Speaking as one of the resident threats, I do wish they wouldn't.
[After a long night spent locked in the onsen, maybe it's ridiculous that Thancred is still hanging around — or maybe that's exactly the reason he is still hanging around, because after the crowded mess it'd been the night before, that's all the more reason to expect it to be emptied out and quiet now. Which it certainly is.
Also, he's been swimming in the artificial ocean all week, but the change of pace soaking in the hotsprings is nice, too. Reminiscent of Camp Bronze Lake. Or even Kugane, if he's being generous.]
...I know. They've all been children, save the writer from last week. And when they're driven to this we're afforded the honor of executing them ourselves.
[Is he still a little fucked up from last week's execution? You better believe it.
But when Ryn finds a place to sit, he shifts and half-sloshes, half-paddles his way over to the edge of the hotsprings nearest him, so that he can lean up against the side and talk while he soaks.]
[Ugh. Gods. He pulls an arm out from beneath the surface of the water and rubs at his face, unmindful of the way it drips and leaves his skin wet. Below it, down on his bare chest, the fist-shaped bruise left over from Gideon's punch is already blossoming into a vibrant hue of purple-black.]
I don't enjoy seeing you miserable. Or when you hold yourself at arm's length. Of course it's your prerogative but —
[He sighs, folding his arms on the lip of the pool and leaning on top of them.]
[He says, instantly, like it doesn't even require a moment's thought to produce. It's a breath or two later that his gaze goes askance, and he amends the sentiment: ]
Or to make you feel so, at least. A respite from your troubles. Even a brief one.
[what the fuck is a month. a moon, probably. if there were moons here, which there probably aren't.]
That's not how I've ever lived my life. I'm not about to start in my undeath.
[He shrugs slightly.]
That I'm here and those dear to me are not means that for once, I didn't fail them. There's a satisfaction of a sort in knowing that. If I can make it back to them, so much the better, but if I can't...then I don't. Then they live and I don't. I can be at peace with that.
And if I can protect you, and Nav, and Harrow — if you can win yourselves free of this, then I'll have done my job well. I can be at peace with that, too.
And how do you think they would feel about that? If they knew you might not be lost to them forever, but you were here just-- at peace with never seeing them again, with-- how much do you think they're at peace with your death?
[his voice is a little more forceful, there, ears flicking and slightly pinning back.]
[It hits him harder than Gideon's punch had, just some few bells before.
It's strange how he can almost imagine it — how vividly it all comes back to him, every bit and detail of that moment on the Ragnarok, Alisaie's tears and Alphinaud's pleading and G'raha's lashing tail, only instead of the near-lifeless body of someone deserving of such anguish and turmoil, for an instant in his mind's eye he can imagine how his own corpse would look there instead. He can imagine his own waxy flesh, his closed eyes, his spent breath.
He can imagine two small fists beating on the chest that housed a failed heart, each pounding impact accompanied by a wail. Wake up! Wake up, damn you, wake up! You can't — you can't!
How much does he think they're at peace with his death?
(Hasn't he been asking himself all this time, where is she, I would've thought she would've found me by now?)
The breath he draws, then, shakes like a leaf in a windstorm.]
I couldn't bear to look them in the eyes, if I took that chance away from another.
[Accepting this as his fate would've been so much easier, if he hadn't been made to confront what he wants.]
Why should it be me? Why me and not one of them? Why me and not you?
Why not you? I swear, you heroic types are all the same, it's always oh, I couldn't, and no, I'd feel awful-- you know something? Eto told me, once, that she didn't feel that much of a need to go home. That she could be at peace with it, too.
She told Four that. I asked her if she knew it when she killed her.
[he's bristling, still, hair tentacles writhing.]
You never-- you never ask what other people want. None of you. I mean it, don't you fucking die for my sake, I can't do that again.
[And that's enough, at last, to prompt Thancred to set his hands against the lip of the pool and shove himself up and out of the hotsprings, cascading water as he heaves himself up onto the patio and reaches on reflex for one of Rynlan's hands.]
Ryn. Ryn.
[It's not like he can't already guess the answer himself, but failing to ask is a point of contention at the moment as well, so: ]
[he's probably getting splashed, but- he can't really bring himself to care. he'll dry off. he just takes in a slow, steadying breath, exhales it, tries to keep it measured. too much. that was too much to say.]
...what do you think I mean, Thancred.
[it's obvious, he's sure. but:]
It's already been me, once. It shouldn't have been.
[rynlan leaves it at that, though, not elaborating any further.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
w2 friday
You know, they could at least kill one person who's actually-- a problem. A threat. Anything like that.
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[After a long night spent locked in the onsen, maybe it's ridiculous that Thancred is still hanging around — or maybe that's exactly the reason he is still hanging around, because after the crowded mess it'd been the night before, that's all the more reason to expect it to be emptied out and quiet now. Which it certainly is.
