who: helena and others! what: variety catchall for the month. when: end of july/ all of august. where: across the boat. warnings: likely discussions of death.
"It was never going to be something that we alone dealt with."
The words are hard, the snap of wood against stone, a honed edge that will cut a silk thread draped over it. Helena does not move in her seat, but her voice carries the clear precision of a hammer on an anvil. The volume, for once, matches his own.
"Security died in my arms because of her."
Her companion. Someone she'd delve into death itself to bring back, should it take too long returning. Its body weighting her down, where it was so quiet beneath the waves. By all rights, she should call it agony ripped from her chest, her very soul to feel that loss so close - but they had known, going in, what it might be.
"You would hold the intention of torture against her, when torture was the entire point of that day. To die in agitation and pain and tears, for it to be bled from us that it might be used for fuel - and for it to be shown to those who stayed behind, to take more suffering from them as well. That was what that trip was for, Dimitri - you are lying to yourself if you think otherwise. And you want to raise the alert to others because...she did exactly what was asked of her so that we might continue to survive?"
She shakes her head once, deliberately. Still, otherwise, not even a twitch. Her voice softens a notch, but her eyes open, and her expression is deliberately unreadable.
"When she hunts for the hunt's own sake, when she is truly a threat to us, then I will be the one to spread word, as the one who has felt her spear pierce every one of my limbs many times over. But until then, why you cannot accept that I have brokered peace with Grace is frankly insulting. Speaking of consequences as if she isn't acutely aware that the friendship and community she longs for could be taken away at any instant."
You do not have the right to speak to her like that. Not when she was grateful for her death.
"You already taught Grace her own mortality. Will you demand more?"
"No. Not at this time. As I already said, all I want from Grace is a promise that she will not Hunt without an agreement. Which should not be an issue, if, as you say, she wishes to stop being a Hunter." Dimitri's frustration mounts as he repeats himself. It seems straightforward. He's been reasonably clear, hasn't he? The logic is simple enough, isn't it? Disagreement, he could work with, but they're just speaking past one another. "All I am going to do is speak to her. Do me the courtesy of seeing me as a thinking person, and not a wild boar."
His tone bristles, despite himself. He clamps his jaw shut, and wrestles it back under control.
"You have brokered peace with Grace for yourself. Demonstrably, she has not extended that peace to the rest of us. No one asked her to Hunt, Helena. She took that upon herself. If she acted to all our gain, did I betray the rest of us in stopping her? I could have fed," his voice curdles, "so much pain and fear to that excursion. Was I derelict in my duty for not joining her? By that logic, should we all not have broken into an orgy of senseless violence the moment we realized what was happening?"
His shoulders bunch. His hands flatten on the table. "No. The point of that excursion was suffering, and that is exactly why we must be able to rely on one another. If we can't, we may as well join Daisy's voyage and every other before it, where they tore each other apart to preserve an existence of tearing each other apart until nothing remained to tear. This place is nightmare enough on its own. There is no point to living in a world where we cannot trust each other."
Too much of what he says raises the emotions in her, makes her want to overturn this table or screech or tear at her own hair to do something, something to work with how she feels. He doesn't understand, and it rolls in on itself, twists, tightens, makes her want to say things that would land like barbs in the skin. He's putting words in her mouth and she hates it, she told him she hates it before -
She says nothing. She shows no indication. She takes everything she feels and bundles it into a sack, to set in a bucket and lower into the well of herself that is deep, deep, as a vault. Quiet, quiet. She lets them stand, because there's nothing else to do with them except try to chisel out an apology from her ribcage that nothing in her wants to give, it all wants to cling onto those emotions like muck, to ask irritated questions-
(but you have to, make no excuses, apologize, and control yourself, don't think of being stubborn now, you can't, you can't)
She shows not even a twitch of movement. Like this, she could be a doll girl, and it would be difficult to tell. Even her breathing is slow, careful, to ensure she's quiet. No words, until she can be sure that the next ones out of her mouth are docile. More acceptable. Her usual volume. Believable that she's calmed down. She has. She has to have done so. That well is very deep.
"...and what are the consequences you are placing on the table, Dimitri."
Fine. Fine. Helena's retreated into herself. Good fucking job, Dimitri, you brute, you beast, you damned boar, bludgeoning your way through every argument with your muscle and your Crest. It's so easy to get angry, isn't it, when you're the strongest person in the room? So easy to wield that strength as a blunt instrument, to launch directly to the full assault without stopping for diplomacy, to charge with teeth and tusks unprovoked. Claim you're capable of reason and let the lie curdle on your back teeth. You coward. You monster. You fucking animal.
... what's worse, he still doesn't think he's wrong.
His shoulders sag. His voice is soft. "You speak as though I mean to enforce this singlehandedly. -- The same, I hope, as would apply to me. Or to anyone else who began to prey on our fellow passengers. If she attacks again, she will die as many times as it takes for her to understand that we won't tolerate an active killer in our midst."
"Dying once has reaffirmed to her that she's not untouchable. Not the way they were. Are."
