ataraxion | video-

[He has no idea - she's never told him, not about that - but he knows that she's right. And he's half-expecting her to storm out, to ask why he just up and left and demand answers like she's prone to do, one tiny force that insists upon not only being heard but for the other party to do something about it.
That's who he fell for in the first place. He's oddly discomfited when it doesn't happen, and it settles into the pit of his stomach. Not right.
But there are things going on that he doesn't understand, things that he's felt and shoved to the side and only now realizing that they might mean something. (How angry he's gotten over things he'd never react to, outwardly, before. How hard it is to let go, harder than it's ever been. Just how torn up fighting with one person can make him feel.) She doesn't come out and he's torn between relief and worry all over again.

It's two cigarettes before he comes back in, and even then, he hovers about the door after it closes. And then he's startled into silence - that's not - he didn't think -

What does he even say.]

Ah...

[Is he supposed to leave again? Come back? There's a moment going on and he's not sure where he fits in. If she even wants him in.]

[Two cigarettes isn't enough time for her to get over the the sick feeling and the throbbing headache that always comes with remembering things that don't go with this body

(Will it hurt?

Not if you're a good girl)

and the thick smoke-smell of him when he comes back in doesn't exactly help. It's enough that she doesn't especially want him to see it, though, so when she looks up at him (face pale, eyes red-rimmed) she takes a moment to turn her face and swipe at her eyes. Shakes her head quickly, either clearing it or sending him an I'm not crying so don't ask. Probably both, she's not sure.

Keeps the rabbit right where he is, though, and nods towards where Netherlands was before, an unspoken invitation to come back. If he wants to.]

[Of course he comes back. Even if he didn't want to there's something that compels him to - has to take care of it - but he wants to and all he needs is a nod to get him moving. Hopefully she doesn't mind him crossing over and drawing them all in, or the kisses he can't stop. Her temple, her hair, her cheeks.

But still he has no idea what to say, and instead just tries to do it in actions. He's sorry but he has no idea what he's even attempting to apologize for. Him? Too vague. The mask? They've gone over this. Making her cry? That's a selfish assumption. It's a lot more than them, even if that's what the moment is.

It's frustrating, not being able to fix anything. But what can they do? Either fly apart or band together, work through it. They're nothing if not stubborn, and that's what he's attempting to say. Maybe it's not okay, but goddamn - they're still them.]

[She doesn't mind. It's difficult, when it's like this. When she can't tell what's him and what's that darkly amplified compulsion to keep what's his his, but - she wants it. Wants the kisses, wants to be held, so she lifts her face to the press of his mouth and decides to believe this is something he'd do anyway, breathes it in with a hand curled at his shoulder and her eyes closed.

She wants to be still and quiet and take it in. To forget about everything else and just soak up how present he is, warm and real and there, stinking up her room and salting his lips with what remains of her tears, but. But.]

I meant it. You have to know that. I really hope it won't come to that, but I won't let you lock him away.

[It should be firmer, sterner. It should sound like she's warning him, instead of coming out like she's asking his forgiveness.]

[That's - more soon than he wants. If he'd known she'd launch right into it again he might've stayed out for a third. Doesn't pull away, though, and maybe that's a thing he should address. If it came between her and Takeshi, he'd pick her. Even knowing she'd probably kill him for it.

But in a way it makes the choice easier. She's going to pick Takeshi, and he's going to pick her, and if it all comes down to it that's the thing that will guide him back into line. If he loses her he loses the both of them. So instead of raging over it - well. He picks her.

Isn't sure how to feel about it, isn't sure just which part of him is doing it, and so when he nods it's. Awkward. HIs throat won't unlock and he has no idea how to begin to say anything. One nod isn't enough but it's all he can do.]

Okay.

[Sorry about the timing there, Netherlands, but she just wanted it over. And now, as far as she's concerned, it is. They still need to figure out how to keep the little guy safe, how to convince him they're capable of rescuing themselves and if they're not, then him getting into the same situation isn't going to help, but at least he knows where she stands. He knows and he doesn't pull away. So she shifts her hand closer, settles it with the pad of her thumb resting in the hollow of his collarbone, and kisses him back. Once on the cheek and one soft press against his lips, almost more breath than kiss.]

I meant the other thing, too. I do.

[Love him. Just in case she's not acting that way. It can't hurt to remind him, after that.]

[Oh, it hurts plenty. Those discussions that close together, it almost hits as a reminder of the I love you, but brand of caring that he's tired of. Too many lifetimes of that, from both ends. And both ends suck. Has she ever had to do this, or is this her first time? He kisses her back, little, reassuring things, doesn't pull away when she says it even if his eyes close, tight. Ducks his chin, attempts to turn his face some other way - stops and scrubs his face instead.

