[ pushing across a water to her from where he's surveying over a pan.... ma'am your withdrawal. he's been keeping an eye on this bar the other distractions because fussing over vi helps. anyway.
quiet for a moment. ]
Her Highness asked me to kill her, at the beginning of the week prior.
[ it takes a second, but he sighs - outwardly, it's exasperated.
emotionally, there's that same feeling rippling between them. exasperation, but then more than that, too. frustration. worry. care. strohl likes rosamund a lot, is the thing - she can probably feel it buried under the surface like a plucked string, the soft echoes and reverberations of it underscoring everything, though it can't be that surprising, either.
there's also a sense of empathy. a larger, heavier sense of guilt. something all twisted together in there, too. ]
She got it into her head that she'd offer herself to me so I could have the revival item. Said that she got a letter from you, but I'm deeply inclined to believe it was poor interpretation on her part as opposed to anything else; if you told me otherwise at this moment, I'd be shocked.
[ there's a lot she feels at this - annoyance, and something nasty, too. part of it is her body rebelling against her, but there's an anxiety in there that's twisting and sick. a guilt mixed with anger, and a sort of... loneliness? she is not good at pushing her emotions down, so it's just on blast.
she swallows hard. ]
Yeah, because I was curious, not because I wanted her to die. [ she says, grabbing the counter. ] We were trying to figure out if possessed people got items, it wasn't -- I don't want anybody to kill to bring me back.
's what I said. I don't think you're that type of person.
[ immediately - not a hint of relief, either, but instead understanding. he knows what kind of person vi is; it's part of why he likes her so much. that, and...the idea honestly rankles him, too. it's so violently against his principles that it makes him feel a little ill to even imagine it.
vi's emotions don't go unnoticed. he thinks it's himself, at first, until he hits upon that loneliness, because it's not necessarily as familiar - there's a brief pause, where he's stirring food, but it picks back up again. ]
...All of this about weighing the value of one life against another is ridiculous. It's the same thing that infuriated me so much about Wis'adel, besides her attitude. She decided that Anders' life was a worthy sacrifice. The same thing that infuriated me about Nathalie. The idea that you could sacrifice someone for your own gains. For the supposed greater good. People who do that have no bloody idea what it's like to be the one to be sacrificed.
[ strohl does. intimately. he knows so fucking well how that feels. his emotions are simmering worse than the pot on the stove for a moment, a low, boiling fury, something that's held for seven years and boiled over a thousand times. nothing infuriates him more. wis'adel in particular ground his fucking gears. her smug, self righteous attitude made him sick, and frankly, still does. that anders went back was a good thing, but he doesn't love that wis'adel will get to absolve herself because of it.
he scoffs to himself, a little 'tch'. ]
... At any rate. I told her as much. I don't think she truly thought you wanted that, either.
... Some people just get so desensitized to death that they see it as another bargaining chip.
[ but she's never been like that. they're similar, because they both have never seen lives as anything other than something immensely important. every individual deserves to be seen as their own person, not sheep, not a group sacrifice for the many, not a single sacrifice for the many. it has always been vi's prerogative to save everybody. and she would gladly throw herself on the line for others, she's just as self-sacrificial, but she would never ask someone to do the same for her.
there's a burst of something bitter and pained at the mention of nathalie. and even past that, because she does not like what wis'adel did either. she likes what she did to anders' mental state even less. ]
Anders argued with me about it. He said he's sacrificed people too, but I could never figure out how to explain to him that it was different. [ she rubs at her wrists. people have no idea what it's like to be the one sacrificed. yeah. ]
... Someone must've gotten in her ear. We were all talking about it here. Maybe someone sent her a letter and told her - I haven't...
[ a beat. ]
Guess I wasn't as subtle about missing you as I thought I was.
