[He sort of huffs a laugh to himself, crossing his arms.]
I was thinking-- I'm the one who fucked up. I listed all the names again for everyone. But I should have left you off of it. Doubt anyone would have noticed.
[Oh. Not passing it back. Taking a big swig first. But yeah, he can have it.]
If anything, the reason you got voted for is these people are idiots, and would rather latch onto anything than accept we didn't solve it and they'd have to vote strategically.
[Like. He still thinks it was a good idea to test goose anger in a way, in case something jumped out. But the way everyone jumped to ruling out anyone the geese didn't hate was stupid.]
Sure, we can talk about it. In my case, I was in a fight and it didn't go so well for me, but not anything a cleric can't fix.
Yeah. I could be like Catra and just refuse to do shit. So. [she gives molly a wry look at that first part. thanks for guilting people for her. a beat, and then she takes a drink from her flask before handing it to caleb if he wants more. and then:]
... Same in my case, but I didn't exactly see how it ended for me. [shrug. echoing caleb:] Nothing a cleric can't fix.
... Guess we were asking why we were the ones here. Or maybe it wasn't you. Someone was. Trying to reason out the connecting ties. Something like that. You don't think--
[Well. He pauses. But he's buzzed enough to continue.]
Seems like fights were starting to go poorly for all of us. That's all.
[he is straying awfully close to the things he doesn't want the answers to, and beau sort of - flinches, a little? at caleb's answer, before taking another drink.]
If you wanna ask, you should just ask, Molly. [she says, roughly.] But if you don't want to know, don't ask.
[Beau isn't being anything but blunt, but Molly scowls anyway, maybe to make up for how much he feels like he wants to throw up right now. Fuck it, let's get belligerent.]
I know that, Beauregard. If it was just me I'd let it lie, it doesn't matter, I don't-- It isn't that ...
[He shifts, and pulls his coat closer.]
But you're both covered in fucking eyes and scars I can't just wait around and say nothing. I don't care about my bullshit, but for some reason I guess I'm rather invested in yours. Fuck you.
[Hmm, well. Maybe he feels a little bad. But. He is a little sick of dancing around it when he's going to be asked directly about things Molly should know he can't answer.]
It isn't anything you can do anything about here. Though - the eyes, they involve you less than I think you expect. We have them because we chose to look into a spooky book we probably shouldn't have looked at. You have them for the same reason, but that's where the connection ends.
[she gets prickly when his voice gets belligerent, shoulders coming up around her ears, expression pissed. she opens her mouth to speak - and caleb interrupts her, thankfully.
it gives her time to not be quite as nasty, mouth snapping shut. don't, she tells herself. not worth it.]
... We're fine. Molly. [she says, a little haltingly. a beat. her eyes flick to caleb, and she grinds her teeth for like two seconds before continuing.] We got too curious, but that doesn't mean we're fucked.
Scars happen when you go out looking for things to fight.
[Well it's fine, he's just saying he cares deeply about you two fuckheads but in a very nasty tone of voice, so the messaging is getting mixed. Whatever it is sort of drains out of him as well, shoving his hands into his pockets in the absence of anything better to do with them.]
You're both clearly not fine.
[He sniffs, and then continues.]
It's not-- ... It's not as fuzzy as all that.
[Removing a hand from his pocket and tapping his temple.]
[Listen, he's calmer than Beau about this, but it's not a comforting sort of calm. Just something a little closed off, maybe even cold. He can put a lot of emotional distance from a conversation if he wants to, and he's doing it now.]
[she's antsy - from the trial, from the line of questioning, from what she suspects, maybe pessimistically, was one one or two votes away from her sitting in some room waiting for an execution. she takes another hefty drink from her flask and kind of just buzzes. it is an absolutely terrible companion to caleb's closed off calm.]
Fine enough. [she mutters, but caleb's question is what she's wondering, so.]
[He makes a face like he doesn't quite know why he said that, or wanted to, but it's maybe enough to shock the voice in his own head that was telling him he's a fool, an idiot, it was trying to protect him. Go ahead then, if you want to, feel your ribs cracking again if you want it so much. They're saying they're fine, but he can't bring himself to believe it in any way that matters.
Point is, yeah, the vibes in here are rancid.]
It's not a ... total blank in my head. I've got flashes and such - I'm not saying I remember, I don't, it's all just fucking blood and noise, but. [The hand drops to over his chest. He shifts, awkward, but he assumes they know what he means.] Mean that-- I don't know. You were both acting strange, and I thought maybe I was wrong about it. Or it could be something else. Could make it something else.
[Or, I mean - he gets what he's saying, that he remembers his own death but isn't certain about it. But he doesn't know what he wants the response to be. It's not helpful; they've said so many times that he can either ask or not, and instead he's rambling on about it but never actually asking.]
