[ 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.
[ sometimes you need someone to just hold you and tell you things will get better. she hasn't had that since she was a kid.
the thing about vi is she's always kept her tears to herself, whenever she could. there are people who rely on her, and if they see her crying, they'd be lost. it's not so much being afraid of looking weak as just not being allowed to be, and so she's trained herself to cry very, very quietly, curled in on herself. if she does it at all, even. in that memory, caitlyn had slammed the end of a rifle into her gut, right into a healing wound, because she knew it would hurt - but it wasn't the physical pain that made vi break.
she brings a shaking hand up to cling to the back of his shirt, and the only thing that gives away that she's crying is her shoulders trembling. an involuntary sharp inhale. well, and the grieving, weary feelings, feelings she never dealt with after she died. longing and resentment and uselessness, and a guilt that prevents this from even being that cathartic. how dare you show this.
it's comforting, though. it is. he's warm and safe and she loves him, too. that much is clear. ]
[ sometimes that's all you can do, is be a steady bastion for someone to cry on. whatever they were arguing about before doesn't matter, because this gets right down to the core of it. of course he cares for vi, of course he loves her, and there's not a day he'd ever choose. he thinks that life's been cruel to her because - it's hard to imagine her not desperately trying to do the same. she can cling as hard as she wants, and he just rubs her back gently and holds her tight.
it's the funny thing - they're both caretakers. maybe for the better, because it means they can look out for each other, too. his own emotions are a little less messy - they're fierce and protective, sorrowful, full of compassion and kindness and love for his best friend, a little rubbed raw after that confrontation but in a good way, in the way a crisp breath of cold air feels. she can cry on him for hours. if the kitchen burns down around them, it's not like they'll die for real anyway.
rocking them a little bit, he tucks his head against the top of hers. whatever conversation they were having can wait until she's wrung out and let some of this go. ]
she's tired and she's twitchy, taking those emotions and exhaling them out. her head hurts, and now she's all stuffed up on top of it, which really just makes her want to throw another fit, but she figures she's had enough time for those. they're still sort of fighting, but it's such a relief to have someone reach for her and hug her in the middle of an argument, instead of digging their nails in to make it worse. what a fucking novelty.
she gives herself a moment to let the last of it get away from her, and then, quietly: ]
S'the last thing I remember before showing up here. [ her voice is wet and garbage-y. ]
[ there's this very sudden burst of emotion when she says it was the last thing - something desperate and deeply determined, the near audible sound of a broken heart being snapped back together. they have to get her out of here. they have to, have to, have to. ]
...Pretty much all of it.
[ strohl says after a moment - he shifts, a little. reaches back, feels around for a dishtowel, and brings it between the two of them so she can wipe her face, and not like, blow her nose on his jabot or something. ]
Think I've been in your shoes more than you realise. It clarified some things.
[ he doesn't pull back too far but if she doesn't stop him he will wipe her face for her. like a fussy parent. ]
[ stop he's so FUSSY!! is the emotion, but it's so halfhearted and she only barely swipes at him before just letting him do it. he can wipe her face, even if she's embarrassed about it. she would not let a single other person do this. ]
M'not really surprised. [ that he's been in her shoes. maybe they don't know every bit about each other, but every time he says something she really just - understands it. sees it from his point of view. she falters a little, though, and: ]
Leon, I. [ hghh. emotional vibes of hesitancy, something pained and heavy. he probably knows the feeling, actually, the sense of responsibility, the heaviness of thinking you should do something you don't want to, something that has the potential to drown you. ]
[ he sure does, yeah. he knows that exact fucking feeling. he pauses in this gesture, towel still on her face, pluck of a string in his emotions of empathy and worry. ]
What? [ say it. can't help if she doesn't - better to rip off the bandage. ]
[ ... a chat with boothill's already prepared him for this - his letters, too. he's heard, already, of how vi's been hovering at the edge of this decision, so he's steeled himself for it emotionally and physically, too.
still, she'll feel how he draws up. battening down the hatches, preparing for battle, in a sense. the empathy stays, though - under the beating heart of everything, because he understands that feeling of guilt and responsibility so intimately it sings through his blood. ]
How, exactly, is it your fault? [ a pause. ] And how, exactly, do you plan to fix it?
