell that she's in some kind of casual outfit, merely jeans and a shirt with a service apron hanging down her front. Of course, her clothes are grimy and partially-torn from extended use.

Her face is a bit smudged, probably from a lack of bathing. And her hair is a bit of a tangled mess. Both her hands and forearms are absolutely covered in soot or grease - whatever it is, you can't really tell. But it's more than enough for her hands to look completely black.

You peel back your Third Eye just a bit, just enough to see what her Thread looks like. And although the Flows out here are thin and weak and drift aimlessly, her Thread whips against it as though it's being thrown around by an unseen psionic storm.

You can easily feel her anxiety rise up higher and higher the closer you get. Her psionic energies whip around wildly as a result.

Basically, she seems like a Wild Crazed. Or at least, Semi-Crazed.

"What'cha want?" she screams at you. "Stop right there!"

You stop walking, as requested. Then you bring up your other hand and raise your palm up to her. The other is still firmly on your gun, which she can't see thanks to your poncho.

"Just passing through," you reply. "Not meaning any harm at all to you."

Her thoughts thrash all around her, plain for you to sense. They seem to crash and tumble into each other, creating new thoughts out of the broken piece of the older ones. It seems her mind is constantly in motion, unable to concentrate on the task at hand.

No, it's worse than that. Her thoughts aren't chaotic or random, not truly. There's a number of them, yes, but her mind doesn't scream with a million voices. It's more like a half dozen voices come up to the surface one after another, and it's almost cyclic. The same or similar thoughts and thought patterns emerge every so often, each one carrying their own unique emotion.

You see her eyes flit slightly left and right as your words tumble around in her head. Almost like she's re-translating your words into ones that she can better understand.

There's too many of her in there, Noir thinks.

And then it dawns on you that Noir is exactly right. It's very likely that her mind's splintered, with each splinter fighting for domination over her thoughts. They're wrestling each other for time to think over your words. As though they want to be the one to make the call as to what to do next. Now that you see it, you can practically feel her inner conflict as it thrashes everywhere.

Seeing as she has overwhelmed herself, you decide to push through the muck.

"Honestly, I came here looking for a spot to sleep during the day," you continue. "I prefer to travel at night, since it's so damn hot while the sun's out. So, I'm wondering if-"

The woman jumps up in alarm, as though you've said something mightily offensive, then angrily shouts at you before you can complete your request.

"No! You can't stay here!" she screams. "This is my place! I live here!"

You purse your lips in mild annoyance - you're tired, you're hot, and you're hungry. All you want to do is have a seat and a snack and a snooze. Preferably out of the sun. This place is the last place for a long while, and you're not exactly prepared to sleep out in the forest quite yet. But now this crazy person is in your way, and there's no way to get her to see logic. Her mind's too chaotic for that.

Before you get irrevocably irritated with the situation, you realize that you aren't exactly helpless here. You've got powers you can use after all. If you can help take down a pack of full-fledged Crazed, then dealing with a half of one ought to be easy, right?

As with the Crags, you diffuse a sense of calm and ease with your Surge. You do your best to help influence her emotions and bring them down from their chaotic storm. But to your surprise, nothing you do works.

Her energies simply whip around as they always have, seemingly impervious to being pushed or pulled, much less change.

You try a different tack. Though you keep exuding calm, you try something more practical. You realize that this is what you've been saving up for - a possible trade. You've got plenty in your backpack for all sorts of people. Surely you can trade some of it for a good day's rest, right?

"I could maybe pay for a place to rest," you offer, undeterred. "I've got some goods with me, and-"

She interrupts you again before you can finish. But instead of using her angry voice, her entire demeanor shifts. Now, she flashes you a wide smile, then walks towards you with welcoming gestures.

"What? Pay? Don't be silly!" she says mirthfully. "You can absolutely stay the night. Or day, you said? Sure, whatever you like. My home is your home."

She waves you over more vigorously, which compels you to take a few tentative steps towards her. You can sense her splinters fighting each other, even now. But it seems this particular splinter is holding fast against the rest.

As you walk closer, you get a better picture of her. She looks like she's middle-aged, but with a few gray strands in her wild hair. Her face is indeed smudged with what looks like grease and dirt. Both her hands are absolutely caked in it, though it lessens gradually up her arms.

You don't know the last time she washed them, and a part of you wants to offer her some water to wash with. But you decide against it - a storm had just occurred. She could have washed herself anytime she wanted.

She clearly chooses to remain like this, so there's no point in you bringing it up or making offers.

The sharp smell she carries invades your nose. It practically pierces through your senses, and causes you to reel back slightly. It's somewhat sulfuric, like Crag innards. But it's sharper.

By the time you make it to her side, her demeanor shifts yet again. The happy and joyful splinter fades, and is replaced with something else. A kind of fear flashes on her face, which remains there as she very slightly withdraws from you.

"You said you travel at night?" she mutters. "Why at night? Are you one of those nutso's who kills people when you get picked up in their cars? I keep hearing stories about that, and you better not be one of those people."

She takes a step back, but you respond only with a calm resoluteness. There's no telling what she'll do or how she'll react next, so you figure you need to be as collected as possible. And you need to use simple logic from this point onward. For your own good.

"I don't think hitchhiking's a thing anymore," you reply. "Haven't seen a single working car for years now. So yeah, I'm not that kinda nutso."

"Issat so?"

"Yeah, that's so."

Her face suddenly flashes in anger - it seems that splinter is back. You wonder how much time that one gets control of her. It occurs to you that her splinters are a little more chaotic now that the two of you are talking.

"That doesn't mean squat!" she yells, practically in your face. "You could still be a murdering psychopathic nutso for all I know! Just 'coz there aren't cars don't mean you can't be one of 'em!"

I don't think we should stay here, Noir thinks.

We don't have too much of a choice, you reply. Next service station's 30 kilometers away - that's an entire day!

"Listen to your cat!" the woman shrieks. "Nutso's can't stay here!"

You squeeze your gun's grip reflexively, which makes you realize that your hand's still on it. You keep it there, unsure about the future.

Her splinters alarmingly come and go with little regularity, and you can't tell which one will come next, or if she'll suddenly burst into a fit of violence. Worst of all, you don't know if any are hiding on purpose, like any murdering psychopathic splinters.

"Look, I'm just a traveler alright?" you say with a long sigh. "I'm not a murdering nutso, or a psychopathic nutso, or a murdering psychopathic nutso. Just a regular old nutso."

Her eyes squint as she tries her best to read you, to unfold your words. Her demeanor changes again and the anger seems to melt away, but not all the way. You get a general sense that all her splinters are unified in agreement, but only for a moment.

"What kind then?" she asks, a tone of distrust in her words.

You shrug.

"The kinda nutso that travels alone and talks to other nutso's," you reply.

She stares at you for a moment with wide eyes. It looks like she's about to get offended - after all, you just insinuated she's a 'nutso' herself. Not that you're wrong, of course. And if any of her splinters are self-aware, then she would know that, too.

She bursts out into a barking laugh, then smacks your upper arm playfully.

"Yeah, alright," she says. "You're good. You can still stay. Just don't try anything."

You give her a weak grin, unsure how to handle her rapid shifting splinters. But you try to relax anyway, and follow her as she walks towards her shop.

"Oh, and I'm sorry about me," she says, almost cheerily. "I get cranky sometimes. Don't mind when that happens. Just tell me to shut up. That's what I do."