Also, he's been swimming in the artificial ocean all week, but the change of pace soaking in the hotsprings is nice, too. Reminiscent of Camp Bronze Lake. Or even Kugane, if he's being generous.]
Another friend of yours?
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[he sighs, finding somewhere to settle in.]
He wasn't, though. Didn't really happen to talk to him. Just-- a pattern I don't happen to like.
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[Is he still a little fucked up from last week's execution? You better believe it.
But when Ryn finds a place to sit, he shifts and half-sloshes, half-paddles his way over to the edge of the hotsprings nearest him, so that he can lean up against the side and talk while he soaks.]
You're worried.
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I think anyone would be worried, when people keep dying.
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[He's not going to give voice to it, because alone in public isn't the same thing as private, but the implication is there nevertheless.]
You're worried.
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[ugh. don't call him OUT.]
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[Ugh. Gods. He pulls an arm out from beneath the surface of the water and rubs at his face, unmindful of the way it drips and leaves his skin wet. Below it, down on his bare chest, the fist-shaped bruise left over from Gideon's punch is already blossoming into a vibrant hue of purple-black.]
I don't enjoy seeing you miserable. Or when you hold yourself at arm's length. Of course it's your prerogative but —
[He sighs, folding his arms on the lip of the pool and leaning on top of them.]
I would help, if I could. If you'd allow it.
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[slightly clipped, there. even before everything-- he's never liked it, always prided himself on his own abilities.
his gaze flicks to the bruise, eyeing it for a moment.]
I don't know what you think there is to be done about the situation, Thancred.
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[He mumbles, more to himself than to Ryn.]
You needn't require help to accept an offer of it, you realize.
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[both ears flick, hair tentacles wriggling and looking a little unsettled.]
I'm asking what kind of help you want to offer.
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[He says, instantly, like it doesn't even require a moment's thought to produce. It's a breath or two later that his gaze goes askance, and he amends the sentiment: ]
Or to make you feel so, at least. A respite from your troubles. Even a brief one.
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[he's not uncomfortable, exactly. it's not discomfort. but that definitely strikes a chord with him that he's not sure how to feel about.]
You should be prioritizing yourself, in a place like this.
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That's not how I've ever lived my life. I'm not about to start in my undeath.
[He shrugs slightly.]
That I'm here and those dear to me are not means that for once, I didn't fail them. There's a satisfaction of a sort in knowing that. If I can make it back to them, so much the better, but if I can't...then I don't. Then they live and I don't. I can be at peace with that.
And if I can protect you, and Nav, and Harrow — if you can win yourselves free of this, then I'll have done my job well. I can be at peace with that, too.
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[his voice is a little more forceful, there, ears flicking and slightly pinning back.]
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It's strange how he can almost imagine it — how vividly it all comes back to him, every bit and detail of that moment on the Ragnarok, Alisaie's tears and Alphinaud's pleading and G'raha's lashing tail, only instead of the near-lifeless body of someone deserving of such anguish and turmoil, for an instant in his mind's eye he can imagine how his own corpse would look there instead. He can imagine his own waxy flesh, his closed eyes, his spent breath.
He can imagine two small fists beating on the chest that housed a failed heart, each pounding impact accompanied by a wail. Wake up! Wake up, damn you, wake up! You can't — you can't!
How much does he think they're at peace with his death?
(Hasn't he been asking himself all this time, where is she, I would've thought she would've found me by now?)
The breath he draws, then, shakes like a leaf in a windstorm.]
I couldn't bear to look them in the eyes, if I took that chance away from another.
[Accepting this as his fate would've been so much easier, if he hadn't been made to confront what he wants.]
Why should it be me? Why me and not one of them? Why me and not you?
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She told Four that. I asked her if she knew it when she killed her.
[he's bristling, still, hair tentacles writhing.]
You never-- you never ask what other people want. None of you. I mean it, don't you fucking die for my sake, I can't do that again.
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[And that's enough, at last, to prompt Thancred to set his hands against the lip of the pool and shove himself up and out of the hotsprings, cascading water as he heaves himself up onto the patio and reaches on reflex for one of Rynlan's hands.]
Ryn. Ryn.
[It's not like he can't already guess the answer himself, but failing to ask is a point of contention at the moment as well, so: ]
...What do you mean, "again"?
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...what do you think I mean, Thancred.
[it's obvious, he's sure. but:]
It's already been me, once. It shouldn't have been.
[rynlan leaves it at that, though, not elaborating any further.]
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[Someone owned a ring once, and now it's on a chain around Rynlan's neck instead of on someone's finger where it likely belongs.]
I've no intention of inviting a second demise. Or of letting one claim you, either.
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[he still doesn't want to die-- he just doesn't want to be sacrificed for, either.]
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[always clarify the terms beforehand.]
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[a couple smooches wouldn't hurt either probably]
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[the smooches can be negotiated.]
...fine. I'll consider it a deal.
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