[ there's this pang in his emotions when she mentions anders, this pang of like - loss. regret, something small and genuinely sad. that's something they probably would've had a damn good talk over that they can't even talk about. strohl misses him badly. two days, and he's gone again.
he doesn't let it linger, lifting his shoulder to rub at his eye with it while his hands are busy, and shakes his head. frustrating, but, it's for the better. hard not to feel bitter. his own mixes with vi's for a moment, especially when she thinks about nathalie, intensifies. his fury at that never went away. it likely never will. ] ...I believe you. [ about the letter. of course he does, his judgement of vi's character is rock solid. ] If someone tried to step in, that's on them - and if I find out who, there'll be hell to pay.
[ a little flare of anger. at the last part, though, all of those negative, swirly, complex emotions are briefly covered with a genuine fondness. ]
I don't think you've ever been subtle about anything. [ rude? it's a joke, though, just teasing, and dryly; ] You want to be the pot, or the kettle?
[ because they are, in fact, the same in this regard too. strohl's subtle about other things, so is vi, but their emotions have not ever been one of them.
there's a long pause after that, a quiet broken up by the sound of sizzling meat and clinking metal, here and there.]
... I saw her line of thought. [ he says quietly, voice a little lower. ] Easily. Even if there was no bug in her ear, I'm sure she could've gotten there herself. In that mindset, that kind of person... it's not hard to get caught up in guilt.
[ that first bit makes her feel like she's falling down a hole. it's not nearly as strong from her, because she's had time, but she already misses him, too. he was one of the only things keeping her from imploding on herself entirely. if strohl is close enough, she reaches over to touch him, hand on his arm. understanding.
her lips twitch when he teases her, and she looks down at her feet, swinging. kick, kick. bang, bang, heels against the cabinets.
she listens to the sound of cooking, and there's... well, look, the vibes are kind of rotten in general today, but there's such a sense of safety here. it reminds her of weeks ago, coming to strohl's stupid lounge and watching him cook, listening to him fuss at her. she's tired, and her head hurts, but she has him and that makes up for it.
a beat, and she bites worries at her bottom lip. ]
... Yeah, I know. [ she mostly keeps the bitterness out of her voice. ] She's beating herself up worse about it than I ever could.
[ it is safe. it's quiet, and it's safe, and there's a touch of appreciation at vi's hand, a tiny quirk of a smile.
it's really only now with anders gone how brightly he's realising that he misses the others. how badly he misses rupert. how much he wishes they were both still alive, that he was on the other side with his team, laughing and shouting as they would likely bully him straight down into the ground. how badly he misses his team beyond this place, how badly he misses will, how there's a chance they could never see each other again and he dies here in this stupid fucking airport.
and... how badly he misses rosamund, as they talk about her. soft and rippling, a pang of loss. ]
... You or I. [ considering she literally asked him to kill her. he says, quietly - a little humour to it. the bitterness is heard, but the mostly means he's willing to let it slide. poking at it feels like an open wound, like sliding through sutures. a little painful, but maybe it's for the better that way. ] I ripped her a new arsehole about it, when she asked me. Funny, how hard it can be to look in the mirror.
[ it feels like it's been forever since she's been connected to anything at all. all the people on the living side feel so far away, and people keep sending her messages like they miss her and it's just. very hard to believe it, sometimes, when she hasn't seen them face to face in weeks. why would they still care?
he misses the others, and she can feel it, and she thinks - it should've been you that went back to the living.
silence, for a long moment. ]
Yeah, well. Maybe you'll remember that the next time you try to sacrifice yourself. Maybe. [ ... ] I told her I wasn't mad at her.
[ help LISTEN!!!! HE DID IT KIND OF LIKE TWO DAYS AGO ]
Yes, yes... Rupert gave me an earful about that as well, don't worry.
[ his noble sacrifices. believe it or not he's gotten better, in the months that passed in euchronia. here, he's learned there's little to ever be done to protect those he cares for, and it's not something he... accepted, but rather, something he's forced to live with. that, and... well, his death was not exactly not a sacrifice, but that's neither here nor there.
he glances over at vi, briefly. ]
Heart doesn't like to listen to logic. [ he gets it. ] Can't say I'm all that different, in the end.
