dimitri alexandre blaiddyd (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
paraselenes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
logs2022-12-08 09:27 pm
paraselenes) wrote in logs2022-12-08 09:27 pm
(catchall / closed)
WHO: dimitri & co
WHERE: here and there
WHEN: december
WHAT: catch-all for the month! will include some basic prompts + more specific closed starters, but feel free to wildcard me if we have plans! here is my plotting comment.
WARNINGS: will mark where necessary
WHERE: here and there
WHEN: december
WHAT: catch-all for the month! will include some basic prompts + more specific closed starters, but feel free to wildcard me if we have plans! here is my plotting comment.
WARNINGS: will mark where necessary
no subject
I'm d-doing you a favour, you moron!
[Their eyes lock over the offered pelt. His are searching, a touch sad. Hers are set in an irritable glare. The exchange lingers a breath too long, but in the end she folds. It's really damn cold.
Fukawa winds the fur around her shoulders and willfully ignores that it's a dead thing. Warming her body in the skin of a corpse, how delightfully apt. How does she get out of this?
Her lips move in tune with her thoughts. A wordless and constant mutter as she rolls the possibilities between two halves of a foul brain. If she says she'd fought with Sylvain, he may try to make them reconcile. If she tells him everything, her might kill her on the spot. If she lies, she'll be stuck keeping it up forever, putting on a song and dance until something finally kills her or the truth spills out anyway. For which he'd also probably kill her.
She's so tired. And so many people know bits and pieces, people that live in their building: the nasty facts will nip at her heels no matter how fast and far she runs.]
I... [She almost bites at her thumb, but the mitten is too thick. She sheepishly wraps her arm back around her leg. Nothing to see here.] I'm sick.
[Slight pause.]
N-not that flower crap! I mean — y-yes I have that too but this is totally separate and it's —
[She groans and mashes her face into her knees. Kill her now. It was so much easier when her big bad secret had been exposed for her. People treated her like a monster, sure, but she was spared the indignity of constantly covering her ass and waiting to be caught.
She lifts her head again, but her eyes stay wrenched shut.]
I mean in the head. I'm n-not. I'm. I'm not well. [Even today, she can't come out and say "crazy". It'd be like convicting herself to solitary for life. She's the sane one, she really is.] I'm n-not always myself. And people get hurt because of that. Badly.
[Explaining everything while explaining nothing. What a cop out middle ground to settle on. It molds another layer to the bulging rock in her throat.]
And I d-don't want to get into it anymore than I have to. S-so...j-just leave it at that.
no subject
But still, he understands the concerns. After a moment, he answers them. ]
If you're afraid you'll hurt me, you won't. I wouldn't allow it.
[ He's strong enough to protect himself; for all that he lacks, he knows how to fight when he's cornered. He's killed assassins in his nightclothes, armed only with small blades or small fists, limbs that he hadn't yet grown into as an awkward teen. Toko is wiry, and seemed surprised that he might have any preternatural powers at all. Even with the element of surprise, he'd be able to defend himself—or at least kill her in retaliation.
The threat of being hurt rolls off him. It's the rest that sticks, though likely not for the reasons she expects. It hits a chord in him, but not pleasantly, like when sound resonates with glass and explodes. In the same way—he can't assuage her concern, but maybe he can match it.
Maybe. He starts after a beat of silence. ]
Besides... [ He's strictly trained out of having obvious tics, but he's still only human, and can't completely erase body language; he scrubs a gloved hand over his cheek, lips thinned together into a stiff line as he considers how much to say. His words are halting, in staggered starts and stops like his voice has suddenly fallen into disrepair, unused to speaking on this. ] I—am not much better. ...No. I'm probably worse.
[ Is it selfish, that he can't overlook her "sickness," but that he wants to claim to understand it? ]
So— [ So... what? What did he hope to gain by admitting this, anyway? An unexpected tension starts to wind up like an overdrawn string in his chest. ] there's no need to do me any such "favors."
no subject
Don't you s-sound sure of yourself.
[There's a lot of things she'll concede to this place. The flexibility of reality is appalling, and there's so much she can't predict about her fellow Restless that it keeps her awake at night. But one truth remains above all: there's no such thing as invincibility. Dimitri may be strong, but she's seen similar might twisted to weakness. It can put a target on your back, alienate you, vilify you, and turn your enemies to underhanded tactics.
She remembers the crack of glass on a titan's skull. The state of the body thereafter.
His own hunt for words stifles her urge to slap him with admonishments. With insults if it helped, but the way his lips thin strikes her so oddly that she shuts right up. Fukawa watches him, the scrape against his cheek, how ragged his staccato confessions spill loose. He doesn't give her much more than she gave him.
Worse. What is worse? What does he imagine she's done, and what has he done to outweigh it?]
...H-how so?
[She knows he lost his temper with Puck. That he wanted to commit himself to confinement, and that he took down the guard with immediate ferocity. All hints with a clear conclusion to draw. Fukawa leans forward, speaks lower.]
Dimitri? D-did you kill somebody?
no subject
Though whether or not she'll stay around him at all is up for debate. She leans in like she's swapping secrets; it feels necessary, even when no one can walk in. The halls here are barren and ghostly in their emptiness, yet the void seems ready to absorb every errant word and whisper.
He speaks lowly in return, almost surprised by the question. ]
I lived and died at war. [ At home, his body count would be obvious. But here, he has to explain—few expected a king to be on the front lines. ] I've killed innumerable people in the process.
[ Some might argue it's different in battle, but blood is blood all the same. Besides—he pauses again, words lolling heavily in his mouth, but there's no reason to withhold the truth. ]
And—...By now, have you met Felix? We were close, before. One glimpse of my... depravity was enough to sever that. If you asked him about me now, he would only have warnings for you. [ Had she spoken to Felix rather than Sylvain, the message she'd received would've been very different. He stalls, shakes his head. ] I cannot claim to know the depths of your sickness. I will not condone hurting others. [ Truth be told, he's not even really imagining the full scope of what she's done. ] But I am not someone who needs to be protected from you.
[ In a sick, sad way—he understands. ]
Skipping Mario party to tag you, feel grateful
I do know him. [No need to elaborate there. Not anymore.] He only warned me about that Edelgard b-bitch.
[Maybe that bodes better for Dimitri than he thinks. She had been asking who to stay wary of, and his name never once came up. Whatever savagery he may be capable of must not compare to a threat of a woman who isn't even here.
Moreover?]
B-but, that Sylvain guy doesn't hate you. Right? If you really were such a complete bastard you wouldn't have anyone on your side. And Felix seems like he's still ready to defend you. And you're, like, some kind of royalty. You have people. If s-something goes wrong they'll be there. Even if they c-can't forgive you, they'd at least understand what you are.
[That's the difference, and a stark one at that. And she didn't have the ravages of war to hide behind. If he can't condone hurting people, he won't condone Syo. End of story.
A sick part of her wants to confess now. Press it that bruise. Mentioning that ghastly network post would evaporate all this grim sympathy. It's nothing short of a miracle that Sylvain hasn't warned him yet.
Fukawa returns to the shelter of her bent knees, the thick quilting of her parka. Her gaze fixes back on the fire.]
Unless someone's b-been hiding in a secret bunker, I'm the only one from my world here. [Not that anyone outside of Komaru might be happy to see her. Maybe her idiot brother. Byakuya-sama would be furious to hear about Syo's slip-ups, and everyone else despises her.] If I do something t-terrible, no one would hesitate to gut me on the spot.