[Whose biome is it today? Funny you should wonder about something like that. Goodbye, Bixing's apartment couches; hello, the marble benches of Sharlayan's outdoor study nooks. At least they're still cushioned, in a thankful nod to how uncomfortable Thancred knows the real things are to sleep on. Small favors.
Awfully pretty, isn't it? Especially at night. Quiet and relaxing and home.]
[oh... this is nice. she does pull herself up slowly to sit, dizzily, if only because her position was comfortable on a couch but not a marble bench. she makes a face, looking down at her various stab wounds. and then immediately, she gets distracted by the way the world looks.
for a girl who hasn't really seen a lot of places, this is wild. she's barely ever seen this much water, this sort of view. something beautiful and green and alive. stars that haven't burnt out, just yet. it's why she stands up (bad idea but whatever who cares) and stares out at it, expression a little starstruck.]
[Maybe it's the rustling of the trees overhead that does it. Something about the wind. Maybe it's just the sound of boots on marble or Gideon making soft unintended noises as she works her battered body up into a standing position. Whatever it is, it's enough to rouse Thancred, who even bone-tired still never quite loses his unconscious vigilance, and comes awake when things move around near him because that's part of how he's lived long enough to be this old and grizzled.
To say he's astonished when he finds himself surrounded by Old Sharlayan is, well. He's not as startled as Gideon is, certainly, but it's still not what he was expecting to see when he let his one good eye slide open.]
[she stares for a good couple of seconds longer, mouth open, and then:]
... Yeah. It has to be, but. [she says, finally, sinking down onto the bench again. she's still looking out at old sharlayan, though, almost greedily.] Where are we?
[god, she hopes they're not in another cyoa. where is her sword.]
Mmmn. Where I studied. Not where I learned bawdy mermaid songs.
[Sharlayan really, really does not look like a "bawdy mermaid song" kind of place, does it. The nerd vibes are palpable. It's all the marble and columns and student-worn footpaths.]
...Not really our sort of place, though, is it?
[The conscious use of the word our is, on some level, an invitation, perhaps.]
[it feels so much more inviting, here. nerd vibes, absolutely, but she can almost picture harrowhark sitting out here with a pile of books. she exhales slow, finally dragging her eyes away from the view to glance over at him.]
Nah. Not enough swords. [she jokes. partially jokes. she hears the our, though, and her fucked up hand twitches where it's resting on the bench.] Not very many places are looking for people like us, in my experience.
I didn't think so either, when Louisoix first brought me here. How could someone like me possibly belong in a place like this.
[Unlike hell, which is unfortunately all too easy to justify. He groans, softly, and tries to shift a bit without aggravating anything that hurts too much.]
...Can I ask you something? Genuinely. No smart remarks.
[He closes his eyes, letting his head sink back to rest on the cushioned marble. He doesn't want to look at anything right now, but he especially can't bear to look for her expression. He can't begin to imagine what it might be, and doesn't want to find out.]
I'd think I'd be the last person you wanted to see right now. Or ever again.
[he might not be expecting her response, or maybe he will, but - she laughs. it's a startled sound, maybe a little bewildered.]
-- What? What do you mean, after what you did to me? Did you miss that I nearly took your head off? I came at you with the fucking intent to murder your ass.
And you think I wasn't? You're missing two fingers because I couldn't stop —
[And like. It's not as though he's ignorant to the fact that she could say the exact same thing. That's the whole cruelty of it. The two of them, both in the exact same situation. No aggressor and no victim because it was both of them; a double dose of guilt, more than enough to go around.]
You should hate me because I couldn't stop. I wanted to stop and I couldn't.
[she snaps, a bit more viciously than she intends. the guilt of having caused most of his injuries is eating away at her slowly, and it comes out in her body language, in the way she won't allow herself to get any closer to him.]
I don't. Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do.
[Because they just — do, don't they? Think of things the same way. Hold the same fears. Make the same sacrifices. She was quicker to fall on her sword; he's slightly faster at coming to terms with the stitches they're pulling out in this conversation, one by one.
Hard to tell, sometimes, which one is actually more painful.]
[she opens her mouth - and then shuts it, abruptly.
aren't you scared, he says. the instinct is to say no. no, of course not. she's not scared of anything. but that wouldn't be the truth, because her heartbeat is thudding in her ears and her throat feels tight, like it did yesterday, when she told bixing what happened.
she doesn't know how to answer this, but she tries anyway. stammers, stumbles through her sentence.]
[He thinks, whatever question she might've been expecting, it probably wasn't that. But it's got him wondering, really. The visceral reaction, the way that misadventure had known to choose Harrow and Ryne — the way it'd been the only challenge they'd failed because what they were meant to do was resist.
