concerning thought, help. she glances at him, distracted, before realizing he asked her a question.]
Nah, even if that is much cooler. I was maybe eighteen? My parents were gone, so I'd gotten booted out of our house. I was starving, so I stole an apple off a cart, and got into a fist fight with the cart owner.
[another bite of food.]
It was only like three days or so. They didn't have room to keep me in.
[ Man. His brow furrows minutely thinking about it. She can probably catch loose, vague thoughts thinking about street kids, the sorts of situations they end up in. Gangs. Red light districts. Unscrupulous militaries. ]
They always just used you for your body, didn't they?
[silence, for a moment, as she rubs at her engine.]
... Yeah. [there's a general sense of - weariness, from her thoughts. something run down and just like, whatever, who cares.] It's mine, though. I won't let anybody take it from me again.
[and then there's the little stream of thoughts that are sort of like - thinking about the memory she saw from him, his arm, giving up parts of himself for others.
her tail comes out to settle at his ankle, just touching to touch.]
[ Maybe more people should care! People who stop dying at least.
He doesn't say anything in response to the fleeting thoughts. He doesn't exactly want to, it's not like he ever gives these things up freely and willingly, but it is what it is -- is the vibe. Black market. Occult healing. Comfort and release. The body is a cheap price to pay, comparatively. ]
I haven't said anything. But no, actually, I'm really not.
...
[ It's the same old, same old. What do I even tell her? Not that I care to lie, but I can only be so honest... Or you could just ask outright, you little eavesdropper! Or is that your idea of a tease? ]
[ He's just going to hand the rest of his turkey leg to Karlach. He never actually bit it he really just kept picking pieces off gently and even then, not a lot. ]
You can have the rest of this. If you want it. I don't mean to give you leftovers but.
[she takes it, and there's like this brief squiggle of thoughts that all sound annoyed and frustrated. she takes the turkey leg, though, without complaint.]
If you're sure? I don't mind leftovers or whatever. [...] I'm glad you're still here.
[a beat. and then she picks off a bit of the meat on the leg still and munches on it.]
Let's keep walking. I want to enjoy this place before it's gone.
...Sure. Before another corpse and more blood ruins our impressions of it.
[ He hates how that works. Show up in a new place... watch everyone get their enjoyment out of it where they can -- and then something bad happens. The doors shut. Someone dies. Sometimes you find them in the place you were at, where you should've known. Use another area to act as a fucked up execution stage with an audience... and then erase it all for something else new and shiny, start it over again.
Again. And again. It's less like one, slow event that takes across two months, but rather more like smaller cycles of seven days of the same thing. And that exhausts him so much more.
No escape.
Sorry thoughtshare week really is just like. Actually despite anything he says his internal mindspace is incredibly fucking depressing on a bass-boosted level. ]
[thoughtshare week makes her like five thousand times more worried about him, wow!
he's not wrong, is the thing. it's how she's been feeling about it too. the slow build up, the three days of something good, to lick their wounds, and then another four to drive the knife deeper. nothing really heals. like slapping an illusion over something to pretend.
he says this, and his thoughts reflect it, and there's a moment where she puts all the food down and away, and wipes her hands off, and just. stretches. pulls her arms behind her head as they turn to start walking again. tries to empty her head.
there's a dumb heat behind her eyes. she hates that.]
[ IT WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN... AS CONCERNING... IF THOUGHTSHARE CAME A LOT EARLIER I THINK... it would've still been a little bit concerning but not this bad. This game sure has been something for his development.
His gaze flickers briefly to her as she stretches, as they walk. ]
really hard to discern what the hell kind of thought it is that appears the moment she says that, because it's thoughtshare and not emotionshare, but it's something like any busywork thoughts he had were wiped clean in an instant to pure silence. ]
...
[ You probably shouldn't. ]
Thanks.
[ What a terrible response. How have we not done the 'responses to I love you' chart yet? ]
[help this han solo-ass response, we should do that chart...
but she doesn't seem to mind - she's heard worse responses. she's heard worse responses this game, in fact, so her thoughts are kind of just along the lines of being glad he didn't run away. after a moment, she brings a hand up to rub at her eyes, and then gives him a little smile.]
Yeah. Of course, meds.
[that's all that fucking matters in this place, is that.
a pause, and then she starts to lead the way to the ocean.]
[ He's quiet a moment, not following her immediately, needing a moment to think, even if it means there's a bit of distance placed between them as she sets off.
Love. He can't say that word so lightly. It carries too much weight, even without his whole marriage and widower's deal. Love is a cost, a magic and occult thing for him, a whispered thing on the loving arms of the goddess Sylvian who murmurs it softly in his ear, traces his spine even after all these years.
But. ]
I'm sorry I won't say it back, but I want you to live a happy life, Karlach.
[she says honestly, glancing over her shoulder. she knows he's got hang ups, and she absolutely knows that it's difficult for people to say. she's never had a problem with it, but she's a much more emotionally open person than just about anybody she's ever met.
for her, it's the only way to get the suffocating feeling out of her lungs, out of her throat. feelings too big for even her, too overwhelming to bite back.
her smile is genuine, and gentle.]
That means about as much to me as the words would, anyway.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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concerning thought, help. she glances at him, distracted, before realizing he asked her a question.]
Nah, even if that is much cooler. I was maybe eighteen? My parents were gone, so I'd gotten booted out of our house. I was starving, so I stole an apple off a cart, and got into a fist fight with the cart owner.
[another bite of food.]
