[ lup's only waiting maybe five seconds before the shadows coalesce at the door and aquila's making a beeline for wherever she is what's the state of the lup. ]
Lup? [ not even bothering with the gravel voice. ]
[she's sitting at the piano, like she was trying to play, but she's mostly just kind of having a little bit of an anxiety attack, maybe. or building up to one.
[ that's okay. he lets her hold on as tightly as she wants; his hand is cold, but it's warming up with hers, and the squeeze is returned.
aquila's voice stays quiet, familiar, guiding, breathing in with her. In... out. two breaths, three, just like that. in, out. in, out. steady, steady, steadying. ]
...I know you are. [ because! yeah! fucking terrifying! ] Fifty-fifty - a fighting chance she doesn't even know she has. It doesn't make it any less of a cliff to stand on for you.
[ quietly. ] I'd like to think it's high time for another victory. [ but obviously, they don't know either. it's just chance. ]
I don't know what I'm going to do if it doesn't work. I have this - I have... a way to save her, and all this chance, all this guessing. I just want to do something good.
[ nnnoooo he squeezes her hand immediately when she hiccups, holding on.
... ]
To try and... to try and do right by the people you love with everything you have is good. [ there's a little bit of insistency in the way they say that - like they can get it across more, a sort of impassioned nature to the words. ] That's what you've done. What you've always done, as - since I've met you.
[ they pause. it's a longer one, this time, like they're trying to make sure they say everything they want to say the right way.] Whether you succeed or fail tomorrow, you've done everything in your power somewhere where your power's been taken away.
...You're always carrying so much weight, Lup. [ all that guilt and all that hope, all that sorrow. they're things aquila sees - has seen maybe especially here. he's seen her pick up the loads of others and shoulder those, too, over and over and over, until it's weighed her into the ground.
aquila pauses, and squeezes her hand, again. ] That struggle forward you've made with it makes it hard to see all the light you've left behind you.
[the horrible thing is that she just hasn't had the time to heal.
from one game to another to another - from one impossible choice to the next. a sense of responsibility hangs over her all the time. her world, and every single world that the hunger took, and the knowledge that if she failed, they'd all be gone. she pulled her soul out of her body to make sure that would never happen. she was prepared to stay behind to save the people at the station, towards the end. because she promised - she promised that she would never sacrifice an entire world again.
it's the same here. she doesn't know if she can sacrifice one person's entire world for another. she wants to save so many people - she wants to keep the people precious to her safe. they deserve solid ground to stand on. someone to look after them, even if they don't realize it. she has to leave the light behind her, she has to bring it wherever she goes, or what good is she?
because that's where it's gone. that's where it's twisted, and gotten heavy. she hasn't had time to rest, to let people love her, to see it. her brother is so far away from her, and he'd tell her she was being stupid and to focus on herself, but she can't. this isn't us, this can't be how we do this.
she can't really breathe with it, sometimes.
she swallows hard, eyes closed.]
I want to go home. [she says, finally, and it's so pathetic she's embarrassed, looking away.]
[ they've still got her hand, so. when she says that, he pulls it up, ducks his head, and kisses her knuckles, lingering there for a moment, and plaintively; ]
I want you to go home, too.
[ in so many ways, for so many reasons. if aquila had the power to whisk lup away from this entire place, he'd do it in a second. it's like he said, earlier in the week - i'd rather it be me. what a curse it is, to see familiar faces, trapped in this situation again. what a curse it especially is for lup, of all people.
he brings their hands back down afterwards, but doesn't let go. tactile in this affection week, tactile aquila. ] If I could spin the world backwards to make sure you got there, I would.
[ if she wanted the moon, he'd never settle for the stars. just, like this, there's nothing to be done. the same problem - taking on all the weight. ]
For now, I just - [ his fingers flex, a bit, and he squeezes again. ] - all I can do is catch you. You can let go.
[her expression crumples a little when he kisses her knuckles, because affection when she's feeling like this is almost on the edge of too much. she doesn't know what to do with herself. she wants to kick herself out of her own body, climb the walls, slam doors, something, but at the same time, she's so tired that just thinking about the effort it'd take makes her whole head hurt.]
... I can't, but I - I get what you mean.
