[ because she's tired too, and she has a horrible headache and her hands are shaking a little, and it's not worth it to fight with him over how much they love each other. they do. she's sure of that, at least. she lets go, finally, leaning back to rub at her face. ]
[ honey your withdrawal. they're the same in this too, though it's not related to booze for him. just the horrors of the day, the exhaustion, the terrifying anxiety of what could have been done. the bonecrushing, guilty relief of now. just the slightest tremor and a migraine from hell. ]
...Yeah. [ softer. there's a lot of weight in that, many, many words unsaid, but maybe they don't have to be. in the end, he will be fine. heavier than he was when he came. but fine.
he shifts a little bit to loll his head and look at her. ] You?
she seems relieved that he's not ripping himself apart, honestly. vi's a fixer, but she isn't really sure how much she could even do in the event that strohl had killed hulkenberg, possessed or not. absently, she rubs at her wrists - if he's watching her closely, he'll see her dig her nails in every so often. maybe a little reminiscent of that hairband snapping habit she'd had right after her trip, weeks ago. ]
Sure. [ glances at him. ] I'm winning here, Strohl, I don't have to keep writing to you and Hulkenberg to tell you to die.
[ yeah he's like. shockingly okay about this. this was the best possible outcome for many reasons.
he's looking down at her hand when she looks at him - it takes him a second to look back up. ] That is true. [ he pauses, there. opens his mouth. closes it. seems to think on something. and...
well... that can wait. another day, for that one - instead, he shakes his head, clearing it out. ]
...Did you want to see? [ reaching up for his upper arm, gentle. maybe he can distract her hand. ]
she - hesitates? not terribly, not in a bad way, just. she knows it's going to kick her ass. it's a level of loyalty she isn't sure she has known before. a beat. ]
Yeah. [ she says finally, swallowing hard. ] Sure. If you wanna show me.
[ with that, he'll finally extricate himself a bit and shift to sit up. truthfully, despite being a victorian maiden in his heart, he's not that huge of a weenie and doesn't mind around people he's comfortable with, so - it takes him a minute to shed his top layers, undo his jabot, deal with all the layers of a regency outfit.
but. settled shirtless, she can see the tattoo in all its glory. mostly healed up now, carefully cared for. the same image from the photo - the griffin, and of course, the gear-encircled VI. he shifts to the side so his right side faces her, so it's easy to see. ]
[ it's also fine because she's the most lesbian woman to ever lesbian so she has zero interest in his chest, too. it's really just - she does get caught up in staring at the tattoo.
the gear-encircled VI. her breath catches, and then, quietly, in a rough voice: ]
It looks good.
[ it's more than that, but she's absolutely shit at expressing how she feels about it. which... might be okay, because it's evident on her face. it kind of hurts to look at, in a way that doesn't feel awful. ]
[ he smiles a little bit at that - despite the absolute fucking exhausting nightmare that has been the past forty eight hours, the warmth in his low voice is very genuine. ]
Guess it'd be worse if you thought it didn't. Little late for that. [ jokingly - he glances over his shoulder at her, reading her reaction. ] ...I could never forget about you - bar strange possession, but I remembered you then, too. You must know that.
Edited (remembers my own damn possession murder pick ) 2025-07-06 13:41 (UTC)
[ her reaction is that she's really very touched, and she has no idea how to get that across. vi is surprisingly emotionally smart, sometimes, but only for other people. genuine shows of loyalty are hard. unusual, even. when is the last time someone went out of their way to make her feel like she was important? ]
You're going to regret it if I do something to piss you off. [ this is supposed to be a joke but it kind of falls flat because she actually believes this. so it doesn't even do a good job of dodging what he says, and she just!! sighs, and looks away like :T because she knows he's going to see it and yell at her. ]
You've pissed me off plenty. We got into a fight the first three days we were here. [ about caring about each other too much which is objectively stupid and also why he says this.
anyway more sincerely, stubborn: ] I'm not. [ going to regret it. ]
... Do you remember? It was nigh one of the first things you asked me about. You were trying to get a read on me, I think. Told me a story about someone who lost their convictions after a loss.