[ there's this pang, again. guilt, low in his stomach, old. it's almost always there, like a mantle, draped on his shoulders, heavy enough to bury. it wasn't that long ago that he almost...
well. another time. in this moment, he thinks the same. it should have been you. maybe they could have spoken to each other. fixed it. taped up all those pieces. if strohl could've traded himself for vi, he might have done the exact same thing. ]
's okay if you still are, though. I don't think anyone'd blame you.
she bangs her heel against the cabinet a little more violently than she means to, rubbing at her wrist. pauses. stops kicking her feet. it's a good thing it isn't thoughtshare week because if she'd heard him thinking he would trade himself for her she'd punch him straight across the jaw.
there's a long silence after that last sentence. ]
Doesn't fucking matter, it's not like she meant to do it. So. Yeah, they would blame me. I'm not going to look like an ass for being mad.
[ a very, very bright and burning feeling of like, upset, of like... that heat behind your eyes, tight throat, flash flood warning. it's not on her face but it's coming off her in waves. ]
Yeah, well. I'm the only one who is, so who gives a shit, right?
[ she is so mad at him for not letting her drink right this second actually, wow ]
What do you mean, what, you're like best friends with her. She feels sooo bad about it, so it's fine that I got murked a week in again, because that's what my role is in these things, right? Perfect sacrifice for the person who just is so sad she did it.
[ it's like a fistfight with emotionshare - vi can likely feel it, the way the punch connects. his emotions rattle, shock and something hurt, and then the up roll motion from heels to standing of his anger, familiar, old, and righteous. ]
-- Did you hear a single word I said barely five minutes ago? Have you lost your mind?
[ about sacrifices, about how furious that idea makes him, about how ferociously protective he is and has always been of vi. it's funny. rosamund had gone the same way, in the opposite direction. you. just want to protect me. do you see me as a damsel in distress? ]
Don't water yourself down to that. [ first of all, firmly - even in the immediate brash anger, because he's not going to stand for it. and then, right after - ] Did you think I wasn't angry?
[ it really is like a fistfight, because she feels that shock and hurt and there's this grim feeling of satisfaction. there it is. there it is. there's the line. how much further can she push? ]
Were. But you're so fucking dedicated to doing the right thing, you and Eiselin both, and the right thing is to forgive her and be nice to her because it wasn't her fault. It wasn't even me on purpose! Did you know that? Again! Again, it was just whoever the fuck woke up!
[ it makes her feel like a petulant teenager, but maybe she isn't that far from that. she's spent a third of her life in prison, did you know that? really stunts your growth. ]
[ that's okay. she can yell and shout, but he scowls, hard, and turns right around to face vi, face to face, pot abandoned. ]
I. Know. [ he enunciates - the words sharp, snapped, fierce, his emotions just the same. barbs and fire, but steady. like a wave crashing up against an iron tower, a suit of armour. the royal warrior. he's grown some since the resort, but this is testing that, as all of his emotions start to wring up and pour out in his words.
and there's a crack that pushes through all that anger, too. something upset, something wailing and hurt for what he lost, a sharp glass shard of grief. ] She told me when I finally got the chance to speak to he when she wasn't possessed out of her bloody mind, and I got so angry I almost blacked out, because it was so bloody unfair to you! Do you think I just turned around and let it all go?! Who the hell do you think I am?!
[ the fury rolls off of him in waves, now, rising in righteous, thunderous indignation. anger for himself, for vi - and for rosamund, too. ]
We didn't speak. For a long time. She avoided me, and I couldn't even look at her because it made me furious, and I thought I'd snap. Every single time I saw her, all I saw was what she stole. And I still haven't forgiven her, even now, and I never will.
the grief twists her all up. the anger she can take, she's so used to anger. it's always anger, it's always wrath, it's always a fifteen year old girl knowing that the world isn't fair and swallowing it down because if she wasn't at the front, if she didn't do the right thing, everybody else would suffer for it. it's a fifteen year old girl and a twenty-two year old woman and a lifetime of watching the people she loves throw her aside for a mistake, for wanting her sister to be safe, for not knowing exactly what to do - she's expecting it to be the same here. it's always just another set of last words that weren't i love you, but another responsibility on her shoulders.