But he believes her, isn't even upset over the choice so much as the fact that it has to be brought up in the first place. What she was talking about earlier suddenly makes a lot more sense - it's hard- and it hits him hard. Maybe it's too charged right now for them to talk about it.

Of course if they don't, it might never happen. So. Eyes open, briefly apologetic because he's about to close up in order to get through it and she's never taken that well. (Still doesn't pull away. Later he'll frown over that and wonder what the hell made it so that he never locked up entirely.)]

I know. [A swallow, an attempt to cure his scratchy voice, and then it's all business.] Y'don't think that'll work. Telling him that putting himself in danger might put us in danger, too.

[It's her first time. There's been one other - just one - but lying about her past was a necessity, and as far as she's concerned you cannot love someone completely and also lie to them. It's why she doesn't see what they have as a but - she loves him, will love him even if he fucks it sideways, goes off the rails and tries to box Takeshi up. She'll feel awful about it, feel ashamed of it, but she'll love him. That part of what she's feeling will take a lot more to stop.

So she shelves it for the time being, accepts his I know like it's gospel. Accepts it like he already knows he's the first person she's ever bared herself to without fear that they'd turn away, like he already knows there are twenty red tulips dried and pressed and leaved between the pages of a book that's her second most important belonging here. She thumbs over his throat like that will soothe the rough tenor of his voice and shrugs.]

Maybe if we explained how people could use him against us. That we'd give up more if we thought it would keep him safe.

Edited 2013-07-08 08:05 (UTC)

[Could use him against us... fuck, he's never even thought of that. People treating Takeshi the wrong way or teaching him the wrong things, people using him for their own means, and of course what the ship dishes out, those are his worries. His brows shoot up for a second before he's evaluating the threat level of a situation like that happening. Probably not as likely as the others. Still a concern.

The biggest one is that Takeshi will try to be the Big Damned Hero one day and the tale won't end like it should. Not with bringing the monster's head back on a plate, or bubble baths, but one small voice yelling on the network before it cuts to static and - vanish, to him that's just like a death with little closure. He gives his head a shake - not what he meant.]

More worried about the ship. Than the c- people. On it.

You're probably right. But -

[But. It's another of those, another situation she can't help comparing to her own. People you can fight, manipulate or convince. People can be bent to your cause. But something as undefinable as the ship...]

That's a hard sell. He's a good kid, he already tries to think the best of everyone. If we said it was bad people doing bad things, he might get it. The ship doing bad things? That's harder to pin down.

Edited (drunk enough to double icon, not drunk enough not to care) 2013-07-08 09:45 (UTC)

[Slightly knitted brows, a bit lip, a few taps of his fingertips still against her; all of those little markers that he's found a problem with something.]

Bad people doing bad things won't keep 'im out of it.

[In fact, it'll do the opposite - ensure that he throws himself between whatever bad person is between him and the people who are (or, well, try to be) good for him - and it's not a change he'd like to see happen to the kid, either. Sigh.]

Just want him to fuckin' think before he does something, not just - go.

[She's not so sure. You can talk to people - or try to, at least - reason with them, bargain with them. Trick them, sometimes. He'd tried to talk the pirates into pulling off whatever they wanted to do without hurting anyone, and it had damn near given her a heart attack but it had been sweet. Very Takeshi.

When it's something else, something that's beyond reasoning with, that's where she can see him getting into real trouble. If he feels like he's got no other option. But then they can't really stop him unless they can make him not care. Unless they can slow him down...]

What if we got him training? Like... survival skills, fighting, maybe some tech stuff. I don't think we'll ever be able to fix it so he won't try to help, but we could maybe get him to the point where he'll take enough time to prepare first.

[Kind of a horrible idea. But it's an idea.]

Mm.

[A light hum, a bit of agreement, like she's just guessed the next bullet point on a meeting agenda and he can't help but look quietly pleased over it as he mentally flips the page to that subject.]

Think we should do that anyway. Good shit to know, an' enough people here to help him with it. Asato an' Konoe, Kazama, T- [ugh this name] - Tranduil - that, mm, Mister Reaper guy he likes, Nathan for tech, prob'ly. Need more people to help 'im read, too.

[... because being able to read certain messages counts as a survival skill.]

[Just squinting at him for a second because a: she is well-acquainted with the time honored trick of getting people to agree to what you want by making them think it was their idea and people are not supposed to use it on her, damn it and b: Tran-what now? It clicks after a couple of seconds, but it's not really important. What's important is that he's just named a whole bunch of people who are good at what they do and unlikely to flip out over the idea of teaching a kid this stuff, so she just nods.]

