WHO: Athessa, Madi, and YOU WHAT: post-Dream catch-all WHEN: after part 2 of dream time WHERE: The Gallows/Kirkwall NOTES: tags will be slow, brain still bad
"Hardly complimentary," she mutters quietly. To think that Byerly's feelings for her grew into such condescension and disregard, enough so that were it not for the reveal that it was in fact a dream, she would have left the company altogether.
She clicks her tongue against the back of her teeth, looking the letter over again and starting a new reply: So-and-so, While we appreciate the invitation to attend, blah blah blah, Regards, etc.
Athessa studies Byerly's face, hearing the vocal shift and trying to determine its provenance. Anger? Sadness? She's never been able to tell one way or another with any accuracy.
Except when he's worried, she knows what that looks like, now.
"I'm not trying to do it alone." He runs a hand over his face. He looks tired - nearly as tired as he looked in that dream. "I'm trying to - cajole, flatter, persuade, threaten, whatever I need to do so that we all pull in the same direction. Believe me - Maker, believe me, if I were trying to act alone, I'd be taking very different actions."
But he shakes his head. "There's no point in naming them," he says. "I live to serve. And this is how I am to serve, until somehow I find some release."
And he shrugs in response. "It's true," he says. "I only took this position because we were desperate. Because no one capable stepped forward. Maybe we'll find someone to take it from me; I don't know. But I suspect I'll hold it till someone cuts my throat. Probably in a month or two, if people know what's good for them."
"I mean they obviously don't," she says, and runs her thumb along the edge of the parchment with her second draft on it. "But if you don't wanna be in this position, why don't you look for a replacement? Actively, not by waiting around for someone to kill you."
"Your comment that people don't know what's good for them seems to imply a certain view of my leadership," By says. His smile is quite fixed. Not hard to figure out: once again, when hurt, he freezes up.
"The fact that people around here don't know what's good for them has nothing to do with your leadership," she insists, exasperated. "Stop trying to get me to say what you think I mean instead of what I'm actually saying."
She'd really like to slap him. Tell him off for presuming to tell her how she feels or thinks or what she believes. Maybe storm out and yell, too. But she doesn't indulge in that want, choosing instead to simply let the hurt show in her expression.
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm still here," she asserts, and some degree of disdain for the spirit that concocted the dream creeps into the curl of her lips. She pushes up to standing and gestures loosely while she lists off the differences between real life and the dream. "You haven't lost an eye, Isaac still has his whole face, Bastien's not dead, I don't have a baby, and we're not in a fuckin' swamp. Gods, it's like you seek out any opportunity to believe the worst about everyone, no matter how far you have to stretch!"
But Byerly shakes his head. What she's listing off is just events - things they dreamed up having happened. Or things that the spirit decided to inflict upon them before the dream even started. What he's discussing is feelings. The things they did and said. She stood there in that room and as good as called him a monster. She declared that she would try to see him removed from his position. It's -
Well, it's a lack of faith. Every time they get here, it feels like, it's because Athessa looks to him and sees someone evil. Every time. How often must they do this? And Maker, maybe it's not fair - maybe with all she's suffered, it's not fair of him to want trust from her. But every time, it comes as such a surprise. Every time, it's like another deep cut in a body already bleeding.
And what kind of fool are you, Byerly, to keep yourself vulnerable to that blade? He let her see too much of his heart too early, too recklessly. And now he can't just dismiss her feelings about him. Idiot.
He runs a hand over his face. "Who do you think I am, Athessa? What kind of person?"
"As if what I think even matters," she scoffs. "You've made it clear by now you think I'm a bad judge of character. If I tell you you're a good person, you'll argue against it or try to twist anything I say to prove that I'm wrong or think the worst of you! And lemme tell ya, if I thought you weren't worth caring about I sure as hell wouldn't be here arguing with you."
He shakes his head. "Good person, bad person - those words don't mean anything. Good people and bad people don't exist." He takes a breath. "What do you think I care about? Why do you think I do what I do?"
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She clicks her tongue against the back of her teeth, looking the letter over again and starting a new reply: So-and-so, While we appreciate the invitation to attend, blah blah blah, Regards, etc.
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Another signature on the page.
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Seems a fair question, even asked somewhat absently. She passes the new letter back.
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Except when he's worried, she knows what that looks like, now.
"That's not something you can do alone."
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"What d'you reckon that release oughta look like?"
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Another signature.
"It's fair enough."
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"In case you haven't noticed, I'm still here," she asserts, and some degree of disdain for the spirit that concocted the dream creeps into the curl of her lips. She pushes up to standing and gestures loosely while she lists off the differences between real life and the dream. "You haven't lost an eye, Isaac still has his whole face, Bastien's not dead, I don't have a baby, and we're not in a fuckin' swamp. Gods, it's like you seek out any opportunity to believe the worst about everyone, no matter how far you have to stretch!"
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Well, it's a lack of faith. Every time they get here, it feels like, it's because Athessa looks to him and sees someone evil. Every time. How often must they do this? And Maker, maybe it's not fair - maybe with all she's suffered, it's not fair of him to want trust from her. But every time, it comes as such a surprise. Every time, it's like another deep cut in a body already bleeding.
And what kind of fool are you, Byerly, to keep yourself vulnerable to that blade? He let her see too much of his heart too early, too recklessly. And now he can't just dismiss her feelings about him. Idiot.
He runs a hand over his face. "Who do you think I am, Athessa? What kind of person?"
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cw suicide