[ Not that he particularly wants her in his room. Can hear the footsteps.
The lock clicks open, the sweep of an arm -- after you -- onto space rumpled by sleep. The desk owns a solitary chair, the trunk offers another perch; he ignores both, ignores candles and hearth. Better this be brief.
(The side of his tongue has long grown back; face smooth and pale as if it's never seen a bruise. Like nothing ever happened,
[ Six steps inside and looks utterly uncomfortable. She doesn't mind much about his living conditions - it's not as if her own are much better - but she is discomforted by what she did to him. ]
Well enough, but that is not what I came to speak of.
[ Men delirious with pain are seldom discerning. He's been bitten, he's been grabbed. But that wasn't some random blow; not the daze of battle or seize of limbs. No. A fist and intention.
She isn't the first. He finishes the buttons, regards her: Stilted as a child called to office. Some of the knights were so, even in Ghislain; gripping themselves like armor, and no use in prying it now. Look where that's gotten him.
If she wants to speak, let her speak, or tire out standing. He can always leave.
That does not excuse what I did to you. How I have treated you since my arrival.
[ Her discomfort with him has never been well hidden and it has never been anything that he might blame himself for. Six is a towering beacon of a woman, strong and intense, but around him she felt a childish terror. Even now, owning her shame and her own mistakes, she is afraid.
She feels no better than the man her father was, beating another for existing. It matters little to her sense of honour that she was delerious with determination and pain in an awful mix. This is her shame. ]
You carry a face which... Is familiar. No, I - [ She swallows.
If she’s to be honest then she must be honest. Adalia is gone - who will find out? ]
She’s just said something mildly insane, of course, but does he really look as if —
There’s more than one breed of armor. Isaac watches, and tries to retract the spines from his tongue. She’s just said something mildly insane, and more evidently at cost. His father's face is a weary blur, but he knows why others stick.
A breath. He sits. ]
I can’t promise, [ Not gentle, but steady. A caution: ] Where I’m assigned.
[ There’s more than one solution to that, but he’s not about to choose for her, to interrupt a confession hardly begun. He shifts toward the end of the chair, hands folded in view; all the old gestures, to new purpose. These ways of making yourself small (large enough you needn't ever do so again --).
A child, called to office,
Well, alright. ]
Edited (What the shit is a heart blur) 2019-01-04 02:36 (UTC)
It's not the same as her confession to Marcoulf, an explanation as to why drunkenness made her panic (The sun was too bright, he said-) It's not the same as speaking to Inessa and dancing around the realities, giving a suggestion of truth without telling the tale of it. It's worse but not as bad all at once, and Six is ashamed of herself for still feeling this way, for allowing it to cause her harm and pain, even now, so far into her own self-made future.
Shaking her head, she purses her lips. ]
It is not something that you are required to deal with. If necessary, I will work out a way to keep distance.
[ It's not his fight to shoulder, she thinks, and he has been nothing but polite to her, healing her when her own magics had been taken from her. She shakes her head again. ]
I - [ A pause, as if trying to find the right words. ] - I have unpleasant memories and you are similar enough to him that my mind plays tricks. I will deal with it, and I will make sure you are not harmed again. You have my word.
[ He nods. Isaac doesn’t put particular value on anyone’s word.
What he thinks is that they don’t have much control over the matter. There are only so many healers — fewer, with every battle, and if he’s honed any skill above others it’s surviving —
What he says is: ]
You don’t have to do that alone.
[ (Is this ammunition? Stows it for the same drawer as all the other wounds that he’d rather not wield — will, if pressed.)
A glance: Humour me, ]
Breathe in. What do you smell?
[ A bit of sweat and winter. Above it the peculiar, cloying scent of herbs. ]
that is a novelty. Six is accustomed to working with other people when it comes to a job, to a mission, to a battle and a war, but when it comes to her own issues? The problems that have haunted her since she was very young? That has been something that has been hers to fight; she had barely scratched the surface with Adrian.
