[where is thancred, because Bad Decisions are being made here in the house of gideon, and she's laying on the floor somewhere getting drunk. this is a hell of a toplevel.]
[He's not really feeling any more talkative than Gideon is at the moment, frankly, but this would also be a really boring PC if we both just sat here with nobody saying anything so: ]
[she's just drinking beer, because she wants to punish herself, mostly.]
Nothing was going to. [she says, with a little hiccup of a laugh.] Look, this is how it goes. I like people, and they die. I'm lucky that so far it hasn't been because of me. I need to quit while I'm ahead.
All right. You can have at me, then. A story for your troubles.
[He comes over to the ballpit with his drink and sits on the edge, legs dangling into the mass of balls, near enough to Gideon that he doesn't have to shout but distant enough that she's got her space.]
I've gotten my friends killed before. Not nobly. Not out of desperate futility. My hands and my knowledge opened the door and it led to a slaughter.
Straight from my profile: "being vulnerable to malefic possession". I'm surprised no one's yet to ask me about it, frankly. Surprised, but I can hardly say I mind it.
[He shakes his head.]
I was affiliated with a group of comrades whose dream was to change the world for the better. I wanted nothing more than to protect them in any way I could. In every way I could. I pushed myself to the edge of my limits, demanding more and more of myself with each new dawn. It made me vulnerable.
In seeking to keep them all safe, I became the instrument of their destruction. A tool and a puppet for their worst enemy.
Deservedly so; it was my fault. And with my body and my knowledge, our enemies were led directly to our hidden base of operations. They had no chance.
[He kicks lightly; a smattering of balls go soaring into the air.]
I've a comrade who has also been through similar circumstances. Overshadowed by a malevolent influence, his body taken and used for evil ends. And one of the things he and I are in agreement on is that we both deserved death as the consequence of our actions. That it was the correct outcome.
The fact that you think it wasn't, that you're outraged by the very thought, is a mark of heroism. Because that's what the heroic do: they reject the notion that they can't save everyone.
[that gets her, a little, because she isn't expecting where it's going. he's right - she is outraged, she thinks it's stupid. and maybe it isn't always as generous and magnanimous as that - sometimes, she is just cruel because she doesn't care. but for him, and for lavi both, she thinks it's bullshit.
she pulls herself up out of the ball pit, and clumsily makes her way over to him. she has to stop, once or twice, because she's tipsy and there are a lot of balls, but she makes it. she sits on the edge, and stares at him, as focused as she can be.]
Horseshit. [she says, sharply.] Balls to that. Balls to - death as a consequence. You didn't do anything wrong except care, you magnificent jackass. Numbnuts.
[ah yes. affection through name calling.
she's kind of reeling at being called anything even close to a hero. it's almost laughable. like she needs to reject it as vehemently as possible.]
I did a great deal wrong, Nav, and you know it. But if you're unwilling to hold me responsible for the blood on my hands, then stop imagining it on your own.
[He takes another long drink of his Number Nine, letting his head fall back a moment before looking over at her.]
I know it hurts. I know you wish it wouldn't. But don't take it out on yourself.
[her mouth twists horribly, and she's afraid for a dreadful, terrifying moment that she's going to cry. she feels it welling up in her chest, behind her eyes, and she holds her breath for a long moment like that's going to stop it.
it does, a little. she exhales shakily. her voice fails her for another minute.]
I'm not... I'm not taking it out on myself. [but that's weak, and it's really mostly just because she doesn't know what else to say.
nobody talks to her like this. except for... well. one person. but he's dead, and not in the way that means she'll ever get to see him again.]
If you quit on caring now, you'll be taking it out on the both of us.
[But he did agree not to psychoanalyze her, so.]
A happier tale for you, then: once upon a time, hope traveled to the very end of all things and lit a spark that vanquished despair once and for all. And it didn't mean that loved ones weren't still lost. It didn't fix every trial and tribulation in life. It didn't make a perfect world; quite the contrary, it rejected the very notion of one.
What it did was prove that hope can win. That running away isn't the only answer. That sometimes we just walk, one footfall in front of the next, until we've traversed the pain and sorrow and heartache, and seen it through to the end.
[... that feels a little better. that feels like something she can try to hold onto, even if she doesn't quite believe it, right now. it feels more real than anything else, an imperfect sort of hope.
gideon brings her hand up to mop at her face. tries to compose herself.]
I didn't have any family when I was alive. [she says, maybe a little abruptly.] You know. I landed on the Ninth and my mother was braindead in a hazard suit with all the power diverted to me.
[she's not sure why she's telling him this. it seems important. it feels important, when she's talking about how much it hurts to lose people, here.]
I don't run from anything. [and it sounds like she's reminding herself.] I'm not running.
she doesn't sass him about it, to maybe her credit. she just thinks, shoulders hunched, body leaning forward as she sits with her legs off the edge of the ball pit. she's tipsy, so she's having a hard time working through it, but...]
