[ a lot of people who couldn't do much of anything. ]
There was no getting through the doors—yet it always feels like there was more to try, doesn't it? [ that's just how guilt is. what if he'd used every ounce of his strength to try and pry them open? what if there was a way, if he'd cared just a little more? sidon doesn't lose his mind in it, but he certainly understands that it isn't as simple as convincing your heart that there was nothing to be done. ] I am so sorry, Throné.
[me looking at locations like oh right the lounge is part of the observation deck so gestures]
We tried. [she agrees, looking down at her hands.] It's not the first time I've watched someone I care about die.
[that's - maybe unexpectedly honest, but she's so exhausted and sidon reminds her of someone she doesn't have much problem confessing things to, so. he gets to hear it.]
... I don't know where to go from here. It seems strange to just continue on.
[ no i'm just stupid and don't understand how curfew works damn
anyway, it is honest, painfully so, in that way that tragedy can wring out of someone sometimes. he has his thoughts on grief—but to start, he's just going to gently encourage her to sit. there are probably benches out in the hall. he doesn't really want to go back into the observation deck. ]
[ he's not the disassociating type so feeling it happen is strange. he wonders if it helps her... deal with it all.
in his case, he smiles, fins fluttering slightly. a crush. cute. his spirits raise a little, remembering. ]
Very much so! Dahut was brilliant—but compassionate. And Luke has been helping me since we arrived, even though he was likely just as lost.
[ most days, he would stop there. but throné gave him a moment of vulnerability—and who is he to pretend he is any less pained? his grief is not the resigned mire that haunts her, but it answers her feelings anyway. he is hurting deeply, and it is terrible. it is always very, very terrible. ]
I would call them friends. I... will miss them gravely. I want to know—was there anything we could do to save them? [ ... ] One day, it will hurt less often. For you as well, I think. But only with time.
[it helps, but it isn't exactly a healthy way of doing it - she has to, with the job she has, so it's practiced. but it doesn't feel good, and she doesn't like to see it in other people.
so - she's glad that he doesn't. she's glad that he feels that sadness, even if it isn't ideal to feel.]
I don't think there was. [anything to do to save them. she glances up at him, and then - after a moment, brings a hand up to rest on his arm. usually, she'd be more hesitant to touch, but it doesn't even register today, with the disassociating. she's not really in her own head so she doesn't have the chance to feel discomfort.]
Not because I don't want there to have been, but because thinking about what I could have or should have done is a path I'm not willing to take. It's done. [...] I'll miss them too.
I'm glad to have known them for as short of a time as it was.
[ he remembers—she wasn't quick to take his hand, not the type with an easy touch. it sweetens the gesture. ]
Ah, you're right—I'm sorry. It is a bad habit of mine to think that way. [ wondering if he could've been stronger in a more crucial moment. that sort of thing. ] But that's how I feel as well. We were lucky to have known them, and I do not regret our meeting for its ending.
[ even if it was unfairly brief, and even if she is burying her feelings away, he's glad to hear her say this much. he smiles again, more happily this time, resting a hand over hers with a tiny, easy squeeze, at once reassuring and thankful. ]
Continuing on is never easy, but I hope you will try. Even if it is just a day at a time. [ she is another wonderful presence here, and he doesn't want that mire of sadness to hold her forever. ]
... This won't break me. [she says, finally. a little sigh. she can't help the sadness so much - it's a part of her, and it lingers even when she isn't in mourning. but she's had much worse, and she'll make it.
she lets him rest his hand on her own, tired.]
I'll be alright, and I will keep moving. Nothing will stop me. [...] Thank you, Sidon.
[ no she is a good girl (everything about her points to violence) SHE IS A GOOD GIRL I WANT HER HAPPINESS
but no sometimes even if someone is so depressed their core identity has absorbed trauma and sadness into it, you'd like a day to go by a little easier for them.
they can just rest for a while, but he nods, resolute at her determination. he can't slack off either—even if they rightfully get the day to be really, really sad. ]
[HELP she's committed atrocities but have you considered she's a meow meow
anyway, she leans back against the wall, and - well, she enjoys his company. it's nice, to not feel like she's drowning. sidon's an unexpected life raft in the middle of that swamp of negative emotion - seems apt coming from him.
when he says that, she glances at him, and... smiles. just a little. small. but she smiles.]