[ this is so funny because boothill is the one that made her waver on her decision,
silence, for a moment, as she feels him stubbornly set his feet in. she rubs at her eyes, looking away and down. ]
Because I left her behind. [ a voice that sounds like - grius, really, it's so close in timber and grit - a voice from a father figure echoes: When people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish... whatever happens? It's on you. and then, softer, weaker, dying: Look after Powder. ]
Because it's my fault she's like that, I left her. She's something I created.
[ how are you going to fix it, he asks. well. that, she doesn't know, and she can't answer. ]
[ picks up the steering from the cowboy to put the car back on the road. my car now.
silence for a long moment. it's not - it's not judgemental, or mean, and his eyes flick over her face as he tries to find the right words to say, because he gets it, he knows how that feels. ]
Far be it for me to to presume, and forgive me if I overstep. [ first, because he does have excellent manners but also because he knows that he doesn't know the entire story, but he'd listen. something about this tugs at his heartstrings so fiercely, so familiarly. young master leon, you have to let us take care of you, now. he has no family - his burned and burned and burned - so he's never known the feeling of a sibling, but he knows how it means to kill yourself over trying to make things right for something that was out of your control. ] But - she's an adult who makes her own choices, Vi.
[ of all things, he thinks about - of all the things, he thinks about kaworu, and the conversations they've had up to this point of vengeance and loss and justice, and what all of that means. how sometimes, you shy away because you don't want to be fixed. because the hands that help are bitten and that's a lesson someone just has to learn. ]
[ the thing is, under all of this, she doesn't want to go back. she doesn't. she does not want to go back to piltover and never see any of the people she loves here again. she doesn't want to go back and put herself in the politics of her world, she just. cannot bring herself to care about what happens there anymore, not when she's seen what other worlds have to offer. she's been promised so many tours.
but she would do anything for her sister. caitlyn is - not nearly as important to any of this, not after what she did and not after vi's only known her for a couple of weeks, but jinx. powder, her little sister, the only thing that kept her moving in prison, she would throw herself away every single time for a chance for jinx to live and be happy. in the memory he just watched, vi had gone in, ready to fix the problem, to kill her and be done with it, and she couldn't. she hesitated. dead is a solution, but it isn't the one she wanted.
does jinx want help? no. not really. but. vi's not sure that she wants jinx, and that's the biggest problem, right? is she chasing something that isn't there anymore? ]
[ nooo.... there's a desperate swoop in his emotions, pained and empathetic, a need in his own right to help. anxiety, briefly. (and guilt, too, just a little - would it be like this if he'd just succeeded the first time?) but he won't let himself get into it too far. that's a spiral for a different day, and his focus is entirely on vi.
he bites his lip. thinking. ]
... yeah. [ rough. ] Yeah, I can tell. What... [ ... ] What happened, Vi?
you have to give me memshare back soon because i feel bad unleashing all of this on you but this is really just the easiest way to explain it so. seven years ago, everything in her life came crashing down around her ears, in flames.
god. that's - there's a lot, to process, a lot that's way way way too familiar at the beginning. the utter chaos and devastation of her sister's toy bomb, the fire, the rubble and screaming and the monster, one he's fought before, it's a lot. for a second he's in the flames of halia again, but vi's agony is what keeps him in place, nailed to the ground to watch the horrors unfold. it's like a gauntlet runner wreck in slow motion, as each domino falls into place, as corpses hit the grounds and bodies twist and warp, as vi's world falls to pieces in a cacophony of explosions, sounds, and a crying little girl, at the very end.
