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Post by Pyro on Apr 18, 2007 7:39:34 GMT
< I’m gonna…
”What, go?” He’s on his feet almost as quickly as she is, and doesn’t have to worry about looking like he’s not darting to the door, getting in her way, nudging it shut and leaning back against it, arms crossed triumphantly over his chest as he smirks darkly back at her…
… hang on, why is he so adamant she stay? Surely it’s better if she bolts and they pretend this never happened? This is so fucked…
Yep, we’re fucked. Go straight to hell, do not pass Go… Shit. He strives for casual, ends up nearer jackassery – though that in itself is nothing new, right?. ”Fuck, Rogue. Don’t try. Don’t fucking try and pretend this is a surprise… You knew. S’like Brighton in a stick of rock. But if y’don’t believe me…” – and where, pray tell, has this sudden boldness come from? He doesn’t believe in making the first move, or in… whatever this is. But still he takes that slight step forward, still blocking her path, resting one hand on her shoulder, just short of pulling her into him – ”Well, you know how to check.”
… falling is like this.
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Post by Rogue on Apr 18, 2007 8:15:37 GMT
”What, go?” [/color]
She knows should have expected him not to let her just leave like that – though, really, it would have been the better thing, right? Rogue stops short, dropping the hand that had been moving for the to push it open to her side, then pulling both in so she’s fidgeting with her gloves at waist-height.
She could push past far too easily – push him aside and go. But she doesn’t want to hurt him, and she’s not sure that he wouldn’t follow her, actually… So she instead just sort of stands there, the expression that looks something like the ‘deer in the headlights’ sort crossed with
”Fuck, Rogue. Don’t try. Don’t fucking try and pretend this is a surprise… You knew. S’like Brighton in a stick of rock. But if y’don’t believe me…”
Not a surprise? Okay, so maybe before, way early on, she’d thought there was… But now he and Bobby… Yes, it’s a surprise! A sudden change, and one she’s entirely lost because of, and she really, really wants to just get out of here so she can figure out…
He moves towards her a little, and she freezes and almost steps backwards, but she doesn’t. The hand on her shoulder makes her tense slightly – shouldn’t, this is John, but suddenly this is John isn’t working to reassure that it’s okay like it normally does.
”Well, you know how to check.” [/color]
Now she does jerk back, shakes her head slightly and pulls away from him, anger flaring up briefly to rival with the general eeeeek sort of emotion going on. It can’t quite win, because the anger itself sort of scares her, which in turn makes her more angry and ….it just ends up a childishly upset sort of tone when she speaks.
”Damnit, John, jus’ stop. Y’can’ replace him, an’ not with me.”
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Post by Pyro on Apr 18, 2007 9:04:14 GMT
”This isn’t about replacing anyone!” he snaps back, childishly petulant, missing only the foot stomp to make the tantrum complete.
It’s not, right? Definitely not. Replacing means overwriting, and this isn’t about that. It’s another chapter entirely. New and different and… fuck, nothing to do with Bobby – who, let’s not forget, is dead and not coming back. Not many more conclusive endings than that, really. Over and done with and… yes, this bloody well isn’t about that.
”Fuck you, Rogue… fine. Fine. Tell yourself it’s about that. Go to your room on your own and pretend Bobby’s coming back and act like this isn’t there, isn’t right fucking there under everything just like fucking always.” He sighs, though it's more of a snarled growl, exasperated. "Why the fuck am I meant to martyr myself over an imposter and a... a fucking corpse, Rogue, tell me that?"
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Post by Rogue on Apr 18, 2007 10:50:27 GMT
”This isn’t about replacing anyone!” [/color]
“Yeah. Same way all the time y’were spendin’ with me wasn’ about tryin’a get him t’ notice.” No, nononoo, stop…Y' makin' it worse... She can’t be fighting with him, not now, and not like this. Sure, they tend to get into spats and have it blow over in a few minutes but this isn’t the same and she really wants to stop talking right there and just go, instead of continuing with a lower, almost chilled-angry but still sort of timid and shaky, “Let that go ‘cause I needed you there, but… this’s differen’. T’much t’ask.”
