[ She's on the steps now up to the roof, going slower while she's speaking, but she's listening on his end for signs of movement. Jayce told her how Pom left. She doesn't want him to go again. ]
I'm grateful. Truly. Even if the fighting was over...I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't come for me.
[ So close to Patho-Gen, one of them could've scooped her up under the guise of getting medical attention. And for all she knows, anything else could've happened. ]
[No movement on his end just yet, but he's ready to run at a moment's notice. He always has been a coward, unable to face his part in his unsavory past, unable to face his feelings in the present, unable to face his uncertain future alone.
He pushes a single, quiet chuckle from the back of his throat.]
Momo would've grabbed you. [Pom isn't as familiar with his fellow musician as he ought to be, but the few times they've spoken, he seemed nice - and even as a giant bug, he was certainly worried about her. Talking, concerned. Human enough.] You've got good people looking out for you, even if they do got a few extra appendages or are turning into rocks.
[ She can feel it already, that purposeful distance being created through deflection. It's a tactic she knows well enough. Only she feels it more distinctly now, like a curtain falling over her or a chasm stretching out. Mel's final few steps before she reaches the door are measured, slow, careful. ]
I'm very lucky to have met them but I don't deserve the kindness they've given me. [ A pause. A breath. ] I don't deserve the kindness you've given me, either, but here we are.
[ Here they both are, with the last bit of distance between them, and with her afraid it will make him leave again. ]
And I think someone told you once that she was not very good at being a friend. Even told you she didn't know how to be. Sometimes, what I think is kindness from me is something sharp and cutting.
[ Her hand rests briefly on the door, steeling herself to run after him if she needs to, no matter how weary she is. Her eyes close. ]
I wish my edges were softer. At least then I could promise I wouldn't hurt others.
You can make all the promises you want, and you still might hurt others, Mel. Ain't nothing we can do about that but do better next time.
[There's the soft padding of flesh on the ground, bare feet walking across the roof. He doesn't sound like he's getting closer to the door, but he doesn't sound like he's in a hurry, either.]
And sometimes, kindness takes the form of a knife, sharp and cutting bein' gentler than broken promises or comforting lies. That's what I needed, both here and before.
I know. I know it's...likely inevitable in some ways.
[ But she's so very tired of hurting others. More and more, she's come to learn of the places where she has failed, the people she has hurt, all because she believed she was not offering them violence. And she was, just a different kind: one wrapped in words and pretty platitudes rather than in steel and blood.
Deeper still, she knows Pom is right as well. Sometimes, kindness comes in the form of something biting, something sharp, even when it hurts. She blows out a breath at the door. ]
I don't want to hurt you, Pom. I know you don't want to hurt me either. [ A pause. ] But we also made a promise to each other to try — and we made another, to look out for one another, and to do what's needed.
[ Mel opens the door. She doesn't hang up the device. So what she says next is said in echo from two places, as she turns to look for him on the roof. ]
I'm not afraid of you. Please don't go.
[ It's not a command. She's been cautious about this since what happened with Rafayel, putting please in front of things, so she knows she can stopper anything that sounds forced. But she needs him to know she wants him here. She wants him to stay with her. ]
[Her voice echoes across the roof to where Pom is standing at its edge - no shoes, no gear, just his wrap shirt, loose pants, and glasses, an outfit for Shifting. He probably shouldn't be Shifting, but he apparently can't help it. He's not sure he can help with anything, frankly. He'd nearly taken off with her when bringing her home, growled at Jayce and Momo as though they were the threats. They're her friends. They're protecting her in their own way. He should let them, he reminds himself. They might be better at it.
And yet, he's still here, climbing to the roof to keep an eye on Mel's house, scrutinizing all who go in and out, marking the walls, the door, the streets with his claws like a territorial creature. He wants to protect her, but the real question is if he can protect her from himself. A similar thought plagued him when he was dying in the woods, and despite that, despite how unwell he was and that she had no reason to do so... she helped him, so he must help her. They promised each other they would, should the worst happen. They promised they'd try their hand at friendship, whatever that entails.