she chokes a little on it, brushing at her eyes in frustration. there's less anger in her than there is that lonely, lost feeling. she doesn't even know what to say to any of this, and it takes her a second to even speak without her voice breaking. ]
[ this bursts out of his mouth, the emotional intention of throwing his arms in the air. and then she brushes her eyes, and that lonely feeling hits him like a train.
all of strohl's anger comes from his heart. it is huge. bleeding, always bleeding, leaking his emotions and feelings everywhere. he cares so fucking much and it shows here, because the anger cracks apart into frustrated, devastatingly powerful care, something so fierce and loving that he crosses the space between them and puts both hands on her shoulders. rattles, when she speaks. if she smacks him, it's fine. it gets his point across - his eyes are wet, and there's that grieving feeling that ensconces every brutally honest word out of his mouth.]
Lord, Vi - I love you, of course I was angry, you bloody stubborn goat! So was Hulkenberg! The only reason things got any better is because we had the luxury to talk to each other and the luxury of time, something you and I have not been afforded in any way, shape, or form. If you're angry with me because I want to do the right thing, then you can be angry with me, but don't think for a second I'm casting you aside or pretending you dying, twice, right next to me, wasn't the worst bloody thing that's happened to me since home.
[ another fierce, sharp burst of grief at that. as home. as halia. he didn't put that tattoo on his arm out of whimsy. ]
I know you couldn't see it. I know what it must have looked like. I'm sorry, for that. Beyond all words and measure.
[ instinctively, when he grabs her, she tenses like she is going to hit him. it's the urge to protect herself, because whenever someone comes at her like that it's with intent to hurt. there's a little flash of a memory, of prison guards armed to the teeth coming at her with batons, the crack of one against her jaw. there and gone again. but she doesn't hurt him, she just freezes.
and listens, thankfully.
she and anders had talked about this. she doesn't want revenge. she doesn't want rosamund to hurt, she doesn't want her to die, she doesn't want any sort of vengeance. she just wants someone to love her in a way that she doesn't have to look for - and for her, love looks like anger, like being furious and destructive because it's big and can't be contained. it looks like always picking the person you love more, even if that's an impossible task. and she can never ask for it. she's barely even aware of it.
thankfully, she doesn't have to be. strohl straight up tells her, and she hiccups, embarrassingly, tears rolling down her cheeks. there is too much care and too much love and she hasn't felt something like this - well, ever, not blasted at her, not like getting hit with a fire hose. she's seen little flashes of it in the way powder used to look at her, in a hair ruffle from vander. she thought they loved her. she's pretty sure they did.
vi drags in a breath, and it shakes. ]
I - I'm not. [ ... ] I'm not angry at you.
[ she's just expecting it to go wrong, she's expecting things to change, she doesn't know what a healthy fucking relationship looks like because it's always you have to choose which side you're on with the people she knows, and so - here, you can have more context for that cyoa you went on, yaaay. part one and part two ]
this is disorienting, mostly because it's familiar - the lightning puts him on fucking red alert because he's felt that before, but staring at this memory is like suddenly putting on glasses and realising you've been blind. everything clicks into place and settles, and the memories of his own time in piltover blur and settle into this. there's the instinctual understanding of her sister if not the why, the way she shielded cait, the way she stopped cait. he knows how she felt about that woman because for a moment, he felt it too, and --
and then the end comes. that tiny, heartbroken sob focuses over the girl in front of him, angry and upset and lonely. god, does he know how that lonely awfulness feels, god does he understand, and he just -
he staggers forward - one step, two, and pulls vi into his arms for a tight, tight hug, breath coming half ragged like he was the one who just lost everything. the one who always chooses wrong. ]
[ it's just - if you could just get it right, if you could be smarter or stronger or wiser, you could make them work together. you could take care of your sister and you could have someone who maybe wants to hold your hand, you could have both. she has never had both. both sides have looked at her with a gun and said you have to choose which of us you care about more, and it was the wrong choice, every single time, it was wrong the first time and it was wrong this time, too, because her answer wasn't good enough for either of them.
i just want you to love me like you used to, her sister had said once. i won't change, caitlyn had said, too.
strohl moves forward and he pulls her into a hug, and she just gives in and hides her face against his shoulder, worn out. run through. she's almost too exhausted to cry properly, the grief and the anxiety and the feeling of being disconnected, left behind all too much for her.
