" PEACE AND JUSTICE ARE TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN. "
#justxez : formerly a rp blog for an OC (Mae Aust) now turned into whatever it is at this point. Mainly just thoughts/takes on characters or media that interests me.
m., lvl 29, austrian, psychology student (clinical/empirical focus; main interests include forensics as well as cognitive neuroscience) & geek
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Former fixed post / more information about the former rp blog
" PEACE AND JUSTICE ARE TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN. "
#justxez : an independent, private and selective roleplay blog for an original character Mae Aust. a clinical/forensic psychologist by day & vigilante* by night kinda type. formerly known as justxe (est. around 2016-2018, revived 2025). created & written by m., 28+. (very) slow & sporadic activity.
━━━━━━━━━━ headcanons • memes ━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━ (muse & guidelines under the cut) ━━━━━━━━━
*Codicil: Lately, as this feels more plausible, more universal & more versatile, I've left the vigilante part of Mae's character in the past and began writing her secretly running a (powerful) shadow network of loyal criminals & officials.
NAME: "Mae" Aust
SPECIES: Human (fun fact: Mae originated as a vampire OC for the Preacher comics)
AGE: 38 - 42
ORIENTATION: Interest in any gender
HERITAGE: Central Europe
LANGUAGES: English, German, French, ASL
OCCUPATION: PhD in psychology, clinical psychologist, forensic psychologist - working as an independent contractor; self-proclaimed Vigilante
SPECIAL SKILLSET:
Combat Proficiency:
– Unarmed melee (boxing, MMA, Krav Maga)
– Dual wielding of blunt and edged weapons
Psychological Expertise:
– Criminal profiling and behavioral analysis
– High emotional intelligence
Tactical Strengths:
– Sharp observational skills
– Strategic thinker with a strong ability to improvise under pressure
– Skilled negotiator, especially in high-stakes or emotionally volatile scenarios
FACECLAIM:
– Elizabeth "Liz" Sherman by Mike Mignola for comic-verses,
– Michelle Monaghan for live-action-verses
SYMBOLS: Coins, mirrors, scales
PERSONALITY: Calm and clinical. Stubborn. Justice-driven, but morally flexible. Emotionally restrained on the surface, deeply conflicted beneath. Hard shell & soft core. Empathetic, calculating, wanting to be in control, and harder on herself than anyone else.
Pride: wanting to be the exception.
BASIC CHARACTER VIGNETTE:
Mae believes she was born to be a forensic psychologist. Her early life fueled that ambition - until it warped. The desire to heal never left, but it became entangled with a hunger for revenge, driven by an unwillingness to accept that some people never get what they truly deserve, regardless of the help they’re offered.
Now, she juggles her professional life with a secret role as a vigilante. Mae feels the walls closing in, but the deeper she sinks into this double life, the harder it becomes to break free. The guilt never leaves. She tells herself she’s in control, that her actions are justified, but deep down, she knows better. Mae is an expert at convincing herself that her actions are justified, even as the truth becomes harder to ignore.
Mae wears a mask of calm professionalism, detached and unreadable. But as trust builds, that mask slips, revealing a vulnerable and conflicted self beneath. Her internal contradiction - trying to bring peace and justice - has turned her into her own unreliable narrator.
And it’s that contradiction that defines her.
(I'd recommend to check out the headcanons tag for more in-depth info & musings about Mae. As well as this post about how & why Mae got into vigilantism - as well as what broke her.)
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ABOUT THE MUN:
GENERAL RULES & DISCLAIMER:
General rp-rules apply. No drama, please.
This is a highly selective & mutuals-only blog; Chemistry (IC and/or OOC) matters to me a lot.
Queue runs on one post a day.
This blog is a fictional portrayal of an original character created and written by me. While some elements may draw from personal experiences or emotions as a form of creative exploration, all events and dialogue are fictionalized or invented for dramatic purposes. This blog may include sensitive or triggering content (e.g., trauma, violence, manipulation, horror, suggestive themes, strong language). Reader discretion is advised.
Pinned post drawing by TrashySoda
GENERAL SHIPPING & NSFW:
I love to explore all kinds of relationship dynamics (romantic, platonic, antagonistic) but they have to be chemistry-based or pre-established.
