[absolutely he hits the nail on the head. that's where the anger comes again, something ferocious and cruel, something that wants justice. and she swallows it down. puts it away. back into the box it goes, where it belongs.]
... Yes. [a pause, and then:] Sorry.
[she doesn't want him to see that part of her, really.]
[it is exactly the same as the first time he felt the strong emotion from her - the way in which, once it reaches him, it never manifests completely. instead, it stalls in its strength before disappearing completely. as if there is something preventing the full emotion from making contact.
he closes his eyes against it, as if processing for a moment. then he looks to her]
I won't make you tolerate more of me than you need to.
[she's not entirely sure what to make of the way he adblocks her strong emotion - but even if she did, she's not wildly into making people experience what she considers the worst parts of herself. or at the very least, the nastiest parts, even if she considers them necessary.]
there's a little pinprick of emotion from scien first this time - it's still slightly oddly processed. literally none of his feelings are normal. but there is a slight bit of surprise, coupled with almost being impressed. to a degree, he likes when people understand his unwillingness to engage too deeply.]
Hm...
You're right that I don't particularly care to navigate through people's emotions. Most of them have nothing to do with me.
throné by default is a somber person, and this week has been something already - she's had a few people notice that she's sad, and she never knows how to tell them that it's persistent. that achy, deep hurt just lives in her chest, in her throat, around her neck. but for her, it's like any chronic pain. you learn how to live with it, as best you can. and eventually it stops registering. she's been surprised each time someone points it out.
and for someone like scien, who she's assigned as someone who prefers to keep things at a distance, through the glass, the way she keeps people at a physical arm's length - she'd been content in respecting his boundaries. especially now that she felt that horrible, grinding pain from earlier.
she's silent for a moment, just watching him. fondness, huh. even just a little bit. and then:]
... It's necessary, but one day, I'd like to not feel it. [that anger.] Thank you.
I'd say that the world needs to stop being a hellhole first. Probably by force.
[after all, it's not like she signed up for either of these situations - definitely not this second one. scien thinks that if those emotions are useful for anything, it's that drive to keep pushing against the chains that bind you.
it's something that he's had to look at more clearly late; how what he discarded still has its uses.]
There's nothing to thank me for, and nothing to apologize to me for.
[a snort of amusement at the world being a hellhole. fair! fair enough. agreed.
she smiles at him anyway, even though he tells her what he does. it's hard not to. i'd like to see your success feels enough like some measure of hope that she can't help it. if she can hold on, the dawn is coming, and she's looking forward to it.]
You will. [she says, firmly.] I will not stop until I'm free, or dead.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[nanites to force compliance onboard the ship possibly, and then collar still locked upon her]
It must be difficult to struggle against a new, invisible collar.
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... Yes. [a pause, and then:] Sorry.
[she doesn't want him to see that part of her, really.]
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he closes his eyes against it, as if processing for a moment. then he looks to her]
... why do you apologize to me?
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[she's not entirely sure what to make of the way he adblocks her strong emotion - but even if she did, she's not wildly into making people experience what she considers the worst parts of herself. or at the very least, the nastiest parts, even if she considers them necessary.]
[1/2]
there's a little pinprick of emotion from scien first this time - it's still slightly oddly processed. literally none of his feelings are normal. but there is a slight bit of surprise, coupled with almost being impressed. to a degree, he likes when people understand his unwillingness to engage too deeply.]
Hm...
You're right that I don't particularly care to navigate through people's emotions. Most of them have nothing to do with me.
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his expression softens, just a fraction.]
... but I'm still seated.
[he can and will leave at any moment. he's choosing not to.]
What I felt through you... I wouldn't call it bad by any definition.
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throné by default is a somber person, and this week has been something already - she's had a few people notice that she's sad, and she never knows how to tell them that it's persistent. that achy, deep hurt just lives in her chest, in her throat, around her neck. but for her, it's like any chronic pain. you learn how to live with it, as best you can. and eventually it stops registering. she's been surprised each time someone points it out.
and for someone like scien, who she's assigned as someone who prefers to keep things at a distance, through the glass, the way she keeps people at a physical arm's length - she'd been content in respecting his boundaries. especially now that she felt that horrible, grinding pain from earlier.
she's silent for a moment, just watching him. fondness, huh. even just a little bit. and then:]
... It's necessary, but one day, I'd like to not feel it. [that anger.] Thank you.
no subject
[after all, it's not like she signed up for either of these situations - definitely not this second one. scien thinks that if those emotions are useful for anything, it's that drive to keep pushing against the chains that bind you.
it's something that he's had to look at more clearly late; how what he discarded still has its uses.]
There's nothing to thank me for, and nothing to apologize to me for.
Be as you are. I'd like to see your success.
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she smiles at him anyway, even though he tells her what he does. it's hard not to. i'd like to see your success feels enough like some measure of hope that she can't help it. if she can hold on, the dawn is coming, and she's looking forward to it.]
You will. [she says, firmly.] I will not stop until I'm free, or dead.