”Fuck you, Rogue… fine. Fine. Tell yourself it’s about that. Go to your room on your own and pretend Bobby’s coming back and act like this isn’t there, isn’t right fucking there under everything just like fucking always.”[/color]
“If it ain’ about that, an’ it’s always been there, how come now’s when it comes up? Now tha’ y’mournin’ someone who ain’t even dead, an’ - convenien'ly - I'm righ' here?” she hates the almost accusing tone, in part because what if he’s serious? (except he can’t be because it doesn’t make any sense for him to be), and because she has the sinking feeling that everything she's been hanging onto lately is falling down right infront of her, and she has no idea what she's going to do now.
"Why the fuck am I meant to martyr myself over an imposter and a... a fucking corpse, Rogue, tell me that?"[/color]
“Not askin’ ya t’martyr y’self. Wouldn’ do tha’, you know I wouldn’. But …he’s not dead yet –” As soon as the last word tacks on she flinches, because no, that word shouldn’t be in there - that’s not denying it, is it? ‘Yet’ makes it sound like it’s going to happen, and she’s been adamant so far that it won’t, she doesn’t want to believe it…
So she tries to overwrite that with some form of positive note quickly, and ends up sounding more like she wants him to tell her what she’s saying is true. “He might be okay. They’ll find somethin’, an fix ‘im, an’…he’ll be okay?”
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Post by Pyro on Apr 18, 2007 17:15:43 GMT
< Same way all the time y’were spending with me wasn’ about tryin’a get him t’notice
”Was that what it was about?” Her tone is icy, his acidic, biting, sarcastically drawling a request that she please enlighten him with her obvious wisdom. Obviously it’s stupid to try and lie to her, to suggest that she’s got the wrong end of the stick when she understands why he does things better than he understands himself, most of the time, but there’s a snowball’s chance in hell he’ll admit as much. ”Here I was thinking maybe it was about being the poor bastard cursed with having to keep you sane”
… ah. Not the best way to declare undying affection, really. But it serves its purpose, puts her back in her place, reminds her that he’s not the only one who demands things from their… whatever it is. Relationship-arrangement-thing. Because he can survive on his own, and will, but she needs him – she admits as much herself, and he smirks at that, chalking up a mental point – and can’t afford to push him away like this. He’s holding all the aces and it should be up to her to keep him in the game…
… oh, he likes that idea, petty and vindictive though it is, and as much of a jackass as it makes him. Feeling needed and important is addictive, after all, for all that he definitely doesn’t give a fuck about what people think.
< T’much t’ask
”Why?” … yes, he really has regressed back to the brat he never actually was until he was old enough for it to be a regression, sigh, making his spoiled little demands and threatening to unleash hell if they’re not met… and underneath that the brat he could have been, the whining why don’t you want me? Am I not good enough? ”Why’s it too much? You’re fine being shared, fine getting fuck all, this should be a fucking godsend, ‘sugaah’.” The term is drawled, her accent mangled into his. ”Whole fucking package and it’s just yours now.”
< How come now’s when it shows up?
He stalls at that – why now, really, if it’s not about any of the things it’s definitely not about? – and so it comes out nearer a post-rage breathless and defeated hang it all than he’d like, because it’s so not capitulation. And having to fuck over what happened like this, like it meant nothing, hurts, but it’s just the phantom pain of a missing limb; there’s still nothing there. ”Maybe now’s when I finally get my head out of my ass and stop chasing the wrong thing? Always did miss the obvious, remember.”
< Wouldn’ do tha’
”So I can move on an' have all the shallow meaningless fucks I like, that what you’re saying, but not the one that actually matt…” – fuck no, that’s sappy, and his tone sharpens before he can complete the words – ”Fine friend you are. Thanks so much.”
< ... he’ll be okay?
”He’s dead[/u]. I-we-they… Mostly I killed him. Then he fucking… hung himself because he couldn’t stand being a ghost. And now whatever’s left’s empty and dead and fuck, he’s not coming back.”[/color] Brutal, maybe, but hey, the facts always are… and maybe that’s more about other things than the question’s she’s actually asked about whether they’ll find a cure (though he’s not much more optimistic on that front)...
