[ He huffs; she asks if she can trust him and then immediately follows it up by bringing up what he said before? Why even ask if she already knows the answer? Frustration bleeds through, building on top of everything else that has gone wrong over the past few days before dying out on its own, a slow and fading death. She isn't accusing him; she's stating fact, and it gives him pause as she bites her hand, as she brings out her own blood-sap, too. ]
I'm okay with that. [ Experiencing unpleasantries. Amos' voice is dulled, borderline casual in the face of her warning. ] Not to diminish your thing, but I've been through a lot already. Takes a lot to get to me. I'll probably be fine.
[ A beat, a moment of hesitation before his voice grows softer. ]
I don't know what you're going to get from me. I barely understand it myself. [ The doubts, the longing, the yearning... It's all been as incomprehensible as it has been unpleasant, something that makes absolutely no sense to him assaulting his brain. Even now he can feel it tickling the back of his throat, prodding at his head, and it's awful. He swallows. Coughs. Dips his head down to look at his shard, at hers. ] Look, I know I told you not to trust me. All I can tell you is you're gonna be getting some shit from me. If I use your shit against you, seems only fair for you to do the same to me.
[ When he meets her gaze again his voice is hard — not a warning, not a threat, but a promise being delivered in it. ]
And if you air my dirty laundry first, I'll expose all of yours. [ Projection much? Because he knows there's a chance he'll pull some shit, so what would be stopping her from striking first? ] Mutually assured destruction. Either we keep each other safe, or we bring each other down. Those're the only options we got.
[ Because they're both no-bullshit; because there's no chance either of them backs down from this now. They're both far too practical for that; she'd reached to him and he'd immediately accepted for a reason. This is how it's going to go down, and the only safety net they have is the threat of something worse than death.
Which means he might actually listen this time.
He holds out his shard to her, for her blood; holds out the back of his bloodied hand for her to place between his fingers, outstretched to be able to receive it, hold it carefully. If they're going to trust each other, or whatever this next best thing they have going on is, it's time, as far as he's concerned. ]
no subject
I'm okay with that. [ Experiencing unpleasantries. Amos' voice is dulled, borderline casual in the face of her warning. ] Not to diminish your thing, but I've been through a lot already. Takes a lot to get to me. I'll probably be fine.
[ A beat, a moment of hesitation before his voice grows softer. ]
I don't know what you're going to get from me. I barely understand it myself. [ The doubts, the longing, the yearning... It's all been as incomprehensible as it has been unpleasant, something that makes absolutely no sense to him assaulting his brain. Even now he can feel it tickling the back of his throat, prodding at his head, and it's awful. He swallows. Coughs. Dips his head down to look at his shard, at hers. ] Look, I know I told you not to trust me. All I can tell you is you're gonna be getting some shit from me. If I use your shit against you, seems only fair for you to do the same to me.
[ When he meets her gaze again his voice is hard — not a warning, not a threat, but a promise being delivered in it. ]
And if you air my dirty laundry first, I'll expose all of yours. [ Projection much? Because he knows there's a chance he'll pull some shit, so what would be stopping her from striking first? ] Mutually assured destruction. Either we keep each other safe, or we bring each other down. Those're the only options we got.
[ Because they're both no-bullshit; because there's no chance either of them backs down from this now. They're both far too practical for that; she'd reached to him and he'd immediately accepted for a reason. This is how it's going to go down, and the only safety net they have is the threat of something worse than death.
Which means he might actually listen this time.
He holds out his shard to her, for her blood; holds out the back of his bloodied hand for her to place between his fingers, outstretched to be able to receive it, hold it carefully. If they're going to trust each other, or whatever this next best thing they have going on is, it's time, as far as he's concerned. ]