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. ]
[ this is fine. he's pulled, easily - he's not as easily touchy as vi is, but he's become that way, and he relaxes back into it like they've never missed a beat. because they haven't, not really. weeks apart, but it's like breathing. the same way it was when he first woke up on the floor of the terminal with her all over again.
her head rests on his shoulder, and with care, he sets his head gently onto hers, minding the curve of his own. he's so tired, and it's all hitting as he sits here, thinking of the execution tomorrow, of the now sharply focused memories of the early morning and the things he could have done, of the past, and the future, of a thousand broken promises.
... don't go, vi says. he makes a soft noise in acquiescence. maybe not i promise, this time. maybe it's simpler than that. ]
I'm here. [ strohl says, voice near subvocal. ] To the end, with you.
[ no matter what that end might be, when this is all said and done. he can say with fidelity, with assuredness - whatever the end is, he'll not leave her side. ]
[ she's exhausted too, especially after today. so.
she gets that - she gets her reassurance. to the end, with you. it feels like fire crawling around her heart, burning up quick and hot in her chest. and there's so much that they have to talk about, there's stuff to get into. she needs to talk to him about rosamund, she needs to talk to him about how she's still so unsure that she should be allowed to go back with him, she needs to tell him about her sister, and...
it's just too overwhelming, right now. tomorrow, they have to watch hulkenberg rip her heart out, and that'll be a whole thing itself. so maybe for right now, in the dim and quiet of this fort, it's okay to not talk about any of it.
they can just curl up here for a bit, and maybe vi will actually fall asleep without any alcohol in her system for once. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
her head rests on his shoulder, and with care, he sets his head gently onto hers, minding the curve of his own. he's so tired, and it's all hitting as he sits here, thinking of the execution tomorrow, of the now sharply focused memories of the early morning and the things he could have done, of the past, and the future, of a thousand broken promises.
... don't go, vi says. he makes a soft noise in acquiescence. maybe not i promise, this time. maybe it's simpler than that. ]
I'm here. [ strohl says, voice near subvocal. ] To the end, with you.
[ no matter what that end might be, when this is all said and done. he can say with fidelity, with assuredness - whatever the end is, he'll not leave her side. ]
no subject
she gets that - she gets her reassurance. to the end, with you. it feels like fire crawling around her heart, burning up quick and hot in her chest. and there's so much that they have to talk about, there's stuff to get into. she needs to talk to him about rosamund, she needs to talk to him about how she's still so unsure that she should be allowed to go back with him, she needs to tell him about her sister, and...
it's just too overwhelming, right now. tomorrow, they have to watch hulkenberg rip her heart out, and that'll be a whole thing itself. so maybe for right now, in the dim and quiet of this fort, it's okay to not talk about any of it.
they can just curl up here for a bit, and maybe vi will actually fall asleep without any alcohol in her system for once. ]