strohl's emotions are a mess - horror, fury, recognition and pain, something that jolts when the monstrous form of what was vander staggers away from vi with a scream. our fathers would have probably gotten along, he'd joked, and he can't help but think that he was right. admiration and grief for the way that man drags himself away from his attacker despite being out of his mind, away from pain, grabs vi and whisks her to safety as his final act, for a damn good man, for vi's loss, for that visceral, resonant scream more like a feral animal in her grief, and the tragedy of her sister, at the very end.
it rattles him further than the first memory did. that one was familiar. this one's new.
he takes in a breath, as it ends, sharp as he drags himself out of her head, fingers flexing where he's still holding the towel by her face. were it not for the end, he might have been stunned into silence, but by the time vi's form crumples at the side of the building and they're back in this stupid kitchen, his eyes are wet, and he's so shattered watching her life fall to hell that he almost swoops in to hug her again. he doesn't - frozen, for a second, blinking rapidly and then - ]
Vi. [ strohl stumbles over it, roughly, coming back - half cupping her face in his hands. ] Hey - hey. Alright?
[ like. obviously not, neither of them are alright after seeing that, but he knows how easy it is to get sucked into your memories and he holds out his metaphorical hand, trembling even still. ]
[ she says, choking a little on it. jesus. sometimes these things hit and she feels like she's going to pass out from the way it feels to wrench back to reality.
for whatever reason, his reaction rips her up more than anything else. the empathy, the care that he gives her - it's not something she's really gotten. again, just. bare minimum kindness is what breaks her, as usual. he cups her face and she feels miserable. she misses her dad. their dads would have gotten along, noble men, not necessarily by birth but action. vander is who she models herself after, if she could be half as good as him she would be happy. both of them, right, both of them following in footsteps that feel too big for them.
and - she's still so angry at powder trying to help, she told her to stay back, but she didn't, and its her fault. she hurt her and she left her there and vi was a baby, too, she was only fifteen, but she should've known better. shouldn't have hit her sister. shouldn't have called her a jinx.
take care of powder. his last words were a prison sentence all on their own. ]
Sorry.
[ because it's a lot, but because she knows that he came from similar circumstances, and it can't have been fun to watch. she brings a hand up to rest over to top of his, and thinks about apologizing for the fresh batch of tears that spill over, too. ]
[ thankfully, he's used to being hit in the face with his own trauma, and nothing helps him more than being able to help others, than to help vi, to stumble them both forward and out of the fire and flames of the memories. her emotions are huge, but so are his, and he reflects them back to her in a feedback loop, not a perfect repetition, but something close. mirrors of grief and misery and loss. not - he's not angry, but he feels the way she is, feels how it resonates.
what stuck out to him was exactly that. she was a baby. both of them were. children, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have consequences, doesn't leave ripple effects in the lives of these two girls, even now.
he exhales out, slow, gathering his bearings, then shakes his head. keeps his hands on her face, because it's grounding for him too, even though she's crying. she'll see his eyes are a little wet in the intensity of how he looks at her, too, cracked open. ]
Don't apologise. [ barely eked out of his mouth, roughshod. ] 's alright. I'm the one who asked - can't... can't control when that goes off.
[ that's the easiest to get through first, besides the enormity of what he just witnessed, to let the sparks of emotional overload try to settle back down. so's this, the just so of a weak, rueful joke - ] Hate that it was... seven years. Right down to the day. 's starting to get ridiculous.
[ he'll get to the rest in a second. they can have a second to try and settle. ]
[ it's okay, it does make her laugh. it's a hiccupped thing and it sucks, but it's a laugh. ]
I told you. We walked right out of the same fucking storybook. [ ages ago, when he told her about the burning of halia, she almost thought it was funny, in a sick way. to find someone who feels exactly the same way you do, who has been through almost exactly the same things. losing all of your family in one go to the fire, to monsters calling themselves humans, to a revolution that they didn't ask for. but even with all of this, she thinks about how much of a relief that is. she doesn't have to explain herself as much because he understands where she's coming from, she can tell from the loop of the emotions, from the way he looks at her like her memories opened old wounds. thank god. what a horrible relief.
a shivery sigh. come down all the way, it's okay. she slumps into his hands, tired. ]
... I got out of prison, and she was going around calling herself Jinx.