While Mel's voice carries no command, it arrests him all the same. Pom turns to look her way, equal measures surprised and concerned, and finds her not only well enough... but unafraid, like Gale, like Northly, like Purl.
He promised he'd make an effort to try, and here he was, ready to break his promise to keep her safe (also like Gale, like Northly, like Purl). But she asks him to stay... so he does. He steps away from the ledge, his hands curling against themselves.]
I'm not sure it's you who needs to be afraid of me.
[ So he was going to leave. Mel holds herself there, knowing full well that if she hesitates for too long and he goes, then she won't be able to catch him until he returns another time. And while she knows he will (she knows he's been leaving more marks, has sensed his presence like a flicker of flame, there and gone when she goes to look), she doesn't want him to continue hiding and running. Not from her.
Only once he turns to her does she hang up the call and she takes a few steps towards his side. It's slow, though, wanting to watch for the ways in which he'll communicate if he's comfortable getting much closer. ]
They were as worried as I was, that's all. No one knew if you were injured. I was afraid you'd been hurt and—
[ And protecting her at the cost of his own wellbeing. She doesn't know that she'd forgive herself for that, for knowing that he might've suffered helping her. ]
[ Her thoughts linger on that word, couldn't, because what Jayce said... ]
Jayce told me you and Momo brought me to the door. And that when he tried to take me, you grew defensive. Protective.
[ Growling, concerned. Jayce had been worried enough, she could tell, because the reaction had seemed overblown when he'd brought Mel to their doorstep for help, and then didn't want to let go. ]
[His eyes squeeze shut behind his glasses, his brow twisting as he does his best to mute he rest of his expression.]
Almost didn't let you go. Brought you to your damn doorstep, and then about ran off with you because every instinct I have was howling at me, telling me to do so. I knew they'd take care of you and let you get some rest, but...
[He shakes his head.]
It's like I didn't trust them to protect you. And I don't trust myself to make that kind of decision on my own. Not now. Not ever.
[ It's not laying guilt or blame at her feet, nor is it absolving Pom of what happened. She can't absolve someone of something she doesn't condemn them for. But if she'd been awake, as his Imprint, she could've soothed his worries. She could've asked him to do it.
And perhaps that's the issue: with each other, how will they be able to cling to reason rather than to bend to the other's wish? It's bothered her for months now, the ease with which she can do what Jayce wishes, or to make concession after concession for others. And now Pom. For not the first time, she regrets this; she doesn't regret saving his life or to have some kind of connection to him, but that it causes him no small amount of pain and distrust in himself. ]
I'm sorry, Pom. [ She doesn't clarify why. ] I can't condemn you for wanting to help me, or to protect me, even from those who wanted to aid us.
[That comes out sharper than he'd meant for it to, angrier than he wanted. He shouldn't speak to his friends like that. He shouldn't speak to Mel like that.
His inability to discern what Purl would tell him from the Imprint only stokes the fire.]
[ Mel doesn't flinch. She doesn't need to. There's a flicker of surprise, perhaps hurt, and she is silent — no arguing this time. Briefly, Mel's eyes close. And then, she walks towards him. There's still space between them; she wants to be parallel to Pom now, not getting close enough to touch, not getting into his space directly.
Just wanting to be close. ]
No, it's not. But as I said, I can't condemn you either, not when your actions helped me. What's happening to us... [ She shakes her head. ] It's not your fault.
[ It doesn't sound enough. It doesn't sound good enough. The emotion here... She thinks it's fear, not anger, like an acrid taste on the air. It's the fear of slipping; it's the fear of harming others. She knows it. She knows it well. It's why she can't blame him.
Quietly, she says: ] It's all right to be worried. To be afraid. I am too.
[He wants to insist he's not afraid, but he's so certain she can see it etched across him, wearing into his very bones. He's terrified - of losing himself, of losing the people he's come to care about, of losing those people to the monster.
All he is tells him to push her away, to keep everyone at arm's length. It's what kept him and Purl alive for so long. All that he's learned here — about their Augmentation, about what it's done to them, about what damage solitude and loneliness can do — tells him otherwise. Part of him wants to keep his Imprints close, to protect them; the other part of him isn't sure how safe they'll be if he ever turns on them.
