He's not going to say that. He doesn't even want to say it. What he wants to say, watching her tense up on the brittle edge of fear, is that there's nothing to worry about. That he's got it handled, all of this lead up for nothing but the common courtesy of letting her know that, one occasional ally to another.
More than he wants to say it, he wants it to be true.
But he's been trying not to lie to her about the things that matter. Do better, his own choice of words that keeps coming back in a bitter curdle of acid at the back of his mouth. Maybe if he'd done worse, they wouldn't be here. ]
She's a parahuman. I'd say 'like me', but that's sort of the fundamental issue. She's not like me.
Powers tend to come in types. Most of them change the things you can do. Some of them change the way you think. [ The twist of his mouth tightens. ] She's one of the latter. They call them 'thinkers', creatively enough.
I don't know exactly how her power works. I don't know how much it's working here. But to give you the gist of it, she knows things. Things she shouldn't be able to know, things she shouldn't even be able to guess. She can look at someone and tell where they came from, what they're planning, if they're going to pull a trigger. Give her a phone call between two people, and she can figure out a whole criminal conspiracy. She's not always right, but she's right enough of the time.
If you think about all the things you wouldn't want someone to know about you, well. She probably does. Or she can get close enough to mess with your head, push you into giving her more. Or just push you.
And that's what she does. She pushes until people do what she wants, or they break. Or both. She doesn't really give a shit.
[ He managed to keep his voice steady up to that. It's not nothing that it only crests into a rough waver there, a fraying bow dragged the wrong way over steel strings pulled too far. He pulls his fingernails out of the denim over his knees and makes his hands still. ]
That's why I can't tell you as much as I want to. Because anything I tell you, she's going to figure out I told you. The more you know, the more she's going to think you're a threat. And -
[ This is the bad part. She'll be able to see it in the way he stops looking at her, a contortion of guilt and shame and hot, black hate passing over his face. ]
And I've fucked you over enough already, because I gave you my fucking gun, and her and me - we're really not on great fucking terms.
[ It almost seems like he's done, his head tipped down and shoulders pulled back and together like there's a knife slipped neatly between them. ]
I'm sorry.
[ The two most useless words in the English language. ]
no subject
He's not going to say that. He doesn't even want to say it. What he wants to say, watching her tense up on the brittle edge of fear, is that there's nothing to worry about. That he's got it handled, all of this lead up for nothing but the common courtesy of letting her know that, one occasional ally to another.
More than he wants to say it, he wants it to be true.
But he's been trying not to lie to her about the things that matter. Do better, his own choice of words that keeps coming back in a bitter curdle of acid at the back of his mouth. Maybe if he'd done worse, they wouldn't be here. ]
She's a parahuman. I'd say 'like me', but that's sort of the fundamental issue. She's not like me.
Powers tend to come in types. Most of them change the things you can do. Some of them change the way you think. [ The twist of his mouth tightens. ] She's one of the latter. They call them 'thinkers', creatively enough.
I don't know exactly how her power works. I don't know how much it's working here. But to give you the gist of it, she knows things. Things she shouldn't be able to know, things she shouldn't even be able to guess. She can look at someone and tell where they came from, what they're planning, if they're going to pull a trigger. Give her a phone call between two people, and she can figure out a whole criminal conspiracy. She's not always right, but she's right enough of the time.
If you think about all the things you wouldn't want someone to know about you, well. She probably does. Or she can get close enough to mess with your head, push you into giving her more. Or just push you.
And that's what she does. She pushes until people do what she wants, or they break. Or both. She doesn't really give a shit.
[ He managed to keep his voice steady up to that. It's not nothing that it only crests into a rough waver there, a fraying bow dragged the wrong way over steel strings pulled too far. He pulls his fingernails out of the denim over his knees and makes his hands still. ]
That's why I can't tell you as much as I want to. Because anything I tell you, she's going to figure out I told you. The more you know, the more she's going to think you're a threat. And -
[ This is the bad part. She'll be able to see it in the way he stops looking at her, a contortion of guilt and shame and hot, black hate passing over his face. ]
And I've fucked you over enough already, because I gave you my fucking gun, and her and me - we're really not on great fucking terms.
[ It almost seems like he's done, his head tipped down and shoulders pulled back and together like there's a knife slipped neatly between them. ]
I'm sorry.
[ The two most useless words in the English language. ]