acatalepsy_logs | Don't Skip Your Flu Shot

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Don't Skip Your Flu Shot

Who: Everyone! It's a mingle post for the first week of Struxta sickness!!
Where: All around the temple
When: During the first week of the sickness
Rating PG?? At most??
What: Curry, blankets and pillow forts, and other assorted sick things

[With the Struxta illness sweeping through the temple like a wildfire, and with so many new arrivals trying to get adjusted to temple living, it's probably no surprise that things around the Astoria's little pocket of space have gotten a little hectic. Feeling under the weather? Looking for something warm to soothe that scratchy throat? Just want to curl up underneath a pile of blankets and not move for like, seven hours or so? Never fear! A Mysterious Helper (TM) has you covered]

A. Curry in the Kitchen

[The kitchen smells extremely nice during lunchtime this week, the only meal of the day that isn't pre-prepared by the misty servants. Like the scent of coffee intermingled with complementary spices. Those who take the initiative to investigate will find something pleasant waiting for them. A few pots of fresh made curry and steamed rice; a few pots of miso soup (a. . . little on the salty side, sorry); and some freshly brewed coffee already poured into individual mugs, along with cream and sugar and whatever additives your heart desires. It's all strewn out across the counter tops with a handwritten note pinned against the wall above the stove:]

Help yourself, and get well soon.

[There isn't any sign of the mysterious chef when you enter the kitchen, and if you arrive near the end of lunch hour, some of the food and coffee miiiiight be a bit cold. But hey! This might be a good chance to mingle with some of your new coworkers who are also seeking out a warm meal to help quell some of their cold symptoms. Just please don't sneeze into the curry pot, thanks. . .]

[Lunch will be laid out in the kitchen every day at lunchtime for the entire first week of the sickness. Help yourselves!]

B. The Temple Hallways

[THERE ARE BLANKETS AND PILLOWS EVERYWHERE]

[. . . no, seriously. For some reason, it's like you can't even walk down a hallway without tripping over a bundled up blanket or a pillow. What's up with that! For the most part, they're normal bedtime accessories, although you may find a bundle of pillows and blankets stacked up into an ENTIRE PILLOW FORT if you're lucky.]

[Pinned to the walls of the hallways (not every hallway, but enough of them that it should be easy to find one of the signs without wandering for too long) are more handwritten signs:]

Whoever can build the tallest pillow fort will receive one (1) high five as a grand prize. Good luck. Blanket provider is not responsible for anyone accidentally falling asleep in the hallways and blocking your route back to your bedroom.

[Hm. Well, that's weird. Anyway! You can build a pillow fort if you want, grab some blankets to take back to your room, or. . . nap in the hallways. Or do whatever! They're all free for the taking. Maybe you could even team up with another Circle member to try and win that extremely coveted high five??]

C. Wildcard

[Don't feel like interacting with any of the above? That's okay! Make your own prompt based on the event stuff over here, or just use this post for. . . whatever you want! It's totally and completely open for mingling for new and old characters alike, so. HAVE FUN ♥]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He takes his time. The steam filling the air feels like a gift to his sinuses, easing the pressure from his face so he can breathe just a bit more easily, and then he takes his time undressing, stretching his limbs luxuriously like it's the first time he's done so in years. All his dirty, sick clothes go into a pile in the corner, including...his wristband. He removes it with all the rest, fingers brushing over his skin there. Funny, how when he can't see it, that patch of skin feels just the same as every other inch of him.

And then with a sigh of relief she surely must hear from the bedroom beyond, he lowers himself into the steaming water, his bones singing at the warm, reliable contact with heat. It feels so good, and the temptation to let himself drift off to sleep is very real and present. It's only Alisaie announcing her visit to the kitchen that wakes him when he starts to doze, and even after that, it's so very difficult to keep himself alert.

But it helps that he has a lot to occupy his thoughts, and his is the clearest his mind has felt in days. The hallucinations have left him — at least for the time being — but instead...he has been robbed of his sight. He believes her, when she tells him he will get it back, but it's still...such a frightening thing to approach. He has never been so deprived of one of his senses before, and such an important one at that. He has always appreciated seeing the world around him, but now it is as good as gone to him, with only his memory and Alisaie's guiding hands to remind him what is around him. Perhaps he's too tired for the full, terrible reality of it to settle upon him, but for now, he can only...take this one step at a time, and continue to believe in the promise she made him. It will be okay. It has to be.

Alisaie said so.

Alisaie...