It was only like three days or so. They didn't have room to keep me in.
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[ IS HE WRONG? KARLACH. ]
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True! [grinning] Look, I regretted it! I don't like stealing.
I got picked up by Gortash a couple days later. Turns out he saw the fight and thought I'd be a scrappy bodyguard, which I was.
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They always just used you for your body, didn't they?
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... Yeah. [there's a general sense of - weariness, from her thoughts. something run down and just like, whatever, who cares.] It's mine, though. I won't let anybody take it from me again.
[and then there's the little stream of thoughts that are sort of like - thinking about the memory she saw from him, his arm, giving up parts of himself for others.
her tail comes out to settle at his ankle, just touching to touch.]
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He doesn't say anything in response to the fleeting thoughts. He doesn't exactly want to, it's not like he ever gives these things up freely and willingly, but it is what it is -- is the vibe. Black market. Occult healing. Comfort and release. The body is a cheap price to pay, comparatively. ]
Was that the only time you'd ever been to prison?
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Yeah. I keep my nose clean, mostly, and if I don't, it's because there wasn't anybody left to report it, and they started it.
[huff.]
The Hells were enough of a figurative one, though.
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[ Just full on goblin with a heart and no trauma, how about that. ]
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Maybe. I don't know, I like to think I was a pretty good kid, but I can't help myself sometimes. I get mad. [her tail flicks.]
... Guess we'll never really know.
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[ Fire. Befitting her in every way. ]
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[this is a joke, with the way she grins a little at him.]
... Hey, um. I've been trying not to listen in on your thoughts, promise, but. How are you doing today?
[subtle, karlach.]
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...
[ It's the same old, same old. What do I even tell her? Not that I care to lie, but I can only be so honest...
Or you could just ask outright, you little eavesdropper! Or is that your idea of a tease? ]
I'm still here. The fresh air is nice.
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catches her off guard, those definitely just a guy thoughts, and she blinks at him.]
What? [the fresh air is nice, she'll take that, but also.] Um. Sorry? I think?
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[a beat. what the fuck. do I ask? you're supposed to be pretending you don't hear.]
No, I know. You're nicer to me than that.
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[ He's just going to hand the rest of his turkey leg to Karlach. He never actually bit it he really just kept picking pieces off gently and even then, not a lot. ]
You can have the rest of this. If you want it. I don't mean to give you leftovers but.
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If you're sure? I don't mind leftovers or whatever. [...] I'm glad you're still here.
[a beat. and then she picks off a bit of the meat on the leg still and munches on it.]
Let's keep walking. I want to enjoy this place before it's gone.
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[ He hates how that works. Show up in a new place... watch everyone get their enjoyment out of it where they can -- and then something bad happens. The doors shut. Someone dies. Sometimes you find them in the place you were at, where you should've known. Use another area to act as a fucked up execution stage with an audience... and then erase it all for something else new and shiny, start it over again.
Again. And again. It's less like one, slow event that takes across two months, but rather more like smaller cycles of seven days of the same thing. And that exhausts him so much more.
No escape.
Sorry thoughtshare week really is just like. Actually despite anything he says his internal mindspace is incredibly fucking depressing on a bass-boosted level. ]
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he's not wrong, is the thing. it's how she's been feeling about it too. the slow build up, the three days of something good, to lick their wounds, and then another four to drive the knife deeper. nothing really heals. like slapping an illusion over something to pretend.
he says this, and his thoughts reflect it, and there's a moment where she puts all the food down and away, and wipes her hands off, and just. stretches. pulls her arms behind her head as they turn to start walking again. tries to empty her head.
there's a dumb heat behind her eyes. she hates that.]
-- Hey, Daan.
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His gaze flickers briefly to her as she stretches, as they walk. ]
Hm?
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Love you. [glances at him, her tail flicking back and forth.] Not in a romantic way. Just - you know.
[it feels important to tell him - there are people she wishes she could've said these sorts of things to that she didn't get to, so.]
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really hard to discern what the hell kind of thought it is that appears the moment she says that, because it's thoughtshare and not emotionshare, but it's something like any busywork thoughts he had were wiped clean in an instant to pure silence. ]
...
[ You probably shouldn't. ]
Thanks.
[ What a terrible response. How have we not done the 'responses to I love you' chart yet? ]
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but she doesn't seem to mind - she's heard worse responses. she's heard worse responses this game, in fact, so her thoughts are kind of just along the lines of being glad he didn't run away. after a moment, she brings a hand up to rub at her eyes, and then gives him a little smile.]
Yeah. Of course, meds.
[that's all that fucking matters in this place, is that.
a pause, and then she starts to lead the way to the ocean.]
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[ He's quiet a moment, not following her immediately, needing a moment to think, even if it means there's a bit of distance placed between them as she sets off.
Love. He can't say that word so lightly. It carries too much weight, even without his whole marriage and widower's deal. Love is a cost, a magic and occult thing for him, a whispered thing on the loving arms of the goddess Sylvian who murmurs it softly in his ear, traces his spine even after all these years.
But. ]
I'm sorry I won't say it back, but I want you to live a happy life, Karlach.
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[she says honestly, glancing over her shoulder. she knows he's got hang ups, and she absolutely knows that it's difficult for people to say. she's never had a problem with it, but she's a much more emotionally open person than just about anybody she's ever met.
for her, it's the only way to get the suffocating feeling out of her lungs, out of her throat. feelings too big for even her, too overwhelming to bite back.
her smile is genuine, and gentle.]
That means about as much to me as the words would, anyway.
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