[a little absently, like she's not realizing she's doing it, her own hand drops to her chest, tracing the spot where the scar is.]
You said you don't want an answer. [she says, rougher. so they're not giving him one, even if she really kind of desperately wants to stop the back and forth awkward dance.]
[He throws his hands up like he's just lost a hand of cards and not like, well, I have my greatest fear tattooed on my chest, I'm getting around to it! He'd rather be pulling his own teeth out by hand than doing this!]
Fuck! I'm asking! This is me asking. If only so we can figure out what to do about your apparent problems, because you're clearly in waist-high goose shite.
Okay. [Taking a drink from the to go cup again before passing it back.] So - you weren't wrong. That fight you remember, you died there. And we didn't have anyone, we didn't have Jester, no way to do anything about that. The rest of us barely got away.
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Did you notice Lalli rule himself out? I doubt he was the killer - just self-preservation, most likely. But fuck that guy.
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Real quick to throw me under the cart, though. So yeah. Fuck that guy. [...] I tried every single angle I could think of and I still couldn't get it.
I don't know what I missed.
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I was thinking-- I'm the one who fucked up. I listed all the names again for everyone. But I should have left you off of it. Doubt anyone would have noticed.
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[sigh.]
... Bradley gave me two vouchers. Ichiro and Yamato offed me some of theirs, too. Might not even need to use my own.
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[He holds his hand out for his coffee cup back. Pass it, binch.]
... So when do we have the conversation about how fucked up you both are.
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If anything, the reason you got voted for is these people are idiots, and would rather latch onto anything than accept we didn't solve it and they'd have to vote strategically.
[Like. He still thinks it was a good idea to test goose anger in a way, in case something jumped out. But the way everyone jumped to ruling out anyone the geese didn't hate was stupid.]
Sure, we can talk about it. In my case, I was in a fight and it didn't go so well for me, but not anything a cleric can't fix.
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... Same in my case, but I didn't exactly see how it ended for me. [shrug. echoing caleb:] Nothing a cleric can't fix.
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You know that Jester doesn't heal, so, good luck with that.
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beau makes a face.]
Haven't died yet, probably.
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... Guess we were asking why we were the ones here. Or maybe it wasn't you. Someone was. Trying to reason out the connecting ties. Something like that. You don't think--
[Well. He pauses. But he's buzzed enough to continue.]
Seems like fights were starting to go poorly for all of us. That's all.
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If it's what I think you're asking, yes for me but no for Beauregard.
[And then the absence of a 'no for Mollymauk' says a lot on its own.]
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If you wanna ask, you should just ask, Molly. [she says, roughly.] But if you don't want to know, don't ask.
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I know that, Beauregard. If it was just me I'd let it lie, it doesn't matter, I don't-- It isn't that ...
[He shifts, and pulls his coat closer.]
But you're both covered in fucking eyes and scars I can't just wait around and say nothing. I don't care about my bullshit, but for some reason I guess I'm rather invested in yours. Fuck you.
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It isn't anything you can do anything about here. Though - the eyes, they involve you less than I think you expect. We have them because we chose to look into a spooky book we probably shouldn't have looked at. You have them for the same reason, but that's where the connection ends.
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it gives her time to not be quite as nasty, mouth snapping shut. don't, she tells herself. not worth it.]
... We're fine. Molly. [she says, a little haltingly. a beat. her eyes flick to caleb, and she grinds her teeth for like two seconds before continuing.] We got too curious, but that doesn't mean we're fucked.
Scars happen when you go out looking for things to fight.
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You're both clearly not fine.
[He sniffs, and then continues.]
It's not-- ... It's not as fuzzy as all that.
[Removing a hand from his pocket and tapping his temple.]
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[Listen, he's calmer than Beau about this, but it's not a comforting sort of calm. Just something a little closed off, maybe even cold. He can put a lot of emotional distance from a conversation if he wants to, and he's doing it now.]
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Fine enough. [she mutters, but caleb's question is what she's wondering, so.]
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Point is, yeah, the vibes in here are rancid.]
It's not a ... total blank in my head. I've got flashes and such - I'm not saying I remember, I don't, it's all just fucking blood and noise, but. [The hand drops to over his chest. He shifts, awkward, but he assumes they know what he means.] Mean that-- I don't know. You were both acting strange, and I thought maybe I was wrong about it. Or it could be something else. Could make it something else.
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[Or, I mean - he gets what he's saying, that he remembers his own death but isn't certain about it. But he doesn't know what he wants the response to be. It's not helpful; they've said so many times that he can either ask or not, and instead he's rambling on about it but never actually asking.]
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You said you don't want an answer. [she says, rougher. so they're not giving him one, even if she really kind of desperately wants to stop the back and forth awkward dance.]
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Fuck! I'm asking! This is me asking. If only so we can figure out what to do about your apparent problems, because you're clearly in waist-high goose shite.
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