She has done so much for him, she's still doing so much for him, and though he does not deserve it, she hasn't stopped once. Gods, she must be exhausted, weary beyond words, and yet she still presses on, for his sake. He can only begin to understand why she's taken on such an undertaking for him, of all people, and while he can't hope to pay her back, something between them has strengthened tonight, something has changed, and even now, when he has time to calm and reflect on his earlier decision, it still holds true.

He wants her to know. He owes her that honesty, and then...she can take it or leave it. It will be her choice, once she knows the truth, once she can see his heart and all its flaws and imperfections up close.

After he begins to wrinkle and prune, Prompto finally releases the latch on the tub, grabbing the towel and stepping out to dry and dress. He washes his face, brushes his teeth, runs a comb through his hair, and despite his absent eyesight, he at last feels like a person again.

Finally, he takes in a deep breath, opening the door to step into the bedroom once again.

He hasn't replaced the wristband on his wrist, intentionally omitting it. Right now...he doesn't need it. He's so tired, and he doesn't want to hide from her anymore. ]

There. Fit as a fiddle. Dunno what you put in that bath, but I feel like a million bucks now...

[ He grins lopsidedly, even though his heart is racing as he starts to feel his way back to the bed. Has she seen it? Will she comment on it? Will she ignore it altogether?

Gods, he doesn't know which of those outcomes he wants. ]

[ alisaie has no idea how much time has passed when he emerges, for she's dozed off entirely, chin to chest, only barely sitting forward. it's a wonder she is even sitting up at all.

but she wakes with a start at the sound of his voice, a sharp inhale, her vision bleary, but she has not been asleep so long that she has forgotten where she is, or why. with a deep breath to steady herself, alisaie rubs at her eyes with the heels of her hand to banish the sleep from them. ]

Good. I am glad to hear it.

[ it will hardly go far enough to cure him, but anything at all that she can do to alleviate his suffering, however slightly, is a victory. she pats the bed beside her, though in case he does not hear it, she speaks. ]

Come and sit, have something to eat.

[ truth be told, his wristband is such a small thing that she hasn't noticed at all that he has discarded it - she'd hardly even noticed that he wore it at all, before he'd withdrawn so swiftly when she tried to peel it away.

on her feet, alisaie moves to pour him a glass of cold water, which she presses into his hand, whether or not he has sat. ]

[ The journey to the bed takes him longer than he would like, made all the lengthier by the fact that she hasn't seemed to noticed his wrist yet — how can she not have seen it? The black mark upon his skin? It's...always the first thing he sees about himself, when it's uncovered. Perhaps it's a silly thing to be preoccupied with, when he can't even see, but still, he shambles along slowly, until he's close enough to sit on the bed, accepting the glass that she pushes into his hand. ]

Thanks. [ Just get used to it, Alisaie, you're gonna be hearing it a lot. He lifts the glass to his lips to sip from it slowly, the ice cold water a balm to his dry and swollen throat.

With his free hand, he fingers the sheets on the bed beneath them, lips pursing. ]

...You were...busy while I was in there, huh?

Aye, I was. But it was hardly work.

[ changing sheets and fetching food is simple, in the grand scheme of it all, and it makes her feel better to do it. she needs to do it. she's still moving now, while he sips his drink, to bring over the wooden platter and set it onto the bed between them, once more guiding his hand over it all. ]

Bread, cheese, apples, rolanberries, and grapes.

[ she had considered more, something heartier, but there's little enough available at this time of night, and besides, better to be light on his stomach than to fill him up too much. this will more than suffice, for now.

it's only as she's pulling her hands away that she notices it - less the lack of wristband, because how would she notice that? - but there can be no seeing over the ink on his skin. it's.. strange, not like any tattoo she has ever seen before, its image foreign to her. is.. this what he had been hiding? but why? ]

[ It's impossible to tell whether or not she's seen it yet, and so he still does not draw attention to it. Maybe...maybe he can later, if she doesn't ask, but bringing it up on his own is a terrifying prospect. It shouldn't be. It shouldn't. If she's seen his codeprint, she probably has no idea what it even means. Why would she?

And yet, it says so very much about him, and the only one who can explain that to her...is himself. ]

Oh man, I'm hungry enough to eat a whole garula myself.

[ Now that she's awakened him, his stomach rumbles, ambitious at the promise of food, and not even his nerves will stop him from inhaling the spread she's retrieved for him. He shoves approximately half a loaf of bread in his mouth in one go, and sighs contentedly. ]

That's what I'm talkin' about...

