"You're sulking," Shepard replies, and for herself simply hefts the deadweight that is her arm up onto the table. Chlank. It's nicely glazed with a delicate craquelure that would make it both appealing and fancy if it were, for example, a teapot, or a dinnerplate, and not an unsettlingly realistic dolls arm, "I'm doing fine."
Of course it's a threat, the way she says it. Sarcasm can be hostile, but this is a step farther than that, even. She doesn't want to talk about loss, but Sam's been convincing her to be a better person or some such bullshit, so here she is. On purpose. By choice.
Doesn't mean she likes it, just the same.
"I had a boyfriend. This bullshit, with people dying, coming back... kind of messes with you. Y'know?"
Sulking? If mourning your not-quite-soulmate's death(even if it was temporary) was sulking, sure, sulking it was.
"I'm a-" he starts, I'm allowed, he doesn't finish because Shepard plunks down a ceramic arm and it's just like the one they gave Dabo, until they could replace it with a flesh one. His eyes flick from the arm to Shepard's face before he finishes the drink in one go.
"You boyfriend, he came back too?" he asks about the man instead, because if she hasn't brought up the arm, he's not about to either. She already knows what he's told her about the time Lan Xichen's was replaced, and likely experienced the first part of it, even if she was unconscious at the time.
"He's not my-" he doesn't think to add til a moment later, "he's married, you know, to the other me?"
"Yeah," It's too quiet, if only a little, carrying a subtle sort of guilt for snapping at him, "Yeah, I know. I get it, believe me. Mine, uh..."
It's something that happened, she tells herself, and talking about it won't change it. Talking about him won't change it. Won't make it any more or less real. Won't make it any farther away from the here-and-now. She's not the kind of person who deals well with grief, or guilt, or losses of any kind. When you have so few lines tying you to the world, each one becomes precious.
"His name was Thane. He died months ago, before I woke up here. So... No, he won't be coming back."
Wei Wuxian can feel his throat go tight, and takes another drink; at least he can blame the way it makes his eyes water solely on the alcohol. He understands that he'd not alone in this pain, that others have felt the same, or worse, and still lived on, missing a piece of their heart and feeling the ache for the rest of their life.
Listening is easier than talking, and he nods, letting the hurt settle into his chest.
"To Thane," he raises his cup, his expression much more somber than usual before he takes a long pull. He holds his silence for a moment, turning the glass in his hand.
"I should feel relieved, knowing he's likely to come back, but is he just returning to suffer again? I should be glad he's coming back, but- I can't watch that happen again."
"I hate to say it, but you're probably gonna. Remember what I said about bloodless battles?"
Bloodless revolutions, was what she'd said, and she doubts he'd forgotten it. But one does not speak of revolution unless one is clearly joking, or else outside the likely ear-shot of one's superiors.
"To Thane," Instead of clarifying, she mirrors his toast, and drinks, two, three fiery gulps, wholly inappropriate to the drink at hand. She can feel it in her belly, warm and ugly, full of grief, "Y'know, I think he would have liked you. He was always so... polite."
It's almost an insult, said in that tone, except for the way Shepard smiles. The smile twists sour, after a moment, but for those shining heartbeats she is as soft and new as a green twig in spring. And then it's gone.
"But it wasn't like his hands were clean or anything, he was a professional assassin. And, he clearly enjoyed having at least one asshole for a friend. So, who knows?"
Wei Wuxian may not have the best memory, but he nods all the same. He remembers, more so, he knows from past experience just what a battle can cost. It's naive to think there wouldn't be casualties, and really it is lucky that these deaths, however it may work, aren't permanent. But it doesn't make the pain of the loss any less.
"Why, because I'm so polite too?" he does smile at that, even if it's all in hypotheticals.
"If you're not an asshole at least some of the time, you're probably up to something," he trails off for a moment, taking a quiet breath, "how do you... handle it? Feeling like this, after he's gone?"
You don't. Shepard considers leaving it at that. But something brings her up short with an unexpected sense of shame. When Thane had died, no one had mentioned it, not for months, and it had been Kolyat of all people who took the necessary steps, while she'd been... doing what, exactly?
"I, uh... I don't know. Mostly I just drink too much. I skip sleep, maybe I get a little more stupid in battle than I should. I'm known for a risk-taker, so I don't think anyone really notices," Which was an ugly sort of thing to think, about your best friends in all the world. Shepard looks down at her glass— empty— and sighs, "I never expected to live this long. I was actually kind of hoping this last big push would finally be the one that killed me. It's a war. People die in wars all the time. Oh yeah..."
She turns away from what Garrus would call contemplation and Joker would definitely call teenage brooding, and offers Wei Wuxian a sharp, toothy sort of grin.
"And I hunted down the son of a bitch who killed him, and cut out the bastard's heart."
