IC Inbox: In the Night

[worthallthis]

[There is no message for the voice inbox. Just a beep.]

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[worthallthis]

"Yeah, maybe, but who wants it to be all about them, all the time?" That gets embarrassing. And exhausting. And-- "That ain't fair. Or. Or equal." She's technically a handler, so "equal" shouldn't measure into it, but... she's her own special category, at this point. They want it to be equal, to be balance, wants to help her as much as she helps them. They give her back a little pat. "I get to fuss sometimes, too."

[shadowsran]

"Too nice to be fussing," she murmurs back, commentary more than contrary. "Throws me off that you're real sometimes." Arm wrap is tempting. Nuzzle is safer. To his immense credit, flow of tears is steadily being stymied.

Are you ready for a very lukewarm attempt at humor?

"Everything we make for the next week is vegetarian."

(Except she's serious.)

[worthallthis]

Much safer. They're reaching the limit of their full-body contact time soon, here-- the internal static is getting harder to ignore, and the tension harder to keep at bay-- and arms around them would probably cause a jump and a rapid detangling. The nuzzle's cute, though, and earns her a hair pet instead of a back pet.

They're gonna take her comment as serious, though. "That's fine. I'll learn something new." They'll just have to get their extra protein from meals at the Invincible or Aziraphale and Crowley's house, that's all. Not that much of a hardship. Besides, maybe they can add nuts to things. Soldat hasn't tried peanut butter yet; they're in for a surprise, there.

[shadowsran]

"Were you okay, finding it?"

Any grip on his many shirts is loosening; worry not Soldat, you'll be released in very short order. Initial wave is passing, and it's followed by burnout. He will be permitted to fuss as needed, but it wouldn't - cannot - negate any serious blows it may deal in the short term. Violence is violence.

[worthallthis]

Violence is indeed violence. Soldat hesitates, looks vaguely guilty should she look up at their face, and admits, "It wasn't great. Lost more than an hour, after, like that time in the rain. It's why I was late."

And their voice has lost the Brooklyn, at last, which is probably a sign that yeah, they're hitting a limit here. The plates in the metal arm ripple with a little mechanical purring sound.

[shadowsran]

"Wondered if that was why you felt cooler than usual." Not enough to stray even close to danger, but not the usual warm. "You gonna be okay?"

Reluctantly, she steps back. Will have to curl up on the couch momentarily, but for now, a level if watery proper gaze.

[worthallthis]

"You ask me that," Soldat complains, just lightly, pulling their hands back too and finally divesting themselves of the coat to hang up. "Yeah, I'll be okay." Their brain continues to hurt, but thinking about someone else's problems for a while was actually a nice break.

Once the coat is out of the way, they give Misty a once over and turn the question around: "You?"

[shadowsran]

All she can honestly offer is a limp shrug.

"Old wounds. Made it this long. Not sure what I can say past that, really." Nothing that can be walked off or dealt with in any one go, however objectively great his hugs are.

[worthallthis]

They're just going to take that at face value, because if they don't, what are they even going to do about it? Their skin already feels like it wants to shiver off, now that they're no longer in the moment of the hug. Pushing verbally is not a thing they're great at, and they already said more words at once today than usual, between this, Sora earlier, and Rosinante even before that. It's been a very talky day.

"Okay," they say. Standard remedies, then. "Hot drink, warm food. Both of us. You sit. I'll bring you something for your face." Because crying leaves one's eyes hurting and nose stuffy, and she doesn't have supersoldier healing to get over it quickly.

[shadowsran]

"That was a help, though. That was better than I'd have hoped for. I really appreciate it." No cure-all, but god, a step up from anything sole conversation would realistically manage. The following directions are entirely reasonable, and met with a nod.

It's some doing to position herself comfortably on the couch, but she manages.

"Thank you."

[worthallthis]

While she settles, Soldat sets about getting the usual: cocoa since she doesn't need coffee when sleeping will probably be hard enough anyway, grilled cheese, and tomato soup this time because vitamins are important in times of stress. Also, then the grilled cheese won't have to have any vegetables in it, so there's less crunch, which seems like a good idea right now.

"Panicked," they admit. "Couldn't think of anything else to do. Not sure if I can do it again any time soon. I'm sorry." Feels like a terrible thing, not being available to give people you care about a hug, because you're a too full of touch-related brain issues.

[shadowsran]

"No, don't apologize, that's fine - if anything it'll make me appreciate that more. Important you pace yourself, nothing's worth burning you out too fast. You went to a special effort, and that's all I care about." And is continuing right on fussing, which is pleasant to watch. "You won't have to do anything like that for awhile. Having you around is...a lot. More than I'm used to already.'

[worthallthis]

Keeping busy is really the only tried and true method of dealing with brain issues that Soldat has ever found useful, even if the "busy" is just making origami animals or cooking someone dinner. Hands and eyes and thoughts at least partially occupied seems to quiet things down.

So they bring over a damp, warm towel for her eyes, or any other part of her face that hurts now, while the pan and water heat up, and return to the kitchen to butter bread and slice cheese. And they ask the dumbest of dumb questions, because it makes no sense to them. "Why. You're a great person. You'd think you would have plenty of friends."

