[ The frustration in Larusâ tone is palpable, and he lifts his chin as he regards him, the slightest crease in his brow. ] Thatâs what The Factory does. They sink their hooks in and warp your entire mind to have you believe in myths. I didnât join this cause to leave people behind who can still be helped. If they still have a hold on him, then itâs our responsibility to help him break it, not to throw him back to the same monsters whoâve convinced him that they somehow care. If it was me, I know you wouldnât give up. So donât give up on anyone else here, or thereâs no point in pretending weâre a unified front.
[ Itâs not his intention to sound harsh, but sometimes he feels Larus needs a stern tongue, being so willful and stuck in his shadowy, solitary ways. Heâs slow to trust, slow to open himself to anyone that isnât Egil -- and even then Casimir suspects much of that openness disappeared when he died -- but a group dynamic suffers from too much isolation and mistrust. He steps forward, eyeing the bruises along Larusâ skin, and despite everything he can feel his pride flaring up, and he pushes down a demand to be faced when heâs speaking that tries to escape his mouth. There are no good ends to that path, and the truth of it stays his tongue.
More than that, the hurt mixing with the anger in Larusâ expression settles against his heart like a cold weight. For all his bravery, his calculated recklessness, the depth of Larusâ emotions are like an active minefield and sometimes Casimir doesnât know where to step. Parts are left dead, and other small pressures set off something within him -- whether it shows outwardly or not, thereâs still a certain intuition he possesses that doesnât require the use of his gifts. Right now he seems volatile, perhaps because everything is so meticulously planned when it comes to Larus, and their night has been anything but. ]
Youâre not working alone here. [ Itâs a lesson that several of them need to learn. ] Alone leaves Jericho vulnerable to The Factoryâs influence. Alone nearly cost you your life. Youâre so worried about what Jerichoâs absence will do to Egil that you donât stop to think what it would be like for him if something more were to happen to you. [ He draws in a breath, reaching in the drawer to sift through the clothes, his eyes trained on the fabric. ] Or what it would be like for me.
[ Casimir's presence burns deep, and for all the good it usually does to be with him, Larus almost wants to turn away and be alone. He's so used to the pressure of his own failures that it's become an eternally opened wound when he has to deal with someone else's, unsure if they're even going to make it far enough to feel some ease in the pain, and that's the part he has difficulty explaining, waiting a moment for the silence to settle between them before he drops the shirt in his hand to reach out and take Casimir's. He presses his fingertips into his skin, soaking up the warmth and trying to make himself relax. It's hard when he knows what they're going to have to do once the sun sets, what might come after, but he refuses to let that dictate the present moment, turning just enough to face him. ]
I know what it would be like for him. [ He doesn't elaborate much, not when the obvious fact is so glaring in what he is. ] Even if it hurt, he would still be stronger for it, and I suspect you would be the same. But I'm not trying to be reckless. I'm not thinking of myself. There are things that have to be done that some just aren't willing to do, and there's nothing I can do about it except go forward. [ To die, to give his life to make amends for the wrongs that have happened since he thought he could do something about Sun and The Factory all on his own, and it's a bitterness he's had to swallow every day since then, expression thinning before he gently slides his palm up to cup Casimir's elbow, the back of his arm. He wants to pull him in close, but this is the only thing he allows himself to do, grateful that he's still with him despite the complications of the last several hours.
Larus frowns. ] I can't promise that it won't happen again, but it won't be by my choice if it does. [ And that's all he can offer, conscious of the way his own thoughts seem to shut down the prospect of more when he's already too exhausted to think. His hand strays from Casimir's arm then, reaching up to smooth back some of his hair before letting his thumb brush against his cheek. Small touches, and he cups the side of his face, tilting it just enough so their gazes meet and wishing he could see him the way he had before he'd lost an eye. ] Is that all you want from me?
