faderift | Down On Skid Row [Closed-ish]

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Down On Skid Row [Closed-ish]

WHO: Athessa, Byerly
WHAT: Repairing friendship maybe??
WHEN: a few days after By's backfired apology (pre-Ghislain)
WHERE: Lowtown
NOTES: Drinking and drug use and probably violence, threadjacking negotiable

Lowtown taverns haven't been Athessa's regular haunts for a long while, probably because she tacitly conceded them to Derrica in favor of drifting along the battlements in clouds of smoke and visiting Hightown apartments where the food is arguably much better. But she's here now, leaning against the bar and trying valiantly to get the barkeep's attention. This isn't the one who passes her information for Riftwatch, just an unaffiliated one who has something against elves, or women, or short-arses, or all of the above.

So while she waits, she produces a blunt and lights it on someone else's match just after they light their own cigarette. It's surprising enough for the man that he stares, confused, until the flame burns down to his fingers and he drops the match and stomps it out when it hits the floor.

"Cheers," Athessa says, though he's already ignoring her again, just like the barkeep. She turns and leans her elbows on the bar, scanning the crowd for anyone pretty, handsome, pretty handsome, or pretty interesting.

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He doesn't answer. Instead, he takes a drag off his cigarette, and blows the smoke into the air.

"There's nothing wrong with being self-centered," he says, "or self-obsessed. I'm both those things. Of all the shitty things about me, I think those things are relatively minor." Another drag. "What is shitty, my dear, is being those things and pretending you are not. You invited me to come to you for comfort, and when I sought comfort, tried to confide in you, you ended up just upset about your own life. And then Bastien ended up cross with me for bullying you. I felt deceived and villainous."

He flicks ash off the end of his cigarette. "Take this with a grain of salt, because I'm a piece of shit. But you cannot be a good friend until you understand yourself. You don't have to be perfect - you don't even have to be good. But you have to be honest."

"That's rich, coming from you." It's out, hanging bitter in the air before she can stop it, before she even realizes she's saying it, and once it's there it's not something she can take back. So she doesn't even try.

"You've made it impossible to believe anything you say and you think I'm the one being dishonest? I'd ask you to make a list of what is and isn't okay for me to say to you, but I wouldn't be able to trust it," Athessa balls her hands into fists at her sides and stops walking, shaking her head. "Were you just kidding when you said you didn't want to make me miserable? Or are you really so dense that you don't know when you're being hurtful?"

"I," he replies, his voice remaining casual, "am irreparably broken, for reasons I've laid out to you." He shrugs. It seems that her anger isn't remotely hurtful to him; if anything, he seems a bit less bitter upon hearing it.

"Me being shitty doesn't absolve you of your obligation to be good to good people. If anything, you witnessing me doing a thing should just show you that you shouldn't be doing that thing."

"Fuck you, Byerly. You're not imparting some deeply wise life lesson, you're just making excuses to keep wallowing in self pity."

She turns on her heel and marches in the opposite direction, away from the general ferry-ward trajectory they'd taken.

"Ah," he says, taking another drag, "again, she runs away when things become too uncomfortable. Such a habit. One might mistake it for cowardice."

"Ah," she says, imitating him even as she walks away, "again, he chooses cruelty. Such a habit. One might think him a liar who enjoys hurting people."

"Hold on." He calls after her. "Stop walking away. You think this is cruelty?"

She doesn't stop walking away.

"What else do you call it when you say intentionally hurtful things?" is spoken into the air in front of her rather than called back towards him. Torn between the urge to fight him and to run and hide, run and hide, run and hide.

Selfish. Coward.

Here, he does push off and start following her.

"Unfortunately, dear girl, this instance is missing a key component that would make this cruelty. Cruelty is inflicting pain out of sadism. Do you think I am acting from sadism?"

"Actually, dear man, that's just called sadism. I looked it up." Benefits of a remedial education: often having a dictionary on hand.

"But you contradict yourself constantly, maybe you were lying when you said you didn't want to be a source of misery."

In spite of the calls of selfish and coward and their hold around her throat, Athessa doesn't cry.

With growing frustration, "Of course. Apologies. Me pointing out something that you do that - " He struggles with this a moment, but finally manages to get out - "That injures my feelings is certainly tantamount to sadism. Well-spotted, Athessa. Well done."

"Oh, well excuse me for trying to relate to you, then! And of course who could fault you, Lord Ambassador, for seeing your hurt feelings as permission to hurt mine? But perhaps I should simply stop speaking, since I'm so self-centered to the point of being incapable of expressing interest in anyone else!"

He lets out a harsh breath, stopping dead. It's nearly a flinch. That had been so difficult for him to say, and she - Maker, she didn't even register it.

So honestly, what's the point? Truly, what's the point? He'd told her his deepest secret, back during that earlier fight, and she'd been so utterly...indifferent. Never noticed. He'd thought that she cared, because she'd come to him for help; he'd taken that as a sign that she trusted him, that she believed in him. But maybe all she wanted from him was his service. To help her. And he isn't sorry to have done so; to have helped her is one of his prouder moments. But maybe that's all she sees him for - an instrument to solve her problems.

Once, that would have been all he wanted. Once, that would have pleased him well. But he doesn't feel satisfied with that anymore.

So. He tucks a hand into his pocket, and lifts the cigarette to his lips, and braces his back against the wall, needing a moment to recuperate from his thudding disappointment.

It's hard for someone who wears their heart on their sleeve to appreciate how hard it is to admit to things, sometimes.

Athessa stops a few steps past noticing his arrest. Her fists are still clenched at her sides, short nails digging into her palms. If only that tavern brawl hadn't been broken up so quickly.

"If you'll forgive the offense caused by speaking of myself," she seethes, "I am sick and fucking tired of being lied to and made to feel stupid for trusting you. I offered you comfort, and you came looking for drugs. I listen to you, and you tell me I'm foolish for believing you. You tell me to be kind to Lexie, then insult her to my face and get mad at me when I call upon someone I know to be a better friend to you than I. You say you want me to show interest, then call me self-centered for trying to relate to your story.

You make it really hard to be your friend, Byerly. If all you want to do is talk about yourself, the wall is right fucking there. I'm going to Colin's."

She keeps walking.

His voice is dull and soft and a little desolate when he replies, simply, "You're right."

As if running headlong into a wall, Athessa stops. Narrows her eyes and turns, regarding him with wary hesitation.

"What?"

"I said you're right." He exhales smoke slowly through his teeth, and does not elaborate further.

This feels like a trap. So much so that Athessa's gaze flickers about as if trying to see the trip wire before she takes one step to fully face him, crossing her arms.

"About what."

"About everything," he replies simply. No more than that. His face and tone are both utterly unreadable.

She watches him, brow furrowed low, eyes seeking. For a long, silent moment she wrestles with the urge to keep walking away, to leave him to his own devices. And what if she does, and he does something stupid? What if she stays, and he just plants more knives in her chest for being stupid enough to care?

One more tentative step closer. She speaks quietly: "What you said about being a spy...was that true?"

Not exactly a question he expected. He looks at her just a moment, then looks away again. "Completely and utterly," he answers. "Why would I lie about that?" Another puff.

Why would he lie about anything he lies about? Why would he say one thing, then write it off as a joke later?

"Why did you tell me?"

Another glance. "Because you asked why I lie all the time. That's the answer." A shrug. "Or at least part of it."

"What's the other part, then? Why trust me with something like that?"

Maybe he was hoping she'd fail to keep it secret, to prove a point. Was he telling the truth when he said he didn't enjoy teaching people things?

A long sigh. "The other part is that I am a liar. I have been all my life."

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