mycrosstobear | Mask or Menace

[...Whatever he was expecting, it sure wasn't that.] Huh?

[Where did that come from?

...And, actually, how does he answer? At least half the time she's annoyed with him, or afraid for some reason, and it's not like he isn't annoyed with her a lot of the time...

(Though it's also not that he isn't often annoyed with his friends.)

What makes someone friends, really? Just spending a lot of time around each other? Helping out? Letting them find out things about you? He was out of practice with this for a long time.]

...Yes?

[gods, if he had taken any longer, she’d have just thrown herself off the balcony out of shame. she winces at the questioning inflection in his tone — a knife in his gut of another kind.]

Y-you don’t have to lie if it’s not true, you know! I’m not gonna. Like. Set you on fire of anything! I just! [withering.] Just...wanted to know for sure if. I don’t know.

Better than just assuming, one way the other, okay!

[Well, he managed to stick his foot in it. Though in his defense, getting asked point-blank about friendship by your argumentative neighbor isn't exactly a typical social situation.]

I'm not lying, I just didn't expect that!

[Could she not just jump to a conclusion like that for once?

...Maybe asking this was trying not to jump to a conclusion, actually. He deflates a little, shoulders softening.

(He remembers that memory of hers, how she'd been even more insecure as a kid. Maybe she's out of practice, too.)]

Okay sorry! Sorry. [she’s making a conscious effort to not tighten up with defensiveness and it’s hard — it shows.

gods. things like this shouldn’t make your heart pound so much!

she exhales in a huff, fussing with hair behind her ear.]

Just. Just like. Tell me if that changes. Okay?

That’s...really all I wanted to ask.

...You don't just stop being friends with someone.

[His voice is firm, but not sharp. Almost patient.]

[she blinks.]

...What. What do you mean -- what do you do when you find yourself no longer drawn to a person, then? Has that not actually happened to you before?

...No?

[He sits back, rubbing the back of his head.] You may go a long time without seeing someone, and people can change. [Look at Livio. Or Wolfwood himself.] But that doesn't mean you're not still friends.

[Look at Livio in the end.]

[her expression scrunches, struggling to grasp at this.

with a slow shake of her head:] No, that...I mean, how does that account for heinous changes of morality or character, though? You can't mean to say you'd still call a, like a, uh...ugh, I don't know, person who disembodies people a friend, would you?

[He opens his mouth. No.

And closes it again. No, but...

How many people did Livio kill on Knives and Chapel's orders? How many people did Razlo kill, acting on all the pain and anger that built up inside Livio? And how many people did Wolfwood kill, for the Eye of Michael or out of fear? Dozens? And that's without counting all the people he let die, because it was that or sacrifice his only chance to save anyone.

He slumps against the window frame, staring down at the ashtray perched on the other end of the sil.]

...There can be a lot of reasons someone changes. But they can change back, too.

[Not everyone. Some people are too far gone from the start. But friends...]

[Cecelia's already prepared to go on the defensive, realizing how extreme her example was, and that the implication that she'd ever be as despicable was absurd, but--

huh.

he's actually giving it thought rather than just...snapping back at her.

her ear twitches.]

...You think so? [it's not asked with any barbs in her tone, more a concerned bit of wondering.]

How many times can a person do that? In a lifespan? Humans have only...[frown. squint.] What is it, eighty? Ninety years? Lifespan-wise?

[Eighty years, ha.]

If they're lucky.[Or, maybe, if they have nanites propping up their own systems. Have any imPorts actually died of old age, he wonders.

Wolfwood sighs, soft and long.] I don't know how many times. But I've seen more than one person change completely and still manage to turn around again.

That seems more true in stories than real life... [she chews on her lip for a moment, looking down at the plants on the railing.] But I guess you'd...probably know better than me if you've, like. Been out and about more and all. Around people.

[He looks back up at her now, not sure if that's reasonable deference to experience or more of her frequent self-deprecation.