[ a deeply familiar story, now. ]
I told you then I'd not back down. Still rings true.
and it does, but it's not so bad. for lack of something to do with her hands, she reaches for the bottle of whiskey she'd snatched from the mini fridges on the way in, and holds it. clicks her nails against the glass, staring down at it. ]
You've lasted longer than anybody else. [ she says, with a shrug. and she just goes ahead and takes a drink. ]
I do remember. I do more remembering here than anything else.
he takes the bottle. and then he gets up? he extricates himself, shirtless and all, and heads over to the area where the fridge was. he grabs a cup from wherever those are if they have them, and pours a couple fingers of the booze into it, then puts the bottle away and shuts the mini fridge with a decisive thunk, kicking it with his heel to ensure it is closed. ]
Every time I've been with you and things've been awful, the first thing you do is drink. [ oh THERE'S the lecture. ] You think I didn't notice?
she blinks, when he stands up, and she almost makes the move to stand up herself? like she's going to follow him. she stops about halfway up, because that's about the point that she realizes what he's doing and thinks, oh boy. by the time he's kicked the fridge closed, she looks like she's sucking on something sour, flopping back down into the blankets like a petulant child. ]
Don't say it like I was hiding it. [ she drawls, flippant. ] So what?
[ okay sassy. that petulant look gets an unimpressed one in return, and he comes back over with the cup. ]
You know exactly "so what." [ he's not doing it on purpose, but the tone of this is so don't take that tone with me young lady, somewhere between annoyed and deeply, deeply caring. it's his energy as a white karen ally. ]
You're an adult. I'm not going to say you can't make your own choices, but I'm not going to watch you poison yourself day in and day out, either. You've been twitching and shaking all day. Thought you hid that?
well. yes. she did think she was hiding that part, and her expression twitches. this is new territory - a couple of people here have tried to get her to eat something with her alcohol, or they've given the bottle a look and then kept talking, but nobody has ever tried to get her to slow down. to take care of herself. there's this certain amount of adrenaline in her at the thought of it, the stupid urge to keep pushing. yeah? you're not going to watch her poison herself? how much do you want that not to happen? how far can she go before you give up?
[ he says this less than a second after she finishes her sentence, fiercely and immediately, full eye contact. stubborn goat, leon strohl - but also he recognises this pushback, this destructiveness, and he's not letting it stand. he's never been one to let things simmer in the dark. ] I'll not have you tell me to look away when this is the first time I can see you in weeks.
How many times must I tell you that I'm not leaving you? [ a thousand, a million, he'll say it every time. it's a little stupid, he's sitting here with no shirt on in a damn pillow fort, but that noble, stubborn heart of his is as proud and fierce as ever. ] Do you think I only care for you when things are good?
[ like, it's stupid, right? it's stupid, he got a fucking tattoo for her. her name is on his goddamn arm, and she doubts him. or - maybe it's not that she doubts him, it's that it's scary. it's that she's been here before, it's that she was just here. she put all her trust in someone noble and kind and willing to do the right thing no matter what the consequences and that someone slammed a rifle into her stomach and left her in the dust. because she wasn't good enough. because she chose wrong.
he makes eye contact with her and she wants to drink or punch him or say something that'll really push him away. in fact, her mouth opens to do so, but he interrupts her, and she balks. she can't force herself to be terrible.
I do not think you are cruel, Sixes.
she swallows hard. do you think i only care when things are good? everybody else does, she thinks, but that's too self-pitying and pathetic, and that's not the truth, anyway. it's not that people only care when things are good. it's the people only care when she shoves everything she is down and compresses it into nothing. when she is who they want her to be. ]
No.
[ is her answer to that question, finally, but she feels like she's going to throw up when she says it, and she hates that feeling so bad. ]
it's that specific reaction that really gets him - he cools off, a little, because ultimately, that deep ferocity that leads him to lecture that way comes not from anger, but from love. he cares so much, and sometimes he can't always put those things in the right words, no matter how much he wants to. watching her balk like that makes his heart break.
it's because they're the same, in so many ways. he's not cruel, either. when klinger was consumed by a human, a gruesome, awful death for someone who deserved it, he didn't feel spitefully pleased. he felt sick.
he exhales out, loudly, and sets the cup down, then kneels in front of her. ]
I ought to be offended that you think little of me. [ he says, but it's not serious, and it's followed quickly with: ] I'm not, because I know you don't. It's you you think little of.
[ there's a beat. he searches her face for a moment.
