How does abandoning a child to their fate make them strong? ( the scent of chalk dust. the taste of blood in her (his) mouth? the low rumble of a voice. older. authoritative. turn the pain into power. over and over, a stuck record. a mantra.
so perhaps he's not as ignorant of such things as he'd like to pretend. )
If they didn't teach me to survive, the wilds would have killed me. What's the point in saving a child just to lose them later?
[ how many times had the wilds almost killed her anyway? days of starvation. the sound of branches snapping in the dead of night when a hunter from another clan came upon her. ]
( an edge to the words. angry. it angers him that his people are judged so unfairly. judged for bringing order to the chaos of the wilds, bringing justice to the children like her, the ones wronged and abandoned. )
[ she prods at that connection. deep in his mind, she can still feel that teacher with the sharp features. his presence remains. just like aristaeus' brothers in arms. ]
( firm resolve. he is here because he's resilient because he's a survivor. the quiet unsettles him deeply, of course it does, but he could endure it if he had to.
because he would have to. there is no alternative. )
How does it work? The thing that connects you to them.
[ he'd said to ask questions. here's a question. but the reality is that because she has no control over her powers, it comes with a violent probing sensation like the sharp stab of a knife. ]
You could hear all of them? Feel all of them? Since birth?
[ there's a pang of something. a memory of every loneliness, and a question — what if it really would have been better there? she doesn't allow it to take root. ]
[ that probing feeling again. she wants it — the way he's mastered tolerating the telepathy. the way to shut people out, to quiet the world without being alone. ]
( he can feel her probing at him — searching for ...something. does she even know what she's looking for? he allows it. his mind is a wall of static, prickling at the touch. she'll not find much traction this way. )
[ she doesn't stop probing. it feels like combing through hair. she has brief sensory memory of the same. abstracted. did she imagine it? but she peels away that layer of static next. tries to wrap the same thing around herself, recreate the impression. ]
Because you're not exactly subtle in your searching, Mavis.
( blandly matter of fact. she can ponder over his allowing this later, because his acknowledgement of it means that he can probably put an end to it should it become necessary.
still rather than do that the wall shifts, loosens enough to allow some of the emotions to coalesce more obviously: confusion, curiosity, a wry twisting amusement that is more than likely at her expense. no deception, however. )
I don't have to dig to tell when people are lying.
[ she just picks up on it, ambiently. even with that shield of his, she doubts it's any different. still. when she realizes he's wilingly pulling it down, she feels —
it's like watching someone undress.
she sits up. pulls her knees to her chest and stares out into the dark of the wilds. fragments of other thoughts leak through from her end — teach and you're the only one who can. ]
( those that do so consciously are admittedly rare but the human capacity for self-deception is remarkable. mavis, for example, is a much better liar than she realizes. )
Tell me about where you are. Be specific. The details will help ground you.
[ she withdraws all at once. like a vacuum, sucking all the air out of the psychic space between them. a void is left like the impassable canyon that sprawls through the middle of the wilds. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
( a soft, thoughtful little hum. )
How does abandoning a child to their fate make them strong? ( the scent of chalk dust. the taste of blood in her (his) mouth? the low rumble of a voice. older. authoritative. turn the pain into power. over and over, a stuck record. a mantra.
so perhaps he's not as ignorant of such things as he'd like to pretend. )
no subject
[ how many times had the wilds almost killed her anyway? days of starvation. the sound of branches snapping in the dead of night when a hunter from another clan came upon her. ]
no subject
( an edge to the words. angry. it angers him that his people are judged so unfairly. judged for bringing order to the chaos of the wilds, bringing justice to the children like her, the ones wronged and abandoned. )
Ask me something.
no subject
no subject
( but the one looms large in his mind: an older man, sharp features, a soft voice that nonetheless carries the weight of authority. )
Not always, but more than you'd think. There are worse ways to suffer than exile.
no subject
[ she prods at that connection. deep in his mind, she can still feel that teacher with the sharp features. his presence remains. just like aristaeus' brothers in arms. ]
I think it would break you.
no subject
( firm resolve. he is here because he's resilient because he's a survivor. the quiet unsettles him deeply, of course it does, but he could endure it if he had to.
because he would have to. there is no alternative. )
no subject
[ he'd said to ask questions. here's a question. but the reality is that because she has no control over her powers, it comes with a violent probing sensation like the sharp stab of a knife. ]
no subject
( but, no, that's not strictly true. the broader connection to the hub is softer than what connects him to his brothers. )
no subject
[ there's a pang of something. a memory of every loneliness, and a question — what if it really would have been better there? she doesn't allow it to take root. ]
no subject
( it takes years but there are ways to account for this. )
no subject
[ that probing feeling again. she wants it — the way he's mastered tolerating the telepathy. the way to shut people out, to quiet the world without being alone. ]
no subject
( he can feel her probing at him — searching for ...something. does she even know what she's looking for? he allows it. his mind is a wall of static, prickling at the touch. she'll not find much traction this way. )
no subject
[ she doesn't stop probing. it feels like combing through hair. she has brief sensory memory of the same. abstracted. did she imagine it? but she peels away that layer of static next. tries to wrap the same thing around herself, recreate the impression. ]
no subject
( blandly matter of fact. she can ponder over his allowing this later, because his acknowledgement of it means that he can probably put an end to it should it become necessary.
still rather than do that the wall shifts, loosens enough to allow some of the emotions to coalesce more obviously: confusion, curiosity, a wry twisting amusement that is more than likely at her expense. no deception, however. )
no subject
[ she just picks up on it, ambiently. even with that shield of his, she doubts it's any different. still. when she realizes he's wilingly pulling it down, she feels —
it's like watching someone undress.
she sits up. pulls her knees to her chest and stares out into the dark of the wilds. fragments of other thoughts leak through from her end — teach and you're the only one who can. ]
no subject
( those that do so consciously are admittedly rare but the human capacity for self-deception is remarkable. mavis, for example, is a much better liar than she realizes. )
Tell me about where you are. Be specific. The details will help ground you.
no subject
[ she withdraws all at once. like a vacuum, sucking all the air out of the psychic space between them. a void is left like the impassable canyon that sprawls through the middle of the wilds. ]