I'm fine with writing mature themes. I don't like to write smut.
VERSES:
I enjoy exploring different settings for Mae and am confident she can fit into almost any universe or time through tailored OOC chats beforehand.
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Okay, so I've watched the Brighter Sing-Along more times than a person is probably supposed to while analyzing the murders, and there's something I just can't ignore.
What is Vincent's cult even about? Seriously, what is he offering these people? You can assume everyone standing in the water surrounded by electricity paired with Vincent's "who's ready to be baptized into a new era of entertainment" was part of a group suicide, as is often the case with cults, but what was the point of any of that?
cracks knuckles this is an interpretation of someone interested in psychology & forensics pieced together as a personal opinion/reading into that, as well as Vincent/Vox as a character (and with Brighter understood as a fully stylized psychological origin montage).
TL;DR (long long version under the cut): Vincent's "cult" seemed to essentially be a media-fueled ideological movement built around himself rather than a traditional isolated cult. Over time, he probably transformed his network into an identity system where most likely employees and audiences (as well as the cult of personality around him) emotionally tied progress, entertainment, and the future to him personally. He seemingly genuinely believed he was reshaping reality through media, which is why he later (S2E1) calls it a "movement" instead of rejecting the word "cult" outright.
The aquarium meeting where he died was likely/comes across as a symbolic culmination event for this vision - part corporate rally, part ideological spectacle, part "baptism" into his "new era of entertainment" (to use his rhetoric). The deaths were most likely accidental, plausibly resulting from the collapse of the unstable spectacle architecture he built to reinforce his own godlike image.
(the "it's not that deep, bro" unintentionally turned into a layered interpretive reading that separates canon inference, structural fanon assumptions, and symbolic reconstruction where necessary, oh well)
What Vincent built is better understood as, not fitting the traditional definition of a cult, even if it was perceived as one from the outside given what the show showed us so far, and even if parts of it psychologically functioned like one.Structurally, it does not clearly read as a completely isolated belief system detached from society in the way people usually imagine cults. The people around him likely still would have lived in the outside world, still worked jobs, still existed inside a functioning media industry and broader society (my fanon re: structural assumptions about full network integration: actually is that the attendees were most likely his employees once he owned and conceptualized the network).
What made Vincent dangerous was not physical isolation or total enclosure, but the fact that he was gradually turning a workplace, a media network, and eventually an entire public image ecosystem into something that behaved like an ideological identity system centered entirely around himself. The cult of personality formed around him to me seemed most likely like an addition to this internal perception.
That distinction matters to me because Vincent himself most likely did not think in terms of "I'm creating a cult". He probably thought in terms of building something larger, more legitimate, more historical than that - something that fit his, at this time, deteriorating mental state.
This is exactly why, years later, in Hell (S2E1), when Valentino calls it a cult, Vox neither fully denies nor fully accepts the label ("You could call it a cult. But I'd say it was more of a movement").
That line only really makes sense to me when I'm looking at Vincent's psychology as a whole. He (especially later as Vox) seemed to understand why people would perceive it as a cult because by the end of his life, people genuinely revolved around him emotionally, professionally, and ideologically. But I think in his own mind, "cult" was too small, too irrational, too unserious a word for what he believed he had achieved.
A cult is, by what I know/researched (always open for correction though!), centered around blind devotion; a movement implies inevitability, historical significance, transformation, momentum. Vincent probably did not see himself as manipulating a small isolated group of followers. He probably saw himself as reshaping entertainment itself, reshaping mass communication, reshaping how people emotionally experienced reality through media.
To him, it seemed, the emotional devotion surrounding him was proof that he was right, not proof that he was dangerous.
(Interpretation note: This relies on fan-inferred time depth, used as a structural rather than literal reading) The important thing to me personally is that his worldview evolved gradually. Early in his rise, his murders can be read as having been framed (in-universe or in fanon) as pragmatic. They seemed to be about advancement, elimination of obstacles, and insertion into positions of greater visibility and influence. He killed people above him because he, how I read it, wanted their roles, their authority, their access to the public. (I'm aware of other/additional interpretations, though given the topic of this insight, I don't see the need to elaborate on them further.)
