[ that in itself is reassurance, both to cassian and to daisy herself. she has lived through that trauma, enough that in her waking hours it no longer weighs on her, and a dream of it will pass with time as well. ]
I was a different person then, I think. [ not literally, but. ] I didn't know who I was, so I made up this whole... existence. Everything I thought I knew about myself was fake.
[ it's perhaps more than cassian wanted to know, but once daisy starts, she finds she can't stop the words from coming out, her hands coming up to grip tightly around the tea mug. ]
I grew up in this orphanage, you know? A Catholic one, with nuns and an old priest who never came out except for Christmas mass, where people came all the time to adopt cute kids and feel better about themselves. They didn't even know who I was. My parents... we didn't know anything. They gave me this horrible name — [ she scoffs into her drink, a quiet sound ] — Mary Sue Poots. Just ... the worst name you could give a kid.
[ at least, the worst name you could make up for one. ]
But it shouldn't have mattered, you know? I got foster families. I just couldn't keep them. No matter what I did, no matter how bad I wanted to stay, they'd send me back. A year, six months, maybe three. Nobody wanted me. "A bad fit," that was always the excuse. "Not right for us."
[ it had weighed on her. even now, daisy wasn't sure she was the right fit for anybody. there was always the risk that someone would get sick of her and bail. ]
I left as soon as I could... and I got rid of it all. My name, my history, my whole life, I erased it. I gave myself a new name, a new purpose... I didn't even know who I was. I called myself Skye like I was some wannabe Madonna, one name and everything. [ which she was not. ] And then I got shot and I found out I was probably part alien and...
[ she shrugs. the rest, as they say, was history. her history. ]
no subject
[ that in itself is reassurance, both to cassian and to daisy herself. she has lived through that trauma, enough that in her waking hours it no longer weighs on her, and a dream of it will pass with time as well. ]
I was a different person then, I think. [ not literally, but. ] I didn't know who I was, so I made up this whole... existence. Everything I thought I knew about myself was fake.
[ it's perhaps more than cassian wanted to know, but once daisy starts, she finds she can't stop the words from coming out, her hands coming up to grip tightly around the tea mug. ]
I grew up in this orphanage, you know? A Catholic one, with nuns and an old priest who never came out except for Christmas mass, where people came all the time to adopt cute kids and feel better about themselves. They didn't even know who I was. My parents... we didn't know anything. They gave me this horrible name — [ she scoffs into her drink, a quiet sound ] — Mary Sue Poots. Just ... the worst name you could give a kid.
[ at least, the worst name you could make up for one. ]
But it shouldn't have mattered, you know? I got foster families. I just couldn't keep them. No matter what I did, no matter how bad I wanted to stay, they'd send me back. A year, six months, maybe three. Nobody wanted me. "A bad fit," that was always the excuse. "Not right for us."
[ it had weighed on her. even now, daisy wasn't sure she was the right fit for anybody. there was always the risk that someone would get sick of her and bail. ]
I left as soon as I could... and I got rid of it all. My name, my history, my whole life, I erased it. I gave myself a new name, a new purpose... I didn't even know who I was. I called myself Skye like I was some wannabe Madonna, one name and everything. [ which she was not. ] And then I got shot and I found out I was probably part alien and...
[ she shrugs. the rest, as they say, was history. her history. ]