[she says, finally, reaching with her free hand to rub the tears away from her face. no big theatrics, no nothing, she just can't stop the heat from escaping.]
[ god, doesn't he. it's so shitty. this entire situation is so shitty. he wants to throw a fit a little bit, too.
aquila keeps a hold on her hand for now - resulting motions make him bump the piano keys a little bit, twanging two very wrong notes together in a way that's almost startling, on accident, and aquila glances down at it and lets out a tired, one note laugh, then strokes the side of her hand with his thumb. ]
I've never been any good at this. [ the music? the comforting people he cares about? the npc thing? the losing people thing? yes. ]
You know me. [ a little huff, wry if rueful. aquila, no matter what, is someone who takes a lot of risks.
...they nod, though - it goes unspoken, maybe, that he can't promise, but i need at least one person to be safe weighs heavy, and it's enough. ] But, I'll try. I can promise that.
[ as for the contracts question. ] ...Whether we do or don't, Lup, that doesn't matter. [ quietly. ] I'm sorry. I know that isn't what you want to hear - especially right now.
[ he shakes his head, enough that the veil shifts. ]
... It isn't. I know why you're asking, though. [ if he feels any of the ice in that tone, he doesn't show it.
...immediately, at least.
there's a moment of quiet. aquila reaches over and plunks a key on the piano with his free hand, and then another, someone who can't keep their hands still, in moments like this. it somehow still manages to sound out of tune but you know what it's fine. ]
no i'm kidding. this insult makes aquila laugh, a little - he pulls his hands up and out of the way and lets lup go.
... he really hasn't come to expect anything less from lup, but it's gorgeous. he falls silent, and then scoots a little closer to peer over her shoulder and watch her hands move on the keys, other arm falling behind her and resting on the piano bench.
... his eyes move from her hands to watch her instead, every now and then, stealing glances, but otherwise, he's a captive, attentive audience, quietly listening and soaking in the ability to hear it at all. ]
[ this is the worst, actually, and aquila hates it.
he just rests his head against hers and lets her continue to play, closing his eyes. it's so hard not being able to do anything more than this. just - being there, spending time with her, trying to be supportive, which is a role aquila's never really held before.
the least he can do is try and be some kind of an anchor, even like this. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
guestservices) wrote2022-06-09 12:18 pm
no subject
aurua
rs
fucking aurora first floor
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[ lup's only waiting maybe five seconds before the shadows coalesce at the door and aquila's making a beeline for wherever she is what's the state of the lup. ]
Lup? [ not even bothering with the gravel voice. ]
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whew, this place sucks.]
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he's coming to join her immediately, sliding into the seat beside lup. it's affection week, so he just slides his hand over hers. ]
Deep breath with me.
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aquila's voice stays quiet, familiar, guiding, breathing in with her. In... out. two breaths, three, just like that. in, out. in, out. steady, steady, steadying. ]
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a hard swallow. and then, voice rough:]
I'm so scared of tomorrow.
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...I know you are. [ because! yeah! fucking terrifying! ] Fifty-fifty - a fighting chance she doesn't even know she has. It doesn't make it any less of a cliff to stand on for you.
[ quietly. ] I'd like to think it's high time for another victory. [ but obviously, they don't know either. it's just chance. ]
no subject
[she stops, with a little hiccup.]
I don't know what I'm going to do if it doesn't work. I have this - I have... a way to save her, and all this chance, all this guessing. I just want to do something good.
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... ]
To try and... to try and do right by the people you love with everything you have is good. [ there's a little bit of insistency in the way they say that - like they can get it across more, a sort of impassioned nature to the words. ] That's what you've done. What you've always done, as - since I've met you.
[ they pause. it's a longer one, this time, like they're trying to make sure they say everything they want to say the right way.] Whether you succeed or fail tomorrow, you've done everything in your power somewhere where your power's been taken away.
