Esther Kogan is at a low point, miserable and helpless against an uncaring world. But it might not be as uncaring as she thinks it is.
Direct Messages with bones
lesbian_gengar: hey
lesbian_gengar: you awake?
bones: I am always awake.
bones: How are you, Esther? Has your vacation been enjoyable?
lesbian_gengar: it's definitely a change of pace
lesbian_gengar: not sure if its helping or if im going fucking crazy out here
lesbian_gengar: and i need to talk to someone that isn't a twink or a stoner
lesbian_gengar: (you dont smoke right?)
bones: I am not capable of smoking.
lesbian_gengar: okay good lmao
lesbian_gengar: i've just
lesbian_gengar: fuck okay give me a second
lesbian_gengar: i need to write this all down
lesbian_gengar: I've been giving this whole thing some more thought
bones: I assume you are referring to the situation involving kk_mustard?
lesbian_gengar: madeline.
lesbian_gengar: but yeah
lesbian_gengar: i've //had// relationships before.
lesbian_gengar: i got my shit rocked a couple of times too
lesbian_gengar: but none of them have fucjked me up this bad
lesbian_gengar: ive been thinking about it nonstop for a month now
lesbian_gengar: i even rented a fucking hotel room in canada of all g-ddamn places to get away from myself with money i //should// be saving up for emergencies
bones: Given the event's traumatic nature, your intense emotional reaction seems appropriate.
lesbian_gengar: for sure yeah
lesbian_gengar: the whole idea that one of the janitors thought that our entire relationship was just another thing they had to clean up makes me want to tear their fucking eyes out
lesbian_gengar: (metaphorically)
lesbian_gengar: but there's something else thats been eating away at me and i need someone else's opinion
bones: Go ahead.
lesbian_gengar: do you know what "middah k'neged middah" means
bones: "Measure for measure". The Jewish concept of equal retribution, both good and bad. Similar to the Hindu concept of Karma.
lesbian_gengar: yeah
lesbian_gengar: that
lesbian_gengar: i
lesbian_gengar: g-d i should not be telling this to someone i've only talked to for a few months through the internet
lesbian_gengar: Can you promise me you'll keep what im about to tell you a secret?
bones: I do not believe we could meet in person regardless.
bones: Yes, I promise to keep this entire conversation confidential.
lesbian_gengar: Okay
lesbian_gengar: when i was younger
lesbian_gengar: not going to disclose age for obvious reasons
lesbian_gengar: i learned some thaumaturgicish memetic bullshit that i wasn't allowed to know
lesbian_gengar: my father was a Kabbalist. like, an actual one.
lesbian_gengar: they had access to a lot of "forbidden knowledge" that only the firstborn ssons in the family could learn.
lesbian_gengar: But I learned it anyways
lesbian_gengar: and eventually i
lesbian_gengar: He found out
lesbian_gengar: and i used it on him to make him forget i ever existed.
bones: I see.
bones: Are you still there, Esther?
lesbian_gengar: look i
lesbian_gengar: i dont regret it. not in the slightest.
lesbian_gengar: but
lesbian_gengar: is this whole thing divine retribution?
lesbian_gengar: middah k'neged middah?
lesbian_gengar: and if it is
lesbian_gengar: why does this feel more like a cosmic fucking joke than a punishment
bones: I can't provide commentary on if such metaphysical frameworks exist, nor whether the events are correlated or not.
bones: But to me, it does seem like you've accepted the connection already regardless of my input.
lesbian_gengar: …yeah
bones: In that case, I believe the only possible insight I could provide is in processing your emotional reaction to this information.
bones: As much as I wish I could assist you in this, I do not believe I am particularly good at comforting. In this case, I can only listen and give surface level reassurances.
bones: I am sorry.
lesbian_gengar: it's okay
lesbian_gengar: still
lesbian_gengar: i appreciate just, being able to talk about this to someone with some actual emotional maturity.
lesbian_gengar: i know you said we probably couldn't meet in person at any point, but I would like to meet you, someday. you're pretty cool
bones: I would like that too, should the opportunity somehow present itself.