[ .. unfortunately for his terror, alisaie cannot bring herself to ask. that he has seen fit to take off the band he had been so hesitant to remove before speaks of something big, something important, it tells of trust, but still it does not feel right to bring it up. especially not now, when he seems more like himself than she has seen him in days, perhaps longer..

no, she had pushed for him to take off the band before, she will not push for an answer now. she owes him that much, even if it may not be the outcome he hopes for.

so instead she chuckles, soft and tired. normally she would be right there with him in stuffing her face, but her appetite has.. all but vanished. she looks at the food, and has no real desire to eat it. it's only because she knows that she must that she picks at a few grapes. ]

I shall bring you something more substantial on the morrow.

[ She still doesn't mention it, but as they eat and talk it's a bit easier to forget he's removed the band at all. It's so nice to just feel relatively normal again, even if his body still aches and his lungs still burn, even if he still can see nothing but darkness beyond his eyes. It's just...the two of them, side by side, knocking shoulders and elbows, picking at the food, existing alongside and with one another in this moment. She's warm, she smells nice, and he is clean and full. What more could he want?

He swallows a mouthful of bread, before giving a little shake of his head. ]

You don't need to do that.

[ She's done more than he could ever possibly repay her for already. ]

Edited 2018-09-15 06:04 (UTC)

No, I do not.

[ but she will. or so suggests her flat tone. but he has been open and honest with her, and so.. so she shall be, with him. it takes her a moment's fidgeting before she goes on. ]

I.. must do these things, Prompto.

[ she says, at last, her voice soft, her eyes on her hands. ]

I cannot bear this helplessness. To you it may seem as if I am doing too much for you, but the truth is, I.. I also do it for myself. I do it because I must feel that I am being of use in some way. Even if all I can manage is to keep you fed, and clean, it is better than nothing at all..

[ she would rather be exhausted, and overworked, than have a moment to herself. ]

But...you're still doing it for me.

[ He knows her, how driven she is, how thoughtful and sweet. She would not any of them suffer an illness like this, if she thought there was some way she could help. But she is here with him. Not with her brother of any of the others, but with Prompto.

Idly, he starts to pick at a grape, coughing lightly against the crook of his arm. ]

J-just...worry about everyone else before you worry about my sorry ass, okay? I'll be fine.

[ He should come last. ]

What?

[ he cannot see her sharp look, but no doubt he can hear it in her voice, in its hard, sharp edge, its steely tone. ]

What is that supposed to mean?

[ It says more than enough that he is clearly surprised by her outburst, his eyebrows flying up as a grape tumbles from his fingers to the floor. Why...does she sound so upset? Has she misunderstood his meaning and taken him to be ungrateful instead?

Nothing could be further from the truth. ]

P-please, I-I didn't mean...I owe you more than I could ever pay you back for. All I mean is, uh...I should...be lower on your list of...priorities. Take care of the others first.

[ That isn't...asking too much, is it? He just wants her to put others before him.

But it goes so much deeper than that. ]

[ though she is certainly capable of gentleness, as he has seen, alisaie often struggles to express her heart in ways that most might understand. it certainly doesn't help that she is exhausted, but his words rile her somewhere deep, her blood running hot, her jaw tightening at the joints with frustration she cannot find the words to explain. ]

It is for me to decide who is worth my time and who is not. Not you.

[ she says, firmly, a scowl etched deeply on her face. what nonsense is this that he is spouting? how easy he finds it to lay down his own conveniences for others, but it seems all too unwilling to receive it in kind. ]

Why should you be unworthy? What great sin have you committed that has made you unsuitable for care? That is the most ridiculous thing you have ever said, which is no doubt a feat.

[ His jaw positively drops at her rebuke, eyes wide and dismayed, and he doesn't need to see her expression to know how she must be looking at him. Her tone says more than enough, and how simple and straightforward she makes this sound. This is her choice, and he wouldn't think to take it from her.

But she doesn't have all the details, and her following questions are hilariously on-point. The only reason she's treating him like she is...because she doesn't know. Right? If she knew, she would think twice about this. Dammit, why couldn't he have decided sooner to tell her? Maybe...she wouldn't even be here right now if he had. He owes her the truth.

...But it hadn't changed the way Noctis and the others saw him. Before they had forgotten, anyway. They still treated him the same, like it didn't matter, and Alisaie has the benefit of not being Lucian, or even from Eos herself. She doesn't know the horrors the Empire has committed. They aren't her enemy.

