[ there's something so simple and almost helpless about how she says it. a baring of naivete and vulnerability that is so unlike the person alina starkov has become. ]
Not anymore. That's why —
[ she is full of excuses, of justifications. but to offer a real explanation of the circumstance threatens to turn the fire behind her eyes to water. she swallows, bites down on her lip and chokes on the vulnerability and rids herself of it.
then pretends that it's her doing ianthe a favor, and not her hiding away something she would regret opening to discussion. ]
I'm sorry. We don't have to do this now. You have so much more to worry about than me.
No, I don't. Not right now, and the other shit can wait. I thought I ruined this. Us. [And that was unacceptable for so many unvoiced reasons.]
I'm not going to fight your battles for you, but this I'm here. And I can and will do this for you.
[The phalanges flexed in a moment of hesitation before offering the bone hand, palm up, for Alina. Ianthe wasn't sure which one of them the gesture was for. Did it even matter?]
[ there it is. the wetness in her voice. she shakes her head, fighting against the sorrowful twist of her expression. ]
You didn't ruin anything. I wish that you had.
[ she is nothing if not skilled in picking people who know how to ruin what she gives them, whose betrayals should be ruinous, but whom she keeps clinging to despite it.
she smothers herself, palm over mouth, wiping past her cheeks as she looks away from ianthe's hand. the deep breath she tries to draw just shakes and fades into something thin and insubstantial. she can't hold it. ]
[Her hand hung there for a moment before she let it drop. So much for that. It hurt, but she deserved it. She knew she did.
... and now she didn't know what to do aside from what she said she'd do. Be there. So she leaned forward to rest her arms on her knees and turned her gaze to the street ahead of them as Alina cried and Ianthe swallowed the impulse to hold her.
No touching. No necromancy. Fuck, she hated this.]
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no subject
[ there's something so simple and almost helpless about how she says it. a baring of naivete and vulnerability that is so unlike the person alina starkov has become. ]
Not anymore. That's why —
[ she is full of excuses, of justifications. but to offer a real explanation of the circumstance threatens to turn the fire behind her eyes to water. she swallows, bites down on her lip and chokes on the vulnerability and rids herself of it.
then pretends that it's her doing ianthe a favor, and not her hiding away something she would regret opening to discussion. ]
I'm sorry. We don't have to do this now. You have so much more to worry about than me.
no subject
I'm not going to fight your battles for you, but this I'm here. And I can and will do this for you.
[The phalanges flexed in a moment of hesitation before offering the bone hand, palm up, for Alina. Ianthe wasn't sure which one of them the gesture was for. Did it even matter?]
no subject
[ there it is. the wetness in her voice. she shakes her head, fighting against the sorrowful twist of her expression. ]
You didn't ruin anything. I wish that you had.
[ she is nothing if not skilled in picking people who know how to ruin what she gives them, whose betrayals should be ruinous, but whom she keeps clinging to despite it.
she smothers herself, palm over mouth, wiping past her cheeks as she looks away from ianthe's hand. the deep breath she tries to draw just shakes and fades into something thin and insubstantial. she can't hold it. ]
no subject
... and now she didn't know what to do aside from what she said she'd do. Be there. So she leaned forward to rest her arms on her knees and turned her gaze to the street ahead of them as Alina cried and Ianthe swallowed the impulse to hold her.
No touching. No necromancy. Fuck, she hated this.]