!INBOX // EUDIO.

[medals]

VIEWING CONTACT JEMINY [ WALKER, JEMIMA ] ( AUTOMATED MESSAGE ) jem here. leave a message, ta. [ text | email | voicemail | videochat | visit ]

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voice;

[wasteofbreath]

[No, they probably wouldn't. She was right about that.] For dragging it out, I am, I guess. [He isn't really sure-- well, alright, he is, but would he have been if she were anyone else besides Kieren's sister? No.

And he still believes what he said, but he doesn't tell her that, not yet... He wonders if she'll even be alright with him asking, but he can't help but do it:] Are you? [A beat, his voice isn't accusatory, but the same soft its been since the start of this conversation.] Sorry for happened in the war, and afterwards?

You don't have to tell me. [Though if she doesn't he might assume the answer could be no.] We could just leave it here. Don't think we're gonna be friends.

voice;

[medals]

[Isn't that a loaded question? She's sorry for what's done since Kieren came home. There are things she will never stop being sorry for. Sorry for not saving Maggie Burton; sorry for Henry Lonsdale, sorry for so, so much. The tricky part is the war. She's guilty, of course. But sorry?

Out of sight, she drags her hands down her face, knuckles pressing into her eyelids. It's a long silence on her end, and then:] It's not that simple, is it? It's like me asking if you're sorry.

voice;

[wasteofbreath]

Sorry for the people I killed when I was rabid? [For the person. He only knows of one, which he doesn't remember--his mother--though there was another whose flesh he consumed but who he didn't actually kill, which he still feels bad about anyway. And to that, well, Jem's not one of them, he's not trying to sway her or to make her feel better, so... ] I am. [His voice cracks slightly.] Except... I didn't mean to. That doesn't make it any better, but it's important.

You had a choice. Maybe not so much at first, at the start, but after-- [He's always had mixed feelings about this, even as he'd gotten deeper into the Prophet's teachings, because if someone had been there to stop him, his mother might still be alive. But on the other hand, the living had decided they were in a zombie apocalypse movie and mostly killed instead of captured the undead. What an awful assumption to make.

There's more he could say about it, too, it's so hard to resist the urge to throw the celebrating and the laughing about killing undead in her face, or point out how people she'd killed would never get to go back to loved ones like others had. He tries to tell himself she maybe, probably already knows these things, and god it's hard.]

Christ. Not sure I can do this. [Because he is so close to turning accusatory again, actually he probably already has. He needs time, and even then he isn't sure there's much she can say that will stop him from blaming her, or suddenly make him think she's innocent.] And you don't want to, either, do you?

voice;

[medals]

Fuck. [Every breath is shaky and not controlled. A panic attack, she recognizes vaguely over the ringing in her ears. This is a panic attack. ]

I don't think I can talk about this.