Still, it's far from easy to bridge the gap, the actually answer those questions than attempt to sweep them aside. It helps that he doubts she would let him, sick or not, after how sternly she had shut him down. She's ready and willing to listen, and he is ready to tell her. So why is this still so damn hard?

Because, as ever, he's afraid. Afraid that as soon as she knows the truth about him, she will leave, never to look his way again. Maybe it's an irrational fear, but he has an irrational heart, emotional and tender and genuine, and he has few people he is as close to as he is with her. She is the best friend he has made from this world, second only to his brothers, and if he were to lose her...

His head dips down in a bow, color flaring up in his cheeks, as he knits his fingers together over his bouncing knees. ]

...You...you saw it, didn't you? My...wrist.

[ Though he poses it as a question, it isn't one, really. She must have seen it, and chosen not to remark upon it. She's too sharp to have let it go unnoticed, after he'd drawn so much attention to it the other day. ]

[ she feels sorry for it, for the hard edge in her voice, the sharpness of her tone, but this is.. who she is. he is so tender, so easily bruised, but he is stronger than he appears, stronger even than he thinks he is, and sometimes these sorts of things must be ground in harder than is comfortable. this isn't the first that she has seen it - alisaie is perceptive, certainly perceptive enough to have seen this behavior before, and taken note of it, to have peered right through the thin veneer of his jokes and smiles to the self-deprecating humor beneath it.

it is not abnormal to struggle with self-esteem. alisaie had as well, for so long. she had ever been different, from the very moment she was born she tore down the walls built to encase her and defied all expectation, the black lamb following in the footsteps of her rebellious grandsire. she did not have friends, and though her parents loved her, they did not understand her, and have always attempted to shape her into something else, fit her into the box that was not made for her. it was a lonely upbringing, made gradually worse as she matured, as she grew further and further away from all that everyone expected her to be. years, it took, before she learned to be confident in herself, to trust in her own heart, and find her worth.

even now, she struggles with it - these weeks are evidence enough. her helplessness. her uselessness. broken down, it is all too easy to feel as if she has no value, can make no difference.

but she also knows that that is wrong, and she knows that it is wrong for prompto to feel it, too. prompto who has been kind and sweet since the moment they met, prompto who leaps at any chance to help others, strangers, who lights up every room he is in with incredible warmth. her gentle assurances have not been enough, in the past; mayhaps it is simply time she press the issue harder, hurt him to heal him. ]

Aye. The mark. What of it?

[ her tone is softer now, but not entirely gentle, still firm enough to keep on task, to demonstrate that she will not let up. ]

[ Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise that he can't maintain eye contact with her while they have this conversation, because he isn't sure he could do it. As it is, he can't even bring himself to lift his head towards her, leaving it hung low between his shoulders, expression bleak and strained. There is no going back now — he realizes that. But the temptation is still there, to somehow change the conversation, to draw away, no matter how ashamed he might be. At least then, they might still be friends afterwards.

But...will they be, after this? After she knows the truth about him, and what he's kept from her all this time?

He has to offer her the out, at least once. He has to give her the chance to leave this behind, if she wants to, though he has a feeling he already knows what her answer will be. ]

It's...a long story. Sure you're up for it?

[ And not a happy one, either. ]

[ she knows what he's doing, that he's drawing this out because he does not want to address whatever is to come, and.. well, truth be told, it's enough to make her chest tighten with uncertainty. what has him so frightened? is it possible that she had hit a little too close to home - has he done something unforgivably terrible?

no. she cannot believe that. his heart is warm and kind, he has not deceived her; she considers herself a good judge of character, and never has he given her reason to doubt the purity of his intentions. ]

Prompto..

[ she chides, a little more gently, though still very forwardly. ]

Enough stalling.

[ It's just as he thought, then. There is no going back from this point. To be fair, he was the one who brought them here, so if he feels trapped, he can only blame himself, and anyway...it's not that he feels trapped, more that...there's only one way forward. He knows what it entails, and it is terrifying.

But he did not replace his wristband for a reason, and it's all come down to this moment. He can't predict what will happen, once she knows the truth of it, and if she should choose to leave him behind, he wouldn't blame her. But if she somehow chooses to stay, as the others had...

Then everything will change.

He takes as deep a breath as he can, his head still dipped low, and finally, he begins to speak. ]

I told you...we were travelin' the world, right? Me 'n' the other guys. Noct, Gladio, Iggy...and me. We weren't just doing it for the fun of it. We...were on the run. Fugitives from our own country of Lucis, because the Empire swooped in and took over, and...Noct was its prince. Or...king, if you wanna get technical, after the old king was...

