ataraxion | ii rune; text

[ There's a mutter, and it's not exactly english, er -- Dunwallian. ]

She hates her physicians, when they insist she take treatments. [ A father's exasperated tone, for hours spent trying to get her calm. Emily was a difficult child. She had fits and demanded everything when and where as she wanted -- and then the next minute, sugar wouldn't melt in her mouth. ] This would not be any easier.

[ She doesn't recognize the language, but it could be slurred English for all she knows; Rebecca simply makes a note of it, laughing a little at the exasperation in his tone. ]

Maybe the fact that I'm not a doctor will help. I'd have to write on her to label which allergen was put where; maybe that'd be amusing?

[ He smiled at that, real and genuine, not cruel or half hidden away. ]

Mayhap. She likes games like that. It's easier to get her to do most things, if you are willing to play along. [ He could spend hours talking about Emily. ~~he may or may be not that dad that is like LET ME SHOW YOU BABY PICTURES. ALL OF THEM.~~ ]

I am sure you would do well with her. You are good with questions.

She's a kid. Most of the time there's no harm in playing along.

[ It's adorable. Rebecca is smiling with him, cheered by the conversation and his reaction to it, the change that comes over him when he speaks about Emily. ]

We'd make you go grey pretty fast if we teamed up, [ she teases, sipping at her drink again with a twinkle in her eye. ]

[ If he ignored the details, ignored the truth of it all, and pretended for awhile, like Rebecca was letting him do, he could be happy.

Reality would come later, as it always did, but he could be otherwise, for awhile. He could drink, and be calm, and enjoy himself. She'd come to talk to him, hadn't she? It felt less like the second hand loneliness he'd felt when he realized Max was gone. ]

You're a little late. She has a head start on you. [ He touched his temple, shifting the unruly brown hair that needed to be cut, and possibly brushed properly instead of the ponytail he tied it in. The feathering of grey that had already started there. ]

[ More laughter; Rebecca sets her drink down, leaning forward to take in the bit of grey. ]

Don't worry, it just makes you look distinguished.

[ It did, at that, whether Corvo needed a haircut or not. ]

[ His hand fell away. It was a struggle, to stay put when she lent closer, and he busied himself with pouring himself another drink, and the bottle was nearly empty.

Maybe that was as sign he should stop. But all the same he just drank more, it was starting to go down easier. ]

That's one word for it. [ a gruff grumble, muttered into his drink as he tilted his head back to drain it in one go.

When it was empty, he went to stand, to get another glass or bottle. It was a unpleasant realization to find the group lurch under his feet. His fingers gripped the edge of the table and he took a moment to steady himself. ]

It's the word for it, [ she retorts, frowning slightly. Of all the things to be insecure about, she supposed age made sense, if you were a soldier. Still.

The thought is shaken from her mind as Corvo sways and Rebecca raises both eyebrows, ready to stand in case she needs to keep him from falling face-first onto the floor. ]

I think you're drunk, Corvo. Maybe it's time to stop drinking, or get some water?

[ He closed his eyes, letting the world right itself, or at least attempt to.

He couldn't be out like this. This -- wasn't control, and he needed that, desperately. Bad enough she could tell.. He was in right enough state to pick somewhere to sleep, but he had to. She had the best intentions, he was sure, but he'd be too easy of a kill like this. Weapons or not. ]

I think I should go. [ Without saying she was right, or wrong, simply reach for his mask and sword. Ignoring how he almost fumbled with them both in his need to don them again.

Couldn't wear the mask, too limiting when his head swam like. Blast it, blast it how had he misjudged so badly? He'd drunk more than this before and nothing. Out, out now before he became too obvious in his lack of control. Of himself and his weapons. ]

[ She can recognize the signs of someone essentially staring to panic. Downing her drink in one gulp, Rebecca stands, moving closer -- but slowly, carefully, like approaching a frightened horse. ]

I don't think you should go anywhere alone right now.

[ Drunk, panicking, previously morose -- it's not a good combination. ]

Come with me; you can get your bearings in my room, where it's quiet.

