We typically go by "Orchard" online unless you know specific alters or are given a different name to use, they/them is a good catch-all. Late 20s.
S'ria Compiled Fic: No Visibility -- Complete Whiteout [triggers abound]
Reaper Menphina AU Writings: Voidbound
FFXIV DC: Light [EU]
#snow-system : S'ria et al. (Our lil guy!!)(also "#S'ria 🌸❄️")
#reaper menphina au : the WoL Menphina variant (explained under readmore)
¹[Dawntrail notes : Dawntrail posts will typically be tagged "#dt spoilers". #7.x spoilers will always be tagged for new MSQ and raids]
Other notes:
•Reblogs are fine for anything!
•S'ria's system/DID was developed primarily in response to human trafficking and associated abuse -- we will use read mores + warnings as necessary, and external ao3 links contain their own warnings. Menphina, of course, shares that backstory. The AUs only diverge after that part of their lives.
•If you have any questions about Dissociative Identity Disorder, if asked respectfully we will do our best to answer
S'ria:
The host of the system, and is around 99% of the time. S'ria was born in Gyr Abania, into a group of S Tribe members who kept to their traditions instead of leaving for city life. This group was killed when Garlemald occupied the country, and S'ria spent an unfortunate chunk of his childhood and teen years in Garlemald. (Bad. Can explain, but Triggers abound. Developed Dissociative Identity Disorder during this time.) He eventually escaped and found his way to Limsa Lominsa, where he was taken in by the Rogue's Guild (and did not remember anything before that).
He only realizes his links to Gyr Abania during StB, and only begins to remember any of his pre-Limsa traumatic past much later, in ShB.
He views the twins as adopted siblings, and has had G'raha as a long-term partner since post-ShB.
Menphina:
Serves in a "Caretaker" role, is frequently aware and paying attention to external events. She attempts to take care of both S'ria and those in his life. S'ria was unaware of her existence until post-StB, at which point he becomes aware of having DID. Menphina had always been able to do improvised healing, but she doesn't take the chance to try to learn properly until S'ria is comfortable with her presence.
Unlike her godly namesake, she presents herself as a mature adult figure.
In post EnW, she picks up a non-combat version of DNC (party support), creating the custom job "Selenomancer" -- a WHM/DNC hybrid.
In Reaper Menphina AU: She instead made a voidsent pact when they were young and ended up the main player character + WoL. While being an alter makes relationship with the body complicated, describing her as a trans woman is the most accurate thing here.
Fray:
Serves in a "Protector" role. Not quite DRK Fray. This alter existed since childhood, attempting to protect the system and escape (and did kill their abuser), but did not have a name until they fused with the Fray Concept that was created through the DRK quests.
They fight many of the trials and major battles in ARR on S'ria's behalf, which results in large gaps in his memory of events. (S'ria attempts to hide this for years.) S'ria is now aware of them, but direct communication is still hit or miss
Others: we are happy to explain other alters in the snow system upon request, but they rarely come up in discussion and are highly trauma-related.
Menphina meets Quintus and she fears that the past has finally come calling for her.
[1.2k words] (tw: panic responses, vague ref to csa)
Menphina hoped the end of her tail wasn't much visible beyond her coat, puffed up as it was. Even Garleans could not fail to notice her flattened ears though, seeing as anyone who noticed her pass by stared at those features. She wished they hadn't all but forced her to show her entire face the moment she stepped into the tunnel.
Beyond having the option of privacy, she was freezing. The hood would have helped, even already out of the winds as they were.
Perhaps she could excuse the ears as her trying to keep them warm rather than them laying flat in fear, if asked. That sounded plausible enough.
Every time the twins glanced to Menphina in conversation, they looked so… soft and calm that it nearly took Menphina off guard. There she was, body and mind fighting to choose between fear and frustration, and they seemed… even after what'd happened the day prior, they seemed surprisingly well.
Menphina bit her tongue and arranged her face as neutrally as she dared. She was familiar with the rhetoric Quintus spoke of. She didn't quite understand why her young charges seemed to be entertaining it as a valid question – or perhaps their hesitation was realizing that there was no satisfactory answer.
If she were not concerned about Alisaie's and Alphinaud's safety, she would tell him precisely why no one cared for Garlemald’s colonizing offers of peace. On some level, he probably knew, but a man with that much blood on his hands lived under miles of justifications and self-reassurance too deep to break through.
All familiar tunes, she was sure – to convince a soldier that there was nothing immoral about their conduct. That everything they did was either just or deserved.