[ Well. She can piece that part together. Part of him feels guilty for laying the tracks here, because so much of it really isn't his story to tell. But for Alisaie to understand the gravity of what he's going to tell her, she needs the background first. It won't mean anything without that. ]

The Empire...Niflheim. It's...horrible. They just...push everyone around, taking over country after country and amassing power until they could at last attack Insomnia and take the Crystal that was keeping us safe. The king sent us away so we weren't there when the city fell, but... [ A little shake of his head, as he pauses for a drink. This much talking isn't doing his throat any favors, but it is necessary. ] The Emperor would stop at nothing to claim the Crystal. It didn't...matter to him who stood in his way. They...created soldiers, whole armies, just to mindlessly obey and destroy others...millions of them.

[ And he was almost among them. ]

It's not hard to guess that the Niffs weren't exactly...popular, in Lucis.

[ alisaie listens carefully, though it is not so hard to follow, in truth. powerful empires hell-bent on taking the world for themselves are hardly anything new to her, and much of what prompto says rings quite familiar. a tale as old as time.

but surely he must be going somewhere, with this. she can piece much of it together from the patchwork knowledge she has about his world, but the picture becomes far clearer once the missing pieces begin to fit themselves into place. still.. she cannot yet see the end result, whatever point he he drawing toward. was he a member of this empire? did he mayhaps kill others, before turning his back on them?

no, that cannot be right.. he is still so young. how could that be?

best not to get ahead of herself. alisaie refocuses her gaze on his profile again. ]

I should think not.

[ but she will ask no questions, not yet, not until he is finished. ]

[ No doubt she is already formulating some idea of where this is going, but he hasn't yet given her enough to form her own conclusion. Not that he should be relying on her to do so, anyway. Now that he's doing this, he isn't going to go about it halfway, no matter how his hands might be trembling, no matter how he may not be unable to hold still at all, his body tense and tight and his palms sweaty for reasons that have nothing to do with the illness that has beset him.

He has to keep going. ]

So...you can imagine that someone from there wouldn't be hot stuff, either. Someone...s-someone like me.

[ So, she's not on the wrong track with her line of thinking. Prompto sucks in a deep breath, blinking back tears that threaten at the corners of his eyes, as his thumb draws over his tattoo, bringing attention to it more deliberately. Even if he cannot see, he knows exactly where it is on his skin, where it indelibly sits against his wrist. He'd once tried to burn it away, and even that didn't work. For as much as he had decided not to let this mark define him, it is still a part of him, and there is no letting go of his past completely. There is no changing it, nor undoing all those years of fearful loneliness. Will he ever be able to truly let go of this crippling lack of self-worth that plagues him? Even after Noct told him he was good enough?

His chest tightens around his heart like a cage, emotion rounding out the sound of his voice, coloring it in somber and wistful tones. ]

Alisaie, I...I-I'm from the very place who tried to kill my friends. Who destroyed our home and took our Crystal. The Empire hurt people, killed them...a-and I...

[ His voice drops to a pained hush. ]

I-I was...made to be one of them.

[ Made, not born. ]

[ alisaie is quiet as she listens, and for as hasty and impatient as she is as a person, she takes her time putting it together, pulling the story into a cohesive whole in her mind and comparing it against the person that she has come to know. there are still holes here and there, small details that want defining, but he has given her more than enough to understand.

her brow creases thoughtfully, and alisaie exhales, following the movement of his fingers against his wrist for a few moments before she reaches out, and carefully takes his hand. gently, and with care, she smooths her thumb over the black mark that she can only assume has to do with his birth, with his designation as a.. soldier? is that what he was meant to be? ]

Listen to me, Prompto.

[ she says, taking care to keep her voice level, gentle but still firm enough that he knows she will brook no nonsense. ]

Were our situations reversed, and I told you what you have told me, but about myself, how would you answer? What would you think of me?

[ She's quiet for so long that he begins to panic, the lines of his expression growing harder and harder, until he is sure his worst fears have come true. She's disgusted to learn this about him, that he could presume to be friends with the very people that he was made to hurt, and that he has such trouble accepting such a fact about himself. Alisaie is strong and brave. How pathetic he must seem, whimpering with his tail between his legs, like he has any room to feel sorry for himself when he should have just moved on by now.

But then something happens that he does not anticipate. Alisaie...takes a hold of his hand, draws her fingers over his skin, and his breath catches in his throat as the soft pad of her finger slips over the codeprint. It's enough to make him dizzy.