She doesn't trust things very easily, does she?

He's sure one to comment on that.

His gaze drops back to the ashtray again, and he reminds himself not to take out a cigarette. It's another few moments before he speaks.]

I had a friend, at the orphanage where I grew up. [They're talking about friendship, after all, aren't they? Maybe he can talk about things in those terms.] He had some problems, and he cried all the time, but he was a good kid. Liked helping people. But he ended up leaving, and after that... He got taken in by people who brought out the worst in him. [The Eye of Michael. The perfect tool.] He killed people, for them.

But...he stopped. It took a lot to get through to him, but he turned against those people. He realized he really could still help people, not just hurt them.

[It'd sound like a story even to some people in his world, but Wolfwood has the first-hand experience. He's been out and about.]

[Cecelia's already feeling off-center in the discussion, so it's easy to stay quiet and listen. in fact, it's very easy, as she realizes what he's talking about is something personal. he doesn't open up much unless it's in vague ways, so this actually has her holding her breath and listening quite intently.

she stayed quiet for moments thereafter, remembering to breathe again while running the story back through her head. her brow furrows a bit.

the story he tells...sounds more like just that -- a story.]

How did he...turn around like that without...being crushed by guilt? What of his conscience?

[Well, he can't speak to Livio's experience on that front. They hadn't exactly had a chance to talk about much of the future, let alone issues like guilt.

But he can guess.]

Because there are more important things than your own guilt.

...

[she's quiet for a moment, ruminating on that. he's not wrong, but thinking on the people she knows, the way they are...the way she is...

she wonders if she could ever be that selfless.

hesitantly, peering sidelong his way:] ...Are you still friends with him?

[He hasn't looked back up quite yet.]

Yeah.

[As much as he can be, to anyone back in his world, given...well. But if Livio were to appear here, they'd still be friends.]

...

[again, she falls quiet, trying to quickly come to conclusions on all this on-the-spot. not easy; she prefers time to sit back and really ruminate on information before blurting out opinions on things that have weight. it's rare she does, considering how quickly flustered she gets in the moment, but when conditions are ideal...!

so...maybe she won't?

and while we're at it, she's not a fan of the idea of pressing too much on a touchy subject, considering how she herself feels when the shoe's on the other foot. and yet:]

...Do you miss him?

[He misses Livio. He misses the girls. He misses Aunt Melanie and the kids at the orphanage. He misses Vash. He misses everyone, as hard as he tries not to think of it as month after month passes without the Porter bringing in any of them.

But he'd known what he was doing. He just...knows that somewhere different, now.]

Yeah. [This conversation is a lot. And a lot about him, drawing words out heavily. He tries to sound more casual.] Don't you have people you miss from your world?

[with a slight falter:] O-of course! Of course... [anxiously, her grip on the rail relaxes, then tightens again after drumming her fingers a bit.]

Only... I guess...

I don't think they miss me. Or...would, if they knew.

[a beat.

hastily shaking her head:] But that's an...entirely different conversation, isn't it? Gods, and, like. A miserable one at that. So let's not go there. Sorry. Look--I--

[she looks up, stuck for words for a moment.]

...Sorry. For being nosy. I'll stop.

[He knows better than to be nosy in turn. He really does. Drop it, move on with whatever normal (or "normal") things that come up instead.

She's really been lonely, hasn't she?]

...I bet they'd miss you more than you think.

[in a scoff:] You don't know them. But whatever! [she lifts her hands, shaking her head.] Enough, enough of that! I, like--Um. I have to get to work now. Sorry. I'lllll...I mean, we'll chat later. Okay? Okay. Bye!

[she gets up and scurries inside, closing the door behind her.]

[He has his mouth open to make some mild comment about how certain people can surprise you, but then she's gone.

Well. That sure was a conversation. Not one he expected, but...not actually one he feels bad about.]

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