... ]
You are, without a question or doubt, my best friend. [ has he said that to her yet, word for word? out of his mouth, not through a message? he's told others. he's never wavered from it, not once, and the rough toned sincerity in his lower voice is raw. ] And we fight, and we both lose our tempers, and I'm sure at least once, we'll probably slug each other over something inconsequential, and Hulkenberg will yell at us both for being fools, and we'll likely deserve it.
...I'll not ever do you the disservice of pretending things are perfect, because I don't want them to be. You're a mess. So am I. I'd rather it be that way. Now that I've finally the chance to be by your side, it means I can help you when things go pear shaped. Same way you help me.
[ she can't keep looking at him while he's being so nice and genuine to her, so she doesn't. she looks away, down at her hands.
which is better, because my best friend fucks her up in a way she isn't expecting. maybe he's said it in a message, maybe he's made noise about it before, but the assertive, firm way that he says it to her like this is something else. she honestly cannot think of a time that someone other than her siblings have said anything like this to her. she's spent a third of her life in prison. it's - this is hard.
she wants to reach for the drink again, but she doesn't. she doesn't even know what to say because this is always like pulling teeth for her, getting her to talk about herself, about her wants and needs. ]
I don't - I don't think I've ever had one before.
[ a best friend, she means. she heard the rest. just. rubs at the back of her neck. ]
[ now it's his turn to look down. not quite embarrassed, but a little flustered at the ferocity of the gesture, because leon strohl's heart and his mouth move before his brain, for better or for worse. it doesn't make it any less true.
... ]
Yes, well. [ as he plops down, now, fully, the heat and air coming out of him with it. ] Neither have I.
[ even despite his cushy upbringing, despite his life in nobility, despite even his time on the gauntlet runner. he loves his friends deeply, loves will deeply, but there's something different in those relationships. the one he has with hulkenberg is maybe the closest, but it's still different. he's always lived a life just slightly set apart from his wealthy distant relatives; once halia was destroyed, there was no one left to walk beside, until will.
but now there's this. messy, but theirs. ]
So... we'll have to stumble through what that's like together. [ ... a smile slowly comes to his face here, tugging slightly at the corner, unbidden. ] Fools that we are.
And I've a feeling we'll probably muck it up here and there. So long as we pick the pieces up together, after, think we'll be alright.
[ he flops down, and she just sort of instinctively reaches for him.
part of it is because it still doesn't feel real that he's here, but the other part is that it was always something she did for her siblings. when they were close, she reached to punch them in the arm, to pull them over so she could ruffle their hair, wrap an arm around them, lazily sprawled out on a couch and just existing. when strohl flops down, it reminds her of claggor, of mylo, of powder, and with her shaky hands and horrible headache, she just wants the comfort of it. so she reaches for him and tugs him close, resting her head on his shoulder. the bare skin doesn't bother her. ]
Can't be friends with me unless you're willing to take a punch or two.
[ a lame joke. but.
silence, for a long moment. ]
Don't go.
[ she says, quietly. wrung out. just, don't go anywhere. he's said it already, he's said it again and again, but this time she's asking. an acknowledgement. she's so tired of being alone. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
We can just - both take it.
[ because she's tired too, and she has a horrible headache and her hands are shaking a little, and it's not worth it to fight with him over how much they love each other. they do. she's sure of that, at least. she lets go, finally, leaning back to rub at her face. ]
You gonna be okay? After all this.
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...Yeah. [ softer. there's a lot of weight in that, many, many words unsaid, but maybe they don't have to be. in the end, he will be fine. heavier than he was when he came. but fine.
he shifts a little bit to loll his head and look at her. ] You?
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she seems relieved that he's not ripping himself apart, honestly. vi's a fixer, but she isn't really sure how much she could even do in the event that strohl had killed hulkenberg, possessed or not. absently, she rubs at her wrists - if he's watching her closely, he'll see her dig her nails in every so often. maybe a little reminiscent of that hairband snapping habit she'd had right after her trip, weeks ago. ]
Sure. [ glances at him. ] I'm winning here, Strohl, I don't have to keep writing to you and Hulkenberg to tell you to die.
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he's looking down at her hand when she looks at him - it takes him a second to look back up. ] That is true. [ he pauses, there. opens his mouth. closes it. seems to think on something. and...
well... that can wait. another day, for that one - instead, he shakes his head, clearing it out. ]
...Did you want to see? [ reaching up for his upper arm, gentle. maybe he can distract her hand. ]
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she - hesitates? not terribly, not in a bad way, just. she knows it's going to kick her ass. it's a level of loyalty she isn't sure she has known before. a beat. ]
Yeah. [ she says finally, swallowing hard. ] Sure. If you wanna show me.