Frowning, she hesitates, about to reject him - I can do it - when he continues. ]
Specific ones; I can give you the names. [ His thumbs splay briefly, refold. ] I always wear them. A bit overdone, isn't it? But it reminds me where I am.
[ That's not why. 'So I don't reek of blood and pus' doesn't really roll off the tongue. ]
Your mind can play tricks. But you can trick your mind, too. Give it something else to hold.
[ There's a swell of shame as she thinks of it, of what she had felt on the battlefield; even now, looking at the shape of his jaw, she feels on edge and uncomfortable, a touch panicked and not sure what to do with herself.
It's hard to look at him for more than one reason now. ]
... Somewhere I -
[ Her brow creases and she hesitates for a moment, not sure what to do with herself, breathing out before she steps closer. He appreciates what he's doing; she just feels on edge. ]
[ his head inclines toward the door, the sweep of an arm. not to hasten you out,
but he's usually asleep by now, but he's still half-dressed, but another day might not find him alone. difficult as this must have been for her — courage, or guilt, or something in the approach — some part of him still bristles too sharp to voice. ]
[ Six understands a dismissal when she sees it; she knows she has intruded, no matter what she might have intended with it, and she feels the discomfort gnawing at her. Herbs in hand, she nods her head. ]
I appreciate you allowing me the time. I will not disturb you again.
[ And she means it, heading to the door to leave. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I've a moment.
[ Not that he particularly wants her in his room. Can hear the footsteps.
The lock clicks open, the sweep of an arm -- after you -- onto space rumpled by sleep. The desk owns a solitary chair, the trunk offers another perch; he ignores both, ignores candles and hearth. Better this be brief.
(The side of his tongue has long grown back; face smooth and pale as if it's never seen a bruise. Like nothing ever happened,
An old ache in his gums.)
Isaac turns to shrug on a shirt. ]
The leg?
[ She's moving better. That's a low bar. ]
no subject
[ Six steps inside and looks utterly uncomfortable. She doesn't mind much about his living conditions - it's not as if her own are much better - but she is discomforted by what she did to him. ]
Well enough, but that is not what I came to speak of.
[ Her arms cross over her chest, awkwardly. ]
I came to apologise.
no subject
You aren't the first.
[ Men delirious with pain are seldom discerning. He's been bitten, he's been grabbed. But that wasn't some random blow; not the daze of battle or seize of limbs. No. A fist and intention.
She isn't the first. He finishes the buttons, regards her: Stilted as a child called to office. Some of the knights were so, even in Ghislain; gripping themselves like armor, and no use in prying it now. Look where that's gotten him.
If she wants to speak, let her speak, or tire out standing. He can always leave.
(Here, he can leave.) ]
no subject
[ Her discomfort with him has never been well hidden and it has never been anything that he might blame himself for. Six is a towering beacon of a woman, strong and intense, but around him she felt a childish terror. Even now, owning her shame and her own mistakes, she is afraid.
She feels no better than the man her father was, beating another for existing. It matters little to her sense of honour that she was delerious with determination and pain in an awful mix. This is her shame. ]
You carry a face which... Is familiar. No, I - [ She swallows.
If she’s to be honest then she must be honest. Adalia is gone - who will find out? ]
You look like my father.
no subject
She’s just said something mildly insane, of course, but does he really look as if —
There’s more than one breed of armor. Isaac watches, and tries to retract the spines from his tongue. She’s just said something mildly insane, and more evidently at cost. His father's face is a weary blur, but he knows why others stick.
A breath. He sits. ]
I can’t promise, [ Not gentle, but steady. A caution: ] Where I’m assigned.
[ There’s more than one solution to that, but he’s not about to choose for her, to interrupt a confession hardly begun. He shifts toward the end of the chair, hands folded in view; all the old gestures, to new purpose. These ways of making yourself small (large enough you needn't ever do so again --).