[ so - it's hard not to feel responsible for it, but it's so out of control and he is right. her sister does not want to be helped, not anymore. what jinx wants from vi is something that vi can't grasp. ]
[ there's a little, sort of wet laugh on his end, too - for a moment, he can feel the weight of will's book in the satchel off the back of his sword, like a reminder, but that's for later, anyway. vi's right; it is the same story, in the worst kind of way, but in the better, too. there's a camaraderie there, an awful understanding of grief, crystallised down to its barest form.
he exhales out as she comes down, too, slow and steady, all those live-wire endings starting to melt away, bit by bit. achy little worry blips through his emotions, heavy concern. ]
... Bloody hell. [ not his most eloquent response, but, his response nevertheless. he can see it, how a name like that would stick. how a moment like that never leaves you. and worse, he can see exactly how old that wound is, where vi's guilt dropped like an anchor and started pulling her straight down. ]
[ she exhales slow again, trying to get the tension out of her shoulders. ]
Same amount of time. Seven years. [ she's only been out of prison for like, maybe a month. ] Got arrested like a few minutes after what you just saw.
[ a beat, and she absently reaches for his coat, or - something, just holding onto him somehow. grounding. she's wrestling with the sense of responsibility, with how much she just wants to be free of it, and how much guilt and love is just an intertwined thing for her. ]
[ she can absolutely do that - he leans into her a little, reaches back to turn the heat down on the stove so his food doesn't actually burn to death. ]
[ okay. he takes a second to compose his thoughts, frowning a little to himself as he slips mentally into vi's shoes, into the anguish and hurt he felt as her, let alone to the horrors of the double whammy of memories, themselves, and steps back mentally for a logical position. ]
...That's a long time to make choices, seven years. Long time to be a teenager in a tumult who lost everything, too.
[ ... ]
I can't say I'd not feel the same way you do, were I in your shoes. Mucking up a responsibility because you lost your temper's been the story of my life. But... [ he thinks, for a moment, about rupert yelling at him before he came here. of course you were scared for a second, it was like you lost everything all over again, i bet your friend wouldn't even be mad!
maybe that's what it is, to be the one with the responsibility. you take the mantle on willingly, but it's heavier than you really know, and you don't realise how heavy until you've someone else standing there to help you carry it, and your shoulders start to feel lighter. that's where he is, right now, arms under the ploughshare, ready to lift some of it off. he just has to figure out how to. ]
I know, that's your family. I know, and I hear what your father said. But you don't have to shoulder that responsibility yourself, it's not just on you. She has other friends, other people, likely a whole life lived in those years. And if they've spiralled downwards, trying to pull her out of it might make her resent you even further.
And... it sounded to me like she made up her mind about what she wanted to do long before you called her that, no matter how old she was. If that catastrophe wasn't enough to stop her, Vi, what is going to be? What worse has to happen?
[ what worse has to happen? that's the question, isn't it.
she doesn't know what will happen when she goes back. she doesn't know what to do next. cait wants nothing to do with her, and she doesn't know how to follow jinx any further, and what can she even do to stop the underground from collapsing in on itself? nobody will listen to her. she's not vander. she's not silco. she's essentially a class traitor now, honestly. she took on the uniform and people saw her as an enforcer and she did it because she had to get to jinx by any means possible but. there's no going back now.
drinking, or drinking. pit fighting. it's what she'd said to strohl before.
what else would have to happen to make this work? more destruction?
and maybe life will be better if she isn't there, anyway. maybe a universe where vi doesn't exist is the better one. maybe she can try to do something with a new start, maybe she can go with people who love her without hesitation. people who don't put conditions on it.
there's a lot of grief and guilt swirling around in her, but it's draining. it's getting siphoned out, bit by bit, and she just. leans forward and puts her head on strohl's shoulder, the energy leaving her entirely. ]
[ he says, but it's very quiet - not so much a scolding so much as it is note on her tone to herself, on the self loathing. as she comes forward, he lifts his free hand and sets it at the back of her neck, holding it there, and his emotions ripple fiercely somewhere between protectiveness and love.
