john's mark changed in december. he hasn't been talking about it much. he was trying to bring on a transformation to see what else had changed. he broke containment. he found murphy, he didn't go looking for him and i believe him.
the moot hall was him self flagellating because he's blaming himself anyway.
he made a choice, fucked it up, now he's building a banya. don't make light that he made a choice and is doing something about it. [ Truthfully: that means something to Billy. He gets it, maybe the self-flagellation too. A small piece slots into place in an unfinished image of John in his head. ]
murphy didn't make any choices. he's going to need time. maybe a lot.
[ That's his language. He doesn't question it. But later when he approaches the property and sees a light glowing from the greenhouse, he pushes the door open and isn't surprised to see her.
He waits a moment before stepping in. It's so much warmer. It always surprises him. He means to greet her, but never gets the words out of his mouth before he reaches her, sets a hand on her waist, dips his forehead against hers.
[She’s been crying again. This is obvious, because her face is red, it’s a canvas of streaks, splotches, puffy eyes. She’s still hiccuping a little and feels furious that he’s caught her, that he has to see her cry at all.
She’s so tired. She says, with her mouth, voice raw: ] Why, when I keep disappointing you.
[Doesn’t she? First Danny, now this? But her hands are grabbing his front, small hands fisted in his jacket, nose against his, her thoughts reaching out to his to spill out:] i love you i love you i love you.
[ He was always a bit of a crybaby, but, he's not crying now, not like he had when she woke up in his arms, when she jolted back to life after days of lying prone. Maybe he's too frayed from Murphy, Jem, from the weight of the players. ]
i just do. [ he thinks back against the barrage. ] i dont know when i started.
[You knew. She didn’t know the extent, this time, until everyone else did. Is that worse? She grips his coat tighter.
Sometimes, when she looks at Eddie’s cheek, or she catches her own reflection, she wonders if it would have been better if she’d stayed asleep. Or if Quentin had buried her in the woods and not told a soul. She’d be quiet, then; as quiet as a mouse. Sometimes she hates Kieren for teaching her how to be loud. Nothing good has ever come from her loudness, has it? When she was quiet, nothing ever happened to her or around her.
She misses Kieren so much. She wishes desperately that he were here to tell her what to do. To tell her right from wrong, to point her in the right direction. She hopes to god he never comes here, too; hopes he never has to see who she is without him.
She hiccups, again; it’s a horrible wet sound. All she wants to hear is you didn’t deserve that. All she wants to hear is I trust you. But why would Billy, really, after the last two months? ]
[ He uses his mouth to say: ] Not like that. Not like you're thinking.
[ He's human. He desperately wants her to shove a knife in Danny's gut, ferociously wants her to see the world from his own perspective in everyway. Sometimes, when a disagreement bubbles up, he seizes up, convinced that's it. That she'll leave, take a bag, stop calling. What does he offer that three, four, five others can't?
Sometimes when they're in sync, he feels like he can read her mind before her thoughts bubble up against his. But he can't read her mind, can't offer platitudes when no one deserves anything they've gotten. But his thumb rubs against her side, forehead still against hers while she heaves in gasp. ]
if i didn't care, i wouldn't talk through half this shit with you. i'd just be... gone.
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you can do the same as eddie and pretend it's not obvious i was crying or had to blow my nose 50 times.
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i'm not asking to be a dick.
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give it some time?
you didn't see him after he woke up.
it wasn't good.
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i heard john at the moot. what did he tell you?
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because i only know what he told the moot.
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he was trying to bring on a transformation to see what else had changed. he broke containment. he found murphy, he didn't go looking for him and i believe him.
the moot hall was him self flagellating because he's blaming himself anyway.
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it's a dangerous accident. it was a dangerous fucking accident.
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murphy didn't make any choices. he's going to need time. maybe a lot.
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He waits a moment before stepping in. It's so much warmer. It always surprises him. He means to greet her, but never gets the words out of his mouth before he reaches her, sets a hand on her waist, dips his forehead against hers.
He doesn't use his mouth. ] love you.
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She’s so tired. She says, with her mouth, voice raw: ] Why, when I keep disappointing you.
[Doesn’t she? First Danny, now this? But her hands are grabbing his front, small hands fisted in his jacket, nose against his, her thoughts reaching out to his to spill out:] i love you i love you i love you.
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i just do. [ he thinks back against the barrage. ] i dont know when i started.
you don't disappoint me.
cw: passing suicidal ideation
[You knew. She didn’t know the extent, this time, until everyone else did. Is that worse? She grips his coat tighter.
Sometimes, when she looks at Eddie’s cheek, or she catches her own reflection, she wonders if it would have been better if she’d stayed asleep. Or if Quentin had buried her in the woods and not told a soul. She’d be quiet, then; as quiet as a mouse. Sometimes she hates Kieren for teaching her how to be loud. Nothing good has ever come from her loudness, has it? When she was quiet, nothing ever happened to her or around her.
She misses Kieren so much. She wishes desperately that he were here to tell her what to do. To tell her right from wrong, to point her in the right direction. She hopes to god he never comes here, too; hopes he never has to see who she is without him.
She hiccups, again; it’s a horrible wet sound. All she wants to hear is you didn’t deserve that. All she wants to hear is I trust you. But why would Billy, really, after the last two months? ]
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[ He's human. He desperately wants her to shove a knife in Danny's gut, ferociously wants her to see the world from his own perspective in everyway. Sometimes, when a disagreement bubbles up, he seizes up, convinced that's it. That she'll leave, take a bag, stop calling. What does he offer that three, four, five others can't?
Sometimes when they're in sync, he feels like he can read her mind before her thoughts bubble up against his. But he can't read her mind, can't offer platitudes when no one deserves anything they've gotten. But his thumb rubs against her side, forehead still against hers while she heaves in gasp. ]
if i didn't care, i wouldn't talk through half this shit with you. i'd just be... gone.
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