All of those sounded way too familiar. Wei Wuxian had always been fond of liquor, but after Lotus Pier, it was harder and harder to be sober. He hadn't slept much then, and he'd definitely done some stupid things in battle.
"I think I can check all of those off the list, except the last one," his smile feels a little sharp as he finishes off his drink and waves for another round.
"That's the spirit," Shepard tells him, unhelpfully. She probably ought to be encouraging him to breathe and let it go, or to think about how he isn't dead, not really, and will be back again in no time. But she's never had a particularly healthy personality, except in that almost nothing can truly break her, "And you know I'm always up for hitting things."
If he had a person to direct the anger toward, one he could actually go after, he'd already have done so, but in the mean time, it just makes him all the more determined to drag out the ones in hiding and make them pay in blood and bone.
"The hunting down is the hard part," his expression is still cool for a moment longer before his eyes slide to the empty glass and he nods.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Of course it's a threat, the way she says it. Sarcasm can be hostile, but this is a step farther than that, even. She doesn't want to talk about loss, but Sam's been convincing her to be a better person or some such bullshit, so here she is. On purpose. By choice.
Doesn't mean she likes it, just the same.
"I had a boyfriend. This bullshit, with people dying, coming back... kind of messes with you. Y'know?"
no subject
"I'm a-" he starts, I'm allowed, he doesn't finish because Shepard plunks down a ceramic arm and it's just like the one they gave Dabo, until they could replace it with a flesh one. His eyes flick from the arm to Shepard's face before he finishes the drink in one go.
"You boyfriend, he came back too?" he asks about the man instead, because if she hasn't brought up the arm, he's not about to either. She already knows what he's told her about the time Lan Xichen's was replaced, and likely experienced the first part of it, even if she was unconscious at the time.
"He's not my-" he doesn't think to add til a moment later, "he's married, you know, to the other me?"
no subject
It's something that happened, she tells herself, and talking about it won't change it. Talking about him won't change it. Won't make it any more or less real. Won't make it any farther away from the here-and-now. She's not the kind of person who deals well with grief, or guilt, or losses of any kind. When you have so few lines tying you to the world, each one becomes precious.
"His name was Thane. He died months ago, before I woke up here. So... No, he won't be coming back."
And this is why we drink.
no subject
Listening is easier than talking, and he nods, letting the hurt settle into his chest.
"To Thane," he raises his cup, his expression much more somber than usual before he takes a long pull. He holds his silence for a moment, turning the glass in his hand.
"I should feel relieved, knowing he's likely to come back, but is he just returning to suffer again? I should be glad he's coming back, but- I can't watch that happen again."
no subject
Bloodless revolutions, was what she'd said, and she doubts he'd forgotten it. But one does not speak of revolution unless one is clearly joking, or else outside the likely ear-shot of one's superiors.
"To Thane," Instead of clarifying, she mirrors his toast, and drinks, two, three fiery gulps, wholly inappropriate to the drink at hand. She can feel it in her belly, warm and ugly, full of grief, "Y'know, I think he would have liked you. He was always so... polite."
It's almost an insult, said in that tone, except for the way Shepard smiles. The smile twists sour, after a moment, but for those shining heartbeats she is as soft and new as a green twig in spring. And then it's gone.
"But it wasn't like his hands were clean or anything, he was a professional assassin. And, he clearly enjoyed having at least one asshole for a friend. So, who knows?"
no subject
"Why, because I'm so polite too?" he does smile at that, even if it's all in hypotheticals.
"If you're not an asshole at least some of the time, you're probably up to something," he trails off for a moment, taking a quiet breath, "how do you... handle it? Feeling like this, after he's gone?"
no subject
"I, uh... I don't know. Mostly I just drink too much. I skip sleep, maybe I get a little more stupid in battle than I should. I'm known for a risk-taker, so I don't think anyone really notices," Which was an ugly sort of thing to think, about your best friends in all the world. Shepard looks down at her glass— empty— and sighs, "I never expected to live this long. I was actually kind of hoping this last big push would finally be the one that killed me. It's a war. People die in wars all the time. Oh yeah..."
She turns away from what Garrus would call contemplation and Joker would definitely call teenage brooding, and offers Wei Wuxian a sharp, toothy sort of grin.
"And I hunted down the son of a bitch who killed him, and cut out the bastard's heart."
That day, had been a very satisfying day.
no subject
"I think I can check all of those off the list, except the last one," his smile feels a little sharp as he finishes off his drink and waves for another round.
"But it's just a matter of time."
no subject
She's got your back, you vengeful bastard.
"You want another?"
no subject
"The hunting down is the hard part," his expression is still cool for a moment longer before his eyes slide to the empty glass and he nods.
"Only getting started."