... I'll be relying on you too. [she's comforted, by that.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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The observation deck.
[there was nothing you could have done.]
There were... there a lot of us there.
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Yes. It was the same where we were.
[ a lot of people who couldn't do much of anything. ]
There was no getting through the doors—yet it always feels like there was more to try, doesn't it? [ that's just how guilt is. what if he'd used every ounce of his strength to try and pry them open? what if there was a way, if he'd cared just a little more? sidon doesn't lose his mind in it, but he certainly understands that it isn't as simple as convincing your heart that there was nothing to be done. ] I am so sorry, Throné.
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We tried. [she agrees, looking down at her hands.] It's not the first time I've watched someone I care about die.
[that's - maybe unexpectedly honest, but she's so exhausted and sidon reminds her of someone she doesn't have much problem confessing things to, so. he gets to hear it.]
... I don't know where to go from here. It seems strange to just continue on.
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anyway, it is honest, painfully so, in that way that tragedy can wring out of someone sometimes. he has his thoughts on grief—but to start, he's just going to gently encourage her to sit. there are probably benches out in the hall. he doesn't really want to go back into the observation deck. ]
...Had you grown fond of them both?
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she also does not want to go in there so she can sit on a bench. she's slowly letting her emotions get distant, detaching.]
Mm. [she says, with a sigh.] Dahut was... he was very kind to me. And Luke...
[there's kind of like this very faint feeling that is a little bit like the start of a crush? it's not anything serious or deep, but it was there.]
They were both good people. [a beat.] Were you? Fond of them.
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in his case, he smiles, fins fluttering slightly. a crush. cute. his spirits raise a little, remembering. ]
Very much so! Dahut was brilliant—but compassionate. And Luke has been helping me since we arrived, even though he was likely just as lost.
[ most days, he would stop there. but throné gave him a moment of vulnerability—and who is he to pretend he is any less pained? his grief is not the resigned mire that haunts her, but it answers her feelings anyway. he is hurting deeply, and it is terrible. it is always very, very terrible. ]
I would call them friends. I... will miss them gravely. I want to know—was there anything we could do to save them? [ ... ] One day, it will hurt less often. For you as well, I think. But only with time.
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so - she's glad that he doesn't. she's glad that he feels that sadness, even if it isn't ideal to feel.]
I don't think there was. [anything to do to save them. she glances up at him, and then - after a moment, brings a hand up to rest on his arm. usually, she'd be more hesitant to touch, but it doesn't even register today, with the disassociating. she's not really in her own head so she doesn't have the chance to feel discomfort.]
Not because I don't want there to have been, but because thinking about what I could have or should have done is a path I'm not willing to take. It's done. [...] I'll miss them too.
I'm glad to have known them for as short of a time as it was.
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Ah, you're right—I'm sorry. It is a bad habit of mine to think that way. [ wondering if he could've been stronger in a more crucial moment. that sort of thing. ] But that's how I feel as well. We were lucky to have known them, and I do not regret our meeting for its ending.
[ even if it was unfairly brief, and even if she is burying her feelings away, he's glad to hear her say this much. he smiles again, more happily this time, resting a hand over hers with a tiny, easy squeeze, at once reassuring and thankful. ]
Continuing on is never easy, but I hope you will try. Even if it is just a day at a time. [ she is another wonderful presence here, and he doesn't want that mire of sadness to hold her forever. ]
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... This won't break me. [she says, finally. a little sigh. she can't help the sadness so much - it's a part of her, and it lingers even when she isn't in mourning. but she's had much worse, and she'll make it.
she lets him rest his hand on her own, tired.]
I'll be alright, and I will keep moving. Nothing will stop me. [...] Thank you, Sidon.
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but no sometimes even if someone is so depressed their core identity has absorbed trauma and sadness into it, you'd like a day to go by a little easier for them.
they can just rest for a while, but he nods, resolute at her determination. he can't slack off either—even if they rightfully get the day to be really, really sad. ]
Please—I should thank you.
[ they're getting through it. ]
I'll be relying on you, Throné.
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anyway, she leans back against the wall, and - well, she enjoys his company. it's nice, to not feel like she's drowning. sidon's an unexpected life raft in the middle of that swamp of negative emotion - seems apt coming from him.
when he says that, she glances at him, and... smiles. just a little. small. but she smiles.]
... I'll be relying on you too. [she's comforted, by that.]