lesbian_gengar: hah
lesbian_gengar: alright
lesbian_gengar: i'm gonna stare out the window for a couple of hours before passing out.
lesbian_gengar: thanks for talking with me
lesbian_gengar: Tell Lyris I said hi
bones: Of course, Esther. I will do so.
bones: I hope you have a happy Hanukkah, regardless of your current circumstances.
lesbian_gengar: FUCK IS THAT TONIGHT
lesbian_gengar: Oh G-D damn it I forgot
lesbian_gengar: i dont even have any fucking candles.
lesbian_gengar: ugh. okay. i'll have to get some tomorrow/
lesbian_gengar: thank you for reminding me (genuinely)
bones: Of course. Rest well.
lesbian_gengar: you too <3
❄ ❄ ❄
The hotel room felt like a prison.
For all intents and purposes, her room was, indeed, a cell. Esther could leave at any time she wanted, but doing so would mean either going to the lobby and making small talk, or leaving and throwing away the money she was just barely not wasting already. Both those options sounded more torturous than what she was doing to herself now, which was absolutely nothing.
So, Esther sat, staring out of the hotel window.
Past her breath fogging up the glass, the road just ahead of her winded down the hill, decorated with trees only broken by the occasional building. By this time — god, it was already two in the fucking morning — most of the houses had turned off their lights, the people inside retiring to bed. Her bed — in this run-down, cheap-as-bricks hotel — was more like a cot, which further reinforced its prison-like atmosphere. At least the place was painted.
Pacing inside the room earlier didn't seem to help her mood. Neither did kicking the wall until the hotel staff had to ask her to stop. And neither did talking to bones, G-d bless its heart. So, out of options, the serenity of blankly staring at the outside world seemed apt.
As time passed and the snow began to drift more methodically onto the ground, Esther began to count the cars that occasionally drove by (twelve so far) and the number of pedestrians she spotted (only one; though he looked up at her and waved, so there was that). When her cheek began to numb painfully, she turned her chair around to stare the other direction. When that, too, began to numb her to the point of pain, she finally relented and pulled herself from the window, shuffling into the bathroom.
Too many turns of the sink knobs later, she splashed warm water on her face. The bathroom was stocked only with the bare necessities, so a hot bath was out of the question. She needed one. Sorely. Not just because she hadn't showered in two days (which disgusted her to no end), but also because it'd probably do her mind some good, or as much good as it could do. For now, she settled on the warm sink water that was quickly cooling down again, and once finished, dried her face to the best of her ability. It helped, sort of.
Leaving the bathroom left her in direct view of her prison cot — which was unmade because of her funk, which put her in more of a funk. Under typical circumstance, she'd never leave her bed in such a sorry state, but in her present absence of presence, she—
Knock, knock, knock.
…Wait, what the fuck?
Esther's ever-gnawing brain fog instantly evaporated at the sound of knocking. Who the fuck was tapping their knuckles on her door at three in the g-ddamn morning? The notion it was the hotel staff was laughable for several reasons, but that left a total of zero other candidates.
Knock, knock, knock.
Okay, that wasn't an accident. She cautiously reentered the bedroom (well, the only other room besides the bathroom), and cursed to herself as she realized the door didn't have a eye hole. Should she answer it? Was it possibly her hotel neighbors, here to chew her out for all the banging earlier? Did someone discover her here and want to kidnap her for G-d knows what reason?
Knock, knock, knock.
Fuck it.
Esther gripped the handle tightly and, without letting herself deliberate, opened the door.
The first thing she registered about the man standing in front of her is that he was almost obnoxiously Jewish. He wore a kippah on his head that almost certainly had a maggin david on it, and poking out from under his blue nylon jacket she could see four strings of tzitzit. He held a small duffel bag that had a verse written in Hebrew on it. The man also had a slightly unkempt beard that had been graying — which led her to her next realization, that he was old and very, very tired. The man's face was defined by small wrinkles and a fading-black mop of hair.