He and Mel promised to watch one another's backs. He knows he should let her, but he's afraid of that, too. He doesn't want that image burned into her mind: his eyes empty, all trace of him as a person just gone.
He swallows hard, his voice threatening to crack.]
I could've killed you. I could've killed you in the woods, and I could've killed you the other day, right in front of your friends. I don't want to hurt you, but what if I do? Why do you keep trusting that I won't when I might not even be myself any longer?
[ She'd had that thought, too, when his maw had been so close. The realization that if she had made the wrong judgment in the forest, Pom could have snapped his jaws and broken her body in an instant. She would have had no time to run or defend herself, magic or otherwise. It would have been over. (She remembers the flicker, too, of understanding that if Pom was going to kill her, then it was right and deserved.)
But he is here, hurting, faltering, buckling beneath the same weight of knowledge that she has: they will all become this, each and every one of them, in some form. They may not become hostile or predatory, but they will likely all have slip-ups. She's had smaller instances of her own.
How much longer do they have as themselves? Mel watches Pom closely, her chest aching with the strain in his voice. She wants to touch him; she wants to hug him; she wants to assure him it will be all right. But if she does, she knows he'll just be swayed by their connection, and she wants him to feel she's being honest. That she isn't manipulating. ]
I could do the same to you. We all could. This may be where we're headed...down a place where we may no longer recognize ourselves in our totality.
[ It isn't about Pom in that sense, but it is, and so she turns somewhat to face him. Her gaze is unwavering, even if there's softness at the edges. ]
I trust you because I believe in the promise we made to one another. And because...I know that if I slipped up, if I made a mistake in my desire to help, I would want someone to try to help me. I would want someone to try, even if they decide later it would be better to kill me.
[ That's not all of it, is it? Mel folds her arms across her chest, as though needing to hold herself together. ]
If you hurt me, then it's my decision whether the hurt is enough, right? That's the agreement we made. That I would know and take action when it was needed.
[He meets her gaze, his own telegraphed by the glow behind his dark glasses flicking upward to her face. His own reassurances aren't enough; they can't be when he doesn't trust himself, when most of what he's done on his own is cause injury. He needs her word, her reassurance.]
Would you stop me, or would you just let it happen, thinking you could still help? Or would you say that maybe this is what you had coming to you for all the hurt you've caused others? That this is what you deserve as the jaws come down around you?
[Deep down, he knows good and well what his answer would be, what it has always been.]
[ Mel is silent. It is, perhaps, a damning thing for her, that she does not immediately rally to defend herself or to offer him something. Carefully, she takes two steps away from Pom, maintaining his gaze. ]
If it were you and I alone, and you lost yourself, I would try to help you. And I would try to stop you. I would do everything in my power to stop you.
[ And it's here that she shows him. He's likely seen it against the monster but Mel realizes that she has never spoken of it aloud, has never outright told Pom or shown him, and she wants to rectify it. She promised to be a friend. Now, that means speaking all of who she is and showing him that hopefully he can trust her judgment.
Gold sprouts along her arm, wisping off of it like steam. She doesn't even need to move her hands now to summon the barrier that suddenly separates them. Her eyes don't even glow. It's taken nearly six months of work, of attuning to that other soul for help, but she can do this much. ]
Everything in my power. And I would try to get through to you until I could do nothing else but to kill you. [ Those last words come with a constriction of her throat, voice wavering even as her gaze does not. She banishes the shield, still fatigued from the day before. ] If you managed to get past me, if you managed to close your jaws around me...
[ The truth. ]
I would think it was deserved. I would think it was right. But I will not go quietly. I will not allow you to hurt anyone else until there is nothing left of me. That is my promise to you.
[Pom's eyes widen as Mel puts on her demonstration. While he saw glimpses of her magic when fighting the rampaging plant, he is awestruck all the same; he has nothing to compare it to but what he's seen in this world from Northly and Gale, and can only trust it's as powerful as their magics. It certainly seems so as he raises a hand to touch the barrier, only to decide otherwise before making contact.
She's right: the desire to help him and the need to stop him are not mutually exclusive. Maybe she wouldn't have been able to stop him in the forest — maybe she wouldn't have tried — but now, she has a promise to keep, as does he. That assurance is enough; it will have to be.