[ Where no one will see you, where there's nothing to hurt you. ]

Rebecca --

[ He immediately wants to tell her to stop, and the tone in his voice is a warning. He doesn't need the help, not from her or anyone else. The words that never come out, are cruel and made to cut. To force her away so he could deal with it all better.

Even if she was right, and her offer was tempting. Some where small, closed off. Easily defensible. Might be better. Traps at the door and -- blast it, he wasn't in a state to lay down traps like that. Not now. He growled, under his breath and his fingers closed tightly around his blade pommel. Like it would give him some reassurance.

( and it shouldn't have, but it did. )

He can't say yes, but he stands, watching her back, swaying on his feet and desperately trying to keep still, waiting for her to do something -- and he may just follow. Mind still running over the chance of this being a trap, that she had let him drink so she could kill him easier. He could make up his mind, as they walked. ]

[ There's a pause. She waits for the rest of the words that never come; she knows a warning when she hears it. But they don't come, and after a moment she rolls her eyes and finishes closing the distance. ]

If you need to lean on me, you will. If nothing else, you can't let me walk back to my room alone, can you?

[ She offers her arm; be a gentleman, Corvo, and take it. ]

[ It's a mockery of a lord and lady, of good manners and what society would dictated. He knows it for what it is, what she's offering, and if he were a better man, he'd tell her the truth, that he wasn't fit for such things.

Never mind, a gentleman would never get this drunk in a woman's presence.

He could hear the mocking words of the Outsider, fingers smoothing in his hair saying things he didn't want to hear ( You don't have any honor left, do you Corvo? Is that why you do the things you do, do you think it will give it back to you? Give you back the poor dead Empress you failed? )

But those are a shades thoughts in his head, and mentally shakes himself to dispel them. Sometimes he thought, on this ship, that the void was going to open up under his boots and swallow him whole. Drag him down. It's a fear as real as any -- and it all could be a trick.

He takes her arm, because it's a life line, for all the reasons he'd never say. ]

You don't need me for this. [ She was more than capable. All the same, having her there made it easier to walk in a straight line. ]

I might, [ she retorts, even if it's true; she hardly had as much to drink as he did, and she's armed, now. Still, it is nice not to walk alone.

(God, but she misses having a team. Even when it was just her and Shaun, at least there was someone there. It was annoying, sometimes -- coordinating the bathroom sharing, especially -- but it was like having a family.) ]

[ It makes him frown, and he wants to protest. But it's pleasant, even if every so often, he half trips over his own feet. Fumbling to keep his balance and topple them both by mistake.

So he doesn't talk, he doesn't have anything to say. He just concentrates on putting own foot in front of another and making this as painless as possible for the both of them. He didn't need to make even more of a fool out of himself. ]

[ They get to her floor eventually, and Rebecca unlocks her door with a swipe of her nanites. She doesn't stop there, leading Corvo over to her bed so he can take a seat. ]

Here.

[ There's some water in her room; she takes a drink, then offers the cup to him. ]

[ It's a blur to him the whole way -- and he hoped he had the decency to forget most of this when he woke up. Because it only seemed to get worse. The alcohol flowing in his system making the lights too bright to his far too sensitive eyes.

-- and he doesn't truly mean to be rude, except he can't take the drink from her hand. Sitting on her edge of her bed with sword still in hand ( and his grip slipping on it, though he wasn't thinking on it ). He stares at it a long time, then at her. Waiting for some reaction to tell.

But when there is nothing, and she's been there a good long minute, he gently takes the cup from her. Inspecting it, like he could see some resin, so powder, on its surface. How many had he'd done this for Jessamine?

So it's a sip, first. One careful drink. When there is nothing ( he shouldn't doubt, he shouldn't, but he can't help it ), he drinks the rest like he was scared it was going to disappear from him. Faster than the whiskey. Ignoring when it trickled down his jaw until he was done. Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. ]

Dunwall, water's foul. [ He ignored the slur in his words. Half the reason he'd avoided speaking. ]

Edited 2014-03-14 08:18 (UTC)

[ It isn't poisoned -- not by her, at least, if it is. She knows the signs of a dangerous profession, isn't offended and simply waits until he decides the water is safe enough and then smiles slightly when he drinks. When the cup is empty, she takes it back, sets it on her dresser. She'll fill it up again, once Corvo is a little more settled. ]

They recycle it, here; clean it up, make sure there's nothing in it but water and maybe some minerals or vitamins to help us stay healthy.

