[ Zac Oyama Voice I killed her yeah. But no it doesn't sound like he blames himself for it or whatever, it's just a statement to really just. Add on that yeah! It sucked. ]
all the tension gets shocked out of her and she just stares at him. she looks, like. genuinely upset to hear this, but not in the sense that it's an evil action or whatever moral things, it's in the sense that she's absolutely heartbroken that he had to.]
[ My god, the trauma! The way he really does seem weirdly calm about it. Or maybe you could just call it blank at this point. ]
It's all fine. Dream or illusion as it may be. In the fairytale version of events, there exists a memory of her smiling and happy again.
[ His last memory of her doesn't have to be the bloody, pale corpse in the basement. It doesn't have to be the sallowed and sunken face with stringy hair, stitched mouth, muffled cackles. ]
[silence, for a moment, because she struggles with this. it's not even her trauma, it's not her memories, she never knew his wife and she never will, but the empathetic person she is means that she wants to cry when he won't.
the twist of it is what hurts. a little bit of good in the awful, horrible tragedy.
she kind of just sits back, and then - settles her folded arms on the bed, leans against it, face half-tucked into the crook of her elbow. it's starting to be a familiar pose, curled up at the edge of his bed.]
[ When's the last time he was consistently able to be present for a conversation, take banter like a normal person, not have his thoughts drift off to the pointlessness of it all every so often. ]
You asked me to talk. That's the only reason I am.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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You know my answer to that.
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Pointless talk about theoreticals anyway. Won't undo what I've done at this point.
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The things you did in a nightmare set up specifically to play off the worst shit in your head, you mean.
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[ Zac Oyama Voice I killed her yeah. But no it doesn't sound like he blames himself for it or whatever, it's just a statement to really just. Add on that yeah! It sucked. ]
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all the tension gets shocked out of her and she just stares at him. she looks, like. genuinely upset to hear this, but not in the sense that it's an evil action or whatever moral things, it's in the sense that she's absolutely heartbroken that he had to.]
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It's all fine. Dream or illusion as it may be. In the fairytale version of events, there exists a memory of her smiling and happy again.
[ His last memory of her doesn't have to be the bloody, pale corpse in the basement. It doesn't have to be the sallowed and sunken face with stringy hair, stitched mouth, muffled cackles. ]
That's all I need.
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the twist of it is what hurts. a little bit of good in the awful, horrible tragedy.
she kind of just sits back, and then - settles her folded arms on the bed, leans against it, face half-tucked into the crook of her elbow. it's starting to be a familiar pose, curled up at the edge of his bed.]
I'm sorry. [she sounds kind of miserable.]
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[ Absently picking at the edges of his bandages. ]
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[her tail lashes against the floor.]
... You keep telling me it's impressive that I've held out so long, but it's more incredible to me that you're even speaking to me, right now.
[afraid you're going to snap like a piano wire, give up, and then what would I do.]
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[ When's the last time he was consistently able to be present for a conversation, take banter like a normal person, not have his thoughts drift off to the pointlessness of it all every so often. ]
You asked me to talk. That's the only reason I am.
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But it's not helping you.
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Ask me to run my mouth and I will, as long as there's something left to ponder.
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Mmfhgh.
[is her eloquent response. one arm slips down from the bed to settle over her heart instead.]
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Sorry. I'm... [her tail swishes across the floor. she abandons whatever she was going to say.] Maybe it's a breaking point, but not with you.
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I'm burning out, meds. In a lot of ways.
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[But they don't know how to handle it.]
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