"You are new. A Merecaster is one of the byproducts of how we are made. Every castoff has one, just like every castoff has this." She taps the tattoo on her own temple. "No one knows what they were originally for. Aadiriis thinks that they're a byproduct of the transfer process, the, the antennae at the other end of our sire's mind transfer, maybe. The thing that catches them each time. We don't know. There are a lot of things that connect us, this is one of the stronger ones. We can use them to see into each other's lives."

"... Uh. Okay. Their... entire lives, or can you pick, or do you get a grab bag of the highlights or something?"

"No. Just, just a moment that was important to them. Changed them, when they burned or raged or decided something pivotal. When their life was at a moment of flux or they decided who they are."

Aadiriis thinks that the Merecasters are antennae after they've been used, still tied to the body their sire left, still watching for the most important moments. Still recording.

"That is really nonsensical and strange, but okay."

Matkina laughs. "Welcome to being a castoff, little sister."

"Where... I mean, how do these come to existence, how does one find someone's... Merecaster?"

That sounds like the kind of thing no one else should have but the person themself.

"We've never seen one made. They tend to be left behind in our sire's wake, though. A castoff will recognize one immediately."

"They are just... lying around? In their belongings?"

He is not so happy with the thought of someone having such easy ready access to his castoff.

"Not even," she snorts. "More like discarded refuse. They keep their belongings safe."

Aleks is cute, and she is going to take his hand over it.

"It's fine. I mean, it's not, but. I'm more offended on everyone else's behalf than upset on my own. It'd be kind of hypocritical, you know?"

Matkina glances at her sister holding hands with Aleks, and gives a disapproving groan, but doesn't otherwise comment. Yet. Ugh. Did the girl go and seduce the misanthropic speedy teleporter? That's damned clever, she admits, but ugh.

Aleks squeezes her hand but does not otherwise react. A cold glare can't be called a reaction if it's just what his face always looks like.

"Anyway. I have one for one of our brothers. Tash." Matkina looks away, and... it's so hard to think whenever he's involved. The fucker. There are so many holes. She's dealt with it for decades now and it's still the worst. "And I need you to use it, and tell me about it."

"... You can't use it yourself?"

"No. Obviously. Or I would be, instead of going to some naïve little girl who hides behind mortals and cringes about broken doors!" Matkina had been speaking normally, but clearly this struck a nerve, because now she's shouting. ... Why is she shouting? She doesn't remember. "I... why am I..."

The naïve little girl who cringes about broken doors frowns.

"Are you—okay?"

"NO. I am not okay. I have never been okay. Our brother," she points at the Merecaster, apparently she means Tash, "fucked up my head a long time ago, and I have never been okay since. So I can't use his Merecaster, because thinking about—that—is hard, makes my mind slide, and all I get when I try is static, and, and it won't fix anything but I need—to fill in as many of the holes as I can. Okay?"

...Aleks is happy he stayed. He would not want to leave his castoff here with her unstable sister.

Yeah, she's really seeing the wisdom in having him along! It is very good to have him along. She squeezes his hand, just so he knows that she cares and appreciates him.

"Okay. I can help you fill in as many of the holes as you can. Do I get any ability to steer or am I just along for the ride?"

Matkina focuses on breathing and trying not to shout.

"Some ability to steer, but not much. Don't get your hopes up. It's a recording, any wiggle room you use is just the simulation being thorough. You want to look for the, the..." she trails off, mutters to herself, then says, "... jahk. That's what it was. I don't—I can't—think of it, but that's what it was called. It was important. Maybe the, the key to what happened."

"All right. So... pay attention, try to gather as much information as possible, tell you as much as I can to fill the hole."

She doesn't like this, but she also doesn't like Matkina walking around with that kind of, of hole in her mind. And she is going straight to the guy who was responsible, apparently, and. And. Matkina feels so hurt and betrayed and paranoid, and she just wants to patch a hole someone else made in her, and. Probably if she didn't do it someone else would instead so it's fine if she's the one to do it no she will not absolve herself of responsibility. She is choosing to steal into her brother's past and into his mind and she will own up to it. It is wrong. What he did was also wrong, left a kind of damage that she, even as a literal mindreader, can't fully comprehend. She wants to fix it, even if that means being a little bit cruel to her brother. She'll apologize, later. If she ever meets him. For what little good it will do any of them.

"... You sound like you've decided," whispers Matkina. Terrified despite herself. She wants this so badly, but maybe it won't even work, maybe all of this hope will be for nothing and she'll still be floating around through life with holes in her head and, and.

"It turns out that I'm a sucker for a sob story," she admits. "Do you—are you—can I—"

She would like to hug her poor broken sister, but that is probably overstepping.

"Oh, spare me your touchy feel-feels." Without looking at either of her guests, she goes over and opens a small panel by her bed, and retrieves a small black device from the hidden nook. It's jagged and knobbed, and protruding with some kind of antennae. A symbol like their shared tattoo is emblazoned on it. "This goes right to where it happened. It was—I can't—I can't see but I know. By the gaping hole that I can't think about. I killed him and it didn't go away."

That last part is to herself, more than anyone else. Just bemoaning the unfairness of the world.

"I guess I can't apologize to him, then."