strohl's voice takes on that rough tone in its sincerity, laid bare and raw as he takes her emotions of guilt and grief and holds them, the way he holds his own. ]
You were not put on this or any planet solely to suffer for the sake of others' joy, or resolution, or anything like. [ because that just keeps happening, over and over. she wasn't just put down to be a sacrifice in these little games, nor to fix jinx, nor to mess up things worse or make things better for others, all the while tearing up herself. it's hard to see in her because he sees parts of himself in it, and it's really just his time with will that's taught him to be more than the lack of worth he assigns himself.
will saved strohl's life. he was the light in the darkness when he needed it; in another world without him, he wanders euchronia angry and useless. in another world, maybe he's drinking or drinking, too.
maybe, maybe he can repay the favour that will did for him this way. maybe he can help the way his captain did, maybe he can help vi, pull her out of the muck and brush the dirt off her shoulders, lift her face to the sun. it won't be perfect. euchronia sucks, but it's a path forward. ] You deserve far, far better than that.
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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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the thing about vi is she's always kept her tears to herself, whenever she could. there are people who rely on her, and if they see her crying, they'd be lost. it's not so much being afraid of looking weak as just not being allowed to be, and so she's trained herself to cry very, very quietly, curled in on herself. if she does it at all, even. in that memory, caitlyn had slammed the end of a rifle into her gut, right into a healing wound, because she knew it would hurt - but it wasn't the physical pain that made vi break.
she brings a shaking hand up to cling to the back of his shirt, and the only thing that gives away that she's crying is her shoulders trembling. an involuntary sharp inhale. well, and the grieving, weary feelings, feelings she never dealt with after she died. longing and resentment and uselessness, and a guilt that prevents this from even being that cathartic. how dare you show this.
it's comforting, though. it is. he's warm and safe and she loves him, too. that much is clear. ]
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it's the funny thing - they're both caretakers. maybe for the better, because it means they can look out for each other, too. his own emotions are a little less messy - they're fierce and protective, sorrowful, full of compassion and kindness and love for his best friend, a little rubbed raw after that confrontation but in a good way, in the way a crisp breath of cold air feels. she can cry on him for hours. if the kitchen burns down around them, it's not like they'll die for real anyway.
rocking them a little bit, he tucks his head against the top of hers. whatever conversation they were having can wait until she's wrung out and let some of this go. ]
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she's tired and she's twitchy, taking those emotions and exhaling them out. her head hurts, and now she's all stuffed up on top of it, which really just makes her want to throw another fit, but she figures she's had enough time for those. they're still sort of fighting, but it's such a relief to have someone reach for her and hug her in the middle of an argument, instead of digging their nails in to make it worse. what a fucking novelty.
she gives herself a moment to let the last of it get away from her, and then, quietly: ]
S'the last thing I remember before showing up here. [ her voice is wet and garbage-y. ]
... Sorry. M'sure you saw some of it before.
no subject
...Pretty much all of it.
[ strohl says after a moment - he shifts, a little. reaches back, feels around for a dishtowel, and brings it between the two of them so she can wipe her face, and not like, blow her nose on his jabot or something. ]
Think I've been in your shoes more than you realise. It clarified some things.
[ he doesn't pull back too far but if she doesn't stop him he will wipe her face for her. like a fussy parent. ]
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M'not really surprised. [ that he's been in her shoes. maybe they don't know every bit about each other, but every time he says something she really just - understands it. sees it from his point of view. she falters a little, though, and: ]
Leon, I. [ hghh. emotional vibes of hesitancy, something pained and heavy. he probably knows the feeling, actually, the sense of responsibility, the heaviness of thinking you should do something you don't want to, something that has the potential to drown you. ]
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What? [ say it. can't help if she doesn't - better to rip off the bandage. ]
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I shouldn't leave that mess behind. It's my fault.
