❀ IC INBOX

[intoningly]

[ To the tune of a programmed animatronic voice ]

"This user's voicemail inbox is full. Thank you, goodbye."

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[extirpator]

[ he folds his arms, watching intently. a brow raises at her statement. ]

A "hobby" is one word for it. Flowers sell well, and mercenary work and odd jobs will only get you so far. I like 'em, though, for what they are. That's why I don't mind doing this here, too.

[ he voice is leveled when he speaks; gentle in spite of the insult. ]

And cultivating life instead of taking it — it's nice, in a way.

[intoningly]

[ She hates it when he does that; kind even when he doesn't need to be. She doesn't know if she would hate it less or more if she wasn't aware how false so much of his kindness was. ]

Yeah?

[ She moves on to the next bush, not looking at him. ]

Think that makes up for all the sad sacks you killed to make a dime?.. Do you even think about any of them?

[ And before he can answer she turns her head, meeting his gaze as she continues to water the shrub. ]

I don't– not a single one.

[extirpator]

[ he blinks slowly, tiredly, gazing off into the distance. for a moment, how exhausted he is — not with her, or anything in particular, but just about everything weighs down the muscles ins his face. ]

There's no point in looking back.

[ he was a hypocrite, through and through. he knew well that living was a matter of surviving above all.

but it was nice to pretend, sometimes. ]

I let people try to get even with me if they want to. Whether or not they succeed is up to them.

[ and then he crouches, delicately running his thumb along the petal of a carnation. ]

But we all have things to do. There's no point in letting someone use something so vulnerable — so precious against you. The blood on my hands won't keep me from cherishing a flower in bloom.

[intoningly]

[ Wordlessly, she looks down at his crouched form. And then, she tips the watering can right over his head. ]

You've really raised the bar for self-absorbed pricks in every universe, you know that?

[ She grabs the watering can with both of her hands, turning it over and dumping its contents out on him entirely. ]

You don't worry about anything do you? Nurturing life? Cherishing flowers? Give me a fucking break. People like you and me? Everything we touch turns rotten– because of what we are.

[ What kind of future had she left behind for Mikhail, she wonders finally– because she has tried her best to not even dare to wonder since she's gotten here. It had been for him, she'd said; but she knows that so much of it had been for herself too.

To feel like something mattered, to do good when she had no right to ever be pretend to be good.

Good and bad aren't real, but she'd let herself play pretend and act like they were in one last moment of selfishness. ]

Everyone here thinks you're so nice! So kind! So gentle! If you were any of those things you'd keep that shit to yourself!

[extirpator]

[ water rushes down his back, matting his hair down. it's cool and pricks against his skin, and he doesn't react, not initially, crouched there in silence as she speaks.

slowly, surely, does he stand up. his hair clings to the sides of his face. he dusts off his shirt. ]

There's something that you want from me, but I can't give it to you. I can't give it to anyone.

[ honesty? atonement? regret? nothing at all, everything at once?

if he let himself regret, even for a moment, he would crumble. he would suffocate to sleep. he would cry, and he would scream, an immovable object dwelling in its own misery.

if he let himself regret, let alone feel, he would do it with the entirety of who he is. it would hurt so terribly. it did, once. ]

There's no point in rolling over and dying. It's not going to ease the pain of the people who hate you, and it'll only serve to hurt the people who love you. I'll nurture this world and its people until I meet my end. I don't know if that's good or if it's bad, it doesn't matter either way; it's all I can do right now.

[ and then— ]

Go and refill the watering can.