[shadowsran]

Ever striving for high impact with low effort, the towel is draped wholecloth over her face as she reclines, head back. It reminds her distinctly of Steve Irwin, blindfolding alligators. Blankets over birdcages. It actually does help a little.

"Not a one. Not ever. You and Matt are probably tied for the very first, actually. Something in my blood, I think, that people can snuff out."

[worthallthis]

"Where the hell did you even live, that nobody thought you were great," Soldat says more than asks, baffled and frowning at the innocent slices of bread, tone bordering on indignant on her behalf. Even they, even it, as the goddamn Soldier, had those... poor kids who looked up to them. Who they trained, who sang for them because they learned, somehow, that their teacher liked music.

[shadowsran]

"Louisiana." A non-answer, because she understands how useless any answer will be. Would that it were so understandable. "Disliked, pretty much. Weird. Didn't much bother with people when I was little. Snowballs from there, until-"

Well.

"Only one common denominator. Something with me."

[worthallthis]

Soldat may have been to Louisiana once. Maybe. If they did, it was with the American branch, which means it was during the worst days, and most likely some kind of internal execution. Probably for the best they don't remember it.

They stop to lean both hands on the counter, looking in her direction and saying firmly, "Well, you have people here. Sora and Aziraphale, and Matt. Crowley too, probably, even if you two don't get along at first. More people, too, if you got out more."

[shadowsran]

She can hear the stance and change in projection, and lift enough of the cloth to peer at him from beneath it. Seems serious.

"I very seriously doubt I have Crowley," she gently retorts. And that makes Aziraphale something of a mid-tier risk. Makes Soldat himself something of a low-tier risk, actually - the lone outlier. Can't knock himself, Sora, or Matt, at least. A tilt of her head that just might be general assent to this is followed warily with, "Doubt it'd increase, too. Place is a powder keg. Everyone'll seem nice right up until you're between them and something. I've been in it before, and it's always me that gets thrown under the tires for traction. Ain't happening here."

Can't happen here. She's so tired.

[worthallthis]

That's just because you don't actually know Crowley that well, Misty, that's all. Not that it matters if the guy never wakes up. Soldat makes a snorting noise, then turns back to the food, pouring the soup into a pot and taking the kettle off to pour the cocoa. "Of course it's not. You know I'd kill anyone who tried to hurt you, Misty." They were not kidding in the least about how no one is allowed to hurt their handlers. Or friends. Or whatever the fuck she actually is to them.

Also, y'know, sorry for the slightly fucked up morals. They are still a brainwashed assassin, and all that.

[shadowsran]

He remains, in her head, a glaring threat to everyone present who will cut and run with a substantial portion of the few individuals she can bear to meaningfully care about at the first opportunity, and mock anyone left. It was a very strong impression, and it will prove a hard one to undo.

This said: those twisted morals make her feel safe, and it would never occur to her to complain beyond what influences his own personal comfort. So she smiles, a little more at ease.

"Might be sneaky about it. Also what they do. But I trust you would, and believe me, it's mutual."

[worthallthis]

"I am a sniper and assassin that nobody knew existed until the last forty-eight hours before I died, no one is fucking sneaking by me," Soldat grumbles, though it's a kind of affectionate grumble, because that was sweet. She might even be able to do so, given the magic thing. They add some chopped tomatoes, garlic, and celery to the tomato soup to spice it up. Also cream, for thickness and flavor. It's gonna be some damn good soup to go with their sandwiches.

[shadowsran]

The grin widens appropriately. Aw, Soldat.

"We can't all be social butterfly assassins, now," she tsks, clearly without any real bite. "But I'm more useful than I seem in passing. Just happier waiting on the bench."

[worthallthis]

Soldat's nose wrinkles up at that, though between her towel and their facing the stove, she can't really see it. The grumble turns into something a little more sheepish. "I just like people." And that somehow makes them a social butterfly. (Well, you did count the number of people. And it was a lot. Shut up, Sarge. Oh, what, you gonna call me that now? ... I dunno, should I?) The Sergeant doesn't answer, subsiding thoughtfully somewhere in the back of their mind.

Trying again. "Why would you want to be. On the bench? On the bench. If you could be out playing. With more people." They put the first sandwich on, frowning thoughtfully, and asks a less-dumb question this time. "Is that really what you want? Or is it just safer."

[shadowsran]

"People waiting to do something mean or dumb won't see me coming. Better position to keep me and mine safe." He is not, however much it may appear so on paper, the sole protector. Symbiosis. "I've tried before, it's not worth getting burned more. Something about my luck. Just doesn't work out, I've accepted that."

[worthallthis]

"So it's just safer," is what Soldat takes away from that. They shrug a little. "Okay." It's not like they don't understand. Keeping themselves safe has been a high priority for their entire tenure with HYDRA, almost, and it's not like they trust easily. It's not like they're still afraid of the bulk of the people in Beacon, themselves.

But at the same time. Afraid or not, they still get out. Help people. Talk to them. Soldat flips the first sandwich over, frowning at the perfectly golden toasted bread. "Sounds awful lonely, is all."