Yes. [she says, finally, looking at him. because it's both.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
w2; SATURDAY
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anyway we're in the ballpit bar then because the idea of gideon letting the ballpit balls consume her while drunk is just funny.]
...Do you suppose Harrow moved the skeleton from in there?
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I don't care. I hope it stabs me. That'd be great.
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[He's not really feeling any more talkative than Gideon is at the moment, frankly, but this would also be a really boring PC if we both just sat here with nobody saying anything so: ]
Did you go see him?
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... Yeah. I did. [she takes another drink.]
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[Speaking of drinks, he's going to go get himself a Number Nine, because he wants to.]
...It didn't help. But you didn't expect it to.
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Nothing was going to. [she says, with a little hiccup of a laugh.] Look, this is how it goes. I like people, and they die. I'm lucky that so far it hasn't been because of me. I need to quit while I'm ahead.
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[He shakes his head.]
It won't stop them from dying. It won't stop you from caring, either.
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[she drains the rest of her drink.] My brain is a mystery and you can't keep getting away with this.
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[He comes over to the ballpit with his drink and sits on the edge, legs dangling into the mass of balls, near enough to Gideon that he doesn't have to shout but distant enough that she's got her space.]
I've gotten my friends killed before. Not nobly. Not out of desperate futility. My hands and my knowledge opened the door and it led to a slaughter.
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Explain more. [because that sounds like a Story with a capital S.]
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[He shakes his head.]
I was affiliated with a group of comrades whose dream was to change the world for the better. I wanted nothing more than to protect them in any way I could. In every way I could. I pushed myself to the edge of my limits, demanding more and more of myself with each new dawn. It made me vulnerable.
In seeking to keep them all safe, I became the instrument of their destruction. A tool and a puppet for their worst enemy.
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Are you actually blaming yourself for getting possessed?
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[He kicks lightly; a smattering of balls go soaring into the air.]
I've a comrade who has also been through similar circumstances. Overshadowed by a malevolent influence, his body taken and used for evil ends. And one of the things he and I are in agreement on is that we both deserved death as the consequence of our actions. That it was the correct outcome.
The fact that you think it wasn't, that you're outraged by the very thought, is a mark of heroism. Because that's what the heroic do: they reject the notion that they can't save everyone.
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she pulls herself up out of the ball pit, and clumsily makes her way over to him. she has to stop, once or twice, because she's tipsy and there are a lot of balls, but she makes it. she sits on the edge, and stares at him, as focused as she can be.]
Horseshit. [she says, sharply.] Balls to that. Balls to - death as a consequence. You didn't do anything wrong except care, you magnificent jackass. Numbnuts.
[ah yes. affection through name calling.
she's kind of reeling at being called anything even close to a hero. it's almost laughable. like she needs to reject it as vehemently as possible.]
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[He takes another long drink of his Number Nine, letting his head fall back a moment before looking over at her.]
I know it hurts. I know you wish it wouldn't. But don't take it out on yourself.
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it does, a little. she exhales shakily. her voice fails her for another minute.]
I'm not... I'm not taking it out on myself. [but that's weak, and it's really mostly just because she doesn't know what else to say.
nobody talks to her like this. except for... well. one person. but he's dead, and not in the way that means she'll ever get to see him again.]
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[But he did agree not to psychoanalyze her, so.]
A happier tale for you, then: once upon a time, hope traveled to the very end of all things and lit a spark that vanquished despair once and for all. And it didn't mean that loved ones weren't still lost. It didn't fix every trial and tribulation in life. It didn't make a perfect world; quite the contrary, it rejected the very notion of one.
What it did was prove that hope can win. That running away isn't the only answer. That sometimes we just walk, one footfall in front of the next, until we've traversed the pain and sorrow and heartache, and seen it through to the end.
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gideon brings her hand up to mop at her face. tries to compose herself.]
I didn't have any family when I was alive. [she says, maybe a little abruptly.] You know. I landed on the Ninth and my mother was braindead in a hazard suit with all the power diverted to me.
[she's not sure why she's telling him this. it seems important. it feels important, when she's talking about how much it hurts to lose people, here.]
I don't run from anything. [and it sounds like she's reminding herself.] I'm not running.
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[Look at him, sharing bits of himself without even being asked, just like he said he would.]
Harrow's family took you in, I gather?
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The House made me a bondswoman. [she mutters.] I don't belong to anything.
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[He says, like he understands, except that this is probably some kind of weird BONE PLANET thing and consequently he really doesn't.]
But you want to.
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Duh. Of course I do.
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I'm going to ask you something, then. You won't like it. But think truly about it, and don't give me sass over it.
Do you want Harrow? Or is she just the likeliest path to belonging that you've ever had?
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she doesn't sass him about it, to maybe her credit. she just thinks, shoulders hunched, body leaning forward as she sits with her legs off the edge of the ball pit. she's tipsy, so she's having a hard time working through it, but...]
Yes. [she says, finally, looking at him. because it's both.]
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