[ the good news is she doesn't have to. not anymore. strohl hates the idea - hated it vehemently when he was stuck reliving this moment of her life, hated the thought that vi, now that he knows, was supposed to be torn asunder lie that between the things that she loves. he wouldn't choose, and he was punished for it.
those sort of dichotomies are the thing that the old world would ask of them. not anymore, in euchronia, not at home, not in will's world. not in the world that will be vi's, too, not if he can help it. for a moment, he's just sort of overwhelmed with his own emotions, a furious maelstrom of anger and worry and something righteously upset on her behalf, heartbroken for someone he's come to care about as close as family. that story she told him all those weeks ago in the resort about cait makes such perfect sense with all of the context, and for the second, third, hundredth time, he silently promises himself: never again.
his hand comes up to the back of her head, pressing gently - his other arm squeezes tight, and he half crumples, bowing over top of her to ensconce her in his arms. ]
Shh. [ softly, low - like she's a child, sometimes you just need that. sometimes you just need someone to tell you it's going to be alright. ] I've got you. I promise, I've got you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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quiet for a moment. ]
Her Highness asked me to kill her, at the beginning of the week prior.
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-- What? Why?
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emotionally, there's that same feeling rippling between them. exasperation, but then more than that, too. frustration. worry. care. strohl likes rosamund a lot, is the thing - she can probably feel it buried under the surface like a plucked string, the soft echoes and reverberations of it underscoring everything, though it can't be that surprising, either.
there's also a sense of empathy. a larger, heavier sense of guilt. something all twisted together in there, too. ]
She got it into her head that she'd offer herself to me so I could have the revival item. Said that she got a letter from you, but I'm deeply inclined to believe it was poor interpretation on her part as opposed to anything else; if you told me otherwise at this moment, I'd be shocked.
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she swallows hard. ]
Yeah, because I was curious, not because I wanted her to die. [ she says, grabbing the counter. ] We were trying to figure out if possessed people got items, it wasn't -- I don't want anybody to kill to bring me back.
[ ... ]
I wouldn't trade me for her.
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[ immediately - not a hint of relief, either, but instead understanding. he knows what kind of person vi is; it's part of why he likes her so much. that, and...the idea honestly rankles him, too. it's so violently against his principles that it makes him feel a little ill to even imagine it.
vi's emotions don't go unnoticed. he thinks it's himself, at first, until he hits upon that loneliness, because it's not necessarily as familiar - there's a brief pause, where he's stirring food, but it picks back up again. ]
...All of this about weighing the value of one life against another is ridiculous. It's the same thing that infuriated me so much about Wis'adel, besides her attitude. She decided that Anders' life was a worthy sacrifice. The same thing that infuriated me about Nathalie. The idea that you could sacrifice someone for your own gains. For the supposed greater good. People who do that have no bloody idea what it's like to be the one to be sacrificed.
[ strohl does. intimately. he knows so fucking well how that feels. his emotions are simmering worse than the pot on the stove for a moment, a low, boiling fury, something that's held for seven years and boiled over a thousand times. nothing infuriates him more. wis'adel in particular ground his fucking gears. her smug, self righteous attitude made him sick, and frankly, still does. that anders went back was a good thing, but he doesn't love that wis'adel will get to absolve herself because of it.
he scoffs to himself, a little 'tch'. ]
... At any rate. I told her as much. I don't think she truly thought you wanted that, either.