Finding people to help him read isn't going to be as tricky as finding stuff to teach him from. There's a pretty big gap between Miffy and Jane Austen.

[...pause... because seriously, this is the first time this has actually occurred to her as more than a fleeting thought.]

Wait, how does the translation stuff work if you can't read? 'cause I've been teaching him to write in English, and I'm gonna go ahead and assume your books are in Dutch. Is he seeing it in Japanese or are we teaching him stuff that's not gonna line up?

[Why he is he being squinted at what did he do now - he's in the careful process of both leaning away and throwing his shoulders back - which halts when she finally answers. The hell was that about. (He's been stalking ~~them~~ Takeshi over the network for a while now, and obsessing over ~~their~~ the kid's safety for just as long. These are ideas he's been turning about, weighing, and people he's been scrutinizing just as hard. She brought up a topic he was nearly ready to present his ideas on, and if he can discuss things he's totally lost about with her, hell, something that's 90% cooked is easy.)

Except the lack of reading material. His scowl gives that away; he's never considered it. The next problem she brings up isn't one he's thought much about, no, but one he's not too concerned with just because of Takeshi's age and obvious intellect.]

Dunno. He's read some of the Dutch words to me. Spoke 'em in Japanese. I've - [okay yeah this is more strange the more he thinks about it, he scrubs his hand through his hair, front to back to front again] - read to 'im in Our language...

[~~Maybe Murphy'll loan them his copy of Go the Fuck to Sleep. It's got pretty illustrations and the words are mostly small.~~

It's good that he can tell. Makes her feel better; she only has English to work with, and she's wondered more than once whether it was such a good thing to teach the kid when she might be teaching out something of his home.

On the other hand, it's a little sad. Guess the fact that the kid is reading in Japanese words she sees in English confirms that she has well and truly missed her chance to learn another language. She'd have liked to. She's a little distracted from the sad truth that she'll never be able to speak ~~Dutch~~ anything but English by the way Netherlands drags through his hair and trails off, and even with her eyes still red she manages a smile at that image.]

You're teaching our kid to speak Nation?

[That's so cute it's a second before she notices what she's just said and the blush starts creeping up her neck and over her face like a high tide in a sea of Heather you idiot.]

Prob'ly not... [As he thinks about it he's halfheartedly trying to "fix" the mess he's just made of his head, lips parted and about to continue when he blinks, drops his hand, and shoots her a look that's only slightly puzzled. Takeshi calls her mom, he thinks of the kid as a really special adopted citizen, and they seem to have conversations about how to help raise him or keep him safe often enough. The two of them are dating and while that's a weird it's not completely unheard of. Not like she'd ever want him to propose. It's fine.

Those are the definitions he's drawn for himself as safe and as long as those stay the same his blush won't come close to matching hers. (At least if it's Heather he's talking to.) Why she's blushing he's not entirely sure though he has a good guess, but when it's her and not him being embarrassed it's pretty goddamned cute. He brings his hand up to brush the backs of his knuckles - fingertips have too much hair wax - across her cheek.]

Our, huh.

[Heder sorry for your luck of picking someone with the most complicated case of wtf-is-happening emotional whiplash ever. But unless the dreaded d-word comes out his response is pretty much "well no shit just look at us". In fact he gives her cheek the smallest tap and says just that.]

No shit.

Ah - I - oh, shut up.

[If anything the blush just gets darker, but at least it's accompanied by a goofy, vaguely sheepish grin. She never was the type to play house when she was little, and given that she seems to be making up for that now - well, it's nice to know he's okay with that. Maybe even on board. Kind of takes the edge off all her earlier touchiness about the life they're trying to chisel out of the giant lump of suck they've been handed. She turns her face in toward the touch of his hand, murmurs a quiet thanks before she looks back up to meet his eyes. And starts laughing.]

Okay, you have to fix that. I'm trying to have a touching moment here and your hair looks like a werewolf's toothbrush.

[Cute. He's got his own goofy grin playing at his eyes rather than his mouth, is about to press a kiss of you're welcome somewhere when - oh come on. This is better, fun even, a Heather flushed from love or laughing and he snorts, rolls his eyes and plays along with pretend offense.]

Their toothbrushes are normal. An' I don't look like goddamned Jedward, either.

[Eurovision jokes. That's 2011-era Jedward to you, mister Ned. Not that he really knows what his hair looks like, but if she wants a touching moment... He sits up, clears his throat, picks up Lodewijk and gingerly sets him aside only to turn toward her and tip his head slightly forward and to the side, looking up with raised brows. Loops his fingers about her wrist and tugs up.]

