Asra comes out of his pensive detachment as the papers are offered back to him. He takes them, but does not put them away.
"No," he answers. "Not the people I was with. Someone before them."
Someone had wanted him for--something. And en route - somehow - he ended up with the surgeon. Or perhaps she'd simply taken advantage of something left unattended and made helpless.
"She knew I was not for her. She told me." What had she said exactly? It's a red blur in his mind, a haze of pain and viscera and a cooing voice and hands inside him. His stomach turns and his hand splays over it as if he needs to hold something in. The scar is healing, though. Whatever she did, she ensured he would not split open without her.
Bren's brow knits only slightly as he watches Asra press his hand to his stomach where, beneath his clothes, the healing surgical scar is the evidence of that unknown woman's work.
"You have a complicated history, friend," he says softly, almost apologetically. That is dangerous, especially if Asra can't remember it. How will he know what threats to look for, from without or within? It is equally possible that he'll discover what Bren is concealing from him, deem that dishonesty a betrayal of trust, and dispose of him as he had the volstrucker. Staying with him is a gamble. But he already knew that.
Perhaps it is wiser in the grand scheme of things to reveal a little more now before it can be uncovered some other way--an explanation for his own shiftiness that might distract from the rest of what he wishes to remain hidden.
"Though I think I...may be able to illuminate a little more of it for you." He sounds less than completely certain because he isn't. He thinks that fleeting image was real, but there is really no way to know for sure whether or not it's merely something conjured by his mind. "I have been reluctant to share this for what I hope are obvious reasons," he begins tentatively, "but until recently I was a...patient at the Vergesson Sanitorium. A prisoner, really, as there was never any attempt at treatment."
This is the first time he's said that out loud. Resentment burns in his chest, but mostly he just feels ill. Folded close against his body, his arms itch. Though his hands flex, thankfully there are layers of shirt and bandage between his blunt fingernails and bare skin. "I do not...entirely trust my own memories. They are hazy at best. But I believe I may have seen you there at one time."
His gaze sharpens when Jakob begins to speak again, this time about Vergesson. Does that mean something to him...? Should it? His head hurts as he tries to find some empty space where those words should fit. But he listens, because Jakob seems to remember him. Maybe.
Asra can't place the man's face. He wants to, but he can't. Perhaps that means nothing in the end: Asra may never have seen Jakob, but that doesn't mean Jakob couldn't have seen him.
He pushes his fingers through his hair and there's a momentary flicker of--something. His left hand pauses, thumb brushing over something. Then he drops his hands.
"Vergesson," he repeats quietly, as if feeling and tasting the word will help it come back to him. Asra doesn't know if the rage he feels is a memory or just a reaction to his inability to understand his own circumstances. It does not escape him that Jakob has revealed more about himself. He was a prisoner there. No wonder he seems... paranoid. He must have escaped, or otherwise fears why he was let go.
"There is so much that is... haze. Difficult to place or disconnected. But if you say that you saw me, I have no reason to doubt it." Even if Jakob doubts himself. Asra looks at the letter that is apparently about him. "If I was there, I do not remember why or in what capacity. Or when."
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"No," he answers. "Not the people I was with. Someone before them."
Someone had wanted him for--something. And en route - somehow - he ended up with the surgeon. Or perhaps she'd simply taken advantage of something left unattended and made helpless.
"She knew I was not for her. She told me." What had she said exactly? It's a red blur in his mind, a haze of pain and viscera and a cooing voice and hands inside him. His stomach turns and his hand splays over it as if he needs to hold something in. The scar is healing, though. Whatever she did, she ensured he would not split open without her.
no subject
"You have a complicated history, friend," he says softly, almost apologetically. That is dangerous, especially if Asra can't remember it. How will he know what threats to look for, from without or within? It is equally possible that he'll discover what Bren is concealing from him, deem that dishonesty a betrayal of trust, and dispose of him as he had the volstrucker. Staying with him is a gamble. But he already knew that.
Perhaps it is wiser in the grand scheme of things to reveal a little more now before it can be uncovered some other way--an explanation for his own shiftiness that might distract from the rest of what he wishes to remain hidden.
"Though I think I...may be able to illuminate a little more of it for you." He sounds less than completely certain because he isn't. He thinks that fleeting image was real, but there is really no way to know for sure whether or not it's merely something conjured by his mind. "I have been reluctant to share this for what I hope are obvious reasons," he begins tentatively, "but until recently I was a...patient at the Vergesson Sanitorium. A prisoner, really, as there was never any attempt at treatment."
This is the first time he's said that out loud. Resentment burns in his chest, but mostly he just feels ill. Folded close against his body, his arms itch. Though his hands flex, thankfully there are layers of shirt and bandage between his blunt fingernails and bare skin. "I do not...entirely trust my own memories. They are hazy at best. But I believe I may have seen you there at one time."
no subject
Asra can't place the man's face. He wants to, but he can't. Perhaps that means nothing in the end: Asra may never have seen Jakob, but that doesn't mean Jakob couldn't have seen him.
He pushes his fingers through his hair and there's a momentary flicker of--something. His left hand pauses, thumb brushing over something. Then he drops his hands.
"Vergesson," he repeats quietly, as if feeling and tasting the word will help it come back to him. Asra doesn't know if the rage he feels is a memory or just a reaction to his inability to understand his own circumstances. It does not escape him that Jakob has revealed more about himself. He was a prisoner there. No wonder he seems... paranoid. He must have escaped, or otherwise fears why he was let go.
"There is so much that is... haze. Difficult to place or disconnected. But if you say that you saw me, I have no reason to doubt it." Even if Jakob doubts himself. Asra looks at the letter that is apparently about him. "If I was there, I do not remember why or in what capacity. Or when."