... fuck it, she's not going to believe him, is she?
Like he said, there’s one way to prove it.
”Fuck this” The words are breathless, too fast, and lost as he steps forward again, hands up to cup her chin, hold her in place, stop her pulling away… Maybe if he’s really lucky her kiss is still poisonous, because either way this is still suicide. His is definitely... not his best, because there's still a reticence, suitably childish as if he's still at the 'girls are icky' stage and been cajolled into it, for all that's still fierce and fiery and demanding. But falling's getting old, and maybe it's time to find out what happens when you hit the ground at full pelt.
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Post by Rogue on Apr 19, 2007 3:24:37 GMT
”Was that what it was about? Here I was thinking maybe it was about being the poor bastard cursed with having to keep you sane”[/color]
”Well sorry t’be such a burden on ya.” she snaps back, “Next time I lose m’mind I’ll make sure it’s at a mo’ convenien’ time - o’jus’ won’ drag you int’ it at all, if y’d rather.” Even as she says it she’s almost ready to panic because he’s the only one who’s bothered tried to help her, and even if he did feel like she was a burden she can almost selfishly almost not-care about that because she just can’t handle it alone…
No, of course she can. Right?
”Why? Why’s it too much? You’re fine being shared, fine getting fuck all, this should be a fucking godsend, ‘sugaah’. Whole fucking package and it’s just yours now.” [/color]
First there’s the offended-shocked flash, and if he were anyone else – or if she couldn’t kill him by doing so if she wasn’t careful – it’s possible she would have slapped him. Instead she just glares a moment, sort of disbelieving-angry expression. She shouldn’t be so surprised by that, exactly – this is John, the one known for coming out with things like that, things that no one else would ever say…
Her response is delayed a few seconds, mostly because she’s trying to understand what he said apart from the part that stung like it did. ”It’s not, though. Can’ be. An’ tha’s normal – tha’ makes sense, an’…y’can’t tell me it ain’ true.”
”Maybe now’s when I finally get my head out of my ass and stop chasing the wrong thing? Always did miss the obvious, remember.”
“If he wasn’ dyin’ – if he wasn’ differen’ – you wouldn’ b’sayin’ any’a this.” She sounds creepishly calm, at least to her own ears, especially given the circumstances… Which, heck, that she hasn’t turned and fled out the window (or pushed him aside and gone out the traditional way) is quite an achievement, really…
”So I can move on have all the shallow meaningless fucks I like, that what you’re saying, but not the one that actually matt…Fine friend you are. Thanks so much.”[/color]
“You can’ jus’ use me, John! ‘M y’friend, yeah - I care ‘bout ya, an’ I wan’ y’ t’be okay, but tha’ doesn’ mean y’can jus’ take advantage’a that an’ expect me t’help y’ ‘not remember’ him!”
”He’s dead[/u][/b]. I-we-they… Mostly I killed him. Then he fucking… hung himself because he couldn’t stand being a ghost. And now whatever’s left’s empty and dead and fuck, he’s[/I] not coming back[/b].” [/color]
She’s shaking her head from the second word on, and by the end she’s almost to the point of clamping her hands over her ears and doing the lalala, I can’t hear you sort of impression, resisting only through force of will and because her hands are already busy picking at and fiddling with her gloves infront of her.
”You can’ possibly–“ except he does, doesn’t he? So she amends her words, “…Y’shouldn’ believe tha’… How can y’jus’ give up—“ She cuts off as he steps towards her, slightly startled by the sudden move into her suddenly-precious personal space.
If that startled her, the kiss that follows is almost enough for full-on panic… Except apparently it’s not, because aside from the initial tense-freeze and the gloved hand that moves up as if she’s going to push him away, she ..doesn’t actually seem to mind. At all.
Which is definitely not good, right? Because she should totally be pissed, push him off, and …not actually kiss back or be thinking that it’s been too long since she was kissed like this… and especially shouldn’t be thinking that it’s never actually been the same sort of kiss – because with Cody it was tentative-shy-innocent, and even though Bobby was more intense than Cody, it wasn’t quite like this… Which reminds her that this’s really, really not-good…
Rogue pushes him back as the absorbtion’s starting to grab ‘hold, before she can hurt him, or get more than just a tiny flash of his psyke’s presence strengthening and surging to the front of her mind before she pushes him away (because at the moment, two like-minded Johns is too much for her to possibly handle), and she’s careful not to hurt him, but still to be firm enough.