But as his public image grew and the murders went unsolved or misclassified over and over again (I also have many thoughts about how that was possible, but I digress), something psychologically changed: The public adored him (especially regarding the cult of personality formed around him). The network increasingly depended on him because of his status at work. Ratings probably rose around him (which eventually led to him being called the "God of Entertainment").
Internally, probably even people who distrusted him still treated him as indispensable because every crisis somehow ended with him rising higher. The unresolved deaths, the "curse" (I personally think there'd be a "curse" reputation since it seemed very plausible for 1940's media environments) surrounding productions connected to him, and his apparent uncanny ability to survive every scandal all may have contributed to what could be interpreted as a growing mythos around him instead of destroying it.
By the late 1940’s, Vincent may have reached a point where he was no longer merely succeeding professionally (in interpretive terms). He could be interpreted as becoming symbolically untouchable.
That is the point where the network seemed to stop being just a company to him. He maybe began psychologically converting it into something closer to an extension of himself.
The rhetoric in the final speech (S2E7, "Brighter") demonstrates this perfectly: "I will be your voice. [...] We will redefine what it means to rule the airwaves. [...] Trust me, and your future will be brighter.”
None of this reads to me as ordinary executive language anymore. He is no longer speaking as a network owner or even as a celebrity. He is speaking as someone attempting to merge institutional identity, public identity, and personal identity into one thing. The employees are no longer just employees in his mind. They are participants in a future he alone understands: to him, loyalty to the network becomes loyalty to his vision, and loyalty to his vision increasingly becomes loyalty to him personally.
(my fanon re: distinction between “movement” and cult of personality is treated here as partially separate systems that later converge. What I've said in this paragraph is why I strongly believe that this movement and the cult of personality formed around him were two distinct things. I like to imagine that, later on, at the event, we got to see in canon both probably have somewhat merged together regarding the attendees.)
This is why I think the word "movement" is so important. Vincent seemingly was trying to transform a workplace hierarchy into an ontological identity system - not just a place people worked, but a framework through which they understood progress, entertainment, modernity, and even themselves (which is exactly what VoxTek turned out to become).
His medium was television, which made this especially dangerous because, unlike traditional cult leaders who isolate followers physically, Vincent worked through saturation. He did not remove people from reality; he attempted to overwrite reality by controlling the narratives people consumed every day. In his mind, if he controlled the medium through which people interpreted the world, then he effectively controlled the world itself.
That is why to me the line about feeling "closest to being a god" (S2E1) matters so much. He does not say he felt like a god in a metaphorical sense - and he is a character who seemingly not only takes things at face value but also very carefully chooses words, so yes, semantics. I read it as him saying he felt closest to being one because, from his perspective, he had achieved something approximating omnipresence: he was seen everywhere, trusted everywhere, admired everywhere, and emotionally internalized by both audiences and employees alike (and given how it ended for him if it had gone on longer - my fanon is it was like 2 years, but that doesn't really matter - he probably could have actually gotten to perceive himself as a god).
The meeting at the abandoned aquarium, to me, is essentially the culmination of that psychological evolution. It probably was not a normal company meeting, nor a conventional cult gathering, nor a public rally. It was something in between all three.
The abandoned aquarium setting seems deeply important because it removes the event from ordinary institutional space. If it had happened in a studio boardroom or soundstage, it would still feel grounded in ordinary corporate reality. By staging it in a surreal repurposed environment filled with hanging televisions, water imagery, neon slogans, and industrial infrastructure, Vincent transformed the event into a symbolic spectacle (and we all know how much this character loves spectacle).
The space itself became liminal - no longer entirely workplace, no longer entirely performance, no longer entirely ritual. That ambiguity is exactly what, to me, made it psychologically powerful (besides the clear annotations to his interest as well as his overall character design having influences on marine life/sharks).
How I view it, the attendees were most likely primarily employees and internal network personnel rather than isolated cult devotees (in general nor of the cult of personality) in the traditional sense, but again, I do believe that there could have been a mix at this event especially. However, by that point, I could see many of them psychologically behaving with cult-like devotion because Vincent had spent some time collapsing the distinction between career success, emotional belonging, and ideological alignment.
