[ She doesn't want it and yet–he thinks she appreciates it. Or maybe it unwinds something in her she can't keep bottled, because the words start pouring forth in a flood.
He sees it, the monster from the banquet, can taste the acrid fear hanging heavy in the air. Underneath, the confusion along the tether; why is she spilling her heart out? She doesn't stop though, just keeps going as she describes the time loop, the strangeness. Abruptly, the cadence of her voice slides into imagery. Into the beginning of the End, the towering figure of the dragon, the flash of serious blue eyes.
The blur of tears, melting into the visage of the Saint, into the plea of needing to go. A horse that could only carry two people and the sacrifice Lortel made in that critical moment, turning to face her sure death.
Just like his own story, he knows there are more deaths. Some gruesome, some painful and jagged. Others, silent and crushingly lonely. Like a film cut, the reel stops and for a brief moment, the hitch in their breathing is in sync. ]
You don't have to be alright. [ Because it needs to come out somehow. And if not here, in a space where someone could at least catch her, it was going to rear its ugly head someplace else. ] What happened to you–I saw grown men in the military break from. Trying to outrun your own mind is a losing game.
[ she hadn't known the first time, why she'd poured out her heart and her secrets to someone who by all rights should have taken advantage of her for her weakness. anyone, she's believed, would have turned their backs when she couldn't stop herself from admitting to her own uselessness, from acknowledging her father as the objectively better, stronger, safer bet.
she doesn't feel she knows now,
though it feels a little less strange.
maybe some piece of her is beginning to acknowledge that there seem to be those out there worthy of faith. those who won't betray it—betray her—for a single gold coin.
it's also, a little bit, that he's simply the first person to have asked in a way that got too close to the truth of how she's been feeling since before she even left. ]
You know as well as I do that this isn't the time, [ she sighs, annoyed that the crackle of her tears even filters into the murmur. ]
[ He does. He does know. At least, he knows because of the feeling he gets over the tether–the humidity from the tunnels sticking to Lortel's skin and getting caught under her mask.
They both know he understands that. So he moves past it, to ask the more important question: ] And when this passes, will you make time? Or are you gonna keep running?
[ He answers a question with another, not wanting to pile on any more feelings of shame. Lortel, he thinks, has gotten enough of that in her life. ] I already asked it: are you gonna keep running? Or are you going to turn around and face what's nipping at your heels?
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He sees it, the monster from the banquet, can taste the acrid fear hanging heavy in the air. Underneath, the confusion along the tether; why is she spilling her heart out? She doesn't stop though, just keeps going as she describes the time loop, the strangeness. Abruptly, the cadence of her voice slides into imagery. Into the beginning of the End, the towering figure of the dragon, the flash of serious blue eyes.
The blur of tears, melting into the visage of the Saint, into the plea of needing to go. A horse that could only carry two people and the sacrifice Lortel made in that critical moment, turning to face her sure death.
Just like his own story, he knows there are more deaths. Some gruesome, some painful and jagged. Others, silent and crushingly lonely. Like a film cut, the reel stops and for a brief moment, the hitch in their breathing is in sync. ]
You don't have to be alright. [ Because it needs to come out somehow. And if not here, in a space where someone could at least catch her, it was going to rear its ugly head someplace else. ] What happened to you–I saw grown men in the military break from. Trying to outrun your own mind is a losing game.
no subject
she doesn't feel she knows now,
though it feels a little less strange.
maybe some piece of her is beginning to acknowledge that there seem to be those out there worthy of faith. those who won't betray it—betray her—for a single gold coin.
it's also, a little bit, that he's simply the first person to have asked in a way that got too close to the truth of how she's been feeling since before she even left. ]
You know as well as I do that this isn't the time, [ she sighs, annoyed that the crackle of her tears even filters into the murmur. ]
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They both know he understands that. So he moves past it, to ask the more important question: ] And when this passes, will you make time? Or are you gonna keep running?
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[ there's derision in her voice, though not for him. for herself, and what she perceives as useless. ]
What exactly is it that you want to ask of me, Arthur?
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[ He answers a question with another, not wanting to pile on any more feelings of shame. Lortel, he thinks, has gotten enough of that in her life. ] I already asked it: are you gonna keep running? Or are you going to turn around and face what's nipping at your heels?
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[ short and to the point. ]
For now. I understand what you're trying to say. [ ... ] Perhaps we can talk, when all of this is taken care of.
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But, it isn't the time nor place. So, he leaves it where it is for now. ]
Careful down there, yeah? [ There's a pause—not a hesitation, not really. No, it seems as though he's choosing his words. ]
If I find out you succumbed or whatever, I'm going to come down there to kick your ass.
[ Despite the harsh wording, the underlying worry is there, transmitting across their slowly solidifying tether. ]
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... succeeds in making her laugh, whether it was his aim or not. fondness radiates back at him. ]
Then I suppose you'd better come find me once we're all safe and sound, hm?
🎀
I suppose I will. [ And he keeps his promises. ]