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[ but she's never been like that. they're similar, because they both have never seen lives as anything other than something immensely important. every individual deserves to be seen as their own person, not sheep, not a group sacrifice for the many, not a single sacrifice for the many. it has always been vi's prerogative to save everybody. and she would gladly throw herself on the line for others, she's just as self-sacrificial, but she would never ask someone to do the same for her.
there's a burst of something bitter and pained at the mention of nathalie. and even past that, because she does not like what wis'adel did either. she likes what she did to anders' mental state even less. ]
Anders argued with me about it. He said he's sacrificed people too, but I could never figure out how to explain to him that it was different. [ she rubs at her wrists. people have no idea what it's like to be the one sacrificed. yeah. ]
... Someone must've gotten in her ear. We were all talking about it here. Maybe someone sent her a letter and told her - I haven't...
[ a beat. ]
Guess I wasn't as subtle about missing you as I thought I was.
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he doesn't let it linger, lifting his shoulder to rub at his eye with it while his hands are busy, and shakes his head. frustrating, but, it's for the better. hard not to feel bitter. his own mixes with vi's for a moment, especially when she thinks about nathalie, intensifies. his fury at that never went away. it likely never will. ] ...I believe you. [ about the letter. of course he does, his judgement of vi's character is rock solid. ] If someone tried to step in, that's on them - and if I find out who, there'll be hell to pay.
[ a little flare of anger. at the last part, though, all of those negative, swirly, complex emotions are briefly covered with a genuine fondness. ]
I don't think you've ever been subtle about anything. [ rude? it's a joke, though, just teasing, and dryly; ] You want to be the pot, or the kettle?
[ because they are, in fact, the same in this regard too. strohl's subtle about other things, so is vi, but their emotions have not ever been one of them.
there's a long pause after that, a quiet broken up by the sound of sizzling meat and clinking metal, here and there.]
... I saw her line of thought. [ he says quietly, voice a little lower. ] Easily. Even if there was no bug in her ear, I'm sure she could've gotten there herself. In that mindset, that kind of person... it's not hard to get caught up in guilt.
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her lips twitch when he teases her, and she looks down at her feet, swinging. kick, kick. bang, bang, heels against the cabinets.
she listens to the sound of cooking, and there's... well, look, the vibes are kind of rotten in general today, but there's such a sense of safety here. it reminds her of weeks ago, coming to strohl's stupid lounge and watching him cook, listening to him fuss at her. she's tired, and her head hurts, but she has him and that makes up for it.
a beat, and she bites worries at her bottom lip. ]
... Yeah, I know. [ she mostly keeps the bitterness out of her voice. ] She's beating herself up worse about it than I ever could.
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it's really only now with anders gone how brightly he's realising that he misses the others. how badly he misses rupert. how much he wishes they were both still alive, that he was on the other side with his team, laughing and shouting as they would likely bully him straight down into the ground. how badly he misses his team beyond this place, how badly he misses will, how there's a chance they could never see each other again and he dies here in this stupid fucking airport.
and... how badly he misses rosamund, as they talk about her. soft and rippling, a pang of loss. ]
... You or I. [ considering she literally asked him to kill her. he says, quietly - a little humour to it. the bitterness is heard, but the mostly means he's willing to let it slide. poking at it feels like an open wound, like sliding through sutures. a little painful, but maybe it's for the better that way. ] I ripped her a new arsehole about it, when she asked me. Funny, how hard it can be to look in the mirror.
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he misses the others, and she can feel it, and she thinks - it should've been you that went back to the living.
silence, for a long moment. ]
Yeah, well. Maybe you'll remember that the next time you try to sacrifice yourself. Maybe. [ ... ] I told her I wasn't mad at her.
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Yes, yes... Rupert gave me an earful about that as well, don't worry.
[ his noble sacrifices. believe it or not he's gotten better, in the months that passed in euchronia. here, he's learned there's little to ever be done to protect those he cares for, and it's not something he... accepted, but rather, something he's forced to live with. that, and... well, his death was not exactly not a sacrifice, but that's neither here nor there.
he glances over at vi, briefly. ]
Heart doesn't like to listen to logic. [ he gets it. ] Can't say I'm all that different, in the end.
[ there's this pang, again. guilt, low in his stomach, old. it's almost always there, like a mantle, draped on his shoulders, heavy enough to bury. it wasn't that long ago that he almost...
well. another time. in this moment, he thinks the same. it should have been you. maybe they could have spoken to each other. fixed it. taped up all those pieces. if strohl could've traded himself for vi, he might have done the exact same thing. ]
's okay if you still are, though. I don't think anyone'd blame you.
