[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.]
[He's mostly staring off into space, struggling to process how much he wants to actually deal with here. Or what he wants to do with it. It was the wrong time to ask, maybe, but it was getting to the point they couldn't ask anything else without the looming shadow of it there. Looking between her and Caleb back over his shoulder for a second, hand over his mouth while he thinks.]
Kind of think I do.
[There is nothing more he'd like right now than to keep his shit together.]
[He just nods at those statements. Not really sure where he stands on how much he believes them. He wants to. They've said it in different ways a few times.
You're watching an expert compartmentalizer compartmentalize at a breakneck speed. Shoving it all back into that dark, whispering corner for now.
Time for that later.]
Right. Probably have to deal with the ... [waving a hand to the general area.] Immediate problem first, though.
she is watching! and she hates it! thanks! but she also does not know what to do and it's been such a long day that maybe she will just get really drunk instead. that sounds good.]
... I'm taking notes, at least. [she says, finally letting go of molly's shirt.]
[He reaches over to just clap Beau on the back - appreciative. He goes very hot and cold with his touchy-feelyness. Some days it's a lot, others less. Here it's been ... hard, the distance palpable. That was rough but it probably needed to come out.
He'll come back over to just sit and drink, but he's fairly quiet now, tail wrapped around his own ankle and staring off. This is awkward as fuck, but he doesn't exactly want to leave either.]
[Yeah, I figure they will. Probably sit and drink and talk vaguely about trial and stuff like that for a while unless he has more to ask. But Frumpkin can come sit next to him and start trying to bat at his tail.]
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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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Kind of think I do.
[There is nothing more he'd like right now than to keep his shit together.]
Maybe that's enough for now.
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[So he has something to say, finally. But then, at the 'enough for now.']
Sure, no more talking about it.
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[she says, a little sharper. but yeah. no more talking, if that's what he wants. she hasn't really let go yet, either.]
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You're watching an expert compartmentalizer compartmentalize at a breakneck speed. Shoving it all back into that dark, whispering corner for now.
Time for that later.]
Right. Probably have to deal with the ... [waving a hand to the general area.] Immediate problem first, though.
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[Not really tonight, they're just drinking. But. It's better than him having a panic attack?]
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she is watching! and she hates it! thanks! but she also does not know what to do and it's been such a long day that maybe she will just get really drunk instead. that sounds good.]
... I'm taking notes, at least. [she says, finally letting go of molly's shirt.]
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He'll come back over to just sit and drink, but he's fairly quiet now, tail wrapped around his own ankle and staring off. This is awkward as fuck, but he doesn't exactly want to leave either.]
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