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but. settled shirtless, she can see the tattoo in all its glory. mostly healed up now, carefully cared for. the same image from the photo - the griffin, and of course, the gear-encircled VI. he shifts to the side so his right side faces her, so it's easy to see. ]
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the gear-encircled VI. her breath catches, and then, quietly, in a rough voice: ]
It looks good.
[ it's more than that, but she's absolutely shit at expressing how she feels about it. which... might be okay, because it's evident on her face. it kind of hurts to look at, in a way that doesn't feel awful. ]
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[ he smiles a little bit at that - despite the absolute fucking exhausting nightmare that has been the past forty eight hours, the warmth in his low voice is very genuine. ]
Guess it'd be worse if you thought it didn't. Little late for that. [ jokingly - he glances over his shoulder at her, reading her reaction. ] ...I could never forget about you - bar strange possession, but I remembered you then, too. You must know that.
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You're going to regret it if I do something to piss you off. [ this is supposed to be a joke but it kind of falls flat because she actually believes this. so it doesn't even do a good job of dodging what he says, and she just!! sighs, and looks away like :T because she knows he's going to see it and yell at her. ]
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he gives her a flat look. ]
You've pissed me off plenty. We got into a fight the first three days we were here. [ about caring about each other too much which is objectively stupid and also why he says this.
anyway more sincerely, stubborn: ] I'm not. [ going to regret it. ]
... Do you remember? It was nigh one of the first things you asked me about. You were trying to get a read on me, I think. Told me a story about someone who lost their convictions after a loss.
[ a deeply familiar story, now. ]
I told you then I'd not back down. Still rings true.
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and it does, but it's not so bad. for lack of something to do with her hands, she reaches for the bottle of whiskey she'd snatched from the mini fridges on the way in, and holds it. clicks her nails against the glass, staring down at it. ]
You've lasted longer than anybody else. [ she says, with a shrug. and she just goes ahead and takes a drink. ]
I do remember. I do more remembering here than anything else.
[ another drink. ]
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...Vi.
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What?
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Give me that.
[ maybe he just wants a drink too? maybe they can share? ]
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but... maybe he does want to share. he had a hard day, and she'd never deny him, so. she takes one more drink and then hands it to him. ]
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he takes the bottle. and then he gets up? he extricates himself, shirtless and all, and heads over to the area where the fridge was. he grabs a cup from wherever those are if they have them, and pours a couple fingers of the booze into it, then puts the bottle away and shuts the mini fridge with a decisive thunk, kicking it with his heel to ensure it is closed. ]
Every time I've been with you and things've been awful, the first thing you do is drink. [ oh THERE'S the lecture. ] You think I didn't notice?
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she blinks, when he stands up, and she almost makes the move to stand up herself? like she's going to follow him. she stops about halfway up, because that's about the point that she realizes what he's doing and thinks, oh boy. by the time he's kicked the fridge closed, she looks like she's sucking on something sour, flopping back down into the blankets like a petulant child. ]
Don't say it like I was hiding it. [ she drawls, flippant. ] So what?
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You know exactly "so what." [ he's not doing it on purpose, but the tone of this is so don't take that tone with me young lady, somewhere between annoyed and deeply, deeply caring. it's his energy as a white karen ally. ]
You're an adult. I'm not going to say you can't make your own choices, but I'm not going to watch you poison yourself day in and day out, either. You've been twitching and shaking all day. Thought you hid that?
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well. yes. she did think she was hiding that part, and her expression twitches. this is new territory - a couple of people here have tried to get her to eat something with her alcohol, or they've given the bottle a look and then kept talking, but nobody has ever tried to get her to slow down. to take care of herself. there's this certain amount of adrenaline in her at the thought of it, the stupid urge to keep pushing. yeah? you're not going to watch her poison herself? how much do you want that not to happen? how far can she go before you give up?
her jaw works. ]
Quit watching, then.
no subject
[ he says this less than a second after she finishes her sentence, fiercely and immediately, full eye contact. stubborn goat, leon strohl - but also he recognises this pushback, this destructiveness, and he's not letting it stand. he's never been one to let things simmer in the dark. ] I'll not have you tell me to look away when this is the first time I can see you in weeks.