I can imagine that some people in that room genuinely believed in him. Some were opportunists who recognized his power and attached themselves to it. Some were skeptics who privately thought the rhetoric was excessive but had learned to reinterpret his increasingly grandiose behavior as theatricality or visionary eccentricity. Others were simply caught in the emotional momentum of the environment. The important thing is that, at this point, probably nobody in that room experienced the event in entirely neutral terms anymore. Vincent had successfully saturated the institution with himself.
(Interpretation note: This section relies on fan-inferred timeline extension and is a heavily interpretive reconstruction combining symbolic reading, inferred institutional mechanics, and speculative engineering failure. It is not intended as a literal canon claim but as a layered analytical model.)
There are a few possibilities of how this can be read, with the meeting itself most plausibly not being the first of its kind, but also not an ordinary recurring event. It was likely a culmination event - either celebrating the completion of the network’s ideological restructuring under his control or inaugurating a new phase of expansion and identity consolidation. I do, however, believe the one we as an audience got to see (S2E7, "Brighter) was a first in terms of it being as celebratory, groundbreaking and theatrical (just by judging the set-up and Vincent's speech rhetoric).
The language of "baptism" strongly suggests transition rather than routine. Baptism symbolizes rebirth, entry into a new state of being, and symbolic purification (come again with the aquarium). Vincent was seemingly effectively announcing with framed rhetoric that the old entertainment world was dead and that his version of it - bigger, brighter, newer - would replace it.
The event was therefore less a business presentation and more an identity fusion ceremony. He was not simply asking (given they were the attendees) employees to work for him. He was asking them to emotionally and symbolically join his vision of the future.
Therefore, I personally think - out of all the possibilities that this moment gives us as an audience to speculate on - the deaths may have been accidental, plausibly resulting from the collapse.
The visible cable strain before the television falls supports this interpretation strongly. Vincent does not clearly read as orchestrating a murder-suicide or a predating Jonestown-style massacre (thematic interpretation note: This reading is primarily driven by narrative symmetry (hubris to excess to collapse) rather than explicit confirmation in-text).
In my eyes, that could be seen as potentially contradicting the psychological tone of the speech itself: His rhetoric is future-oriented, expansionary, triumphant. He fully intends to continue forward. He believes he is on the verge of something transcendent.
The irony is that the very spectacular architecture he built to reinforce his godhood becomes the mechanism of his destruction. The suspended televisions, the overloaded symbolic environment, the unstable infrastructure - all of it reflects his psychological state perfectly: increasingly grandiose, increasingly excessive, increasingly convinced he could indefinitely sustain total control over an ever-growing system.
In the end, I believe Vincent's "cult" was not truly about religion, nor simple celebrity worship, nor even straightforward authoritarian control. It was about the fusion of media, identity, emotional dependence, and institutional power into a single self-reinforcing system centered around one man who genuinely came to believe that controlling perception was equivalent to controlling reality itself (which, wonderfully again, leads down the path of what Vox as character as well as VoxTek as company is).
casually drops this bc i'm not normal about it; awooga good art y'all have to see it
by @bambitek
Ok cue me being fucking emotional for a sec because not only has @yet-another-vox-ask-blog been the first person to draw Mae in her Hellaverse (unprompted!😭🥹) but also I bought my very first ever comm from @bambitek for the oc x canon ship with Vox I have for her in this verse (it was such a long process to figure out which of all the amazing artists out there I'd like to commission and I'm very happy with my choice) And I'm just???? SO IN LOVE!!!!!
I couldn't have ever imagined a better comm experience; 10/10 can't recommend enough. But also y'all I AM IN LOVE WITH THE RESULT! LOOK AT THEM!!!!
Seriously I'm just so grateful whenever somebody takes the time of their day to get involved with Mae as character (whether that's by rping - regardeless of the blog hiatus, just letting me yap about her, or actually draw/paint her).
Whichever is the case, people still take the time of their day to make time for M(a)e and I'm just... THANK YOU!❤️
i've had some time to think and with a heavy heart, decided to put this blog on hiatus for an undefined time because i'm not really feeling the rp-spirit anymore, on tumblr or elsewhere actually and have been exploring Mae's character in other forms of creative writing; i don't know if or when i will come back (knowing me, sooner or later i probably will, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ).
i'll still be around on tumblr. You can reach out via IMs if you want, but please don't expect fast replies as my social media use is very limited.
