[it's not really what she wants. she doesn't want people to hide that they're in pain from her for her sake, and it makes something horrible and rotten in her just settle in her chest, but it's not like he's going to listen to her, and he's not going to change his mind.
her emotions just fizzle out into something sick and sad and in pain.]
I know I did. Never said I didn't. [suffer. she knows, she's not arguing that. she does hurt, and she is working her way through it, she's not running from it. it just sucks for her to know that the person she murdered will just blame himself for it, and won't let her fix it.]
[ those feelings are just awful, and his own are just - upset, now, too. something miserable and wet curls up in the back of his throat, and the do what you want makes him visibly flinch. ]
... I'm sorry.
[ is all he has to say, at first, soft, sad, fingers curling where they were resting on her back and... then starting to pull away. he wants to fix it, too. maybe that's the issue. ]
[ well. he turns his face down and away from her, and rubs his wrist across his eyes - crying, now, but maybe that's to be expected. ]
... I'm supposed to be helping you get inside...
[ and rest, she should be resting.... he feels like a little kid, right now, powerless and tiny and unhelpful and just. bad. he does not push the tail away though, or tense or anything like that, just kind of sagging. ]
[ it's so, so many years of this kind of self talk that's hard to put down. years ago, he almost died, and the man who nearly killed him slashed into his chest and said, You should crawl back to whatever palace you came from. You don't have the will to wield a blade. he'd managed to drag himself back to his feet and fight on, but it's never the nice parts of the memories that stick, is it? it's the cruelties, the cutting words that stay with you forever.
it's such a fragile thing, his own sense of self worth. holding the flame in his hands was one of the first times he felt strong enough to stand on his own two feet, to stop relying on others so much, to be worthy. strong of his own merit, strong on his own terms. and then, as sazantos ripped it free, it all amounted to nothing. here, it's much of the same. the cutting cruelty of what about the rest of them? when he'd confessed to saving camille was just another reminder, and to add failing to help karlach on thursday to the pile has left him wrung out, his already low sense of his worth floundering and gasping for air.
despite my incompetence, he always says, i hope i can be useful to you. some habits are hard to kick.
there's a soft, wet noise - a sniffle, and he nods, wiping his eyes. karlach's voice breaking gets him too, and all he can do is nod, once, twice, three times, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. ] Okay.
[ a little relief, in his emotions, something sorrowful and upset and lost, the raw, awful feeling of dropping your heart onto the ground for anyone to see, but maybe something that's a tiny bit like resolve. ] ... I'll try.
[ he can't promise anything better than that, but it's a start. ]
[if she's honest, she doesn't even really want him to be mad at her. she'd get it, and it'd make sense - that's what it is, it'd make sense, it'd be like, logical. a path to follow. because if he was mad, she could fix it, she could ask for forgiveness, and then it'd be resolved. but she's still working through it, so to skip all the way to the end straight to the forgiveness puts her off balance. to get i forgive you, it's my fault feels wrong.
You should be upset. You died. It hurt. It hurt people, it hurt you. You suffered. it's what he's saying to her. she's not saying it should be at her, necessarily (it'd be easier, it's the first thing that comes to mind), she just wants him to take the time to work through and think about it. that he's allowed to be. he can choose not to be, but he's allowed to be.
maybe she can't undo his low self worth, but she wishes that she wasn't making it worse.
her emotions are just worn. worn out, down to the bone. there's guilt she can't shake. there's a lot, from her adventure, from the breakin, that she doesn't know how to deal with. she's tired of being strong.]
[ maybe this is working through it. there’s no sense that he’s not allowed to be upset - he just isn’t. in the grand scheme of things, to be a ravus has always meant a death, though one protecting others. his death didn’t feel much like that, and in the end, those are the complexities he has to grapple with. feelings of anger and upset are wasted, when that energy could be used for caring for others instead, for working hard to get stronger. the truth is he’s already chosen.
there’s so much weight that could be carried, but he has to persevere forward. he has to let it go. the past is the past, and there’s no changing it - rondo would rather focus on becoming stronger than wallow at all in how he failed. it's hard to do that - harder than it's ever been - but he'll get there. that light inside you can never, ever go out.
karlach’s misery and exhaustion press on him far more than his own self esteem at the moment, anyway. there’s anxiety thrumming low underneath his emotions, because he can tell “I’ll try” isn’t enough, but it’s all he can give— anything else would be a lie, and he's never been a liar. at least, hopefully, karlach can know one thing is true - when rondo says he'll try something, he means it.
after a long moment, he reaches into his pockets, and pulls out a purple, silk handkerchief, and offers it to her, a little helplessly. he's crying, she's crying, what a day. ]
Here. And...let’s get inside. Step by step, right...?