[is the immediate answer. but. she sinks down into the bench and rests a hand over where she got stabbed. her jaw works, and she has to think about... how to put it. because it's never been magically taken from her, but.]
I belong to the Ninth, I've never had will to begin with. [she says, a little bitterly. but no, that's not quite right either, because she has free will, despite how much everybody in her life has been insistent on taking it away. it's the only thing she has.
she shakes her head, and tries again.]
The - the only thing I've got is me. I can control me. It's all I've got to give, and the fucking trial took it and made me do something I wouldn't.
[And that's really it, then, isn't it? The only thing I've got is me. Except that then she came here, to a place that was supposed to be hell but where inexplicably she's found more kindness and belonging than she ever did in her living breathing days, and now suddenly she has more than just herself. She has things to lose.
He knows what it is, to travel light and with nothing to lose, so that nothing else can be taken away.]
Something did it to me, before. Took my body. Used it to hurt the people I care for.
[He'd thought reliving it through the memory theaters a few sennights back was bad enough. Now there's this. But she needs to know it, loath as he is to speak of it, because it's the only way to understand.]
I tried to stop him, too. Fought to — to try to hold my body back, while he used it. I couldn't do it then, either.
[her fingers twitch, again. she's already feeling the phantom pain from both.]
You told me you got possessed. You told me you thought you deserved to die for it and I still don't fucking agree with you, to make that absolutely fucking clear. You couldn't stop yourself. The only reason I stopped is because I died.
[... with a voice that's a little rough, a little wet:]
Do you need me to forgive you, Waters? You're already forgiven.
I want you to say it's unforgivable, Nav. Because that's the part no one ever says.
[Surreal to think he'd had nearly this exact conversation with Rynlan, a few weeks back. What an ironic echo it makes now.]
The only thing you've got is you and I took part of it from you, and you should hate me for that because you should hate anyone who hurts you like I hurt you. I want to hate you for making me have to know what you look like when you die.
[He shakes his head slightly.]
Where does the guilt go, if we paper it over as fast as we can with forgiveness? Mine has never gone away from a remedy like that. Has yours?
[ah. well, that part, i want to hate you for making me have to know what you look like when you die, that makes her flinch. she looks down and away, ashamed of herself, thoroughly. it shuts her up for a good while, because her thoughts are whirling and running and screaming.]
This is what I was afraid of you doing. [she mumbles, bringing her not fucked up hand to grind her palm into her still working eye. but she doesn't linger on it because it wasn't intended for him.]
I'm not going to hate you to make you feel better. It's not unforgivable to me. [she says, voice brittle.] Hate me if you want. It's old news, everybody else does.
[He answers, without even a second's hesitation. Any other time, any other moment, he feels certain the words would've stuck in his throat and choked him; strange to think it'll never come this easily ever again.]
I'm sorry I hurt you. I wish I hadn't. And I wish that there were any words in the world that could make it right but there aren't.
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Awfully pretty, isn't it? Especially at night. Quiet and relaxing and home.]
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for a girl who hasn't really seen a lot of places, this is wild. she's barely ever seen this much water, this sort of view. something beautiful and green and alive. stars that haven't burnt out, just yet. it's why she stands up (bad idea but whatever who cares) and stares out at it, expression a little starstruck.]
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To say he's astonished when he finds himself surrounded by Old Sharlayan is, well. He's not as startled as Gideon is, certainly, but it's still not what he was expecting to see when he let his one good eye slide open.]
...This is still hell...isn't it...?
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... Yeah. It has to be, but. [she says, finally, sinking down onto the bench again. she's still looking out at old sharlayan, though, almost greedily.] Where are we?
[god, she hopes they're not in another cyoa. where is her sword.]
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[Her uncertainty, that understated tension, sets off his own, until after a moment the alternative, kinder possibility occurs to him.]
Did Bixing leave? It might be the enclosure. This is Sharlayan — this is home.
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[home. she sinks down further, relaxing just a little.] ... He left, so you're probably right.
This is where you're from?
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[Sharlayan really, really does not look like a "bawdy mermaid song" kind of place, does it. The nerd vibes are palpable. It's all the marble and columns and student-worn footpaths.]
...Not really our sort of place, though, is it?
[The conscious use of the word our is, on some level, an invitation, perhaps.]
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Nah. Not enough swords. [she jokes. partially jokes. she hears the our, though, and her fucked up hand twitches where it's resting on the bench.] Not very many places are looking for people like us, in my experience.
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[Unlike hell, which is unfortunately all too easy to justify. He groans, softly, and tries to shift a bit without aggravating anything that hurts too much.]
