we_bring_hell | (no subject)

(no subject)

Nothing is wrong. Well, nothing new is wrong. It's just that sometimes you wake up and hate everything, starting with yourself and extending outward from there.

She has snarled at Gideon, banished Gideon to the distant past, and is now sulking about being abandoned by Gideon. She was trying to work on the Lyctoral theorems, but her bile got in the way, and now she's chewing on her interdimensional communication mechanism.

She is considering burning characters into her living bones while her cavalier is away and without a healer standing by, because she may be 90% of Gideon's self-control but Gideon is 70% of her self-preservation.

The Mountain Goats is blaring; Transcendental Youth.

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"That is what I used to do to Griddle," she says, frowning, tugging off the gloves. "She was my whipping girl. The repository of my..." She flexes her hands, like pale spiders, and scowls at them; begins putting the gloves back on. "Vile intentions."

“And that’s all in the past, yes? The nice thing about the past is you can leave it behind if you want to.”

"That's the most incomprehensible thing you've ever said to me," Harrow grumbles.

“Incomprehensible,” she repeats, pleased. “I like it. Gives me an air of mystery.”

She settles into a chair not too close to the desk, but not too far from it, either.

“What’s wrong, Reverend Daughter? Besides the usual everything.”

She has the gloves back on now, carefully tucked in to not even show the pale skin of her wrists. "Don't you ever just wake up and loathe yourself?" she asks.

"Of course you don't, look who I'm asking." She picks up her pen and moodily stabs the blotter.

“I’ve had my moments,” she admits. “Not very often and not for a while, but I’ve had them.”

Harrow rises from her chair and stalks into the bathroom.

Ingress lets her, keeping a watchful eye on her from where she sits.

“I’d tell you I’d leave you be,” she says, her tone conversational, “but that would be a terrible lie, and I’m not a liar.”

She examines her fingernails. They’re short, somewhat jagged from accidental breaks, the cuticles rough.

It takes a few minutes for Harrow to return; when she does, she doesn't comment on her absence, just settles herself back into the chair with the dignity of an empress or a cat.

"I am vile company today," she says abruptly. "I don't wish to hurt you or anyone."

Ingress nods. “I appreciate that. You don’t have to be my company. You can do your tasks, and I can be your company, silent and thick-skinned.”

"Why?" Harrow demands. "What do you put yourself through it for?"

“Put through what, exactly? Being there for a friend when she’s in a bad mood?”

She shakes her head. “Harrow, when you’re friends with someone, you’re friends with all of them, even the not so pleasant parts. I’m your friend, and I’m not putting myself through anything.”

Harrow stares at her desk wearily.

"Has time gone on stopping for you when you visit, once it began to?"

“Yes. Every time, so far.”

"it is a blessing, of course." She frowns, in contradiction to her words.

“I wouldn’t be able to come as often,” she agrees. “Or stay as long.”

"It is undeniably convenient," she murmurs. "Yet sometimes I feel that it dilutes urgency."

"I can see that. If I had pressing matters beyond day to day, I would feel that way, even with time stopping."

"The things I have to do are important," she says, "but on any given day they can be... delayed."

She drums her gloved fingertips on the desk. "Yet not indefinitely."

"No," she agrees. "But perhaps not today, at any rate?"

"There is nothing to stop me," she says, with a strange tone of voice, staring through the desk.

"Except not having your Cavalier with you," she says, and she shifts forward to perch at the edge of her seat.

"Who, as I recall, you promised never to leave here without from now on."

"I wasn't thinking about going anywhere," she says absently.

She looks up suddenly and catches Ingress's eyes sharply. "What would you do if you could do--anything?" she asks. "If you were bound by duty to neither your Companion nor the Underside? Truly at liberty to decide?"

Edited 2020-11-25 22:50 (UTC)

She smiles, answer ready to trip off her lips.

Only. It doesn't.

She doesn't have one. She sits up straighter, and the smile fades into a frown.

"I don't know, Harrow. I have- I have no idea."

Harrow's painted lips part, but she doesn't say anything at first.

Finally: "Perhaps it's a cruel question. I shouldn't..."