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.
[This is just a bad way for this conversation to go he doesn't really get up to do anything about this, he's just sitting here waiting for him to come back. Great job at empathy, guy.
The truth is, he's not particularly good at comforting his friends normally, tends to leave that for others or use Frumpkin, but he especially has no idea what to do if it's Molly. At the time he knew him, he never would have tried.]
[beau isn't particularly good at comforting either, she thinks, but she's not going to just stand here and wait. she follows, without thinking about it, right after him, and - well, his hair isn't really that long but she'll keep it back for him, and put her hand on his back, expression worried.]
[Yeah that's fine he and the trashcan are friends now. As in he's using it to just keep upright, leaning heavily on his arms. At least the urge to lose his guts has passed, the sort of initial shock of a blow you know was coming, but still somehow shockingly hurts. Like a glaive going through your chest, but the pain doesn't come until the blade is twisted.
What an idiot, thinking he was going to be able to handle this. A fool. Quiet for a long minute, before he starts up again, standing up fully and making a face while he wipes his tongue off.]
[she stays right next to him, trying to just - figure out what to do. she's not really sure she can do anything here, like what do you say in a situation like this. nobody has written a manual for how to comfort your dead friend from months ago.
her fingers tangle into the back of his shirt, at least.]
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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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The truth is, he's not particularly good at comforting his friends normally, tends to leave that for others or use Frumpkin, but he especially has no idea what to do if it's Molly. At the time he knew him, he never would have tried.]
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Hey --
[beau isn't particularly good at comforting either, she thinks, but she's not going to just stand here and wait. she follows, without thinking about it, right after him, and - well, his hair isn't really that long but she'll keep it back for him, and put her hand on his back, expression worried.]
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What an idiot, thinking he was going to be able to handle this. A fool. Quiet for a long minute, before he starts up again, standing up fully and making a face while he wipes his tongue off.]
'M fine. It's alright.
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her fingers tangle into the back of his shirt, at least.]
You don't have to be. [she says, quietly.]
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