Edited (darn) 2013-07-11 08:42 (UTC)

Oh, sorry. Didn't realize you were a lycanthropologist all of a sudden.

[Just making up words here, no big deal. Too busy trying to launch a defensive sass-strike to notice what he's doing until her hands are lifted to his head anyway, and then -]

What -

[are you doing? That's obvious. Are you sure? Silly, and kinda condescending. And oh god, does she not want to ruin this. There's still a smile on her lips and her blush is fading to something pink and cheerful rather than red and mortified, and she'll just... hope he can't feel her pulse banging through her wrists as forcefully as it feels like it must be. Play it cool, Mason. Don't fuck it up by turning it into a Big Thing, even if it feels huge.]

- the fuck is a Jedward? Sounds like a hillbilly. Never figured they'd be into hair wax.

[and gently, tenderly, she slips her fingers into his hair and starts sculpting it back into its previous arrangement. The look on her face is concentration on getting it right, okay, and not a wide-eyed wonder at the realization she's touching him somewhere she's never touched him before every time her fingers brush scalp.]

[A lycan- he's halfway muttering it to himself when he gets to the th bit and decides to abandon that particular effort. And anyway. Watching each little flicker of reaction cross her face and trying to tamp down his own quietly charmed grin in return takes enough effort. He slips his fingers away from her wrist, but that's only so he can warm them on her cheek and flit them across her expression like he's blind and feeling it out for the first time.

It takes him a moment to answer. She doesn't seem to be in a hurry, why should he be.]

Jedward... one of Ireland's Eurovision - [a hum] - one of Ireland's pop groups. Young, two guys. Dumbass hair. Not, uh. Hill... billies.

[They might be speaking in something close to their usual banter and chit-chat, but to overhear the tone and not the words one would think he was cuddling her close, some kind of pillow talk happening. The look on his face isn't much different. Except that, well, for once his face isn't buried in either her hair or the nearest pillow.]

[Sometimes she thinks she'd be hard-pressed to explain herself if someone asked her what she sees in him - she knows, but she's not sure she could put it into words that didn't sound plain stupid - and then there are moments like this. When there's something that feels so important that the words for it stick in her throat and babble bubbles up instead, and he knows and plays along and lets the truth of it bleed through in touch and shared looks that say a lot more for their silence. She shifts her face against the passing of his fingers, and the expression he feels for is clearly and unashamedly in love.]

And somebody said you look like one? Huh.

[His dumbass hair has grown on her, really. The incongruity of it against the rest of his practical, often businesslike demeanor - it's cute. Kinda charming. She puts a few little finishing touches on it that it doesn't really need just for the sake of touch - smooths over the sides, runs her fingers through to make sure it's sufficiently up - and settles her hands on his shoulders, done with the hair but not ready to let go of him.]

There. Looks less chewed.

No way. [His nose scrunches up in distaste. No one said he looked like Jedward, except maybe Denmark but Denmark's a fucking idiot, and now maybe she has if that overly-emphasized huh is anything to go on.] Was sayin' they look like a toothbrush. Jedward. A normal toothbrush.

[A low mutter, playfully wary and accompanied by one lone raised brow, as she puts the finishing touches on his new hairstyle:]

Better not look like a damned toothbrush now.

[Rather than loop both arms around her as well, one arm settles to her hip. With the other he traces the backs of his fingers down her jaw, her neck, brushes the feigned wariness aside - hell, she could push it straight back and make him look like Germany if she wanted to - replaces it with warmth and gives her a small, happy smile in return. It's a good look on her, he thinks, feels good beneath his hand and when there's laughter tinged in his voice it has nothing to do with dumbass hair and everything with the realization that she's got him smiling right back at her and they're both sitting there, shameless mirror images feeding into one another.

He turns his hand to trace his fingertips over her heart and briefly presses there, eyes flicking down to watch then back up to meet hers, not sure if that's enough after what she's given him but too enchanted with the moment to ask it aloud or otherwise.]

Y'should look like that more often.

Oops.

[Well, is it her fault if he made it sound like someone had? Not that her thoughts linger there for long, and it's less to do with having no idea about the true horror that is Jedward and more to do with the way he's looking at her, the gentle movement of his hand. Fingertips over her heart and she could swear she feels heat radiating from them, spilling out and filling her up. It's enough; she knows what it means.

Yeah, if the reflection of herself she sees in him is accurate, she should look this way more often. Her gaze doesn't stray from his face, too busy memorizing the look in his eyes, the curve of his smile, the shape of his mouth when he speaks that way. It's almost painful, but sweetly so, and she brushes the pad of her thumb over his neck and settles herself in the reassuring rhythm of his pulse.]

You too. Thanks. For - giving me a reason to.

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