worthallthis | IC Inbox: In the Night

"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."

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.

"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.'

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."

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."

"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.

"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."

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."

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.

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.

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."

"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.

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."

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."

"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."

"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."

She removes the cloth entirely, as this is now a full, important discussion, but stares only at the ceiling.

"Always lonely. Used to lonely. Doing pretty good for myself now, all things considered - I have my handful."

And their days are numbered anyway - rinse, repeat.

Soldat can't expect her to sound happy, after the past hour she's spent, but. That really doesn't sound like she's happy, in general. They're very glad to have introduced her to Sora, glad she has Matt and maybe Aziraphale... but if Misty wants more than that, wants love from everyone she meets, she ought to fucking have it. After everything, a lifetime of being alone, feels like she deserves it.

(Mission. No, Asset. No mission. Mission. Down, boy. No.)

They set the first sandwich aside and start a second, stirring the soup to make sure it warms evenly. Then they bring Misty her mug of cocoa. "You still deserve more," is what they finally say, solemn and even.

Though she expected something roughly on par with this, Soldat is too kind for less, it hits hard. Hardly feels like her place to judge as much, anymore. There's the dim, terrifying possibility it is earned. Punishment inherent to unholiness. Risking pride to imagine much more. Her mouth opens, shuts, and she sets about blowing into her mug more to occupy herself than to cool it faster.

"That's life, isn't it? People are dealt some real shitty hands sometimes. You find silver linings." A glance up, implication there being quite obvious.

They refuse to be mollified or distracted by that, and give her an "I know what you're doing" kind of look. "And some of us turn that silver lining into a whole bunch of people to keep busy looking after," they say blandly, before turning back to the kitchen to slip that second sandwich over.

(Mission. Okay, Asset. No. Mission. Look, we get it. We know what you want. But there ain't a mission right now, buddy.) The Asset makes a noise like machinery grinding (ow) and just up and sulks off to the back of their mind. Fucking finally.

"Not that easy when the problem is specifically what happens when you let yourself just latch." There must be vetting. There must be time elapsed. There must be controls to measure against. Otherwise there are only worst case scenarios. Soldats and Soras are exceptions. No sense wasting emotional availability or resources looking after more ingrates.

"That's why it's a silver lining. Can't make more of it, just got to find it and not let it go."

She's got the whole liking-versus-trust thing completely backwards, compared to Soldat, but they're reaching the end of their ability to argue. Maybe they've made a point or made her think about something, maybe not. Maybe they'll just have to keep dragging their friends to see her and hope more of them click. Ellever, maybe. Who wouldn't like Elle?

(Even if Ellever is technically an eldritch being and the antichrist in her world. No big.)

"I'm a pretty pathetic silver lining, Misty," they point out instead. Just enough time left on the soup for a third sandwich, which sizzles while they sip their cocoa. Yum. "Should probably trade me in for a better model." They mean this mostly as a joke, albeit a self-deprecating one, obviously.

It isn't for nothing; he's simply the first to chip at a mountain. He's done more than most could, for so comparatively brief a conversation. That he's joking now doesn't go over her head, but doesn't make her any more inclined to run with it quite yet. Perhaps once he's more thoroughly self-embracing something like being a person, hm?

"Anything but," she replies quickly, firmly. "Ten of anybody wouldn't be worth one of you. Who else dances with and threatens to shoot people for me, huh?" Edging more firmly into amused, now, there we go. "Or makes cocoa as well."

"Sora would dance with you. He'd have to bash someone over the head with his keyblade thing though, or stab them, since I haven't taught him how to use a gun." And they will not. Sora with a gun sounds horrific. Even if Sora would consent learning to something quite that loud and deadly, it just doesn't fit at all.

They do pause, and add mock-thoughtfully, "I'm better at those things, though. And the cocoa. I guess this model isn't too bad."

"But would he offer?" She asks, grinning. He's a puppy. She won't judge capability on that, but she doesn't feel out of line questioning willingness. To say nothing of relative jadedness between the three of them, of course. It's with a hopelessly fond roll of her eyes that she nods along with the latter comment, scooting into the arm of the chair. Enough distance between them he can sit with her when food's done. Hugs are out, but it's proximity enough.

"Better. I'll have you know he's my Soldat, and I'm not giving up however shabby or smart alecky he gets. Cocoa's on the line."

IC Inbox: In the Night

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she has mild Sora cooking questions but also this could /potentially/ be a fade soon?

yeah we can fade out soon, the highly emotional part is over and they're just getting domestic again