…And she needs to yell at him, and then leave. Now. Not stare at him silently with a look somewhere between nooo, that didn’t just happen, right? and something more scared than that. Really should say something…. But nothing comes to mind that she can possibly say (and she’s not sure if she’d manage to say anything at all if she tried…because she’s shocked, of course).
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Post by Pyro on Apr 19, 2007 15:37:24 GMT
< o’jus’ won’ drag you int’ it at all, if y’d rather
”I’d rather.” he shoots back, mostly to just up the stakes, see what she does; fuck, he’s a callous git, pushing like that, trying to get her to buckle and admit that she needs him as much… no, fuck, more, definitely more, than he does her. Wants her to beg. To apologise and say that he’s in the right. To realise that he knows exactly what he’s doing and can walk away from this any time he likes… Because something normal, something like convincing her that he needs her would be… no, waste of time. Clearly that line is not working and he’s not going to go about debasing himself like that when it’s so much easier to twist her weaknesses than admit his. John does not *need* anyone. God bless shock tactics, and being fucked up enough to use them.
< can’t tell me it ain’ true
”Can.” he shrugs, defiant, as if it really is that simple.
< you wouln’ b’sayin’ any’a this
He snorts – oh really? Thanks for that, Einstein. ”Is that the best you’ve got? ‘If things were different, they wouldn’t be the same’? Fuck, Rogue, clearly that changes everything.”
< You can’ just use me… an’ expect me t’help y’ ‘not remember’ him
”You’re fucking unbelievable, y’know that?” That gets another laugh - a disparaging sputter of disbelief - and he shakes his head. ”Is it possible, y’think, that this isn’t about anyone other than your own fucked up little self? … Of course, you’re Rogue. Mutant matyr, woe is me. No one could possibly want you for anything *real* ‘xcept to use you up n’make themselves feel better… did you come up with that one on your own, or is ‘Erik’ helping out?”
It’s her turn to shock him, somewhat, because he’s expecting her to fight back, not concede defeat – fuck, enjoyment even – and not panic until the clincher which is always going to hang over the whole issue starts to kick in, making it all a little more dizzying. Though it’s a good shock, and not a defeat. No, this is victory, because whether she’s ready to admit it to herself or not, she’s just confirmed that there’s an inescapable grain of truth in what he’s saying… and the look on her face when he stumbles back, not fighting off her resistance because there’s no need, not when the purpose has been so neatly served, just underlines that. He’s won, and some part of her knows that, and fuck yes, it’s a kick.
He runs his tongue along his bottom lip before he speaks as if to drive home what they did and that he, at least, enjoyed it. ”Given that I’m still standing, and you’re still here, I’d say your argument just died…”
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Post by Rogue on Apr 19, 2007 19:04:59 GMT
”I’d rather.” [/color]
Given the way the conversation’s been going from the start, how far downhill it’s all gone, she really shouldn’t be shocked by the words. But she is, it’s almost like a physical blow, and yes she sort of flinches at his words even though she really would have rathered not have shown just how painful that is…
She’s torn between panic, trying to apologize (though… she’s not wrong, really, is she?) and make it okay again so he’ll tell her he doesn’t mean that, and trying to ignore it, because she’s okay, right? She’ll be able to handle herself alone? She doesn’t want to, but … Well, it’s about time she gave it a shot, isn’t it?
”Fine.”
It is. It’s perfectly fine. (Or it will be if she keeps thinking it hard enough, right?)
”Is that the best you’ve got? ‘If things were different, they wouldn’t be the same’? Fuck, Rogue, clearly that changes everything.”[/color]
“…Y’know what I mean.”