His voice is quieter. He's still talking to her. She did the right thing, cutting herself off when she did - she's stopped things from going out of control, from ruining it beyond all salvaging. She needs to be contained. Small. Quiet. Careful, as a lady must be. No matter the rage in her heart, no matter what it feels like, like someone carefully carving out the nerves in her arm and setting them all alight -
Breathe. Breathe.
"...Why did you come to tell me all this? You could have gone to seek her out and I would have been none the wiser."
And there a hint of it is. Why bring this to her, and make it hers to hold?
"To make sure what I'd felt was truly there, and not a paranoid imagining of stress and delirium. And because if you hadn't known of her presence, I would have been remiss not to warn you."
A twinge of irritation -- swiftly crushed. The last thing Dimitri needs is to make this worse again.
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no subject
The words are hard, the snap of wood against stone, a honed edge that will cut a silk thread draped over it. Helena does not move in her seat, but her voice carries the clear precision of a hammer on an anvil. The volume, for once, matches his own.
"Security died in my arms because of her."
Her companion. Someone she'd delve into death itself to bring back, should it take too long returning. Its body weighting her down, where it was so quiet beneath the waves. By all rights, she should call it agony ripped from her chest, her very soul to feel that loss so close - but they had known, going in, what it might be.
"You would hold the intention of torture against her, when torture was the entire point of that day. To die in agitation and pain and tears, for it to be bled from us that it might be used for fuel - and for it to be shown to those who stayed behind, to take more suffering from them as well. That was what that trip was for, Dimitri - you are lying to yourself if you think otherwise. And you want to raise the alert to others because...she did exactly what was asked of her so that we might continue to survive?"
She shakes her head once, deliberately. Still, otherwise, not even a twitch. Her voice softens a notch, but her eyes open, and her expression is deliberately unreadable.
"When she hunts for the hunt's own sake, when she is truly a threat to us, then I will be the one to spread word, as the one who has felt her spear pierce every one of my limbs many times over. But until then, why you cannot accept that I have brokered peace with Grace is frankly insulting. Speaking of consequences as if she isn't acutely aware that the friendship and community she longs for could be taken away at any instant."
You do not have the right to speak to her like that. Not when she was grateful for her death.
"You already taught Grace her own mortality. Will you demand more?"
no subject
His tone bristles, despite himself. He clamps his jaw shut, and wrestles it back under control.
"You have brokered peace with Grace for yourself. Demonstrably, she has not extended that peace to the rest of us. No one asked her to Hunt, Helena. She took that upon herself. If she acted to all our gain, did I betray the rest of us in stopping her? I could have fed," his voice curdles, "so much pain and fear to that excursion. Was I derelict in my duty for not joining her? By that logic, should we all not have broken into an orgy of senseless violence the moment we realized what was happening?"
His shoulders bunch. His hands flatten on the table. "No. The point of that excursion was suffering, and that is exactly why we must be able to rely on one another. If we can't, we may as well join Daisy's voyage and every other before it, where they tore each other apart to preserve an existence of tearing each other apart until nothing remained to tear. This place is nightmare enough on its own. There is no point to living in a world where we cannot trust each other."
no subject
She says nothing. She shows no indication. She takes everything she feels and bundles it into a sack, to set in a bucket and lower into the well of herself that is deep, deep, as a vault. Quiet, quiet. She lets them stand, because there's nothing else to do with them except try to chisel out an apology from her ribcage that nothing in her wants to give, it all wants to cling onto those emotions like muck, to ask irritated questions-
(but you have to, make no excuses, apologize, and control yourself, don't think of being stubborn now, you can't, you can't)
She shows not even a twitch of movement. Like this, she could be a doll girl, and it would be difficult to tell. Even her breathing is slow, careful, to ensure she's quiet. No words, until she can be sure that the next ones out of her mouth are docile. More acceptable. Her usual volume. Believable that she's calmed down. She has. She has to have done so. That well is very deep.
"...and what are the consequences you are placing on the table, Dimitri."
no subject
... what's worse, he still doesn't think he's wrong.
His shoulders sag. His voice is soft. "You speak as though I mean to enforce this singlehandedly. -- The same, I hope, as would apply to me. Or to anyone else who began to prey on our fellow passengers. If she attacks again, she will die as many times as it takes for her to understand that we won't tolerate an active killer in our midst."
no subject
His voice is quieter. He's still talking to her. She did the right thing, cutting herself off when she did - she's stopped things from going out of control, from ruining it beyond all salvaging. She needs to be contained. Small. Quiet. Careful, as a lady must be. No matter the rage in her heart, no matter what it feels like, like someone carefully carving out the nerves in her arm and setting them all alight -
Breathe. Breathe.
"...Why did you come to tell me all this? You could have gone to seek her out and I would have been none the wiser."
And there a hint of it is. Why bring this to her, and make it hers to hold?
no subject
A twinge of irritation -- swiftly crushed. The last thing Dimitri needs is to make this worse again.