A child, called to office,
Well, alright. ]
a heart blur is what u do to me
It's not the same as her confession to Marcoulf, an explanation as to why drunkenness made her panic (The sun was too bright, he said-) It's not the same as speaking to Inessa and dancing around the realities, giving a suggestion of truth without telling the tale of it. It's worse but not as bad all at once, and Six is ashamed of herself for still feeling this way, for allowing it to cause her harm and pain, even now, so far into her own self-made future.
Shaking her head, she purses her lips. ]
It is not something that you are required to deal with. If necessary, I will work out a way to keep distance.
[ It's not his fight to shoulder, she thinks, and he has been nothing but polite to her, healing her when her own magics had been taken from her. She shakes her head again. ]
I - [ A pause, as if trying to find the right words. ] - I have unpleasant memories and you are similar enough to him that my mind plays tricks. I will deal with it, and I will make sure you are not harmed again. You have my word.
If your organs drop below 72dpi see a doctor
What he thinks is that they don’t have much control over the matter. There are only so many healers — fewer, with every battle, and if he’s honed any skill above others it’s surviving —
What he says is: ]
You don’t have to do that alone.
[ (Is this ammunition? Stows it for the same drawer as all the other wounds that he’d rather not wield — will, if pressed.)
A glance: Humour me, ]
Breathe in. What do you smell?
[ A bit of sweat and winter. Above it the peculiar, cloying scent of herbs. ]
you have my word
that is a novelty. Six is accustomed to working with other people when it comes to a job, to a mission, to a battle and a war, but when it comes to her own issues? The problems that have haunted her since she was very young? That has been something that has been hers to fight; she had barely scratched the surface with Adrian.
Frowning, she hesitates, about to reject him - I can do it - when he continues. ]
Smell? [ A breath.
Cold. People. Herbs. ]
Plants. The wind.
no subject
[ He echoes. ]
Specific ones; I can give you the names. [ His thumbs splay briefly, refold. ] I always wear them. A bit overdone, isn't it? But it reminds me where I am.
[ That's not why. 'So I don't reek of blood and pus' doesn't really roll off the tongue. ]
Your mind can play tricks. But you can trick your mind, too. Give it something else to hold.
no subject
[ She was technically a healer, once, even if it was magical rather than anything else.
Hands clenched at her sides, Six breathes. ]
Something to anchor me? Or - [ Brief hesitation ] - something so that I know it is you and not him?
no subject
[ or at least there isn't a problem for his face, which he needs (it's his best quality) ]
But when you aren't, it might cut through. Travels straight to your throat, you know, your lungs. Even when you feel you can't breathe.
[ isaac stoops up, slowly — cautiously — indicates the motion before his body follows. fiddles with the lock at the chest. ]
Burn it somewhere you feel safe, and focus on that. The scent, the safety. Who and where you are. I can't tell you it'll work,
[ a warning. ]
But it's a place to begin.
no subject
[ There's a swell of shame as she thinks of it, of what she had felt on the battlefield; even now, looking at the shape of his jaw, she feels on edge and uncomfortable, a touch panicked and not sure what to do with herself.
It's hard to look at him for more than one reason now. ]
... Somewhere I -
[ Her brow creases and she hesitates for a moment, not sure what to do with herself, breathing out before she steps closer. He appreciates what he's doing; she just feels on edge. ]
It will help?
no subject
[ he comes up with a packet (dried, folded in paper), passes it over at distance. ]
At least we'll all smell nice.
no subject
[ That's her attempt at a joke, as much as she can manage as she takes the bag. ]
Thank you.
no subject
[ his head inclines toward the door, the sweep of an arm. not to hasten you out,
but he's usually asleep by now, but he's still half-dressed, but another day might not find him alone. difficult as this must have been for her — courage, or guilt, or something in the approach — some part of him still bristles too sharp to voice. ]
You can always find me in the Infirmary.
[ better to keep boundaries ]
no subject
I appreciate you allowing me the time. I will not disturb you again.
[ And she means it, heading to the door to leave. ]