He nods solemnly, swallowing the knot in his throat; his eyes lower themselves less out of shame and more out of deference.]
Please, don’t. I’ve done nothing to deserve your thanks. [ Or some kind of fruitless respect. Her power can do little in comparison to others. Making a shield won’t put anyone in the ground; all it’ll do is buy time. ] You and I made a promise and I intend to keep it, for better or worse.
[ And it will be for the worse. The idea of losing Pom, of needing to kill him because he is no longer himself… She can’t bear the thought. Some of that is the Imprint, clawing up into her thoughts and into her chest and scraping out the innards for good measure. Some of it is simply that she knows he is a good person, that he’s trying. Who else out here is willing to get assurance that they’ll be taken care of? ]
I know you’re concerned, Pom. But hearing you sometimes… You sound practically keen on destroying yourself at the slightest provocation.
[ What does that say about how he views himself and his transformation? If nothing else, it troubles her to hear that about her friend, even if that makes her a hypocrite. ]
[He hesitates, the silence stretching between them; his foot moves a fraction of an inch, his eyes still lodged on the ground between them.]
It'd be deserved. Maybe it'd be right. [He tries to find his own words rather than repeating hers, and is met with the familiar ache of guilt, sharp and lingering.] I ain't worth much in this world or any other on my own, not after all I've done, all I've gotta make up for.
[He squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing at the old wound in his chest; already, his nails are like claws, no longer human, their points cutting through the weave of his shirt.]
I think you have plenty of worth in this world. And your companions know it too. When... When we were in the woods, you asked me if they would forgive you. [ And that, too, still pains her to remember. Not just the agony he'd been in, but the utter despair gripping him. ] I don't think someone deserving to die thinks of the people he will disappoint, the people he cares for, in a time like that.
[ Anyone else would think of their own survival or at least to pull away enough to be free of the pain. Anyone else would be clawing to keep themselves alive. Pom simply...gave up and accepted it was better that way. She can't ever forget it. ]
Wouldn't it be better, then, to keep trying? To stay alive and do what you can for as long as you can?
[ At last, Mel reaches out a hand. She's still far enough away that doing this along won't create contact between them. But she wants him to know she's there. ]
I know it's difficult. I...I have a lot to make up for, too. I want to keep trying, though. And I'd like to keep trying with you, beside you, if you'll let me.
[She speaks on his worth, on the worth others see in him, and for a moment, he desperately wants to believe her - he aches for that worth to be real, sincere in a way his personality often isn't, genuine in a way he isn't sure how to be. Sometimes, he's not sure the person she sees could ever exist - certainly not when he's turning into a monster, losing himself bit by bit along the way.
... but he'd like to try to be that person. He just can't do it alone. He's never been worth anything on his own. Purl gave him value back home, made him a person for the first time; here, it's his Imprints — his friends, he has to remind himself — who keep him that way.
His eyes open, flick toward Mel's hand. While he doesn't yet take it, he does step forward, away from the edge of the roof, from his worst impulses, from running again.]
Yeah. It would be better to keep trying. If not for me, then for them. For you.
[Someone has to watch out for Mel, after all; someone has to be there if it all goes wrong, if she's swallowed up by her Soul and no longer in there.]
It's not disappointment that colors Mel's features but a deep-seated sadness that lodges somewhere in her chest and doesn't loosen. To say anything would paint her as a hypocrite; not that she lives or tries for the sake of others, but to rid herself of the dogged shadow of her mistakes. To be better. To try to find the path she is meant to be in, now that so many doors continue to collapse in on her. But it hurts, it hurts so much, to hear her Imprint say others are more important than him. And she thinks back, again, to that day—
If she'd said something different, would he have given up?
Beneath that, however, is something else. Some small flame of gratitude towards him; some flicker of want, that desperate yearning to be seen. To be cherished for who she is. To be loved. Mel wants so desperately to snuff it out and see it nothing more than cindered ash. But in the face of Pom's reluctance to care for himself, in her own request to remain at his side...can she let that flame die in good conscience? Can she live with herself as a hypocrite if this one thing can keep him alive, keep him close, keep him with her?