[ He's certainly drunk, but she hopes the bit of water will help make his inevitable hangover a little more bearable in the morning. ]

I can get some more.

[ The fact that it isn't, means he can relax at least some. Half lent forward, running his hand over his face like it might help clear his thoughts. Green eyes over bright, watching her as she moved around the room.

He's drunk, and he has to focus ( focus, focus, focus, like guard patterns and nobles idle chatter, it was all going to be important ) more than he might usually be so obvious about.

What she's saying doesn't make much sense to him. Water was water was water, as far as he knew it. Other than boiling it, he wasn't really sure about the rest of it. So he ignores it, most of it at least, he's gotten used to her saying things he doesn't understand.

So he sits, and says nothing, and when she says more water, he nods. Catching her wrist when she walks close enough. Fingers curling around gently. ]

Thank you.

[ It's idle chatter -- it makes herself feel better, and it might be comforting to him too, knowing she's acting the same way she usually does. She goes to get more water and is stopped, and that is surprising. The touch is familiar, though; calloused fingers on her arm, just like during the jump. ]

You're welcome.

[ She smiles at him, carefully lifts her free hand to brush some of the hair away from his face so that he can see better. ]

Make yourself comfortable. I'll lock the door so no one else can get in -- you can still get out, of course. And then I'll be right back.

[ his head turned up just that little, into the gentle touch that was no more than companionship he so very desperately wanted.

But when she stopped, his hand dropped as well, retreating to his lap like it hadn't reached for her at all.

Trusting her was stupid, was dangerous. Get him gutted and killed. Fed to the rats, the ones she'd talked about that were as bad as the rats of Dunwall. But all he found himself doing, was nodding, blinking owlishly at her. Waiting, patiently for her to go and come again. ]

Alright.

[ Everyone needs someone. Even soldier-assasins from Dunwall. ]

I'll be back.

[ Maybe he'll be more relaxed when she returns. Either way, she gives him another smile and leaves, cup in hand, to fetch more water. ]

[ And when she goes and comes back, he hadn't moved. Awkwardly sitting on the end of her bed, eyes closed, mouthing over words that weren't much more than a mutter. His hands on his knees now, and they drummed a heart beat rhythm, beating to the time of the one in his jacket pocket. A solid sound he could latch onto and be soothed by, even if she spoke no more to him, here. The shell empty of her. But that didn't pain him so much now, like it usually did.

He was safe here, comfortable. It didn't feel so exposed as in the gardens, or as oppressive as it was in his own room.

Granted, he'd made his own particularly inhospitable.

But it was... nice here. Or near enough. He could settle some, try and let some of the tension go out of his shoulders, the stiff way he held himself. ]

Edited 2014-03-14 14:19 (UTC)

[ The water is set down and Rebecca goes to sit next to him, keeping an eye on his hands but saying nothing. It's instinctive to want to touch, to comfort, but she doesn't know how he'll take it; she settles for sitting close enough for their legs to brush, so that he can pull away if he so chooses, so they can lie and pretend she didn't do it on purpose.

(The Assassins have always attracted broken people.)

He seems a little better now than he had been, at least. ]

[ In the end, he's not sure how to react, to pull away ( and there is the tenseness of it, shifting through him, contemplated and discarded ) or to move closer.

In the end, he stays still. His hands stilling and his eyes opening, not looking at her, so much as her own hands. Softer than his. But his were marred, and shattered apart so many times. He didn't have knuckles so much, just leathery skin wrapped around bones made to hurt.

The alcohol still makes his words hard, harder than normal, but easier to think -- and it shouldn't be that way, but he knows what his mind was thinking on. ]

You will need to sleep soon. [ and he will need to leave, because he cannot stay. He knows that implicitly. ]

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