[ heavy, heavy, heavy. ]
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still, she'll feel how he draws up. battening down the hatches, preparing for battle, in a sense. the empathy stays, though - under the beating heart of everything, because he understands that feeling of guilt and responsibility so intimately it sings through his blood. ]
How, exactly, is it your fault? [ a pause. ] And how, exactly, do you plan to fix it?
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silence, for a moment, as she feels him stubbornly set his feet in. she rubs at her eyes, looking away and down. ]
Because I left her behind. [ a voice that sounds like - grius, really, it's so close in timber and grit - a voice from a father figure echoes: When people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish... whatever happens? It's on you. and then, softer, weaker, dying: Look after Powder. ]
Because it's my fault she's like that, I left her. She's something I created.
[ how are you going to fix it, he asks. well. that, she doesn't know, and she can't answer. ]
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silence for a long moment. it's not - it's not judgemental, or mean, and his eyes flick over her face as he tries to find the right words to say, because he gets it, he knows how that feels. ]
Far be it for me to to presume, and forgive me if I overstep. [ first, because he does have excellent manners but also because he knows that he doesn't know the entire story, but he'd listen. something about this tugs at his heartstrings so fiercely, so familiarly. young master leon, you have to let us take care of you, now. he has no family - his burned and burned and burned - so he's never known the feeling of a sibling, but he knows how it means to kill yourself over trying to make things right for something that was out of your control. ] But - she's an adult who makes her own choices, Vi.
[ of all things, he thinks about - of all the things, he thinks about kaworu, and the conversations they've had up to this point of vengeance and loss and justice, and what all of that means. how sometimes, you shy away because you don't want to be fixed. because the hands that help are bitten and that's a lesson someone just has to learn. ]
Does she want help? Honestly.
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but she would do anything for her sister. caitlyn is - not nearly as important to any of this, not after what she did and not after vi's only known her for a couple of weeks, but jinx. powder, her little sister, the only thing that kept her moving in prison, she would throw herself away every single time for a chance for jinx to live and be happy. in the memory he just watched, vi had gone in, ready to fix the problem, to kill her and be done with it, and she couldn't. she hesitated. dead is a solution, but it isn't the one she wanted.
does jinx want help? no. not really. but. vi's not sure that she wants jinx, and that's the biggest problem, right? is she chasing something that isn't there anymore? ]
I don't know. So much has changed.
[ her voice breaks a little at the end there. ]
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he bites his lip. thinking. ]
... yeah. [ rough. ] Yeah, I can tell. What... [ ... ] What happened, Vi?
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you have to give me memshare back soon because i feel bad unleashing all of this on you but this is really just the easiest way to explain it so. seven years ago, everything in her life came crashing down around her ears, in flames.
part one
part two
part three
part four ]
no subject
god. that's - there's a lot, to process, a lot that's way way way too familiar at the beginning. the utter chaos and devastation of her sister's toy bomb, the fire, the rubble and screaming and the monster, one he's fought before, it's a lot. for a second he's in the flames of halia again, but vi's agony is what keeps him in place, nailed to the ground to watch the horrors unfold. it's like a gauntlet runner wreck in slow motion, as each domino falls into place, as corpses hit the grounds and bodies twist and warp, as vi's world falls to pieces in a cacophony of explosions, sounds, and a crying little girl, at the very end.
strohl's emotions are a mess - horror, fury, recognition and pain, something that jolts when the monstrous form of what was vander staggers away from vi with a scream. our fathers would have probably gotten along, he'd joked, and he can't help but think that he was right. admiration and grief for the way that man drags himself away from his attacker despite being out of his mind, away from pain, grabs vi and whisks her to safety as his final act, for a damn good man, for vi's loss, for that visceral, resonant scream more like a feral animal in her grief, and the tragedy of her sister, at the very end.
it rattles him further than the first memory did. that one was familiar. this one's new.
he takes in a breath, as it ends, sharp as he drags himself out of her head, fingers flexing where he's still holding the towel by her face. were it not for the end, he might have been stunned into silence, but by the time vi's form crumples at the side of the building and they're back in this stupid kitchen, his eyes are wet, and he's so shattered watching her life fall to hell that he almost swoops in to hug her again. he doesn't - frozen, for a second, blinking rapidly and then - ]
Vi. [ strohl stumbles over it, roughly, coming back - half cupping her face in his hands. ] Hey - hey. Alright?