It takes him some time to answer back, though he turns, ever so slightly towards her, his still trembling hand in hers. He his to unpack that question, uncoil it from the brambles around his heart, and distantly, he knows what she's doing. She's trying to give him some perspective on this. But it isn't...it isn't that simple. If it were, maybe he would have gotten over this fear of his long, long ago. ]

I-I wouldn't think of you any different. You're still you. B-but...it's not the same with me, Ali. You're so strong a-and kind and smart and wonderful. You...make yourself worth knowing, no matter where you came from. But I...

[ He shakes his head sharply, a sob tumbling loose from his throat. ]

I-I'm...nothing. Everything that I am, everything I do, I do because I'm desperate to be wanted. Hah...h-how selfish is that? I thought I could change, I-I thought I figured out how to be my own person, Noct and the others...the even accepted me when I told them. But they don't remember any of that, and now I — I'm just too much of a coward to tell them again. I-I don't even trust my own friends, because I'm that selfish...

[ And this is what he wanted. To tell her this, to show her this, his bleeding heart, the cracks at his core. ]

...Is that the kind of person you want to be friends with?

[ he may not think it is that simple, but as far as alisaie is concerned, it is very simple indeed. ]

And if I said that to you? If I said that I was nothing?

[ he would fight it, he would balk and argue it, but prompto must begin to understand that his perspective is not the only one, and that the people who befriend him have minds and hearts of their own, that they are capable of perceiving and judging people without needing outside input, that the conclusions they draw about him, or anyone else, are no less valid than his own. ]

We are all selfish. We all long to fit in. Even those who seem most confident, and self-assured, yearn for companionship, and there is little we will not stoop to to earn the affections and acceptance of our peers. What you feel is normal, something that we all feel.

[ and, tightening her hand in his - ]

You must understand how it hurts the people you care for, to think of yourself this way. Were anyone to say such things about your friends, would you not immediately leap to their defense? Would it not wound you, to see them treated so carelessly?

W-well, yeah, but —

[ But it's the same argument. People like Noctis and Gladio and Ignis are important. Necessary. There are people who need them. There are special things that only they can do. Even without their rank and titles, even if they were all just people, they have so much more to offer than he does. He tries so desperately, and yet he still cannot forgive himself the simple trespass of having a life to live in the first place.

This is his life. He is his own person now. So why, why does he still run up to these walls? ]

...but they're special...important. Me? I'm just...one out of millions, created for one reason only, and, heh...I couldn't even get that right.

[ A wet, mirthless laugh breaks through his tears. ]

That is enough.

[ the edge is back in her voice again; the arguments seem to scratch the surface, but she cannot yet punch it through to his mind. it is so frustrating to see him run in this circle, to ignore what is so obvious in favor of what he believes. ]

Think about what it is that you are saying. Truly consider it. Assuming you are just 'one out of millions,' what should that matter? Are you saying that anyone who is not special does not deserve to live, or to be loved, or enjoy happiness? That normal folk have no worth, if they are not saving the world, or running a country, or killing daemons?

[ at last alisaie releases his hands, but only so that she can take his face into her hold, and though she is not ungentle, her grasp is firm and unforgiving. he may not be able to see her face, or the way her eyes bore into him, but no doubt he can feel it. ]

Who are you to assume that you have no worth to anyone? That you are not important? How dare you say such a thing about someone I care for? I would not tolerate anyone saying such things about those important to me, do you think I will sit here and allow you to say them?

I —

[ But in truth, he has no words, no rebuttal, when she takes a hold of him like that, still unseeing but feeling her eyes intent upon him. She really believes this, doesn't she? She won't back down from it, even though she has ever reason to, even though he's given her every chance to. He hasn't listened to reason, so she will drill it into him if she must, and he's reminded of another conversation, not too unlike this one, on the cold, frozen tundra of Niflheim itself. Aranea had spoken to him in a similar manner, uncompromising, until he could get it through his thick skull what she was saying to him. Now may be far removed from that literally, but it's not too different from what Aranea had told him then.

You worry so much about what other people want from you that you don't even know what you want anymore.

How...had he forgotten that? Has he really just been blind this whole time, focused too much on how others might see him that he's completely lost sight of what he decided that day?

He inhales, slow and careful, drawing balance into his lungs. ]

It...really doesn't...bother you? You think I...that I'm...important?

[ She...really cares about him this much? ]

Edited 2018-09-16 05:59 (UTC)

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