How many times must I tell you that I'm not leaving you? [ a thousand, a million, he'll say it every time. it's a little stupid, he's sitting here with no shirt on in a damn pillow fort, but that noble, stubborn heart of his is as proud and fierce as ever. ] Do you think I only care for you when things are good?
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he makes eye contact with her and she wants to drink or punch him or say something that'll really push him away. in fact, her mouth opens to do so, but he interrupts her, and she balks. she can't force herself to be terrible.
I do not think you are cruel, Sixes.
she swallows hard. do you think i only care when things are good? everybody else does, she thinks, but that's too self-pitying and pathetic, and that's not the truth, anyway. it's not that people only care when things are good. it's the people only care when she shoves everything she is down and compresses it into nothing. when she is who they want her to be. ]
No.
[ is her answer to that question, finally, but she feels like she's going to throw up when she says it, and she hates that feeling so bad. ]
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it's that specific reaction that really gets him - he cools off, a little, because ultimately, that deep ferocity that leads him to lecture that way comes not from anger, but from love. he cares so much, and sometimes he can't always put those things in the right words, no matter how much he wants to. watching her balk like that makes his heart break.
it's because they're the same, in so many ways. he's not cruel, either. when klinger was consumed by a human, a gruesome, awful death for someone who deserved it, he didn't feel spitefully pleased. he felt sick.
he exhales out, loudly, and sets the cup down, then kneels in front of her. ]
I ought to be offended that you think little of me. [ he says, but it's not serious, and it's followed quickly with: ] I'm not, because I know you don't. It's you you think little of.
[ there's a beat. he searches her face for a moment.
... ]
You are, without a question or doubt, my best friend. [ has he said that to her yet, word for word? out of his mouth, not through a message? he's told others. he's never wavered from it, not once, and the rough toned sincerity in his lower voice is raw. ] And we fight, and we both lose our tempers, and I'm sure at least once, we'll probably slug each other over something inconsequential, and Hulkenberg will yell at us both for being fools, and we'll likely deserve it.
...I'll not ever do you the disservice of pretending things are perfect, because I don't want them to be. You're a mess. So am I. I'd rather it be that way. Now that I've finally the chance to be by your side, it means I can help you when things go pear shaped. Same way you help me.
no subject
which is better, because my best friend fucks her up in a way she isn't expecting. maybe he's said it in a message, maybe he's made noise about it before, but the assertive, firm way that he says it to her like this is something else. she honestly cannot think of a time that someone other than her siblings have said anything like this to her. she's spent a third of her life in prison. it's - this is hard.
she wants to reach for the drink again, but she doesn't. she doesn't even know what to say because this is always like pulling teeth for her, getting her to talk about herself, about her wants and needs. ]
I don't - I don't think I've ever had one before.
[ a best friend, she means. she heard the rest. just. rubs at the back of her neck. ]
no subject
... ]
Yes, well. [ as he plops down, now, fully, the heat and air coming out of him with it. ] Neither have I.
[ even despite his cushy upbringing, despite his life in nobility, despite even his time on the gauntlet runner. he loves his friends deeply, loves will deeply, but there's something different in those relationships. the one he has with hulkenberg is maybe the closest, but it's still different. he's always lived a life just slightly set apart from his wealthy distant relatives; once halia was destroyed, there was no one left to walk beside, until will.
but now there's this. messy, but theirs. ]
So... we'll have to stumble through what that's like together. [ ... a smile slowly comes to his face here, tugging slightly at the corner, unbidden. ] Fools that we are.
And I've a feeling we'll probably muck it up here and there. So long as we pick the pieces up together, after, think we'll be alright.
no subject
part of it is because it still doesn't feel real that he's here, but the other part is that it was always something she did for her siblings. when they were close, she reached to punch them in the arm, to pull them over so she could ruffle their hair, wrap an arm around them, lazily sprawled out on a couch and just existing. when strohl flops down, it reminds her of claggor, of mylo, of powder, and with her shaky hands and horrible headache, she just wants the comfort of it. so she reaches for him and tugs him close, resting her head on his shoulder. the bare skin doesn't bother her. ]
Can't be friends with me unless you're willing to take a punch or two.
[ a lame joke. but.
silence, for a long moment. ]
Don't go.
[ she says, quietly. wrung out. just, don't go anywhere. he's said it already, he's said it again and again, but this time she's asking. an acknowledgement. she's so tired of being alone. ]
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