[ like. obviously not, neither of them are alright after seeing that, but he knows how easy it is to get sucked into your memories and he holds out his metaphorical hand, trembling even still. ]
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[ she says, choking a little on it. jesus. sometimes these things hit and she feels like she's going to pass out from the way it feels to wrench back to reality.
for whatever reason, his reaction rips her up more than anything else. the empathy, the care that he gives her - it's not something she's really gotten. again, just. bare minimum kindness is what breaks her, as usual. he cups her face and she feels miserable. she misses her dad. their dads would have gotten along, noble men, not necessarily by birth but action. vander is who she models herself after, if she could be half as good as him she would be happy. both of them, right, both of them following in footsteps that feel too big for them.
and - she's still so angry at powder trying to help, she told her to stay back, but she didn't, and its her fault. she hurt her and she left her there and vi was a baby, too, she was only fifteen, but she should've known better. shouldn't have hit her sister. shouldn't have called her a jinx.
take care of powder. his last words were a prison sentence all on their own. ]
Sorry.
[ because it's a lot, but because she knows that he came from similar circumstances, and it can't have been fun to watch. she brings a hand up to rest over to top of his, and thinks about apologizing for the fresh batch of tears that spill over, too. ]
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what stuck out to him was exactly that. she was a baby. both of them were. children, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have consequences, doesn't leave ripple effects in the lives of these two girls, even now.
he exhales out, slow, gathering his bearings, then shakes his head. keeps his hands on her face, because it's grounding for him too, even though she's crying. she'll see his eyes are a little wet in the intensity of how he looks at her, too, cracked open. ]
Don't apologise. [ barely eked out of his mouth, roughshod. ] 's alright. I'm the one who asked - can't... can't control when that goes off.
[ that's the easiest to get through first, besides the enormity of what he just witnessed, to let the sparks of emotional overload try to settle back down. so's this, the just so of a weak, rueful joke - ] Hate that it was... seven years. Right down to the day. 's starting to get ridiculous.
[ he'll get to the rest in a second. they can have a second to try and settle. ]
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I told you. We walked right out of the same fucking storybook. [ ages ago, when he told her about the burning of halia, she almost thought it was funny, in a sick way. to find someone who feels exactly the same way you do, who has been through almost exactly the same things. losing all of your family in one go to the fire, to monsters calling themselves humans, to a revolution that they didn't ask for. but even with all of this, she thinks about how much of a relief that is. she doesn't have to explain herself as much because he understands where she's coming from, she can tell from the loop of the emotions, from the way he looks at her like her memories opened old wounds. thank god. what a horrible relief.
a shivery sigh. come down all the way, it's okay. she slumps into his hands, tired. ]
... I got out of prison, and she was going around calling herself Jinx.
[ so - it's hard not to feel responsible for it, but it's so out of control and he is right. her sister does not want to be helped, not anymore. what jinx wants from vi is something that vi can't grasp. ]
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[ there's a little, sort of wet laugh on his end, too - for a moment, he can feel the weight of will's book in the satchel off the back of his sword, like a reminder, but that's for later, anyway. vi's right; it is the same story, in the worst kind of way, but in the better, too. there's a camaraderie there, an awful understanding of grief, crystallised down to its barest form.
he exhales out as she comes down, too, slow and steady, all those live-wire endings starting to melt away, bit by bit. achy little worry blips through his emotions, heavy concern. ]
... Bloody hell. [ not his most eloquent response, but, his response nevertheless. he can see it, how a name like that would stick. how a moment like that never leaves you. and worse, he can see exactly how old that wound is, where vi's guilt dropped like an anchor and started pulling her straight down. ]
That's... how long were you there, again?