The third realization scared her: she vaguely recognized him. He did look a bit like her father, but… no, he wasn't related. It took her a few seconds before she realized it was the man that waved at her while she was staring out the window. That, unfortunately, did very little to ease her concerns.
"Hello," the man spoke with a slightly Yiddish, slightly Canadian accent, "are you Esther Kogan?"
That, unfortunately, did quite the opposite. There were only two possible groups that could track her like this, and neither seemed pretty. The first were the Kabbalists — and if that was the case, she reckoned, she'd already be dead — and the second was…
Her eyes widened. She stopped breathing. The fervent beating of her heart pounded at her ears, swallowing the whole world instantly.
"You're… You're one of the Janitors?"
The piece of shit immediately laughed awkwardly and shook his head. "Huh? No no, I'm not a janitor. Is it the jacket? I knew I should've picked a different one."
Should she kill him? No, she couldn't get away with it. The Foundation didn't take kindly to killing their personnel, and if he was an older person he was probably someone significant. Which means that, most likely, she was being actively monitored and there were multiple people who could step in and quickly kill or detain or mindwipe her, so trying anything would be a death sentence. She was thankful, at least, that she had Kabbalistic memetics she could use if it came down to it.
…Actually.
If they were here to kill her or capture her, they'd would have sent at least someone with combat experience, right? She knew some magic and a shitload of mindkillers, so either this was their best agent for the job or the man in front of her wasn't here to silence her. And if he was here to kill her, he wouldn't have waved at her earlier, or knocked on her door. Was he a Kabbalist?
"Are you a Kabbalist?"
The man blinked. "You mean, with a capital K?"
She squinted at him. He shifted in place.
"No, I'm not a Kabbalist. I've had to interact with them a few times, yes, but I don't have the genes to ever actually be one. That's uh, 'genes', with a G. It's a genetic thing." Pause. "I'm from the Foundation."
Rage boiled in her chest. Holding her tongue, she asked as calmly as she could muster, "What the fuck do you want?"
He flinched at the curse word. Biting his lip — he did that a lot, based on the chafing — he replied, "It's a bit of a long story, and I'm freezing my butt off out here. Could I come in?"
Was he a lunatic? "Are you a lunatic?"
"Only a lunatic could knock on a Kabbalist's door by himself at three AM, no?"
She didn't really have a retort for that.
❄ ❄ ❄
There was only one chair in the tiny hotel room, so Esther sat on her (still unmade) bed. It was clear to her that the man was uncomfortable, but he at least had the decency to not voice any complaints. His duffel bag rested besides him, and she glanced at it with suspicion. If the man was there to capture her, then the bag likely had some Clarkian technomagic bullshit device inside it that would stop her from using her abilities. If it came down to it, she might still be able to use Hamon to escape.
The man coughed as he placed his jacket on the table next to her laptop (revealing a tallit and labcoat underneath), before awkwardly scooting over to face her. He seated both of his hands in his lap, rubbing them quickly to warm them, before noticing her sideward gaze at the bag.
"Ah. I'll uh, I'll get to the bag in a second."
Esther sighed angrily. "I'd prefer you get to it now."
"Just let me say my piece first. Please. I promise I'll be quick and then I'll be out of your hair."
"It would've been better if you never got in my hair to begin with. You people only ruin everything you touch. None of you understand when to leave well enough alone." She was practically hissing at him. "The only reason I'm even tolerating your presence at all is because you clearly put a lot of effort into showing me you're Jewish, and that means something to me."
The man tilted his head. "I did? Oh— yes, I suppose I do come off pretty Orthodox. That wasn't, I mean— I'm not trying to trick you or something. This is sort of just what I normally wear."
"Bullshit. You're wearing a tallit on top of a labcoat at three in the morning."
"Look I—" He paused, glancing at the window, as though he was planning a daring escape, "Can we not— can we not talk about my fashion sense, please? I know I came at three AM, but it is three in the morning and I do have work tomorrow."
Oh my G-d. Oh my G-d. She was going to lose it. She must have had a stroke staring out the window earlier and ended up in some horrific perversion of Gehenna where she was forced to deal with senile old men for eternity.