THANK YOU so much for the wonderful time & connections! You're all great and so very fcking talented!
GET TO KNOW YOUR MUTUALS ― answer and tag six people you want to know better.
favourite color: reds to pinks
last song: Are You the One That I've Been Waiting For by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
currently reading: simultaneously listening to audiobooks of "The Master and Margarita" by Mikhail Bulgakov, "Aus dem Leben eines Taugenichts" by Joseph von Eichendorff & "Der Zauberberg" by Thomas Mann
currently watching: various yt videos to occupy my mind while procrastinating
currently craving: spring to come around (yes I'm a winter baby but I detest the colder months bc I don't like the ✨vibes✨) & achtsam morden s2 to come out asap
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the jury thinks that they sit silent for me as i talk. they don't. they ust think they do. i can hear their hearts beating in their chests. i can hear their clothes rustling from the slightest shift. they also couldn't imagine that under this two-thousand-dollar suit is the uniform of a man the city knows as DAREDEVIL— the man without fear.
indie matt murdock / daredevil from marvel comics. defended by liam
Heavy raindrops fell on the car in a non-rhythmic manner, too slow to be soothing, too irregular to ignore. Inside, the light of the dashboard barely lit up Mae's face. The road stretched out like a liminal space; slick with rain and lit only by the gleam of headlights cutting through the dark. The music that drifted through the car speakers was barely there - a low, droning guitar, soaked in reverb, each note lingered just a second too long, as if reluctant to leave. It wasn’t just background noise. It was the sound of the night itself: cold, hollow, waiting.
The shriek of tires tore through the almost meditative drive. The brakes locked for a split second. The rain only made it worse - a slick hiss under the tires, like the road was trying to shrug the car off. Then she saw it - a figure in the dark, standing in the middle of the road, staring at her car like a deer in headlights.
"What the fuck," Mae shouted - somehow to snap back to reality.
Mae knew that it would be best to listen to her gut. Her intuition rarely proved her wrong, but something about the figure made her feel like she should help.
She hadn't seen anyone on the road in a long time - no other cars and certainly no other people.
"Hey!" she called, the window rolling down, but she didn’t get out. Whether it was the rain, or the sudden sensation of stones weighing her down, she couldn’t say. "Where are you going?"
There's a reason I never truly get deep into Mae’s backstory - especially the how and why of her becoming a vigilante.
It’s not because I don’t know. I do. But to me, the ambiguity drives her character developement.
Mae as a character is partially based on me. So using this ambiguity could be a plot/character device (like how I never mention her having a home). It could be because Mae is written as an unreliable narrator.
I don't want to specify.
As mentioned in her character vignette "the desire to heal never left, but it became entangled with a hunger for revenge, driven by an unwillingness to accept that some people never get what they truly deserve, regardless of the help they’re offered." - this was the reason for why she became a vigilante in her own sense.
What I've never mentioned - and this could also give enough hints to the reason she became a vigilante, is the case that broke her: it was a case resembling the plot of the movie "Loveless"/"Нелюбовь" (2017) and the feeling evoked by the song "Aljoscha" by Die Andere Seite (which was inspired by said movie).
With that case, Mae experienced a kind of rupture that doesn’t scream - it gnaws.
It's uncertain whether this case simply hit too close to home (trauma resonance), or whether it was the final straw that broke the camels back in a long accumulation of burnout and moral injury. Realistically, it was both.
That's when her clinical detatchment failed and she couldn't talk herself out of the impact anymore. The case that made her flee - to survive.
The case didn’t just break her. It showed her where she was already cracked.
(It's really explored in this thread with @firstblxxd, where Mae comes to seek refuge at John Rambo's ranch after the case.)