[ Those small touches bleed away his pride, and heâs come to realize that everything Larus offers him is all of what he believes he has -- heâs yet to discover how much more shimmers beneath his murky depths, things that Casimir already knows are there, things that would put far too much at stake when he suspects heâs already at the limit of what quiet softness heâll allow himself. He longs to shine the light upon the things Larus has long since hidden away because theyâre not important or not part of whatever plan heâs dedicated himself to at the moment, or perhaps because theyâd only benefit himself and he doesnât see the worth in that. How little Larus invests in himself and how freely he invests in the few people he holds dear pulls at his heart, and Casimir sighs, letting his eyes drift shut when Larus tilts his face just so. ]
Death is the unwelcome friend Iâve had since I was a child. But just because weâre acquainted doesnât mean I would call for a visit. I wouldnât be stronger if you died, Larus. Pain makes you stronger. Death just takes a little part of you each time until youâre closer to the darkness than the light. [ And because Larus still wonât allow himself to come closer, Casimir does it for him, stepping into the fold of his arms and gently skimming his fingertips down the bruises at his shoulder, coming to rest his hand at his side and brushing a kiss to the curve of his jaw. ] You donât have to shoulder the burden of the things others arenât willing to do. You have me now. And thereâs no part of myself I wouldnât give for this war.
[ He rests his arm on Larusâ good shoulder, his fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls him in for a kiss, deep and quiet, and then brushes their noses together. ] Thereâs another thing. I donât intend to hide from anyone. Take the others tomorrow and regroup, but Iâm going back to the District.
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[ Itâs not his intention to sound harsh, but sometimes he feels Larus needs a stern tongue, being so willful and stuck in his shadowy, solitary ways. Heâs slow to trust, slow to open himself to anyone that isnât Egil -- and even then Casimir suspects much of that openness disappeared when he died -- but a group dynamic suffers from too much isolation and mistrust. He steps forward, eyeing the bruises along Larusâ skin, and despite everything he can feel his pride flaring up, and he pushes down a demand to be faced when heâs speaking that tries to escape his mouth. There are no good ends to that path, and the truth of it stays his tongue.
More than that, the hurt mixing with the anger in Larusâ expression settles against his heart like a cold weight. For all his bravery, his calculated recklessness, the depth of Larusâ emotions are like an active minefield and sometimes Casimir doesnât know where to step. Parts are left dead, and other small pressures set off something within him -- whether it shows outwardly or not, thereâs still a certain intuition he possesses that doesnât require the use of his gifts. Right now he seems volatile, perhaps because everything is so meticulously planned when it comes to Larus, and their night has been anything but. ]
Youâre not working alone here. [ Itâs a lesson that several of them need to learn. ] Alone leaves Jericho vulnerable to The Factoryâs influence. Alone nearly cost you your life. Youâre so worried about what Jerichoâs absence will do to Egil that you donât stop to think what it would be like for him if something more were to happen to you. [ He draws in a breath, reaching in the drawer to sift through the clothes, his eyes trained on the fabric. ] Or what it would be like for me.
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I know what it would be like for him. [ He doesn't elaborate much, not when the obvious fact is so glaring in what he is. ] Even if it hurt, he would still be stronger for it, and I suspect you would be the same. But I'm not trying to be reckless. I'm not thinking of myself. There are things that have to be done that some just aren't willing to do, and there's nothing I can do about it except go forward. [ To die, to give his life to make amends for the wrongs that have happened since he thought he could do something about Sun and The Factory all on his own, and it's a bitterness he's had to swallow every day since then, expression thinning before he gently slides his palm up to cup Casimir's elbow, the back of his arm. He wants to pull him in close, but this is the only thing he allows himself to do, grateful that he's still with him despite the complications of the last several hours.
Larus frowns. ] I can't promise that it won't happen again, but it won't be by my choice if it does. [ And that's all he can offer, conscious of the way his own thoughts seem to shut down the prospect of more when he's already too exhausted to think. His hand strays from Casimir's arm then, reaching up to smooth back some of his hair before letting his thumb brush against his cheek. Small touches, and he cups the side of his face, tilting it just enough so their gazes meet and wishing he could see him the way he had before he'd lost an eye. ] Is that all you want from me?
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Death is the unwelcome friend Iâve had since I was a child. But just because weâre acquainted doesnât mean I would call for a visit. I wouldnât be stronger if you died, Larus. Pain makes you stronger. Death just takes a little part of you each time until youâre closer to the darkness than the light. [ And because Larus still wonât allow himself to come closer, Casimir does it for him, stepping into the fold of his arms and gently skimming his fingertips down the bruises at his shoulder, coming to rest his hand at his side and brushing a kiss to the curve of his jaw. ] You donât have to shoulder the burden of the things others arenât willing to do. You have me now. And thereâs no part of myself I wouldnât give for this war.
[ He rests his arm on Larusâ good shoulder, his fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls him in for a kiss, deep and quiet, and then brushes their noses together. ] Thereâs another thing. I donât intend to hide from anyone. Take the others tomorrow and regroup, but Iâm going back to the District.