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she bangs her heel against the cabinet a little more violently than she means to, rubbing at her wrist. pauses. stops kicking her feet. it's a good thing it isn't thoughtshare week because if she'd heard him thinking he would trade himself for her she'd punch him straight across the jaw.
there's a long silence after that last sentence. ]
Doesn't fucking matter, it's not like she meant to do it. So. Yeah, they would blame me. I'm not going to look like an ass for being mad.
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She killed you. You're allowed to be mad.
[ "what about hulkenberg" thats different ]
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Yeah, well. I'm the only one who is, so who gives a shit, right?
[ she is so mad at him for not letting her drink right this second actually, wow ]
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-- What?
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What do you mean, what, you're like best friends with her. She feels sooo bad about it, so it's fine that I got murked a week in again, because that's what my role is in these things, right? Perfect sacrifice for the person who just is so sad she did it.
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-- Did you hear a single word I said barely five minutes ago? Have you lost your mind?
[ about sacrifices, about how furious that idea makes him, about how ferociously protective he is and has always been of vi. it's funny. rosamund had gone the same way, in the opposite direction. you. just want to protect me. do you see me as a damsel in distress? ]
Don't water yourself down to that. [ first of all, firmly - even in the immediate brash anger, because he's not going to stand for it. and then, right after - ] Did you think I wasn't angry?
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[ it really is like a fistfight, because she feels that shock and hurt and there's this grim feeling of satisfaction. there it is. there it is. there's the line. how much further can she push? ]
Were. But you're so fucking dedicated to doing the right thing, you and Eiselin both, and the right thing is to forgive her and be nice to her because it wasn't her fault. It wasn't even me on purpose! Did you know that? Again! Again, it was just whoever the fuck woke up!
[ it makes her feel like a petulant teenager, but maybe she isn't that far from that. she's spent a third of her life in prison, did you know that? really stunts your growth. ]
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I. Know. [ he enunciates - the words sharp, snapped, fierce, his emotions just the same. barbs and fire, but steady. like a wave crashing up against an iron tower, a suit of armour. the royal warrior. he's grown some since the resort, but this is testing that, as all of his emotions start to wring up and pour out in his words.
and there's a crack that pushes through all that anger, too. something upset, something wailing and hurt for what he lost, a sharp glass shard of grief. ] She told me when I finally got the chance to speak to he when she wasn't possessed out of her bloody mind, and I got so angry I almost blacked out, because it was so bloody unfair to you! Do you think I just turned around and let it all go?! Who the hell do you think I am?!
[ the fury rolls off of him in waves, now, rising in righteous, thunderous indignation. anger for himself, for vi - and for rosamund, too. ]
We didn't speak. For a long time. She avoided me, and I couldn't even look at her because it made me furious, and I thought I'd snap. Every single time I saw her, all I saw was what she stole. And I still haven't forgiven her, even now, and I never will.
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the grief twists her all up. the anger she can take, she's so used to anger. it's always anger, it's always wrath, it's always a fifteen year old girl knowing that the world isn't fair and swallowing it down because if she wasn't at the front, if she didn't do the right thing, everybody else would suffer for it. it's a fifteen year old girl and a twenty-two year old woman and a lifetime of watching the people she loves throw her aside for a mistake, for wanting her sister to be safe, for not knowing exactly what to do - she's expecting it to be the same here. it's always just another set of last words that weren't i love you, but another responsibility on her shoulders.
she chokes a little on it, brushing at her eyes in frustration. there's less anger in her than there is that lonely, lost feeling. she doesn't even know what to say to any of this, and it takes her a second to even speak without her voice breaking. ]
I didn't see any of that.
