disingenuous | strohl catchall

[ she investigates. she approaches the direction of the scream, of glass shattering. she is no stranger to horrible and feral sounds, human or otherwise. she knows it is more likely grief than not today. ]

[ grief indeed.

the sound becomes immediately obvious - the glass came from a shattered departure screen just outside of the sim room. as roxana comes around the corner, she'll notice a few things.

the first is that it's strohl. he has his greatsword out, and as to be expected, just in front of the departure screen, shattered into showers of glass. sparks fly off of the electronics, and his shoulders are heaving, still standing there with the sword strike completed, metal buried into the ground.

the second is that his tattoo of the week is visible on his back. it's huge - the text is repeating, thick black strikes of ink that cover his family crest entirely.

YOU FAILED HER AGAIN YOU FAILED HER AGAIN YOU FAILED HER AGAIN YOU FAILED HER AG

it doesn't seem that he's noticed he has company, or heard roxana yet. ]

[ his grief is emblazoned for everyone to see, on his back to all the little shards on the floor.

she walks towards him slowly, carefully, and makes a point to step on glass. she doesn't mean to sneak up on him at all.

this is his chance to tell her to leave him alone, if he wants to vent his violence without anyone around. ]

Again?

[ he doesn't, is the thing. the glass crunches under her heels, tiny noises in tune with the sparks occasionally coming from the broken screen. he's breathing hard, and white knuckling the sword, but he almost doesn't even seem to realize roxana is there.

until he does - he lifts his head, almost belatedly. he's a wreck, expression destroyed somewhere between angry and startled and devastated, fat tears in the corner of his eyes, down his cheeks. he stares at her for a long moment, like he's trying to get his bearings, and then jerks his head away.

... ]

Just like that. Died the same way. Stolen off on one of those trips. Came back injured. The next morning, she was gone.

[ stiffly, like he's barely, barely holding it together. he wants to break this screen again. wants to sit on the ground and scream like a child, throw even worse of a tantrum than he already has. all you ever do, leon strohl, is fail. ]

[ it's more serious than she thought. she came to see the state of him more than anything, and once he looks away, she maneuvers around the glass to stand next to the hallway wall. she maintains some distance. ]

Why do you feel like it's your fault?

I swore I'd protect her.

[ twice. twice, now. it doesn't even occur to him why she's asking - he's unaware of the tattoo of the moment, falling deep into this hole of self loathing and despair, of grief and sorrow. it's more anguish and undirected fury than anything particular - devastation. she's somewhere else, at some other airport. he knows this. it doesn't make knowing that vi cried into his shoulder on thursday and told him he made her feel safe any less stark. ]

Twice, twice she put her faith in me, even after I failed her the first time! And what happened? The same damn thing, the same conditions -- everything!

[ she can understand where his thoughts and emotions are coming from even though she doesn't him too well yet. there is much that he wears on his sleeves. ]

It is a bit of the point of this whole place. For you to feel the same frustrations, the same failures, the same grief. I don't think she believes in you less for any of this.

[ if i had a nickel for every time a beautiful and dangerous woman said i wore my heart on my sleeve.png. well she didn't say it but its in the meta so it still counts

anyway!! cycles, alex said, echoing somewhere in the back of his mind. his grip tightens on his sword, and he makes another noise, angry, frustrated. failing. grief. ]

I tried to bring her home with me, and we failed at that. Reunited, and I've failed again. [ some of the heat in his voice finally comes to a simmer, and the question he asks this time is plaintive - voice cracking on the last word. frustration, grief. failure, failure, failure. ] What sort of a person am I, if I can't protect the people I swear to? That the death of those I care for is reduced down to an achievement.

No better or worse than the rest of us. A person stuck in this horrible airport, having to live with a farce of a setup.

[ she does not hold the same grief and anger that strohl does. she does not have as many of the connections or attachments, but they've all been through this before. does it mute any emotions or make it easier? no.

but even if protection is near impossible... ]

Death cannot be stopped, but you can still bring the people you care about back.

[ that is possible here, at the least. and the distaste for the situation in roxana's voice does help, in its own way, too - like matching fuel on a fire, like solidarity. they're all angry, one way or another.

he finally raises a hand, and scrubs it across his face. tries to force himself to take a deep breath. ]

I want to burn this whole damn place to the ground.

If you talk to Wis'adel, you might be able to make it explode, too.

[ who would go against burning this airport down? not roxana. ]

[ there’s a scoff of a laugh, which is like the closest thing he’s felt to joy today so that’s good. ]

Auditors and all. I’d be glad to show the bastards an achievement.

strohl catchall

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