”You’re fucking unbelievable, y’know that? Is it possible, y’think, that this isn’t about anyone other than your own fucked up little self? … Of course, you’re Rogue. Mutant martyr, woe is me. No one could possibly want you for anything *real* ‘xcept to use you up n’make themselves feel better… did you come up with that one on your own, or is ‘Erik’ helping out?” [/i]
So much in that cuts too deep and she’s sort of surprised she’s still not started to cry yet – though the anger that’s carrying along with it has probably got to do with that somewhat… And she has no idea what she should say or do just now. That she feels the need to jump in with an almost-defensive “Y’know ‘e’s gone.” is strange, because she shouldn’t be at all stung by the reminder that the Master of Magnetism is no longer a resident inside her head, should be glad he’s not – except that the rest of them dying being erased still hurts too, and he should know that and she really hates that he’s said anything like that… But moving on to other aspects of his words…
“An’… it really seems tha’ way; I can’ see how else… It doesn’ make sense.”
Yes, she’s pretty much reached the speechless-fumble-for-words part of this…
Though not nearly as much as after the kiss. Because there she’s sort of staring and standing, not even fidgeting like normally when she’s uncomfortable – just … entirely frozen and confused and trying to form some sort of something to say that both makes sense and gets the point across… Which shouldn’t be so hard, right? It’s just words…
”Given that I’m still standing, and you’re still here, I’d say your argument just died…”[/i]
He does have a point there – she should have just left before it got well into the arguing, even, and especially before that happened. But that doesn’t mean he’s right.
“No – m’argument’s still alive. Somethin’ you seem t’have a hard time acceptin’ an’ dealin’ with, but tha’ doesn’ make it any less true.” She takes another step backwards, almost consciously putting distance between them, even though the action itself is absentminded, and mostly so she’s not just stuck unmoving. And once she’s done that, she’s less frozen, because, yes, moving is good, and getting out of here is better…
”I really sh’d go now.” She moves as though stepping aside to give him the chance to get out of her way, dropping her eyes to the once-again interesting floor.
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Post by Pyro on Apr 20, 2007 21:08:32 GMT
< No – m’argument’s still alive. Somethin’ you seem t’have a hard time acceptin’ an’ dealin’ with, but tha’ doesn’ make it any less true
”Oh right, so we’re talking about denial now?” He doesn’t move to stop her pulling back – that would be to admit a need of his own when this is all rapidly becoming about mastering and subverting hers – instead he almost shifts backwards himself, conceding the point almost, trying to seem calm, rational and unthreatening so she’s got space to take in his argument and he doesn’t sound like a raving lunatic. He doesn’t take his eyes off her, though, driving the other point home. The contrast to her nervy confusion is pointed, and probably no accident; there’s something of Mystique in it all, the carefully cold I don’t have to push it, we both know I’m right, and something of his earlier education, and something else, something wild and dangerous and lingering. ”How’s about this for you; stop me if you’ve heard it before. Once upon a time there was a stupid little girl who refused point blank to see what was right in front of her because she couldn’t accept that maybe, just maybe, her getting anything other than fucked over by life wasn’t a crime. That maybe she could enjoy being selfish without the entire fucking world imploding. One day she forgot to live and became a sad little ghost. Boo hoo.”
< I really sh’d go now
”So go.” he shrugs, but doesn’t make any move to aid her exit. ”Nothing’s stopping you.”
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Post by Rogue on Apr 22, 2007 5:35:19 GMT
”Oh right, so we’re talking about denial now?”
“I’m not in d’nial.” she retorts quickly. Except that that’s probably not helping her case, right? Whatever. She’s not.
Aside from that he’s still blocking the door, she’s almost glad he’s moved back (and she doesn’t like that she’s glad, because it’s just another sign of just how screwed up things’ve quickly become, because she usually didn’t mind him close…). She’s a little less comfortable to note that he’s still watching her, that he doesn’t seem anywhere near as uncomfortable and freaked out by the whole thing. Because somehow he should be, even though he’s the one that started it all and everything – it just seems like he should be. But he’s not, and that almost makes her mad…
”How’s about this for you; stop me if you’ve heard it before. Once upon a time there was a stupid little girl who refused point blank to see what was right in front of her because she couldn’t accept that maybe, just maybe, her getting anything other than fucked over by life wasn’t a crime. That maybe she could enjoy being selfish without the entire fucking world imploding. One day she forgot to live and became a sad little ghost. Boo hoo.”[/color]
”Maybe part’a this is tha’ I am bein’ selfish. Maybe I don’ wanna end up hurt when y’realize ‘M not really what y’want.” The response is quick, almost snapped back, except it’s quieter than that. Then she sort of blinks, almost confused look crossing her face a second.
