![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Right. Sounds like a familiar type, honestly.
So they've got good intentions, but maybe don't know their limits too well. Is that fair to say?
So they've got good intentions, but maybe don't know their limits too well. Is that fair to say?
If it's too much trouble, I understand.
But I realized that we've had more encounters in dire straits or ominous investigations than anything else, and it doesn't sit well with me.
I don't want our acquaintance to be defined by how many dangerous scrapes we've survived.
What do you think?
But I realized that we've had more encounters in dire straits or ominous investigations than anything else, and it doesn't sit well with me.
I don't want our acquaintance to be defined by how many dangerous scrapes we've survived.
What do you think?
They just don't give a damn. Well, that can be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on the circumstances.
Do you think they're a good fit for a team? Aegis has a code, and a chain of command. It might not be the right place for a loose cannon, if that's what we're talking about here.
Do you think they're a good fit for a team? Aegis has a code, and a chain of command. It might not be the right place for a loose cannon, if that's what we're talking about here.
...yeah, I know. My little brother wasn't from the same place either. Different story, same ending.
[ Jaime shrugs. He's sad for her, of course, but when he mentions his little brother, he manages to maintain remarkably level. It's not feigned, either. He knows so much about the horrible things that people went back to that Ken is the one person he manages not to be sad about, even if he misses the kid horribly; he knows Ken overcomes all that's been thrown his way and is well and alive where he's from. That's good enough for him. Maybe he's not there with him, but as long as Ken continues to be the survivor he knows he is, then he can rest easy.
A little brother's different from a dad, though. ]
I'm sorry anyway. I didn't drag you over here so I could get you to rehash all this again. Let's just... watch TV.
[ If they keep talking, it will keep spiraling back to unpleasantness. Maybe it's because of who they are and what they share, but Jaime prefers to think of it as something that's just in her mood right now; when you're already struggling, sometimes it's difficult to keep your mind from wandering.
When he turns up the volume, he looks at Ruka, quiet and miserable as she is. He would have hugged anyone else by now, but it's always felt different with her, as though he should wait for an express invitation.
After a moment's deliberation, he wraps his arm around her shoulders anyway, squeezing her shoulder once before letting go. As with their every conversation, there's wiggle room. If she wants to slip away, there's plenty of room, but if she wants to stay... well, that's okay too. And if it feels a little different, it shouldn't. Jaime's done this to a hundred people on this couch before. It's just what being a good friend's about, sometimes. ]
[ Jaime shrugs. He's sad for her, of course, but when he mentions his little brother, he manages to maintain remarkably level. It's not feigned, either. He knows so much about the horrible things that people went back to that Ken is the one person he manages not to be sad about, even if he misses the kid horribly; he knows Ken overcomes all that's been thrown his way and is well and alive where he's from. That's good enough for him. Maybe he's not there with him, but as long as Ken continues to be the survivor he knows he is, then he can rest easy.
A little brother's different from a dad, though. ]
I'm sorry anyway. I didn't drag you over here so I could get you to rehash all this again. Let's just... watch TV.
[ If they keep talking, it will keep spiraling back to unpleasantness. Maybe it's because of who they are and what they share, but Jaime prefers to think of it as something that's just in her mood right now; when you're already struggling, sometimes it's difficult to keep your mind from wandering.
When he turns up the volume, he looks at Ruka, quiet and miserable as she is. He would have hugged anyone else by now, but it's always felt different with her, as though he should wait for an express invitation.
After a moment's deliberation, he wraps his arm around her shoulders anyway, squeezing her shoulder once before letting go. As with their every conversation, there's wiggle room. If she wants to slip away, there's plenty of room, but if she wants to stay... well, that's okay too. And if it feels a little different, it shouldn't. Jaime's done this to a hundred people on this couch before. It's just what being a good friend's about, sometimes. ]
[ She hates getting I'm sorry for things like this, little trenches dug where the wounds already lay, so she doesn't offer verbal condolences either. He hurts, but it's an old hurt. Mentioning the loss doesn't always rebreak the heart, after all, no matter how fragile she feels now, and Jaime... well, he's not the one falling to pieces over dog collars and photographs, is he? With his apology, she shrugs her shoulders, noncommittal. Another time and it wouldn't be so bad. It isn't his fault. But without being guided to talk about anything else, she doesn't know what to say.
