[You know how sometimes people see a memory, and it sucks, but it's kind of, like, whatever? Something personal, maybe, but not terribly invasive. The kind of memory that's awkward or embarrassing, but nothing that would fundamentally change a relationship.
This is not that.
This is pain and vulnerability and a history even some of his closest companions weren't around to see. This is hands slick with the blood, shutting the doors to his heart to lock away the screams of the only person he'd ever dared to let in.
The one saving grace is that she is not the first person to see this. He hates that it's out there, but he is not stunned into silence or sent to the ground with the agony of it, and he's not caught up in it enough to blame her for seeing it, even if there's no stopping some resentment from welling up.
(Even before he woke up here, these very same memories were exploited just like this. It wasn't even all that long ago that someone else grabbed his shoulders and screamed at him to fight back. No one here saw that, no one here knows him--but of course no part of him could stay his for long.)
When the memory ends, he's incredibly stiff, guarded. His expression is mostly closed off, but he can't quite pull back the hollow grief enough to keep it from showing in his eyes when he looks at her.
She doesn't need to have the right words; he doesn't want them. When he finally speaks in return, his tone is extremely neutral.]
[A more selfless person would probably give that question genuine thought--a diplomatic answer, maybe, acknowledging the desperation that drove the Order to this point, interrogating the limits of how far people should go for the greater good, when the alternative is the death of God and probably all of humanity--
Kanda is not that person, so he just looks at her.]
[It's hard to tell what he thinks about that--but he doesn't seem to get any angrier, at least.]
...No. [He says, eventually. No, it wasn't worth it. Maybe if even a few things had been different, he'd have room in his heart for compassion and understanding--but all he has to do is remember, and that old hatred feels fresh all over again.] And it never goes right when they try. You'd think they'd realize that.
They can't always afford to. There aren't many of us. [Exorcists, he means; they're already spread thin, and they're at a much greater risk of losing people than they are of stumbling across new ones. That was the whole problem, after all. It's the only reason he's here.
But it's not like he can tell her no, they won't ever do it again, because he simply doesn't believe that to be true. And beyond that--]
Most members of the Order are believers. They'd sign up for anything willingly.
[Well. Kind of. Something something grooming and exploitation something something, that's not his backstory--but he definitely knows people who fight for the cause itself with zeal and devotion. Some people are just SUPER religious and crazy.]
[ that doesn't make her feel any better... if they're willing to go through it themselves they shouldn't drag anyone else into it. no matter how desperate they are.
before she can think of anything to say, kind of floundering helplessly with how much she hates that: another memory. a memory of a facility. ]
[There's no escaping the memories playing out between them, so he doesn't even try to pretend like it's possible to politely look away. He takes in what he sees--a cold, sterile cage and "for the greater good" and glimpse of the risks, the cost, the future--
When it ends, he doesn't speak right away. But eventually--]
[That and the risk, but he figures he's been obvious enough about his paranoia that he doesn't need to mention it.
And beyond that, the idea of being bound to yet another thing, of having his fate taken out of his hands and tied to someone else--it's not a choice he's willing to make. At least not here.]
[He nods in return; that makes perfect sense to him.]
I didn't think anyone would be. [The dangers of it seemed so incredibly obvious, to him.] Not this soon, anyway.
[A last-ditch effort to get out of here alive, sure, he could see why people might grab desperately at it then. But anything else, even dire circumstances back home? It's not worth it. But he'd heard others didn't feel the same way, so he'd wondered if Ashlyn, too, was tempted.]
Mm. [If others want to, he can't stop them from throwing their lives away, but--] It's not worth it.
[Whatever's going on in her world, in that facility she's stuck in--maybe there's no escape, no fix without outside help like that wish. But he respects her choice, and thinks she's smart for it.]
[He nods--and goes quiet after that, honestly. There's nothing more he really has to say; he's not one to push for details or ask invasive, personal questions, except under rare circumstances. There's nothing he can do for her, so to him, this is kindness: acknowledging that he saw what he did, but letting her keep the rest to herself unless she chooses otherwise.]
[ she appreciates it. she's not above being touched that people are checking on her, but she doesn't like all the fuss. so we may simply vibe quietly again........ ]
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sixillusions) wrote2024-06-08 11:14 am
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This is not that.
This is pain and vulnerability and a history even some of his closest companions weren't around to see. This is hands slick with the blood, shutting the doors to his heart to lock away the screams of the only person he'd ever dared to let in.
The one saving grace is that she is not the first person to see this. He hates that it's out there, but he is not stunned into silence or sent to the ground with the agony of it, and he's not caught up in it enough to blame her for seeing it, even if there's no stopping some resentment from welling up.
(Even before he woke up here, these very same memories were exploited just like this. It wasn't even all that long ago that someone else grabbed his shoulders and screamed at him to fight back. No one here saw that, no one here knows him--but of course no part of him could stay his for long.)
When the memory ends, he's incredibly stiff, guarded. His expression is mostly closed off, but he can't quite pull back the hollow grief enough to keep it from showing in his eyes when he looks at her.
She doesn't need to have the right words; he doesn't want them. When he finally speaks in return, his tone is extremely neutral.]
...They'll do anything to win the war.
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[ this is an extremely genuine question. by his assessment, is it worth it? ]
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Kanda is not that person, so he just looks at her.]
Could anything ever be?
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But I don't really know. And I think you're the only one that gets to decide.
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...No. [He says, eventually. No, it wasn't worth it. Maybe if even a few things had been different, he'd have room in his heart for compassion and understanding--but all he has to do is remember, and that old hatred feels fresh all over again.] And it never goes right when they try. You'd think they'd realize that.
[But they never seem to.]
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But it's not like he can tell her no, they won't ever do it again, because he simply doesn't believe that to be true. And beyond that--]
Most members of the Order are believers. They'd sign up for anything willingly.
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[Well. Kind of. Something something grooming and exploitation something something, that's not his backstory--but he definitely knows people who fight for the cause itself with zeal and devotion. Some people are just SUPER religious and crazy.]
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before she can think of anything to say, kind of floundering helplessly with how much she hates that: another memory. a memory of a facility. ]
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When it ends, he doesn't speak right away. But eventually--]
Are you looking for your partner here?
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Are you?
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[That and the risk, but he figures he's been obvious enough about his paranoia that he doesn't need to mention it.
And beyond that, the idea of being bound to yet another thing, of having his fate taken out of his hands and tied to someone else--it's not a choice he's willing to make. At least not here.]
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I'm not either. Getting home empty-handed would be better than not making it home at all because I died on a gamble for more.
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I didn't think anyone would be. [The dangers of it seemed so incredibly obvious, to him.] Not this soon, anyway.
[A last-ditch effort to get out of here alive, sure, he could see why people might grab desperately at it then. But anything else, even dire circumstances back home? It's not worth it. But he'd heard others didn't feel the same way, so he'd wondered if Ashlyn, too, was tempted.]
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But—a gamble is a gamble.
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[Whatever's going on in her world, in that facility she's stuck in--maybe there's no escape, no fix without outside help like that wish. But he respects her choice, and thinks she's smart for it.]
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