it's endearingly childish, he'll admit that much. he cants his head, leaning in a bit before approaching her with no next to no restraint. before you know it, he's crouched 2 feet or so away from her. ]
She sees his hand through a crack of light in her otherwise obscured vision, and she draws back instantly– a scowl and hiss following the action. She looks a little bit like a feral cat, every hair on her body standing at attention. ]
[ this is LITERALLY like that gif of new york going what the fuck do you want??
what she says is audible, and admittedly, he's so accustomed to the sound of muffled cursing and insults that it doesn't take a surplus of energy or effort to make out what she's saying. his eyes flutter shut until she outright addresses him again. ]
[ she does not pull her hands from her face, if anything her arms move to mask more of her. a defensive wall of vines made from flesh and metal. ]
You put your hands on me and you took something— something you had no right to see or feel, and you did it because you could, because you knew what it would do. I can’t do that to you, and I don’t want to do that.
[ all of her is tense, but her voice is just a little quieter, a little more tired when she speaks again. ]
[ it isn't the worst thing he's done to a person. his blade has run through the bodies of innocent children. of quaking mothers. of desperate fathers. he left the world with nothing, and hadn't even stayed around to take the fall for it.
he speaks bluntly: ]
I panicked. You wrapped your hands around my throat and I... [ he blanks. he doesn't want to understand why he did what he did. the numbness fades to pain if he does. ] felt something. From a long time ago.
[ but then he looks up, and he holds her gaze. ]
You don't want to do that to me because you're a good person.
[ it's the worst thing anyone has done to her– and she's been beaten, sold, pillaged and killed. she gives herself nothing so that there is nothing to take. this was the supposed to be the one thing no one could ever lay a hand on. ]
It's not about good or bad– I have enough fucked up shit stuck in my head. Last thing I need is to add yours to it. So keep your pity to yourself.
[ Something snaps– vines pulled too taut, threads ripping right down the middle. Instant, angry and hurt. She pulls her hands from her face, fingers balled into fists; she lurches forward just a little. If she was less sick, she might have lunged at him. ]
No one is waiting for me, asshole. I don't exist– that's why I'm here. So shut up and stop talking about me like you know fuckall about anything.
[ Zero on the other hand, does not even flinch or so much as look like the news is new to her. This is what she'd assumed– why else would anyone be subjected to a place like this alongside someone like her. ]
What a big fucking surprise.
[ She pulls her knees up to her chest, gaze turned towards the ground. ]
You quarantine viruses if you want to keep them from ruining the whole system. That's what they did with us– what they had to do.
[ There's the slighted note of petulance in the way she snaps. If she was a different person perhaps she would stomp or cry. But whatever tears she'd had left he'd forced out of her.
And now she is empty, and she is all the more grateful for it. ]
No one needs to remember and no one should– all shit like that does is make you miserable. It holds you back. I don't care about your tree, and the people here don't care about me. Human-beings screw over people they love, people they share blood with– and you want to convince me complete strangers any fucking reason to care about me? God, you're even stupider than you look.
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it's endearingly childish, he'll admit that much. he cants his head, leaning in a bit before approaching her with no next to no restraint. before you know it, he's crouched 2 feet or so away from her. ]
I don't mind if you do.
[ he extends a hand. ]
You can't stay here. You need to rest.
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She sees his hand through a crack of light in her otherwise obscured vision, and she draws back instantly– a scowl and hiss following the action. She looks a little bit like a feral cat, every hair on her body standing at attention. ]
Touch me agin and I'll kill you.
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Then get up. You can't stay here.
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[ And then she throws her arm over her face again. Blocking him out once more. ]
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Then I'm staying here with you.
[ and so he stands up, opting to sit against the wall across from her, resting his head against the handle of his katana. ]
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when it seems she's angry-ed herself out, she adjusts her arms so that she can scowl at him while still covering most of her face. ]
What the fuck do you even want?
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what she says is audible, and admittedly, he's so accustomed to the sound of muffled cursing and insults that it doesn't take a surplus of energy or effort to make out what she's saying. his eyes flutter shut until she outright addresses him again. ]
I already told you.
[ ... ]
For you to rest. You can't stay out here.
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[ She coughs into the crook of her arm– it's a tired and slow wheezing. ]
You can go now. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.
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[ no. ]
Proper rest is in a bed.
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Better get comfortable, because I'm not moving. I'll eat, sleep and shit on this floor if I need to.
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[ there isn't any anger to that statement — he instead leans back against the wall. ]
I'm sorry. For what happened.
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If you're so sorry then stop talking about it.
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I'm not going to use it against you. If you want to get even with me, you can.
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[ she does not pull her hands from her face, if anything her arms move to mask more of her. a defensive wall of vines made from flesh and metal. ]
You put your hands on me and you took something— something you had no right to see or feel, and you did it because you could, because you knew what it would do. I can’t do that to you, and I don’t want to do that.
[ all of her is tense, but her voice is just a little quieter, a little more tired when she speaks again. ]
Fuck you.
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he speaks bluntly: ]
I panicked. You wrapped your hands around my throat and I... [ he blanks. he doesn't want to understand why he did what he did. the numbness fades to pain if he does. ] felt something. From a long time ago.
[ but then he looks up, and he holds her gaze. ]
You don't want to do that to me because you're a good person.
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It's not about good or bad– I have enough fucked up shit stuck in my head. Last thing I need is to add yours to it. So keep your pity to yourself.
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I don't pity you. You have someone at home waiting for you. So long as you have that, you have a reason to exist.
You may be in pain, but you aren't worth pitying.
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No one is waiting for me, asshole. I don't exist– that's why I'm here. So shut up and stop talking about me like you know fuckall about anything.
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[ and for the first time in this conversation, he reacts — his eyes widen. his mouth parts, and his eyes cast downwards.
he wishes he could see her one last time. he wishes so desperately, but the lunar tear never work in his favor, did it?
his eyes flutter shut. they open again, blearily, as he leans against the wall. ]
That makes two of us.
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What a big fucking surprise.
[ She pulls her knees up to her chest, gaze turned towards the ground. ]
You quarantine viruses if you want to keep them from ruining the whole system. That's what they did with us– what they had to do.
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[ a silence. ]
...I don't think you were forgotten.
[ his features are the slightest bit sullen as he says that, mouth pulling downwards. ]
The Memory Tree was happy to see you. It recognized you. That means some part of the world still carries your memory.
[ and then he rests his head against the handle of his katana. ]
The people here are kind. I don't have a home to go back to, but they've tried to make one for me here. They'll do the same for you. They already are.
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[ There's the slighted note of petulance in the way she snaps. If she was a different person perhaps she would stomp or cry. But whatever tears she'd had left he'd forced out of her.
And now she is empty, and she is all the more grateful for it. ]
No one needs to remember and no one should– all shit like that does is make you miserable. It holds you back. I don't care about your tree, and the people here don't care about me. Human-beings screw over people they love, people they share blood with– and you want to convince me complete strangers any fucking reason to care about me? God, you're even stupider than you look.
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Is insulting people what makes you feel better?
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Just calling it like I see it.
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Get up. If you get proper bedrest, I'll stop talking to you.
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