[The book, which truly holds so little of her interest, is turned over in her hands and given a polite "hmm" of consideration. She'd offer a vague promise to check it out if he didn't angle the conversation so pointedly.]
Oh. Yes. I guess you're right. [That sharp pang turns knifish now. She keeps her smile on.] I never caught him at it, but I wasn't making a habit of looking over his shoulder or anything. He was a very technical person, wasn't he?
[He'd racked a rather big score, if the recording was anything to go by.]
She might have kept the act up perfectly well for a few rounds of empty volleys. It fades fast when he drives to the heart of the matter, and she finds herself unable to meet his eye.
It's not as if she took Sidon for a fool. She thinks him earnest and passionate, and she feels it's easy for the people here to assume less of him because he stands out. Optimism and naiveté mixed often, but not always, and being inhuman wasn't the same as being bestial.]
A bit. [Not an understatement or an overstatement. She can't say they were friends, the waters were too tempestuous for that.] I found him very difficult, to tell you the truth. He said and did things I couldn't stand by, and he believed he was always right, and he never called people by their real name. He had such an ego, and he was a pest, and stubborn, and he picked apart the things you said until you weren't sure of what you were trying to say in the first place, which is a very frustrating way to have a conversation. And he was confusing, and overly-practical, then he'd go and do something that just...
[Her hand flies into the air. The gesture reveals nothing.]
Still. He had so many reasons for being that way. I don't understand every part of it, but I understand enough. I know how hard it is to make good choices when you're so rarely given any. Maybe it's not an excuse, but...he deserved a better chance.
And I'll miss him. [That sting builds, the gash widening in her chest, draining the life from her limbs, her head. Rosamund shrinks, downcast and quiet as a mouse.] Isn't that stupid? I could barely stand him and it's only been a week since we met, and he did such awful, awful things, but I wish he wasn't...Help me, I'm such an idiot.
[ he listens patiently. what can he do but listen? she lays out her feelings in a clear enough picture with her words he scarcely needs the pings of emotion that come along for the ride. he sits through it all. the very worst step of healing is the hurt before it, like letting pressure and pus out of a wound, but it's a necessary part of the process.
or so he tells himself. when the quiet has stretched out long enough that she's clearly finished, he'll prompt, ]
Why does that make you a fool?
[ he'll offer a hand, if she wants it. an open palm. ]
There is no harm in missing people, no matter how briefly your lives touched. And some feelings are harder to quantify than others. It doesn't make them any less powerful. In fact—intense and confusing is a common combination. Rarely is it pleasant.
[ it would be easier to make sense of her emotions if scien was a better person. but he wasn't. most people are not so flawless and easy to love in such an uncomplicated way. he looks off at the stars a moment, thoughtful. a different feeling sinks into him, just as difficult to define. ]
I think... it is better to let yourself feel what you will feel. Through that, someday, it will make more sense. And then even further than that, it will hurt you less.
[Rosamund blinks up at him from her miserable crouch, already blinking back tears. She will take that hand, thank you, gripping tight with a barely stifled sniffle. It's much larger than hers, but all the more comforting for it. She misses being held. She misses her parents. Thin fraction of her tale that they were, but they were kind, and they loved her fiercely, and she never learned what happened to them after she fell asleep.]
Very rarely. [She agrees with a laugh, choked though it may be.
Whatever he's feeling now is fathomless, like the waters he belongs to. Deeper than she's allowed to be. Who is he thinking of right now?]
Of course. It'll get better. It always does. [There's no pretending she's unaffected now. Her free hand presses under her eyes, catches the wetness there, then taps lightly under her nose.] That's one good thing about growing older. The privilege of perspective.
[One more sniff. She's got it under control now, mostly. She's just so very, very tired.
She curls her knees up against her chest and takes a pillow from behind her.]
Do you mind if I close my eyes for a minute? You can keep reading. I don't mind.