…What? …Okay, yes that sort of makes sense, but at the same time it’s still random. That hadn’t consciously been a reason for this whole debate or anything (honestly, like she needs another reason? The main one that stands is frightful enough), but… Maybe there’s more denial here than she’d thought. Eeeek…
But still. That doesn’t mean he’s right. At all.
”So go. Nothing’s stopping you.”[/color]
He doesn’t move, and she sighs slightly. It’s mostly down to a point of defiance, the not pushing-past, really, because she could. But she doesn’t want to, and he shouldn’t make her. “Y’blockin’ th’door, hon.” she responds quietly, and it’s really only a ghost of the sort of tone she’d normally use for such a thing – the almost-affectionate annoyance now sounds more weary than normal, even though it’s not forced, but rather comes out entirely automatically (and that gets an inward cringe, because she doesn’t know if she’ll have to break that habit, now, or not, and really doesn’t like the prospect of that).
[Hopefully tihs doesn't suck - words hare me t'night...]
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Post by Pyro on Apr 22, 2007 10:56:56 GMT
< I’m not in d’nial
… he’s saying nothing. Nada. Just quirking an eyebrow, not shifting his gaze, something between a smirk and a sneer as if to ask Oh really?, though there’s something more of the old almost-teasing in it than the venom which keeps threatening to take over.
< Maybe part’a this is tha’ I am bein’ selfish. Maybe I don’ wanna end up hurt when y’realize ‘M not really what y’want
He cocks his head at that, slight confusion written in his features, almost asking if she really said that… from the look on her face, she isn’t sure either. Not that it’s anything especially revolutionary (hell, if anyone understands the *don’t jump in case it hurts when the floor shatters* mentality as regards relationships it’s him, because everyone ends up turning on you sooner or later) but still, it’s a shift in the line she’s been treading, away from his issues and over to hers – and the twisted part which is making this about dominating her chalks up a point for his having the power to make her ‘end up hurt’ – and quite possibly the point around which this whole argument will end up hitching (because that point definitely can’t be Bobby, because that’s not an issue). Partly he’s shamefaced at ignoring the fact that she’s as likely to be fucked over by this relationship as he is by not having it - and, after thinking that, partly he’s pissed off at himself for feeling guilty, and at her for making him feel it, and partly he’s pissed of at her for thinking that he’d fuck her over. Either way he’s pissed.
”… maybe… yes, pretty fucking selfish of you, actually, using crap like that w’out thinking how the fuck it feels to be told that I wouldn’t give a damn about hurting you on some random whim… Still, I should probably thank you, right? Least now I know how fucking little you think of me.”
< Y’blockin’ th’door, hun
”Cos I don’t want you to go” His tone’s back to the whole No duh… thing, as if both are observations she shouldn’t have to ask about, both bloody patently obvious… except that he blanches at the second a few moments after he’s said it, because even if it is bloody obvious it’s… point to her on the who-needs-who scale… ”Didn’t” he corrects himself. ”Now you can fuck off.” Ha, take that…
… except that he still doesn’t move, despite the fact that this smaller game is pointless and stupid. It’s still a game and he’s still not fond of losing.
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Post by Rogue on Apr 22, 2007 19:49:14 GMT
”… maybe… yes, pretty fucking selfish of you, actually, using crap like that w’out thinking how the fuck it feels to be told that I wouldn’t give a damn about hurting you on some random whim… Still, I should probably thank you, right? Least now I know how fucking little you think of me.”
She’s torn between being angry and apologizing profusely – she hadn’t meant to upset him… But at the same time, it’s undeniable that it’s not exactly unheard of, the ‘random whim’ and hurting …Because he left. He left, didn't say good-bye, went to help the man who'd tried to kill her, didn't ever even...