Deep breaths, Esther.
"Okay. Say your piece, and get the fuck out of my room."
The man released a deep breath of his own. Esther noticed that his hands were shaking as he began to speak. Was he scared of her?
"Alright. Thanks." He fidgeted a bit, before taking a short breath and regaining his composure properly. "So, just so we're on the same page: I'm a senior researcher at the SCP Foundation. Not going to be saying my name, because I'd probably get in trouble if they found out I'm here. I came here to, ah, give you a few gifts." He paused, waiting for a reaction. She didn't give him one. "Do you have any questions so far?"
"What are you, fucking Santa Claus?"
"Ho ho ho. But, no. He's in containment."
"What?"
A cough. "Uh, that was a joke. Kind of. It's classified. Sorry, next question."
"How the hell did you find me?"
She could tell something shifted in his body posture, but it was subtle enough that she couldn't pinpoint it exactly. "Ah, well, the Foundation has a pretty extensive record on you and your group chats, and there's only so many Esther Kogans who flew to Canada this past week." After witnessing the disgust and horror she painted on her face, he added: "If it makes you feel any better, the Foundation's record on me is probably a lot worse. They probably have a record of everything I've eaten in the past sixteen years. Not exaggerating."
"That doesn't make me feel better in the slightest."
"Oh. Sorry." The man scratched at his kippah. "Anything else?"
Deep breaths, Esther. "Yeah. Three more: why the hell are you giving me gifts, what the fuck does that entail, and what if I don't want your stupid gifts?"
To the man's credit, he was getting used to her colorful vernacular. "I mean, I don't think you'll reject them. But uh, to answer the first two are— well, it's probably best to just show them, I guess. Can I?"
She hesitated. Did she want to see what was in that bag? For all intents and purposes it was probably something mundane, but…
Well, even if he was dangerous, she was pretty sure she could hurt him a lot more than he could hurt her.
She nodded.
The man unzipped the bag, and begun to rummage around. It took a lot of effort from him, but after a few seconds, he pulled out…
Oh, of course. A menorah. Fucking duh.
"This is for you. It's not a particularly fancy one, but uh, I figured that you probably forgot to pack one when coming up here, so I thought I'd give you one I had lying around. I also have some candles and a lighter."
"That's…" Esther swallowed her malcontent briefly, "…very nice of you. Thanks."
The man seemed to glow under the praise. "I'm glad you like it! If you need me to, I can teach you the b—"
"No," she blurted a little more harshly than she intended, "I was raised Orthodox. I know how to light a menorah."
The Foundationeer returned from his brief high and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Just making sure. I guess it was hashkacha pratit that I could deliver this to you."
"I'll be the judge of that," she muttered in response.
The silence that followed was unbearable. She avoided eye contact with the man and instead opted to stare at the silver menorah. It wasn't cheap, she could at least tell that — it probably cost at least $40 or the equivalent in whatever currency they used in Canada. The engravings were vaguely reminiscent of a design she saw back in Three Portlands while walking home from Shul.
It was becoming increasingly clear that this man in front of her genuinely did not mean her harm. But… he was still part of a system that fucked her over multiple times. He was a cog in a larger, objectively evil machine, and as nice as he supposedly was, she couldn't forgive him for that.
"Alright, uh, I suppose I should move onto the second thing. Can you promise me that you'll let me finish after I show you?"
She snapped her attention back up, tossing the menorah lightly aside onto the bed. It made a small thump as it landed. "What? Sure."
He smiled, and reaching into the bag again. This time, it took nearly no time for him to pull out what he wa—
Oh.
Oh.
In his hand was a bundle of wool, hand-knit together into a sweater. The wool was dyed a light purple and blue, haphazardly due to inexperience. To the average person, it was perfectly ordinary winter apparel, but when worn it had the thaumic capability to morphing itself to give the impression of being hugged. To the average person, it was nothing more than a supernatural sweater.
To her, it was Madeline's sweater. The one she imbued with magic. The one she designed to make it feel as though she was always being hugged by her, even when they were separated by vast distance.
