etrayalogs | dans la force

I understand.

[Being frustrated. Feeling powerless. Wanting to act but unable to accomplish much without family by your side.

Family. Friends. Fellows. What is the difference between one and another in this place?]

Have you discovered anything so far?

[Sharing isn't caring. It's an invitation to conspire. Six months and more of having no confirmation of whether his actions will rescue his family is long enough.]

Some not-so-great stuff, sure. [she sighs, then hesitates, feeling a sudden spike of near-lucid alarm - that caught-with-a-hand-in-the-cookie-jar feeling that reminds her she's yapping about things that might not be right to. this makes her jaw tighten and hold off on saying more for a beat, shooting a furtive glance up at him before it's back down at her lap.

which parts were off-the-table? the kid--the kid, directly. yeah. that...that sounds right. but even alluding to it would be shady, right?]

M-magic stuff. Going on here. I got a whiff of it... It's not all the time, but there's a bit of a, a lingering stink, I guess. Of something.

[Renoir cannot bring himself to look as uncomfortable as Antigone looks bothered. He has lived beneath the gaze of far more powerful forces for most of his life. For all of his life, thinking about it.

What use is there in being afraid when your family needs you to fight?]

Or someone.

[Magic - another word for the supernatural, or for power - always has a source.]

Still, you're nervous. Perhaps it is best we converse on missions where there is nobody to observe?

[Would talking away from their overseers be more productive? Are there those amongst them who would eavesdrop and spy? Will the idea of being away from this place offer some relief?]

Where? [she looks up, doubting.] The only reason you even know what I'm saying is, are these, right? [she points at her ear; a bit fuzzy and hard to see, but the earpiece is there.] And, andand likewise. You'd be talking nonsense without it. And that means...Aurora knows what we're talkin' about all the time. We're never not being watched!

It's like--like gnarly warlock stuff.

[Ah.

Cameras. Videos. This technology is ever strange and unfamiliar. His palm curls ready to cusp his ear but instead begins strumming his guitar.]

Perhaps. We have nothing like this either where I come from. But we are still free in mind, non?

[There's probably something he can do. He needs to think about it for a while.]

Oh, yeah. [her mouth twitches in a grin that is more a fox's snarl than smirk.] The crap I get to thinking about that Echo guy is grounds to drown, maim, or quarter me, so I figure those are still just mine.

The one thing we know is ours.

[He says quietly, thoughtful of their position, but accustomed to having nothing be his own.

His mouth twitches, a mirrored expression matched by a tone turning conspiratorial.]

But why stop there? Perhaps you could really push for being stoned.

'Cuz I'm not in it to die, okay? [she squints one eye at him.] I got stuff to do outsidea here. It'd only prove someone right, and I'm collecting a big return on the biggest toldja-so you can get; Echo can lick my dirty little paws, but he ain't gonna watch me keel over for him.

[His expression barely changes, calm and neutral before a face that twists and squints. A personal vendetta? That would keep one on the straight and narrow, or the twisted and wide, whatever works to achieve one's aims.]

Good. Laying down your life for these constructs would be a shameful waste.

[But he notices this one doesn't mention the mission to save their world with any fondness or pride - or indeed at all.]

[what's their world, anyway? just the place they were kept in a box - a place where Soliton was in his own box, too. both of them, locked up in their ways. if Soliton were here, then...fuck that world. the real Antigone and Podrick and...well...they could come too, but...but it's not as important and...and anyway--

this fake Antigone sniffs, indignant.]

Of what? Fur? Like you know what I amount to! But if the bar's low enough for shorties and silver-hairs to be here with all these people who can shoot lasers out of their armpits, then...what do I know! The metric's all busted anyway!

Of course. Reality is uncomfortable and unfair. Why do they have friends here and you have none?

[Those loved ones from home that mean everything. Why do some people have their families here and he has only his son? The son who cannot accept everything that makes him such?]

Perhaps you miss your friends. Perhaps there are none to miss. It is still enough to boil the blood, no?

[That all-consuming rage...]

[an ear flicks irritably. it is cute.]

You're not particularly steamed about it, huh? Or are you just good at keepin' a lid on things?

[His calm expression and demeanour suggest the latter.]

I have endured more than a lifetime of asking the same questions. I suppose I have the experience if nothing else.

[He's old, okay?]

Buuuut youuuu...have something to lose, otherwise you'd be going salted earth on this place, huh? [squinting squintily. she's illierate, but Knife does have some surprisingly sharp insight when they can get a read (insight 14 (9+5)).]

Something to lose, something to gain.

[He speaks like both share equal weight, and lifts his palms like the plates of a scale for emphasis.]

Half of one, half of the other, non?

[He might also be really good at speaking in metaphors and being vague.]

[she grumbles. this fucking guy.] Sure, suresuresuresure, whatever you say, guy.

[ Knife started it! :| ]

Whatever I say? You hardly mean that.

[He says in that calm, low voice. Hard to shake, indeed.]

Hardly at all, yeah! But whatever. You ain't owe me a lick, so it's whatever. And all this for--wait, what was it again? [squint.] Inspiration? This inspirin' enough for ya?

Yes. Yes, very much so. Though this [He taps his guitar.] is as much for practice.

[His fingers stretch out, curling around the wooden edge.]

Perhaps it is the music that needs inspiration, no?

Pfft. Unless you're up to some bard nonsense, what's inspirin' the music gonna do for me, huh? [you got a d6 inspiration die up your arse, old man?]

[He's got an accordion in his picto space. Don't make him pull it out!]

Only you know. Or are you saying this is the opposite of your idea of a good time?

...

[her head hurts.]

You're just gonna keep answerin' my questions with more questions. Aren'tcha.

No. But sometimes music is there to be heard and appreciated. I play because I want to play. I do not play to see what my music can achieve. That does not mean you cannot listen if you simply enjoy it.

[His fingers pluck out the beginning of that familiar chord. His wife came to care for what her art could achieve. What happened to enjoying the process?]

[her eyes flit to the instrument, still frowning dubiously, but the music is a better filler for quiet than anything she has to say. she's not sure if she feels safe there, just...existing near this guy as he does his own thing, not being asked to do something or, more typically, fix something about herself.

her feet dangle, bobbing now and then in tandem with a plucked string, eyelids drooping. she's still so fucking tired...but sleep isn't safe here, so she willfully blinks a few times to stave off the drowse.

it's not the worst thing, sitting there, letting her head cotton up and fill with just a music sound instead of all the ornery mess already in residence there.]

[His fingers return to plucking the same rhythm, letting them be swept along by the melody. One to forget their memories, the other to embrace what was never theirs to remember.

The rhythm descends into the lower notes. Soon his song becomes something less passionate in tempo, but something more comfortable and loving.

Perhaps he plays this piece for this one's benefit. Perhaps he is playing to remember the one he loves.]

(no subject)

rudelanguage - 2026-01-08 14:20 (UTC) - Expand