Alisaie and Alphinaud flinched in surprise at the sudden thunder of soldiers surrounding their train car. Menphina still tensed, but just looked… resigned. She loved the twins dearly and chose to support their optimism, but that did not mean she'd expected better.
Perhaps it made the peace offerings feel all the more like a trap if her dislike was clear. Perhaps noticing that Menphina seemed to hate the soldiers yet helped regardless make it feel like more grounded support. Who was to say? The fact remained that what she'd known would happen had finally come to pass.
Menphina didn't pay much mind to what Quintus had to say until two specific words left his mouth. “Collar them.”
Menphina froze, vision briefly greying at the edges. Her hands drifted towards her neck, desperately wishing she had not clasped the collar of her coat, the scars underneath burning. She forced them to still and tried to glance discreetly at the soldiers. Looked to be… at least ten in the room, though she wouldn't count Quintus as a combatant, some half-dozen more just outside. A mix of different visible guns or blades.
It would take Menphina just a moment to draw her scythe from Luna’s shadow, the sight would likely be distracting enough for all to pause, and she expected she could have at least four or five down before any could react. Then that's where the problem kicked in. Someone would recover enough to shoot. Though, it'd depend if they aimed at the threat or got clever with targeting the children. If they didn't target Menphina, she could likely clear out the rest and escape with ease –
– what an awful thought to even consider. Menphina would rather be the first target, always. Not the twins.
By the time she shook off that thought, a soldier was already walking directly up to her. Menphina stepped back in panicked instinct and she thought she heard the nearby click from a weapon. She wanted to prove them wrong about the beast they thought she was. But that desire did not stop her from baring her teeth with a slight growl in her throat. Still approaching, undeterred, a hand lifting.
«Don't touch me!»
Menphina got her wish. Everyone had frozen, which meant no one was trying to get any closer.
Somewhat belatedly, she realized why. As they learned the native tongue of their new home, how many times had they spoken those exact words? Hoping that using his preferred language would make any more of a difference?
It never did.
How painfully ironic that only now, back in Garlemald for the second time in her life, the plea finally seemed to work.
“Why do you speak like that?”
Quintus had an oddly flat tone as he stared at Menphina. She felt her entire body go cold in a way that was beyond the freezing temperatures. She knew the mistake. Not only was it the wrong language, it was the wrong class – with the housestaff kept away from them at most times, the only sources for her Garlean were of… distinctly elevated status. Even with only a handful of words, such an accent gave… too much away.
Perhaps he had not expected an answer, so Quintus followed up with a different question.
“So, Champion of Eorzea, I ask you this – how old are you?”
Menphina only distantly noticed the reactions of others to the title, the brief moment of regret and fear on Jullus’s own features. Nor did she pay any mind to the way her shadow became shifting and twitchy. Those did not matter anymore. What mattered is that surely he knew. He knew.
Menphina began frantically recalculating how she'd fare against the number of soldiers present. What did Quintus know of S'ria? She did not believe she had seen his face before – else he would be dead by now, had she recognized him as a visitor. But Quintus was military, and Menphina figured their master had retired from service himself. Surely the tale spread, how could it not? A ranking ex-military, taking in a war-orphaned miqo'te as his ward, now dead. The child had been visually distinct, long pink-tinged hair on an androgynous long-limbed miqo'te – memorable.
Of course, "S'ria" disappeared, and Menphina knew they would have been caught if they'd stayed. She wasn't sure if anyone understood the obvious motive, but people like her were known to be savage. And besides, Miqo'te bite wounds were very distinct in the middle of a Garlean city.
So there was a mountain of evidence, and just enough information that anyone familiar with the incident could begin to question whether Menphina was the same miqo'te.
She remembered then that she'd been asked a question and that Quintus was looking increasingly impatient. She forced a nonchalant shrug.
“I am not entirely certain. I do not know the year of my birth.”
“Hm.”
He could make of that whatever he wanted, Menphina had said the true part. Not that Quintus had the Echo to confirm that anyway.
Menphina was aware of the eyes on her, both wary stares of soldiers and concerned observation from the twins. No more questions were asked. Quintus waved his hand, assigning Jullus to be their keeper.
Menphina's ears were still flat when she stepped out from the train car. The crawling sense of someone having unspoken leverage over her weighed heavy. She looked at the twins again as they planned. She dreaded the idea, but perhaps she should tell them – so that they were prepared to dodge the next trap if it closed on her.
Or perhaps ‘twould be better if she did not speak those words anywhere in this frigid wasteland.