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Same amount of time. Seven years. [ she's only been out of prison for like, maybe a month. ] Got arrested like a few minutes after what you just saw.
[ a beat, and she absently reaches for his coat, or - something, just holding onto him somehow. grounding. she's wrestling with the sense of responsibility, with how much she just wants to be free of it, and how much guilt and love is just an intertwined thing for her. ]
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[ she can absolutely do that - he leans into her a little, reaches back to turn the heat down on the stove so his food doesn't actually burn to death. ]
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She was eleven. So... eighteen, now.
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...That's a long time to make choices, seven years. Long time to be a teenager in a tumult who lost everything, too.
[ ... ]
I can't say I'd not feel the same way you do, were I in your shoes. Mucking up a responsibility because you lost your temper's been the story of my life. But... [ he thinks, for a moment, about rupert yelling at him before he came here. of course you were scared for a second, it was like you lost everything all over again, i bet your friend wouldn't even be mad!
maybe that's what it is, to be the one with the responsibility. you take the mantle on willingly, but it's heavier than you really know, and you don't realise how heavy until you've someone else standing there to help you carry it, and your shoulders start to feel lighter. that's where he is, right now, arms under the ploughshare, ready to lift some of it off. he just has to figure out how to. ]
I know, that's your family. I know, and I hear what your father said. But you don't have to shoulder that responsibility yourself, it's not just on you. She has other friends, other people, likely a whole life lived in those years. And if they've spiralled downwards, trying to pull her out of it might make her resent you even further.
And... it sounded to me like she made up her mind about what she wanted to do long before you called her that, no matter how old she was. If that catastrophe wasn't enough to stop her, Vi, what is going to be? What worse has to happen?
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she doesn't know what will happen when she goes back. she doesn't know what to do next. cait wants nothing to do with her, and she doesn't know how to follow jinx any further, and what can she even do to stop the underground from collapsing in on itself? nobody will listen to her. she's not vander. she's not silco. she's essentially a class traitor now, honestly. she took on the uniform and people saw her as an enforcer and she did it because she had to get to jinx by any means possible but. there's no going back now.
drinking, or drinking. pit fighting. it's what she'd said to strohl before.
what else would have to happen to make this work? more destruction?
and maybe life will be better if she isn't there, anyway. maybe a universe where vi doesn't exist is the better one. maybe she can try to do something with a new start, maybe she can go with people who love her without hesitation. people who don't put conditions on it.
there's a lot of grief and guilt swirling around in her, but it's draining. it's getting siphoned out, bit by bit, and she just. leans forward and puts her head on strohl's shoulder, the energy leaving her entirely. ]
Maybe it's better I'm not there.
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[ he says, but it's very quiet - not so much a scolding so much as it is note on her tone to herself, on the self loathing. as she comes forward, he lifts his free hand and sets it at the back of her neck, holding it there, and his emotions ripple fiercely somewhere between protectiveness and love.
strohl's voice takes on that rough tone in its sincerity, laid bare and raw as he takes her emotions of guilt and grief and holds them, the way he holds his own. ]
You were not put on this or any planet solely to suffer for the sake of others' joy, or resolution, or anything like. [ because that just keeps happening, over and over. she wasn't just put down to be a sacrifice in these little games, nor to fix jinx, nor to mess up things worse or make things better for others, all the while tearing up herself. it's hard to see in her because he sees parts of himself in it, and it's really just his time with will that's taught him to be more than the lack of worth he assigns himself.
will saved strohl's life. he was the light in the darkness when he needed it; in another world without him, he wanders euchronia angry and useless. in another world, maybe he's drinking or drinking, too.
maybe, maybe he can repay the favour that will did for him this way. maybe he can help the way his captain did, maybe he can help vi, pull her out of the muck and brush the dirt off her shoulders, lift her face to the sun. it won't be perfect. euchronia sucks, but it's a path forward. ] You deserve far, far better than that.
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