[ He waits a day or two, and then he waits until he sees her without working very hard to seek her out—though he didn't have to walk past the training yard, to get where he's going. ]
Hello.
[ She doesn't have to stop what she's doing, unless she wants to. He's going to sit on a barrel a safe distance away regardless. ]
Ah yes. step into my post tav guarding pre demon office
(Abby pauses with a practice weapon held high over her head, some sort of hatchet; she brings it down hard into the target and leaves it there, stuck halfway in. Her hands go to her hips. Bastien is sitting on the barrel and seemingly waiting for something so she wipes her mouth on her arm and calls to him.) Is it your turn next?
(Ha ha
Anyway. She pauses to put her boot on the target and yank the hatchet out; for all that it was buried deep in there, this poses very little problem. She joins him at the barrel, trailing the weapon at her side, catching her breath. Hopefully he won't mind a sweaty conversation. Despite the joke, she can tell why he's here.)
[ Bastien nods, a grin still lingering from the first question but beginning to fade. Not all the way. Just to a fainter smile, friendly instead of entertained. ]
Always.
[ He doesn't mind sweaty conversation. He has his bag with him, a slingy leather thing meant to carry books and papers from home to the Gallows and back, and he ducks out of it to let it drop to the ground beside him. ]
Are you? [ And to head off a similar answer to his own— ] Last night, it seemed to get your skin a little.
Yeah, (Abby sighs, pressing her hand into her neck and rubbing there, making a face at the slick of sweat against her palm. She's visiting the baths right after this, pronto, her usual routine. Good to have one, as always. What's also good is being honest here.) It kinda did.
(How to explain this. She's looking at a point over his head when she starts, hedging her way.) I've — it's not the first time somebody has begged me to kill them because they thought they were about to become a monster. Doesn't exactly get easier.
(She doesn't seem upset talking about it, though. Only matter-of-fact, nearly calm.)
[ He saw some small slice of her world, back when. Enough that he doesn't have to ask her to explain what might have given her experience with people becoming monsters. ]
Nah. (The smallest of mercies, that her loved ones died while she wasn't there, and didn't have to watch it happen. She looks at him then, a little glance to catch any reaction he may have.)
Anyone. People back home get bit, get infected, they can't — they don't wanna do it themselves, or they don't have anything on them and they're too freaked out. I dunno. I guess it's easier to ask somebody else.
I wouldn't leave somebody who was suffering like that and asking for help. Ever. Nobody back home would do that, no matter how much of an asshole you are. (Probably the one rule all survivors could all agree on: don't let somebody turn, not if you can help it.)
[ Bastien nods, a faint twitch of the head. Serious. Attentive.
He's never known anyone who's been infected with the Blight. But that's their equivalence, in stories—the irreversible, mind-destroying disease. Sometimes people are put out of their misery, sometimes they come back as ghouls intent on destroying their friends. Sometimes the Wardens swoop in with a happy ending. Or at least a mysterious one.
He's not here to argue that Tav is different. He's still not convinced they shouldn't kill him, himself. ]
How long would it take? Between when they knew and when they were gone.
Takes about two days to turn, but it can be faster. It kinda depends on where you're bitten.
(Somewhere meaty like an arm or a leg? You're probably gonna hang around for a day and a half and feel yourself losing your mind. Abby understands that the neck is a lot faster but she doesn't know why. It's not like major arteries don't exist in your arms.)
It really hurts, though. Apparently. And it sounded like he was in pain.
(Tav, she means. Like he was battling something, trying to fight it off, and losing.)
You don't need to apologize. I think—I don't know what I think, about rifters. I think it would be terrible to feel like you had been made or brought here intentionally to save us. What about your own life? I think if I were a rifter I would rather think it was random.
[ He's only partway to the point he intended to make, but he pauses, because he'd like to know what she thinks of this too. ]
I — yeah, (Abby sort of sighs, and rubs the back of her neck.) I hope it's random. I don't think I can... save everybody, that's kind of a lot. (Like, maybe one or two people would be fine? Max.)
Or... (Shrug,) I dunno, it's kinda cool thinking that we were brought here because we needed it, not you guys. Sorry.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action, post tav guarding, pre demons
Hello.
[ She doesn't have to stop what she's doing, unless she wants to. He's going to sit on a barrel a safe distance away regardless. ]
Ah yes. step into my post tav guarding pre demon office
(Ha ha
Anyway. She pauses to put her boot on the target and yank the hatchet out; for all that it was buried deep in there, this poses very little problem. She joins him at the barrel, trailing the weapon at her side, catching her breath. Hopefully he won't mind a sweaty conversation. Despite the joke, she can tell why he's here.)
You good?
thank you thank you
Always.
[ He doesn't mind sweaty conversation. He has his bag with him, a slingy leather thing meant to carry books and papers from home to the Gallows and back, and he ducks out of it to let it drop to the ground beside him. ]
Are you? [ And to head off a similar answer to his own— ] Last night, it seemed to get your skin a little.
no subject
(How to explain this. She's looking at a point over his head when she starts, hedging her way.) I've — it's not the first time somebody has begged me to kill them because they thought they were about to become a monster. Doesn't exactly get easier.
(She doesn't seem upset talking about it, though. Only matter-of-fact, nearly calm.)
no subject
[ He saw some small slice of her world, back when. Enough that he doesn't have to ask her to explain what might have given her experience with people becoming monsters. ]
Someone you were close to, or—?
cw suicide mention, murder
Anyone. People back home get bit, get infected, they can't — they don't wanna do it themselves, or they don't have anything on them and they're too freaked out. I dunno. I guess it's easier to ask somebody else.
I wouldn't leave somebody who was suffering like that and asking for help. Ever. Nobody back home would do that, no matter how much of an asshole you are. (Probably the one rule all survivors could all agree on: don't let somebody turn, not if you can help it.)
mea culpa
He's never known anyone who's been infected with the Blight. But that's their equivalence, in stories—the irreversible, mind-destroying disease. Sometimes people are put out of their misery, sometimes they come back as ghouls intent on destroying their friends. Sometimes the Wardens swoop in with a happy ending. Or at least a mysterious one.
He's not here to argue that Tav is different. He's still not convinced they shouldn't kill him, himself. ]
How long would it take? Between when they knew and when they were gone.
it ok
(Somewhere meaty like an arm or a leg? You're probably gonna hang around for a day and a half and feel yourself losing your mind. Abby understands that the neck is a lot faster but she doesn't know why. It's not like major arteries don't exist in your arms.)
It really hurts, though. Apparently. And it sounded like he was in pain.
(Tav, she means. Like he was battling something, trying to fight it off, and losing.)
no subject
[ He chews on the inside of his mouth. What a terrible way to go. ]
We should talk to him when he isn't the throes of it. It comes and goes for him, you know? It isn't getting worse, that I know of.
no subject
Yeah. Okay.
(Gruffly,) Sorry. It — I know it's not the same as back home here, it just reminded me of it.
no subject
You don't need to apologize. I think—I don't know what I think, about rifters. I think it would be terrible to feel like you had been made or brought here intentionally to save us. What about your own life? I think if I were a rifter I would rather think it was random.
[ He's only partway to the point he intended to make, but he pauses, because he'd like to know what she thinks of this too. ]
no subject
Or... (Shrug,) I dunno, it's kinda cool thinking that we were brought here because we needed it, not you guys. Sorry.