...he watches her work through her own feelings, without really any help from him or anyone else, and he thinks—there's something so resilient about her. emotive, positive, energized—traits that people so often wrongly associate with something weaker, a flame that's bright but easily snuffed, when that is so commonly far from the truth.
it takes strength to let your eyes water—strength after that to still think life will go on. it will get better, and easier, and that's because people make it so.
he offers her a little smile, then before he picks up his book, he leans her onto his side, pillow and all. ]
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no subject
Oh. Yes. I guess you're right. [That sharp pang turns knifish now. She keeps her smile on.] I never caught him at it, but I wasn't making a habit of looking over his shoulder or anything. He was a very technical person, wasn't he?
[He'd racked a rather big score, if the recording was anything to go by.]
no subject
he smiles back, though it's soft, not quite up to the effusive energy. sometimes a smile is an effort—an attempt to push off the ground and get up. ]
He was! I think he enjoyed puzzles. A number of people here do.
[ nerds. he sets the book aside. ]
Had you considered him a friend?
no subject
She might have kept the act up perfectly well for a few rounds of empty volleys. It fades fast when he drives to the heart of the matter, and she finds herself unable to meet his eye.
It's not as if she took Sidon for a fool. She thinks him earnest and passionate, and she feels it's easy for the people here to assume less of him because he stands out. Optimism and naiveté mixed often, but not always, and being inhuman wasn't the same as being bestial.]
A bit. [Not an understatement or an overstatement. She can't say they were friends, the waters were too tempestuous for that.] I found him very difficult, to tell you the truth. He said and did things I couldn't stand by, and he believed he was always right, and he never called people by their real name. He had such an ego, and he was a pest, and stubborn, and he picked apart the things you said until you weren't sure of what you were trying to say in the first place, which is a very frustrating way to have a conversation. And he was confusing, and overly-practical, then he'd go and do something that just...
[Her hand flies into the air. The gesture reveals nothing.]
Still. He had so many reasons for being that way. I don't understand every part of it, but I understand enough. I know how hard it is to make good choices when you're so rarely given any. Maybe it's not an excuse, but...he deserved a better chance.
And I'll miss him. [That sting builds, the gash widening in her chest, draining the life from her limbs, her head. Rosamund shrinks, downcast and quiet as a mouse.] Isn't that stupid? I could barely stand him and it's only been a week since we met, and he did such awful, awful things, but I wish he wasn't...Help me, I'm such an idiot.
no subject
or so he tells himself. when the quiet has stretched out long enough that she's clearly finished, he'll prompt, ]
Why does that make you a fool?
[ he'll offer a hand, if she wants it. an open palm. ]
There is no harm in missing people, no matter how briefly your lives touched. And some feelings are harder to quantify than others. It doesn't make them any less powerful. In fact—intense and confusing is a common combination. Rarely is it pleasant.
[ it would be easier to make sense of her emotions if scien was a better person. but he wasn't. most people are not so flawless and easy to love in such an uncomplicated way. he looks off at the stars a moment, thoughtful. a different feeling sinks into him, just as difficult to define. ]
I think... it is better to let yourself feel what you will feel. Through that, someday, it will make more sense. And then even further than that, it will hurt you less.
no subject
Very rarely. [She agrees with a laugh, choked though it may be.
Whatever he's feeling now is fathomless, like the waters he belongs to. Deeper than she's allowed to be. Who is he thinking of right now?]
Of course. It'll get better. It always does. [There's no pretending she's unaffected now. Her free hand presses under her eyes, catches the wetness there, then taps lightly under her nose.] That's one good thing about growing older. The privilege of perspective.
[One more sniff. She's got it under control now, mostly. She's just so very, very tired.
She curls her knees up against her chest and takes a pillow from behind her.]
Do you mind if I close my eyes for a minute? You can keep reading. I don't mind.
oops i meant to tag this back one more time
...he watches her work through her own feelings, without really any help from him or anyone else, and he thinks—there's something so resilient about her. emotive, positive, energized—traits that people so often wrongly associate with something weaker, a flame that's bright but easily snuffed, when that is so commonly far from the truth.
it takes strength to let your eyes water—strength after that to still think life will go on. it will get better, and easier, and that's because people make it so.
he offers her a little smile, then before he picks up his book, he leans her onto his side, pillow and all. ]
I'll never mind. Get some rest, Rosamund.