worthallthis | The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

That sounds easy enough. He is quite fond of eating. "I'm not your friend or family, though," he hedges a little, just in case she made the invitation in error, then. "I don't have any friends." This is not stated with self-pity, just as a fact: by the definition he has of a friend, he doesn't have any. (Yet.)

Head slanting gently to one side, she mulls on that while working through another forkful of egg.

"I'm claiming you, if you don't claim me. You're friend enough to get in."

Thankfully, his definition of friend can be one-sided, so after a moment, he accepts this with a little nod, even if it baffles him that she might feel safe with him, of all her choices on this ship. "If you want me to. Okay."

Then, because he's the inmate here, and because it's something to do, he asks, "Will you need help with it?"

A pleasant surprise, if the sharp rise in eyebrows is any indication.

"I wouldn't turn it down, if you're offering. Do you cook, or should I have recipe cards?"

He shakes his head a little. "Never cooked before." He didn't even eat real food before coming here, and nobody let the Asset fix up the goop that went into the feeding tube. "But I can follow orders well."

Perfectly workable. "Suits me fine! None of it'll be hard, maybe just an hour or two of your time. It's the fourth Thursday of the month, we'll get into details when we're closer unless you're really hankering for practice runs."

He hesitates on that. Usually he can pick things up on the first try, but-- cooking is not fighting or remembering a mission briefing. And he won't be watching her do it, he'll be following instructions. "Practicing might. Be a good idea. Just once, probably."

"We can do a dry run a few days before, I think you'll catch on quick enough."

And she has...little else to press. This is a shockingly relaxed start, compared to the last few months. She inhales, exhales, indulgently slow. Relaxed.

"Thank you, for not being weird about meeting and talking."

He's not entirely convinced this isn't weird. The look he gives her is maybe a little skeptical. "You're my warden. If you want to meet and talk. Then we meet and talk. I don't have much else to do, anyway." A pause. "Was someone else weird? Er? More weird."

"Plenty of people don't operate like that, believe you me." She laughs, only leaning bitter. "I shared, like, ten words with Pagan before he hauled off and started punching me."

He remembers, when the egg things hatched, and her face had looked like someone punched it. Badly. He hadn't asked at the time, because she'd been upset and he's not good at asking things, but he can put them together.

He desn't like the idea of people punching Misty. She's been kind. He frowns at the remains of his breakfast. "Was he punished."

"I'd like to think I won both fights, he had a long time out in Zero, I'd like to think it's coming up on even." It's functional, at least. No major incidents since then, which had been the real fear - the next temp would hand over that stupid pen readily and it'd end up in her neck.

He actually snorts. "If I'd left bruises like that on a handler. I'd have had cattle prods and guns and a double session of maintenance," he grumbles. A little time behind bars was nothing. This prison is so stupid, sometimes.

"We don't do that here," she's quick to say. Maintenance the way she can only imagine he means it - not how it's done. Inhumane. "Isn't like he came close to killing me. I think I broke his nose, he got a good long cooldown period, for here we have to hope that's reasonable."

The moment of annoyance drains out again, and he shovels the last of the oatmeal away slowly. "I know," he finally says. "Three months without maintenance." There, that's-- that's three wardens now who know. And one of them is his. If it's going to happen, it'll happen now. Right?

She nods at that. Frowns.

"There's won't be any. Nothing like it, not at al while you're here. Anyone tries anything either they'll get demoted or somebody'll hear about it and remove that problem for you. Alright?"

His shoulders hunch a little more, but he nods. "Okay." He has a breath, then says again, more quietly, "Okay." No more maintenance.

It's what he wanted. Why does hearing it, out loud, from his own current warden, make him want to throw the empty oatmeal bowl across the room.

He manages not to, breathing carefully, holding his spoon very tightly. But the urge is there. Holding it back is like holding a lid down on a boiling pot. It makes his eyes sting and his vision blur a little, throat tight. From the outside, it looks like he's about to cry. (Spoiler: he is, actually, he just doesn't recognize the symptoms.)

It isn't unnoticed, or ignored. It could be a flash of something, she reasons, and so permits him a moment to gather or excuse himself if he intends to. When that doesn't happen, she leans forward slightly.

"If you want to walk something off," she starts, a murmur to hopefully curb eavesdroppers, "It's fine. I can take care of your stuff, or-- let you into the Enclosure now, whatever you need."

His face is... wet. Christ, he's crying. He remembers this, but more in the context of too much pain than too much feeling. It makes his breath do stupid things, and he has to sniff and wipe at his face with the back of his flesh hand before he can manage to say anything. "I. Have to go to work."

"Arthur'll understand if I kept you busy a couple extra minutes, I can give him the heads up." Still suggestion, but more earnest than many previous. It's a poor thing to rush for, reasonable as Arthur is. "Could take a lap, catch your breath, wash your face-?"

Yeah he probably ought to at least do that last one. He sniffs again, then gets his breathing under control, even if there are still a few tears trying to leak their way out. Catching his breath, done. "Okay. Sorry. I'm okay." Going to to hit things in the Enclosure is so tempting, but it seems like it might take too long.

As he dies that, she collects his plate, moving it to where dining staff can retrieve it. "Walk? Enclosure?"

Implication being she'll accompany him as long as is needed or wanted.

He hesitates, giving his face another wipe, this time with a napkin before putting that in the trash, too. But temptation is too much. "Enclosure. I. Something to hit." He managed not to throw his bowl. This is progress. But the urge is still there. The crying hasn't made it go away.

"Okay."

Easy, done. Nothing left to attend, she starts them off at a focused clip.

"Something like a gym, or something that'll break?"

He stalks in her wake, head down and hands gripped tightly behind his back. His voice is tight but steady. "I don't know. Cracks in walls are. Satisfying. So was the bag in Zhao Yunlan's room. Never actually broken a thing before."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject