Chapter Text
From the moment I decided to start having regular consultations with the Sinners, I knew I'd be extra-busy in the weeks following retrieving a Golden Bough. After the business in La Manchaland concluded, I made sure to keep a closer eye on Don Quixote's wellbeing in particular. On the surface, she seemed to bounce back quickly and returned to being the Fixer-obsessed Don Quixote we all knew and loved and… tolerated. There just happened to also be centuries of recovered memories to work through now.
Of course, I couldn't ignore the rest of the Sinners. Hiding from them Don Quixote’s nature as a Bloodfiend was the single largest betrayal of trust they had ever seen from me. Although that turned out alright in the end, I could only hope that everyone's acceptance of it wasn't just… getting swept up in the moment. Outis in particular also received extra frequent consultations, but it didn't exactly help that she was still bound by her contract to not discuss her past… We still had to wait for her turn.
But there was one Sinner I found myself growing concerned about, someone with something new on their mind that they wouldn't address without a little nudging first…
<...Sinclair?>
“Huh? O-oh, right, sorry… could you repeat that?” He snapped out of an unresponsive daze, an increasingly frequent problem. I tried to give everyone as much time as they needed until they were ready to talk about an issue, but Sinclair’s distractedness was getting dire.
<I know I ask this every time, but… Sinclair, are you sure there's absolutely nothing else that's been weighing on you lately? Something that you're hesitant to talk about?>
I… had no idea if my ‘voice’ could actually convey a certain tone, but I still tried my best to be as non-confrontational as possible. Sinclair didn't say anything for a while, but the way his eyes were focused down at the hands in his lap, I could tell he was still formulating a response. He took a deep breath in and opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but suddenly decided against it and went back to debating inside his own head. Eventually, though…
“...The old Don Quixote- Er, y-younger one? The one with- …Sancho.” Despite all his preparation, the words tumbled out of his mouth in a confused mess. His shoulders slumped down and I could practically hear him internally chastising himself. He took another deep breath and tried again. “The Sancho we met, and the memories of them that the Golden Bough showed us… they somehow looked like a completely different person, right?”
I nodded, silently urging him to continue.
“Even besides the red eyes and fangs, their hair was all wild, right? A-and the fancy clothes they wore, and that attitude…”
I nodded again, unsure of where this was going. Sinclair looked like he was sweating as he nervously gulped.
“W-w-would you say it all seemed more… M-masculine…?” He asked, practically wincing as he uttered that last word. Before, he would look all around the room at anything but me. Now, though, he looked straight into my ‘eyes’ with an almost pleading expression, as if to say “please tell me I'm not crazy.”
I couldn't help but think back to a flash of memories I experienced from one of Don Quixote's Identities, where she became the manager of La Manchaland instead of going on that adventure with her father. Something about a dress tailored just for her that she had refused to wear for a long time. Maybe she never wore it at all? I got the strange feeling I really shouldn't ask the next time I pull out that Identity, though.
<Uh, I guess a little bit, yeah… Why do you ask?>
Sinclair’s expression hardened, and he subtly tightened his hands into fists. We had finally reached the crux of the matter.
“Manager, do you think… that a woman could be a man? O-or rather, a man could be a woman…?”
Had this been someone like Yi Sang, I would have assumed this was some kind of strange metaphor or something else poetic that would fly over my head. But Sinclair wasn't like that.
<Well… I don't see why not? We've already seen countless things that seemed way less possible. This is what's been weighing on you?>
It was Sinclair’s turn to quietly nod.
Not much further was discussed for the rest of the consultation; I felt way too unqualified to talk about this without maybe asking Faust some things first.
Until something else about this issue develops, I think I'll maybe start using “they” instead of “he” in my notes when referring to Sinclair.
At the end of the regular consultations was, of course, Faust’s consultation with me. And I needed her advice now more than ever… not including matters of imminent life and death.
“Do you have any further questions, Dante?” She asked. My response was almost always ‘no,’ so the intensity with which I jumped at the chance to say yes – probably somewhat literally in addition to metaphorically – seemed to surprise her. I’ve never had many chances to see her be caught off-guard, now that I think about it. The WARP train incident and my, well, everything, seem to be the only things that defy her pseudo-omniscience.
<Yes! Please, uh…> My train of thought completely derailed and my words seemed to die in my throat. Is this how Sinclair felt when they were talking to me? <...What can you tell me about… men becoming women? Or vice versa, for that matter? Anything along those lines, really.>
“...You are asking on behalf of someone else,” Faust deduced. I couldn't really be sure if that was from Gesellschaft or a conclusion drawn by the fact I myself had never really even thought about gender since I lost my memories. I wasn't entirely sure which option I'd have preferred, honestly.
<Yeah, or at least… sort of. I obviously want and need to help them as part of my duties as manager, but I'm kind of in uncharted territory here. As far as I can remember, at least.>
She looked at me with her typical inscrutable expression, but nodded in understanding. “Just as augmentation procedures and prostheses are relatively commonplace in the City, there are similarly various methods of gender transition available. As a matter of fact, while most only think of augmentations as a method to enhance one's capabilities in combat, physiological transition to align with one’s gender is also a form of augmentation, medically and technologically speaking. Some archaic forms of gender-affirming therapies such as less-comprehensive surgeries and hormone replacement are also still used toda-”
<S-so then you're saying it's possible, right?> I hurriedly asked. If I didn't cut Faust off there, God only knows how long I'd have been stuck in that office, listening to Faust recount the history of this stuff… Though I guess I did ask for it, technically…
“Yes, it is possible. However, it is unlikely for Limbus Company to agree to fund such a procedure, due to our status as Sinners and it being deemed ‘not necessary for our combat efficiency.’ Additionally, it cannot be said with certainty that turning the clock would not undo or interfere with physiological transition, which could cause further distress.”
Something about that aggravated me enough to make me stand up and nearly slam my hands down on my desk.
<What… What kind of bullshit is that?! The company really doesn't think feeling comfortable in your own skin would at the very least improve morale, as if that should even have to be a factor in the first place?!>
“Please, calm yourself, Dante.” Faust said softly, giving me a look with the faintest flicker of concern. I don't even know why I had gotten so heated. Maybe it made me feel like I was failing Sinclair. They've already grown so much since N Corp; I don't want to be the one that kills that momentum, even if it's ultimately out of my control. Slowly, I sat back down and held my head in my hands.
<Haah… Sorry. Just… What do we do now? What do I do now?>
“The answer to that is quite simple, Dante,” she replied. “We support her.”
Her? I snapped my head back up to look at Faust. <...I don't remember telling you who it is that's struggling with this.>
She just bowed her head slightly, closed her eyes, and gently smiled. “Faust knows all outcomes.”