...You're always carrying so much weight, Lup. [ all that guilt and all that hope, all that sorrow. they're things aquila sees - has seen maybe especially here. he's seen her pick up the loads of others and shoulder those, too, over and over and over, until it's weighed her into the ground.
aquila pauses, and squeezes her hand, again. ] That struggle forward you've made with it makes it hard to see all the light you've left behind you.
no subject
from one game to another to another - from one impossible choice to the next. a sense of responsibility hangs over her all the time. her world, and every single world that the hunger took, and the knowledge that if she failed, they'd all be gone. she pulled her soul out of her body to make sure that would never happen. she was prepared to stay behind to save the people at the station, towards the end. because she promised - she promised that she would never sacrifice an entire world again.
it's the same here. she doesn't know if she can sacrifice one person's entire world for another. she wants to save so many people - she wants to keep the people precious to her safe. they deserve solid ground to stand on. someone to look after them, even if they don't realize it. she has to leave the light behind her, she has to bring it wherever she goes, or what good is she?
because that's where it's gone. that's where it's twisted, and gotten heavy. she hasn't had time to rest, to let people love her, to see it. her brother is so far away from her, and he'd tell her she was being stupid and to focus on herself, but she can't. this isn't us, this can't be how we do this.
she can't really breathe with it, sometimes.
she swallows hard, eyes closed.]
I want to go home. [she says, finally, and it's so pathetic she's embarrassed, looking away.]
no subject
I want you to go home, too.
[ in so many ways, for so many reasons. if aquila had the power to whisk lup away from this entire place, he'd do it in a second. it's like he said, earlier in the week - i'd rather it be me. what a curse it is, to see familiar faces, trapped in this situation again. what a curse it especially is for lup, of all people.
he brings their hands back down afterwards, but doesn't let go. tactile in this affection week, tactile aquila. ] If I could spin the world backwards to make sure you got there, I would.
[ if she wanted the moon, he'd never settle for the stars. just, like this, there's nothing to be done. the same problem - taking on all the weight. ]
For now, I just - [ his fingers flex, a bit, and he squeezes again. ] - all I can do is catch you. You can let go.
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... I can't, but I - I get what you mean.
[she says, finally, reaching with her free hand to rub the tears away from her face. no big theatrics, no nothing, she just can't stop the heat from escaping.]
no subject
[ god, doesn't he. it's so shitty. this entire situation is so shitty. he wants to throw a fit a little bit, too.
aquila keeps a hold on her hand for now - resulting motions make him bump the piano keys a little bit, twanging two very wrong notes together in a way that's almost startling, on accident, and aquila glances down at it and lets out a tired, one note laugh, then strokes the side of her hand with his thumb. ]
I've never been any good at this. [ the music? the comforting people he cares about? the npc thing? the losing people thing? yes. ]
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You're doing fine with what you've got. [she says, after a moment.] Don't fly too close to the sun, now. I need at least one person to be safe.
... Do you all have contracts, too? The staff.
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...they nod, though - it goes unspoken, maybe, that he can't promise, but i need at least one person to be safe weighs heavy, and it's enough. ] But, I'll try. I can promise that.
[ as for the contracts question. ] ...Whether we do or don't, Lup, that doesn't matter. [ quietly. ] I'm sorry. I know that isn't what you want to hear - especially right now.
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[she says, a touch of ice to her tone.]
It's not worth it to argue with you, though.
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... It isn't. I know why you're asking, though. [ if he feels any of the ice in that tone, he doesn't show it.
...immediately, at least.
there's a moment of quiet. aquila reaches over and plunks a key on the piano with his free hand, and then another, someone who can't keep their hands still, in moments like this. it somehow still manages to sound out of tune but you know what it's fine. ]
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[she says, finally, and then nudges his hands away. she starts to play, instead.]
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no i'm kidding. this insult makes aquila laugh, a little - he pulls his hands up and out of the way and lets lup go.
... he really hasn't come to expect anything less from lup, but it's gorgeous. he falls silent, and then scoots a little closer to peer over her shoulder and watch her hands move on the keys, other arm falling behind her and resting on the piano bench.
... his eyes move from her hands to watch her instead, every now and then, stealing glances, but otherwise, he's a captive, attentive audience, quietly listening and soaking in the ability to hear it at all. ]
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she's still quietly crying, but at least she's moving.]
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he just rests his head against hers and lets her continue to play, closing his eyes. it's so hard not being able to do anything more than this. just - being there, spending time with her, trying to be supportive, which is a role aquila's never really held before.
the least he can do is try and be some kind of an anchor, even like this. ]