[ step by step in all things. ]
Edited (this is what i get for tagging at like 3 AM est why the fuck was i awake) 2024-07-20 14:12 (UTC)
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no subject
her emotions just fizzle out into something sick and sad and in pain.]
I know I did. Never said I didn't. [suffer. she knows, she's not arguing that. she does hurt, and she is working her way through it, she's not running from it. it just sucks for her to know that the person she murdered will just blame himself for it, and won't let her fix it.]
I'm not taking it from you. Do what you want.
no subject
... I'm sorry.
[ is all he has to say, at first, soft, sad, fingers curling where they were resting on her back and... then starting to pull away. he wants to fix it, too. maybe that's the issue. ]
no subject
Don't be. [her tail comes and wraps around his ankle.] I'm not getting it through to you, I don't feel good.
[she's going through crazy cultist drug withdrawals, her everything is haywire.]
no subject
... I'm supposed to be helping you get inside...
[ and rest, she should be resting.... he feels like a little kid, right now, powerless and tiny and unhelpful and just. bad. he does not push the tail away though, or tense or anything like that, just kind of sagging. ]
... I just want to set things right.
no subject
she doesn't get up, doesn't really have any interest in it. the nausea is real bad.]
You don't have to be mad at me. [she says, finally, voice thick.] Just don't be mad at yourself.
no subject
it's such a fragile thing, his own sense of self worth. holding the flame in his hands was one of the first times he felt strong enough to stand on his own two feet, to stop relying on others so much, to be worthy. strong of his own merit, strong on his own terms. and then, as sazantos ripped it free, it all amounted to nothing. here, it's much of the same. the cutting cruelty of what about the rest of them? when he'd confessed to saving camille was just another reminder, and to add failing to help karlach on thursday to the pile has left him wrung out, his already low sense of his worth floundering and gasping for air.
despite my incompetence, he always says, i hope i can be useful to you. some habits are hard to kick.
there's a soft, wet noise - a sniffle, and he nods, wiping his eyes. karlach's voice breaking gets him too, and all he can do is nod, once, twice, three times, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. ] Okay.
[ a little relief, in his emotions, something sorrowful and upset and lost, the raw, awful feeling of dropping your heart onto the ground for anyone to see, but maybe something that's a tiny bit like resolve. ] ... I'll try.
[ he can't promise anything better than that, but it's a start. ]
no subject
You should be upset. You died. It hurt. It hurt people, it hurt you. You suffered. it's what he's saying to her. she's not saying it should be at her, necessarily (it'd be easier, it's the first thing that comes to mind), she just wants him to take the time to work through and think about it. that he's allowed to be. he can choose not to be, but he's allowed to be.
maybe she can't undo his low self worth, but she wishes that she wasn't making it worse.
her emotions are just worn. worn out, down to the bone. there's guilt she can't shake. there's a lot, from her adventure, from the breakin, that she doesn't know how to deal with. she's tired of being strong.]
Okay.
[is all she can manage.]
no subject
there’s so much weight that could be carried, but he has to persevere forward. he has to let it go. the past is the past, and there’s no changing it - rondo would rather focus on becoming stronger than wallow at all in how he failed. it's hard to do that - harder than it's ever been - but he'll get there. that light inside you can never, ever go out.
karlach’s misery and exhaustion press on him far more than his own self esteem at the moment, anyway. there’s anxiety thrumming low underneath his emotions, because he can tell “I’ll try” isn’t enough, but it’s all he can give— anything else would be a lie, and he's never been a liar. at least, hopefully, karlach can know one thing is true - when rondo says he'll try something, he means it.
after a long moment, he reaches into his pockets, and pulls out a purple, silk handkerchief, and offers it to her, a little helplessly. he's crying, she's crying, what a day. ]
Here. And...let’s get inside. Step by step, right...?
[ step by step in all things. ]