WHEN THE WOMAN SPOKE NEXT, it felt like a punch to the side of cat's face, and she half choked on the bite of food she had in her mouth. heart had gone still, and skin turned cold. suddenly, her appetite felt empty, and the focus of her gaze could no longer maintain upon anything in the room. the name was a HORROR in her mind, in her soul, cutting beneath her flesh and digging into the marrow of her bones.
cat hadn't heard that name in years, and she had planned to never hear it again. so twisted within the recollections that slammed through her mind that she hadn't even considered to panic over her known involvement. the brunette's hands were clean, after all, but it seemed lucky that mae's interest wasn't in ensuring her wrists were the ones cuffed.
it was difficult for her to imagine that someone actually had information on copper. his manipulation of her head had had her c o n v i n c e d he could never be found, never be caught. a huge reasoning she had felt her only option had been to run in the end. run and pray to a god she wasn't sure she believed in that she might somehow escape. it had worked... for now.
the mention of payment was enticing, but was any amount of money worth it to potentially get trapped by him again?
despite the clear reaction of momentary freeze, the street rat got herself back together and stood idly. emotionless. though she did stop eating for the time being.
"i don't know where he is. quite frankly... i don't want to find out."
"That's fair." Mae wasn't surprised, nothing in her voice conveyed anything other than the expectation of the teenager not wanting to continue. She'd watched in silence how the composture of the other changed the moment Mae stated the offer. Not even the food did its job of satiation.
But that was just the start.
Even if Mae did feel her throat close up at the thought of actively manipulating a child, she told herself it was a means to an end. Before any more doupts could cloud her mind, she stated with emphasis on why both of them were here this moment: "You won't find out but I'd need your help for me to find out."
Mae got up, calmly. Her hands reached to the other end of the table to grab the leftover food in its container and the cutlery. With precision she packed it back into the bag she brought it all with her. A symbol of a clean slate. Show, don't tell.
"It doesn't involve you getting close to him again. I just need information on him. All of it."
And I'll be here for you while you share, echoed in her mind. It was just a child in front of her. And Mae was using them to get towards something bigger. The human inside of her creeped through the cover of professionalism she put on before coming here.
"If you decide to help me, we can talk further whenever you'd like."
Mae reached into the pocket of her jacket and put a white piece of paper onto the table. If one looked close enough at the paper, it revealed Mae's name as well as a phone number in small black letters.
"It was nice meeting you, Cat," she said while walking past the other towards the door.
❝ i’d go out of business if i did that every time. maybe next time, if you promise to return. ❞ Peter responds with a charming smile, very well aware that this business is a thin line he walks every night, with a face half in the light & half in the dark. however, Earth is under-stimulating.
being around risky individuals keeps him AWAKE. ❝ ah, no. your table is all the way out here. i figured i’d save you the trouble and say hi since you’re a new customer. if you want to be left alone, though, that’s fine too. ❞ the hybrid leaves the menu on the table just in case, heading back behind the bar after speaking again.
❝ lemme make ya one of my favorites. ’s called the Collapsed Star. ❞
There was no polite pause to ask her name, nor was there a question. But Mae was sensitive to the information asymmetry of their conversation. "Mae Aust. Call me Mae," she just put her name on the table in a matter of how the man would put drinks on it. Just as he did, with a smile. It wasn't just a promise to return, but a way to not having to answer if she was going to.
She decided that there was more than enough time for a side-quest. "With that name, I'd love to know how you make it," she invited herself to the bar, leaving her table and the menu behind without looking back. Partially to get a better look at the guests in the place as well as to observe how they'd treat him and vice versa.
"You don't seem to be from around here," she said vapidly while taking her seat. "Too nice. Even for a Businessman."
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the patient seems to stare at the doctor with a mixture of exhaustion and---.....fear. it was the best way to describe it. the blonde nurse could feel it coming off her in drones and their icy blue eyes shift towards the corner of the room where a little girl did, indeed, sit in a seemingly empty chair in the corner. tongue clicks on the roof of her mouth before her attention is brought back to the patient in question.
"doctor. i swear there is a little girl in the corner and she wont stop following me!" it's the sound of a distressed woman who feels like she isn't being heard. ( something that lennon was far too familiar with. ) though, he puts on her professional face, her hands moving to slip into the pockets of her black scrub top.
