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.
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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.
no subject
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.