And if he left again (and especially if it was something else and he left)…
“Y’did it b’fore. Y’left. ‘Random whim’ seems t’fit tha’, doesn’ it?” She sounds somewhere between the two tones – both slightly hostile and something nearer apologetic, because she really doesn’t want to be saying any of this… “An’ tha’ hurt.”
…And obviously she’s talking without taking the time to censor herself today. She’s not upset about that anymore. Really, she’s not… It’s over and forgiven and he’s here now and she should apologize, and try to make things get back to normal…
(And she’s not thinking about what happens if, once they both calm down, things don’t get back to normal. Because thinking like that would be bad, and… no.)
”Cos I don’t want you to go. […] Didn’t. Now you can fuck off.”
She waits a second, waits for when he’s going to move, so she can finish the bolting-from-the-room she’d started before this got far too chaotic-complicated-painful… Except he doesn’t move. And she sighs, slightly exasperated now (only slightly? Okay, more than slightly… But still).
“...Then y’gonna have t’move s’I can go.”
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Post by Pyro on Apr 23, 2007 2:20:41 GMT
< Y’did it b’fore. Y’ left
… oh no, she didn’t just bring that up. Because that’s one point he pretty much cannot ever hope to debate she just… didn’t. She wouldn’t. Except that she did and it fucking stings because it’s true and because he doesn’t want it to be and because wanting isn’t going to change anything.
< ’Random whim’ seems t’fit tha’, doesn’ it?
”It. Wasn’t. Random.” he shoots back, though shoots is wrong considering it’s the coldest and most measured his words have been all night. “Stupid, but so very far from random.”
< ”Then y’gonna have t’move s’I can go
He moves, but not the way she wants; moves in slightly, rather than away, as if she’s said nothing. One hand rests in a parody of ‘casual’ on her opposite hip so he’s in the right place to look her right in the eyes, to make this a perfect harsh almost-whisper, lip curling in something so much nearer a sneer than any of his smirks thus far have been. ”Thing is… it felt fucking brilliant. He wasn’t afraid to admit he needed what I can do… so y’gotta ask yourself; if it was so fucking fantastic being with them, why the fuck did I come back?”
There’s a slight push as he moves off – not a proper shove, because that would be pointless against her and he wouldn’t be able to anyway, though the limitation feels more disdainful, as if he can’t bear to touch her without being disgusted, rather than reluctant to hurt – nudging her in the direction of the door as he heads back to the bed and drops onto it, glaring up at the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest, the conversation clearly at an end.
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Post by Rogue on Apr 23, 2007 3:06:48 GMT
”It. Wasn’t. Random. Stupid, but so very far from random.” [/color]
”Sure felt random from this end.” she retorts, for her part less measured and more instinct, even though her best ‘instincts’ at the moment really seem to suck and she should really just shut up… Should have ages ago.
She almost pulls away when he moves in, but she tenses instead, ready to but not quite so quick to do so (because it still feels wrong to be worried about him being close to her, feels strange and that in itself is frustrating). She meets his eyes evenly, though, yes, they’re burning, but there aren’t tears there yet, so that’s okay…
”Thing is… it felt fucking brilliant. He wasn’t afraid to admit he needed what I can do… so y’gotta ask yourself; if it was so fucking fantastic being with them, why the fuck did I come back?” [/color]
He pushes away, and she turns her head slightly to watch as he goes over and lies down, his body-language making it clear he’s done talking (and done listening, probably), which should be more of a bad thing, but it’s a sad sort of relief to know she can get out, now. Now that he’s moved away from the door, she moves forward, pulls it open. It’s silly to hesitate before leaving when she’s been so anxious to do so, but she does, tosses another glance back…
She sort of wants to apologize for the whole thing, not leave when it’s this bad… But she can’t, not because she’s not sorry, but because she’s really close to tears, and at the moment she doesn’t want him to see her crying (which… again, feels strange, because he’s seen her cry plenty…). So she leaves without saying anything at all, and heads straight for her room.
It’ll be just fine. Perfectly fine. She can be okay without him. She was before, right? When he wasn’t here?
She’s barely in her room before she finally breaks, just curls up on her bed and cries (quietly as she can, and still trying not to – almost like she’s got to prove that she’s okay …even if she is failing pretty miserably at that already).
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