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[ this bursts out of his mouth, the emotional intention of throwing his arms in the air. and then she brushes her eyes, and that lonely feeling hits him like a train.
all of strohl's anger comes from his heart. it is huge. bleeding, always bleeding, leaking his emotions and feelings everywhere. he cares so fucking much and it shows here, because the anger cracks apart into frustrated, devastatingly powerful care, something so fierce and loving that he crosses the space between them and puts both hands on her shoulders. rattles, when she speaks. if she smacks him, it's fine. it gets his point across - his eyes are wet, and there's that grieving feeling that ensconces every brutally honest word out of his mouth.]
Lord, Vi - I love you, of course I was angry, you bloody stubborn goat! So was Hulkenberg! The only reason things got any better is because we had the luxury to talk to each other and the luxury of time, something you and I have not been afforded in any way, shape, or form. If you're angry with me because I want to do the right thing, then you can be angry with me, but don't think for a second I'm casting you aside or pretending you dying, twice, right next to me, wasn't the worst bloody thing that's happened to me since home.
[ another fierce, sharp burst of grief at that. as home. as halia. he didn't put that tattoo on his arm out of whimsy. ]
I know you couldn't see it. I know what it must have looked like. I'm sorry, for that. Beyond all words and measure.
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and listens, thankfully.
she and anders had talked about this. she doesn't want revenge. she doesn't want rosamund to hurt, she doesn't want her to die, she doesn't want any sort of vengeance. she just wants someone to love her in a way that she doesn't have to look for - and for her, love looks like anger, like being furious and destructive because it's big and can't be contained. it looks like always picking the person you love more, even if that's an impossible task. and she can never ask for it. she's barely even aware of it.
thankfully, she doesn't have to be. strohl straight up tells her, and she hiccups, embarrassingly, tears rolling down her cheeks. there is too much care and too much love and she hasn't felt something like this - well, ever, not blasted at her, not like getting hit with a fire hose. she's seen little flashes of it in the way powder used to look at her, in a hair ruffle from vander. she thought they loved her. she's pretty sure they did.
vi drags in a breath, and it shakes. ]
I - I'm not. [ ... ] I'm not angry at you.
[ she's just expecting it to go wrong, she's expecting things to change, she doesn't know what a healthy fucking relationship looks like because it's always you have to choose which side you're on with the people she knows, and so - here, you can have more context for that cyoa you went on, yaaay. part one and part two ]
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this is disorienting, mostly because it's familiar - the lightning puts him on fucking red alert because he's felt that before, but staring at this memory is like suddenly putting on glasses and realising you've been blind. everything clicks into place and settles, and the memories of his own time in piltover blur and settle into this. there's the instinctual understanding of her sister if not the why, the way she shielded cait, the way she stopped cait. he knows how she felt about that woman because for a moment, he felt it too, and --
and then the end comes. that tiny, heartbroken sob focuses over the girl in front of him, angry and upset and lonely. god, does he know how that lonely awfulness feels, god does he understand, and he just -
he staggers forward - one step, two, and pulls vi into his arms for a tight, tight hug, breath coming half ragged like he was the one who just lost everything. the one who always chooses wrong. ]
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i just want you to love me like you used to, her sister had said once. i won't change, caitlyn had said, too.
strohl moves forward and he pulls her into a hug, and she just gives in and hides her face against his shoulder, worn out. run through. she's almost too exhausted to cry properly, the grief and the anxiety and the feeling of being disconnected, left behind all too much for her.
she just - she doesn't want to choose anymore. ]
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those sort of dichotomies are the thing that the old world would ask of them. not anymore, in euchronia, not at home, not in will's world. not in the world that will be vi's, too, not if he can help it. for a moment, he's just sort of overwhelmed with his own emotions, a furious maelstrom of anger and worry and something righteously upset on her behalf, heartbroken for someone he's come to care about as close as family. that story she told him all those weeks ago in the resort about cait makes such perfect sense with all of the context, and for the second, third, hundredth time, he silently promises himself: never again.
his hand comes up to the back of her head, pressing gently - his other arm squeezes tight, and he half crumples, bowing over top of her to ensconce her in his arms. ]
Shh. [ softly, low - like she's a child, sometimes you just need that. sometimes you just need someone to tell you it's going to be alright. ] I've got you. I promise, I've got you.
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