"well, i believe her." the nurse says rather carefully, eyes narrowing at the corner in the room. ( though, this wasn't just a normal little girl spirit, it seemed. ) this was one that followed the woman here, not one of the many spirits that walked the hospital grounds. "i do think their is a little girl here. i don't think samantha needs to be in soft restraints but i'm just a nurse," she says this with a little song in her tone.
Mae gave the nurse a nod. She could feel warmth closing her throat - not because of anything happening in the room, but because she knew that the standard procedure to contain psychotic patients was restraints - and this rubbed Mae the wrong way, always. "You're right, she doesn't need to be in soft restraints. Can you help me loosen them?" There were thoughts Mae didn't want to share in front of the patient, so she put them in a mental archive for later. And it wasn't about Samantha or the nurse.
As the girl was able to sit on her bed, Mae still kept her distance. This wasn't the séance she had hoped it wouldn't turn into, but a special case of folie à deux. Or so it seemed. "Okay, since you - Samantha and Nurse Lennon - can both see a little girl here and I can't…" she suppressed a sigh. "Could you both please just describe to me what the girl looks like, what she is doing in the room, and if she has spoken to you, tell me what she said." Mae wanted to know what this was about now. The obvious fear in Samantha’s eyes wasn’t directed at the nurse - but that didn’t mean anything yet. Lennon didn’t strike Mae as malicious either. That also didn’t mean anything yet.
To the official reason Mae had been asked here, a personal question was added: What's the situation between these two?
Unsteady, uncanny, freakish blue eyes peer at Mae Aust. They recognize the observer, and study her back. Something of a scalpel's edge, how brightly they glint in these unforgiving lights. Brighter than they should be. This young woman has about her the air of cave mystic, someone who has been pried open by something too large for her, and whose body is now forced to make it fit inside. That is what her terror is. A gnawing at her seams. She is staring at the doctor with that same quiet, gnawing terror. And the first spark, just underneath, of protectiveness.
She despises it, despises how her story doesn't belong to her anymore. All these doctors and cops and judges, demanding to know why she did this, why she did that, what was done to her. They try to slice her open and claw her stuffing out of her, soil what has happened with their apathetic stares or gooey-sweet pity. Miriam wants to grow claws, dig them into her memories and never let anyone close enough to touch them. She wants to speak in tongues.
It occurs to her that she could start screaming. She's done it before. Let out a shriek, shake and quiver, throw herself back against the chair until it tips over. That'd send the guard scrambling. Maybe the doctor would flinch. She feels the sound building in her throat. You want the pain? Here it is. Listen closely.
—But there are worse things she could ask about.
"I killed a guard." She says, cleanly. No point stumbling over that now. "It was curious, because nobody came to stop me even though he made so much noise. But the mess hall isn't close to any of the big cell blocks, so maybe that's why. Maybe nobody bothered to check. They found us in the morning and hauled me away. I assume they took him down. I do apologize for scratching up the tables. It was necessary."
The words felt like coins falling on metal ground in Mae's ears. Yet she proceeded to observe, trying to fall back into the role that brought her here. "I see," she finally exclaimed after a minute of silence. Her tone was dry, conveying the tone of what a written standard forensic protocol felt like. Almost mindlessly, her hands swept over the table in front of her as the woman across mentioned scratching up the tables at the former crime scene. It wasn't in this room; it also wasn't this exact table. Mae could feel that there was more than the covered psychosis cue.
In a mechanic manner, Mae glanced over towards the guard. Moving her hand in a motion that would signal something being swept away, she told him to leave: "I'd like to speak in private. Turn off the mic and cameras. Then leave." Her words didn't sound like a threat. It wasn't usually done like this - but then again, this was Arkham.
The moment the women were left alone, Mae leaned forward. Just a bit - just enough to catch a good glimpse of the blue eyes that peeked towards her. "I've done this long enough to know that this was just show." Now she leaned back again, building a distance as if she were in a negotiation. This hadn't become personal in the sense of Mae's assessment.
She already knew what she'd write the moment she walked in. Not because she wanted to smear the case, but to make room for her own personal curiosity. And leverage - for whenever she'd need it, if she'd ever need it. "There's no reason for you to tell me, but sometimes asking goes a long way," she whispers more towards herself than the other. "What for exactly?"