Touch takes her by surprise. Not in a startling, jolting way, not in a way that makes her freeze up, or tense — not that she could get much more tense than she is anyway. But it is a surprise, enough that even that simple squeeze forces her to exhale, to try pushing some of that tension out. It's been a long time since casual affection has been common for her; she can name and count the culprits on one hand, from arriving in this world, and years before besides. Maybe it doesn't feel different to Jaime, but it does to Ruka — nobody treats her like this. It's always all or nothing. Rua with his formerly mirrored proportions, the shape of a hug that hasn't changed in ten years; Karkat with their complete absence of boundaries, smoothing hands across each other's backs and combing hair and murmuring through the worst of the darkness; Eridan, whose easy strength and careless treatment always felt like being smothered, being crushed; not even the other Jaime, who'd been this age when she'd lost him, but she'd still been so much younger, and smaller, so easy to fold up and hide away under layers of coat and flannel.
It doesn't remind her of any of them.
He'll feel the residual tremor through her arm, where his hand rests against her shoulder, but it fades, and she doesn't pull away. Instead, she tilts, and sinks, filling up that residual space between them on the couch so her head can find his shoulder — and maybe it's selfish, when he's still in his work clothes, so there's no barrier between the heart on his lack-of-sleeve and where she rests her head, but she's allowed to be selfish once in a while, isn't she? It's an anchor. It's shore. ]
What do you usually watch? [ It comes after delay, quiet. ] I don't even have a TV at my place.
Touch takes her by surprise. Not in a startling, jolting way, not in a way that makes her freeze up, or tense — not that she could get much more tense than she is anyway. But it is a surprise, enough that even that simple squeeze forces her to exhale, to try pushing some of that tension out. It's been a long time since casual affection has been common for her; she can name and count the culprits on one hand, from arriving in this world, and years before besides. Maybe it doesn't feel different to Jaime, but it does to Ruka — nobody treats her like this. It's always all or nothing. Rua with his formerly mirrored proportions, the shape of a hug that hasn't changed in ten years; Karkat with their complete absence of boundaries, smoothing hands across each other's backs and combing hair and murmuring through the worst of the darkness; Eridan, whose easy strength and careless treatment always felt like being smothered, being crushed; not even the other Jaime, who'd been this age when she'd lost him, but she'd still been so much younger, and smaller, so easy to fold up and hide away under layers of coat and flannel.
It doesn't remind her of any of them.
He'll feel the residual tremor through her arm, where his hand rests against her shoulder, but it fades, and she doesn't pull away. Instead, she tilts, and sinks, filling up that residual space between them on the couch so her head can find his shoulder — and maybe it's selfish, when he's still in his work clothes, so there's no barrier between the heart on his lack-of-sleeve and where she rests her head, but she's allowed to be selfish once in a while, isn't she? It's an anchor. It's shore. ]
What do you usually watch? [ It comes after delay, quiet. ] I don't even have a TV at my place.
I like to think I've got a good reason for every rule I lay down. Never was a fan of red tape when I was the one taking orders on the front line. But thanks, I'll keep that in mind when I'm dealing with them.
Anything else you think I should know?
Anything else you think I should know?
[ It's shorty before midnight when a knock comes to Ruka's apartment door. Always one to run inventory with her threads, Kanaya made sure she was home, alone, and not in bed before bothering. That of course can't rule out that she's fallen into some catatonic state, but that's just a risk she'll have to take.
When Ruka opens it, she won't find the Psychopomp, but Kanaya herself, to whatever quality of Kanaya she can be said to have achieved. She's leaning across the doorjam, wearing a loos white graphic tank, a black sports bra showing under it, bike shorts, and slip-ons. Her eyes are covered by sunglasses, and her black hair curling every which way, but especially up. It's a more casual Kanaya than Kanaya should ever be, yet here she is.