...Can I ask you something? Genuinely. No smart remarks.
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[but yeah. of course he can ask, she's waiting.]
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[He closes his eyes, letting his head sink back to rest on the cushioned marble. He doesn't want to look at anything right now, but he especially can't bear to look for her expression. He can't begin to imagine what it might be, and doesn't want to find out.]
I'd think I'd be the last person you wanted to see right now. Or ever again.
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-- What? What do you mean, after what you did to me? Did you miss that I nearly took your head off? I came at you with the fucking intent to murder your ass.
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[LITERALLY WHAT HAPPENED TO "NO SMART REMARKS", YOU HYPOCRITE.]
But that's not an answer. I hurt you. You're — you'd be within your rights, to hate me for it.
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You were defending yourself from me while I was fucking mind controlled. Are you fucking dense? Why would I hate you for that?
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[And like. It's not as though he's ignorant to the fact that she could say the exact same thing. That's the whole cruelty of it. The two of them, both in the exact same situation. No aggressor and no victim because it was both of them; a double dose of guilt, more than enough to go around.]
You should hate me because I couldn't stop. I wanted to stop and I couldn't.
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[she snaps, a bit more viciously than she intends. the guilt of having caused most of his injuries is eating away at her slowly, and it comes out in her body language, in the way she won't allow herself to get any closer to him.]
I don't. Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do.
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[Because they just — do, don't they? Think of things the same way. Hold the same fears. Make the same sacrifices. She was quicker to fall on her sword; he's slightly faster at coming to terms with the stitches they're pulling out in this conversation, one by one.
Hard to tell, sometimes, which one is actually more painful.]
Aren't you as scared of this as I am?
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aren't you scared, he says. the instinct is to say no. no, of course not. she's not scared of anything. but that wouldn't be the truth, because her heartbeat is thudding in her ears and her throat feels tight, like it did yesterday, when she told bixing what happened.
she doesn't know how to answer this, but she tries anyway. stammers, stumbles through her sentence.]
I'm - I'm scared of what you're going to do next.
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[He thinks, whatever question she might've been expecting, it probably wasn't that. But it's got him wondering, really. The visceral reaction, the way that misadventure had known to choose Harrow and Ryne — the way it'd been the only challenge they'd failed because what they were meant to do was resist.
He wonders.]
Take your will away from you, like that?
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No. Not like that.
[is the immediate answer. but. she sinks down into the bench and rests a hand over where she got stabbed. her jaw works, and she has to think about... how to put it. because it's never been magically taken from her, but.]
I belong to the Ninth, I've never had will to begin with. [she says, a little bitterly. but no, that's not quite right either, because she has free will, despite how much everybody in her life has been insistent on taking it away. it's the only thing she has.
she shakes her head, and tries again.]
The - the only thing I've got is me. I can control me. It's all I've got to give, and the fucking trial took it and made me do something I wouldn't.
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He knows what it is, to travel light and with nothing to lose, so that nothing else can be taken away.]
Something did it to me, before. Took my body. Used it to hurt the people I care for.
[He'd thought reliving it through the memory theaters a few sennights back was bad enough. Now there's this. But she needs to know it, loath as he is to speak of it, because it's the only way to understand.]
I tried to stop him, too. Fought to — to try to hold my body back, while he used it. I couldn't do it then, either.
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You told me you got possessed. You told me you thought you deserved to die for it and I still don't fucking agree with you, to make that absolutely fucking clear. You couldn't stop yourself. The only reason I stopped is because I died.
[... with a voice that's a little rough, a little wet:]
Do you need me to forgive you, Waters? You're already forgiven.
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[Surreal to think he'd had nearly this exact conversation with Rynlan, a few weeks back. What an ironic echo it makes now.]
The only thing you've got is you and I took part of it from you, and you should hate me for that because you should hate anyone who hurts you like I hurt you. I want to hate you for making me have to know what you look like when you die.
[He shakes his head slightly.]
Where does the guilt go, if we paper it over as fast as we can with forgiveness? Mine has never gone away from a remedy like that. Has yours?
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This is what I was afraid of you doing. [she mumbles, bringing her not fucked up hand to grind her palm into her still working eye. but she doesn't linger on it because it wasn't intended for him.]
I'm not going to hate you to make you feel better. It's not unforgivable to me. [she says, voice brittle.] Hate me if you want. It's old news, everybody else does.
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[He answers, without even a second's hesitation. Any other time, any other moment, he feels certain the words would've stuck in his throat and choked him; strange to think it'll never come this easily ever again.]
I'm sorry I hurt you. I wish I hadn't. And I wish that there were any words in the world that could make it right but there aren't.
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