[ Immediate. Immediate. Doesn't matter her tone, doesn't matter the implication.
And then he has to answer the question. He wasn't expecting to get this far. Lost for any answer that won't infuriate her, he drags the question under the noise and instead just says - ]
[ The screaming chorus in his head soars, crescendos, reminding him where his heart sits, where his loyalties promise him the sanctuary of sleepless devotion to undeniable purpose. Reminding him also who stands opposed. Obstacle and fodder.
[ maybe then she will be able to forgive herself for what she didn't see. forget the little twinge that comes with wondering, doubting, with loss.
there is a piece of paper with a little shaky arrangement of stars drawn on it. one she left there because she couldn't bring herself to throw it in the river. ]
[ she was with him. she remembers being with him, sitting next to the body, arms folded over her knees. she remembers how it smelled. how it took days for that smell to go away because the ashen pieces of him—it wasn't him, she knows that now—had clung to the smoke in her nostrils and lived there for a while, even after she bathed.
it takes everything she has not to scream. but she is well-practiced at leaving her body when she wants to scream. at deadening herself to the loathsome creature in front of her. she doesn't know if it's better or worse, having stephen in her head instead of there, looming. ]
[ The huff of air as it winds him is audible over their connection, heard and transmitted as the sudden cold finality of her statement strips him briefly of control. Then there's silence as he sits with it. Feels it seep into him. Reality sealing shut. ]
They'll come back. [ He says, quiet, like a child pleading with reasoning that misses all the points. ] I didn't damage them so badly that they won't come back.
[ He can't stop trying, clutching desperately at straws. Even though it's too late. Even though there was never any hope. She's been gone the whole time. ]
Edited (more words? more words.) 2024-01-22 17:52 (UTC)
[ she won't be that stupid again. won't let herself trust again, when all she knew about him was the person that he wasn't, the one in the void.
when she'd had no choice but to need someone, he'd breathed life back into her. and again, he'd woken her. just like aboard the going merry, she'd gotten too comfortable with the lure of companionship.
she'd forgotten that she's not made for that kind of thing. that she can't just have people. that she is alone, that she can't afford to need anyone. ]
He feels as the loss hits the torrent of his thoughts, a block to drown him with, grief and panic raising like solid walls around the site of impact as the cacophony in his head howls on. Once it hits, once those wall-like waves of dread caught in temporary suspension succumb to internal gravity and come back down on him—
No.
No. He won't allow it. He is not alone - he has high purpose. And gravity means nothing to him. ]
You won't have to.
[ With that, threat and promise carved in ice, Stephen's gone too. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ Immediate. Immediate. Doesn't matter her tone, doesn't matter the implication.
And then he has to answer the question. He wasn't expecting to get this far. Lost for any answer that won't infuriate her, he drags the question under the noise and instead just says - ]
Hello.
[ You. ]
no subject
[ still waiting for an answer. this isn't a social call. not for her. ]
no subject
[ Straightforward. None of the pained imploring now, though hurt still laces through the tension at the edges of his tone. ]
no subject
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He'd wanted to bring her with him. ]
What am I supposed to do?
[ With that. With her. ]
no subject
[ maybe then she will be able to forgive herself for what she didn't see. forget the little twinge that comes with wondering, doubting, with loss.
there is a piece of paper with a little shaky arrangement of stars drawn on it. one she left there because she couldn't bring herself to throw it in the river. ]
no subject
I want you with me, Nami. I want you with me.
no subject
it takes everything she has not to scream. but she is well-practiced at leaving her body when she wants to scream. at deadening herself to the loathsome creature in front of her. she doesn't know if it's better or worse, having stephen in her head instead of there, looming. ]
Then you should have died.
no subject
They'll come back. [ He says, quiet, like a child pleading with reasoning that misses all the points. ] I didn't damage them so badly that they won't come back.
[ He can't stop trying, clutching desperately at straws. Even though it's too late. Even though there was never any hope. She's been gone the whole time. ]
no subject
[ she won't be that stupid again. won't let herself trust again, when all she knew about him was the person that he wasn't, the one in the void.
when she'd had no choice but to need someone, he'd breathed life back into her. and again, he'd woken her. just like aboard the going merry, she'd gotten too comfortable with the lure of companionship.
she'd forgotten that she's not made for that kind of thing. that she can't just have people. that she is alone, that she can't afford to need anyone. ]
no subject
He feels as the loss hits the torrent of his thoughts, a block to drown him with, grief and panic raising like solid walls around the site of impact as the cacophony in his head howls on. Once it hits, once those wall-like waves of dread caught in temporary suspension succumb to internal gravity and come back down on him—
No.
No. He won't allow it. He is not alone - he has high purpose. And gravity means nothing to him. ]
You won't have to.
[ With that, threat and promise carved in ice, Stephen's gone too. ]