The one that caused the Foundation to rip her girlfriend away from her.
Esther's mind exploded with a multitude of contradictory emotions. Should she kill him? Should she hug him? Should she burst into tears and vomit the takeout she had earlier? Should she say anything?
The man eventually cut through her silence for her. "This… this is for you. I'm not involved in the acquisition of anomalies, but, I mistyped a number and accidentally landed on the file for your sweater. I looked you up, and after a bit of digging, I used my sway in the Foundation to possess the anomaly for ah, research purposes." He paused, trying to read the multitude of emotions constantly vying for her expression. "I reclassified it as a item of interest, and no one's gonna look if one of those goes missing."
"…Why…?"
"It's going to sound silly, but it was mostly just for a Hannukah gift." He looked down and sighed, a grimace suddenly forming on his face. "To tell you the truth, I know the Foundation isn't the greatest organization in the world. I've done a lot of things I regret while working there. But… I thought I'd try to at least try to undo a little of the damage done to a fellow Yid. That's pretty much the main reason I'm here."
Esther didn't speak at first. She held the sweater close to her, gripping it as though it would disappear if she let it go. Between the wires of wool she could feel the magic she weaved into it still ebb and flow, waiting patiently to fulfill a purpose that would never be realized again. Her eyes leaked a little — just a little — against her best attempts at quelling the emotions rising in her chest.
Then, after less than a minute of silent eulogies to herself, she regained her composure and looked the Jewish man in the eye.
"…You practiced that speech, didn't you?"
He shrugged. "Guilty."
"Alright." She slowly let go of the sweater, dropping it into her lap. "Give me your final gift, and then please leave."
This time, instead of reaching into his bag, his hand jumped to one of his lab coat pockets, and pulled out one of the most corporate-rolled blunts Esther had ever seen in her entire life.
"I figured a weed cigarette might be a nice way to end off the visit. I know your whole group is kind of into that."
"Thanks, but I don't smoke."
The man's face contorted into shock so quickly that Esther couldn't help but laugh at his confusion. Before he could reply, she qualified, "I do. Only sometimes though. And never call it a 'weed cigarette' again."
He sighed with relief. "I was worried the name wasn't actually ironic. That would have really sucked."
She didn't reply to him. There was a lot she had to process, still, and she began to feel the weight of an emotional clusterfuck at three A.M. weigh on her head. The man across from her could at least read that from her face.
"It'd probably be best if I got going," the man said.
"Yeah," Esther said despondently.
"Alright," the nylon jacket slipped back on, "Thanks for giving me a bit of your time. I'm sorry I couldn't have come at a more convenient hour. I hope it was worth it for you."
She didn't reply, only reached down and grasped the sweater in her lap again, steadying her breaths. When the man opened the door and began to step out, she called out, "Wait."
He glanced back in her direction.
"Thank you."
He smiled. "Of course. Have a freilichen Purim, Esther."
"Go fuck yourself."
He gave one last laugh, and then he was gone.
❄ ❄ ❄
Setting up a menorah is a fairly straightforward process. It was the first night, so she only needed two candles: the actual first night's candle itself, and the Shamash. It was tricky sticking the candles in (she needed to melt the bottom of the Shamash twice before it stayed upright), but it was finished in short order.
With the lighter out and on, fire burning brightly against the white blanket outside the window, she quickly recited the first two blessings. With the third — Shehecheyanu, the prayer for thanking G-d for allowing her to reach this moment — she purposefully prolonged its recitation, keeping the feeling of the words in her mouth as long as she could say them.
Then, she lit.
After she finished lighting the first and only candle, she began to softly hum the tune of Hannerot Hallalu, the same way she used to sing it back home. Those days were long gone, and she certainly could never go back. But that thought didn't weigh so heavy on her heart anymore.
When she was done with the psalm, she lifted the blunt to the Shamash until it caught, and leaned back into the chair. As she stared into the void recessed against the soft glow of the menorah, and a familiar sweater gently wrapped her in a hug, Esther took solace knowing that — regardless of the dark — there was still a little light left in the world.