She's staring up at the ceiling at nothing in particular, very likely watching the movements of everyone in the building. ]
The elevator's headed to your floor, I think. Better I'm not seen. [ Like this, or at all? ]
When Ruka opens it, she won't find the Psychopomp, but Kanaya herself, to whatever quality of Kanaya she can be said to have achieved. She's leaning across the doorjam, wearing a loos white graphic tank, a black sports bra showing under it, bike shorts, and slip-ons. Her eyes are covered by sunglasses, and her black hair curling every which way, but especially up. It's a more casual Kanaya than Kanaya should ever be, yet here she is.
She's staring up at the ceiling at nothing in particular, very likely watching the movements of everyone in the building. ]
The elevator's headed to your floor, I think. Better I'm not seen. [ Like this, or at all? ]
[ For one, no one ever visits Ruka, so the knock is a surprise. She also hasn't ordered delivery anything today, so it's not that, either.
Ugh.
The door opens after a few moments of silence, first only a few inches to determine visitor, then — after a silent once-over — pulled open wide to allow entry. Surprise doesn't show on Ruka's face, but curiosity definitely does.
The apartment behind Ruka is spartan in appearance, completely unsurprisingly. There's a couch, a coffee table, and a closed luggage trunk sitting beneath one of the windows. As for Ruka herself, she's probably a little more assembled than the usual person "relaxing" at "home" — she's wearing boots indoors, for one thing, but not her usual gloves. ]
I'll assume this isn't an evacuation. [ Kanaya probably wouldn't bother knocking if it were an emergency — but the statement is really a question. What's going on?
Because why else would she come here? ]
Ugh.
The door opens after a few moments of silence, first only a few inches to determine visitor, then — after a silent once-over — pulled open wide to allow entry. Surprise doesn't show on Ruka's face, but curiosity definitely does.
The apartment behind Ruka is spartan in appearance, completely unsurprisingly. There's a couch, a coffee table, and a closed luggage trunk sitting beneath one of the windows. As for Ruka herself, she's probably a little more assembled than the usual person "relaxing" at "home" — she's wearing boots indoors, for one thing, but not her usual gloves. ]
I'll assume this isn't an evacuation. [ Kanaya probably wouldn't bother knocking if it were an emergency — but the statement is really a question. What's going on?
Because why else would she come here? ]
[ Kanaya stands up straight and furrows her brow at that. ] I knocked, didn't I?
[ Really, it's the lack of gloves that surprises Kanaya most. She's lived with her before, but she still has trouble imagining what Ruka would look like relaxing. ]
No, it's more of a social call. A delivery, even.
[ She glances down the hall. ] Ten seconds.
[ Really, it's the lack of gloves that surprises Kanaya most. She's lived with her before, but she still has trouble imagining what Ruka would look like relaxing. ]
No, it's more of a social call. A delivery, even.
[ She glances down the hall. ] Ten seconds.
Then come in already. [ She waves a hand in the open space. ] I thought the invitation myth didn't apply to you?
[ Once Kanaya is inside — even if Ruka has to resort to grabbing her by the arm and hauling her in — she shuts the door behind her, easily sliding the lock into place. ]
[ Once Kanaya is inside — even if Ruka has to resort to grabbing her by the arm and hauling her in — she shuts the door behind her, easily sliding the lock into place. ]
[ She steps inside, and moves around to where she might not be seen from the door. ]
It doesn't, but I didn't imagine you'd like me to step over you. Manners matter.
Anyway, [ She starts toying with her threads, preparing a portal, ] the nice thing about paying for my storage units in advance is that sometimes you come back before they've expired.
For you, that means a happy Christmas comes early.
It doesn't, but I didn't imagine you'd like me to step over you. Manners matter.
Anyway, [ She starts toying with her threads, preparing a portal, ] the nice thing about paying for my storage units in advance is that sometimes you come back before they've expired.
For you, that means a happy Christmas comes early.
Page 11 of 29