(Selfish. Always selfish.) ]
So long as you are aware it goes both ways. At least, it does for me.
[ To keep trying for herself. And if not for herself, then for others. No one else should have to suffer for her mistakes. ]
And I meant what I said. Thank you for coming to me. I know you feel as if you did nothing...but even when I couldn't get up, knowing you were there— I felt safe with you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I'm grateful. Truly. Even if the fighting was over...I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't come for me.
[ So close to Patho-Gen, one of them could've scooped her up under the guise of getting medical attention. And for all she knows, anything else could've happened. ]
no subject
He pushes a single, quiet chuckle from the back of his throat.]
Momo would've grabbed you. [Pom isn't as familiar with his fellow musician as he ought to be, but the few times they've spoken, he seemed nice - and even as a giant bug, he was certainly worried about her. Talking, concerned. Human enough.] You've got good people looking out for you, even if they do got a few extra appendages or are turning into rocks.
no subject
I'm very lucky to have met them but I don't deserve the kindness they've given me. [ A pause. A breath. ] I don't deserve the kindness you've given me, either, but here we are.
[ Here they both are, with the last bit of distance between them, and with her afraid it will make him leave again. ]
no subject
There's a quiet, but audible sigh. If he thinks about it — he no, he does not want to — he understands, commiserates.]
Pretty sure a fella told you that once, and you still helped him. You're kind, Mel. You oughtta get what you put out there.
no subject
[ Her hand rests briefly on the door, steeling herself to run after him if she needs to, no matter how weary she is. Her eyes close. ]
I wish my edges were softer. At least then I could promise I wouldn't hurt others.
no subject
[There's the soft padding of flesh on the ground, bare feet walking across the roof. He doesn't sound like he's getting closer to the door, but he doesn't sound like he's in a hurry, either.]
And sometimes, kindness takes the form of a knife, sharp and cutting bein' gentler than broken promises or comforting lies. That's what I needed, both here and before.
no subject
[ But she's so very tired of hurting others. More and more, she's come to learn of the places where she has failed, the people she has hurt, all because she believed she was not offering them violence. And she was, just a different kind: one wrapped in words and pretty platitudes rather than in steel and blood.
Deeper still, she knows Pom is right as well. Sometimes, kindness comes in the form of something biting, something sharp, even when it hurts. She blows out a breath at the door. ]
I don't want to hurt you, Pom. I know you don't want to hurt me either. [ A pause. ] But we also made a promise to each other to try — and we made another, to look out for one another, and to do what's needed.
[ Mel opens the door. She doesn't hang up the device. So what she says next is said in echo from two places, as she turns to look for him on the roof. ]
I'm not afraid of you. Please don't go.
[ It's not a command. She's been cautious about this since what happened with Rafayel, putting please in front of things, so she knows she can stopper anything that sounds forced. But she needs him to know she wants him here. She wants him to stay with her. ]
no subject
And yet, he's still here, climbing to the roof to keep an eye on Mel's house, scrutinizing all who go in and out, marking the walls, the door, the streets with his claws like a territorial creature. He wants to protect her, but the real question is if he can protect her from himself. A similar thought plagued him when he was dying in the woods, and despite that, despite how unwell he was and that she had no reason to do so... she helped him, so he must help her. They promised each other they would, should the worst happen. They promised they'd try their hand at friendship, whatever that entails.
While Mel's voice carries no command, it arrests him all the same. Pom turns to look her way, equal measures surprised and concerned, and finds her not only well enough... but unafraid, like Gale, like Northly, like Purl.
He promised he'd make an effort to try, and here he was, ready to break his promise to keep her safe (also like Gale, like Northly, like Purl). But she asks him to stay... so he does. He steps away from the ledge, his hands curling against themselves.]
I'm not sure it's you who needs to be afraid of me.
no subject
Only once he turns to her does she hang up the call and she takes a few steps towards his side. It's slow, though, wanting to watch for the ways in which he'll communicate if he's comfortable getting much closer. ]
They were as worried as I was, that's all. No one knew if you were injured. I was afraid you'd been hurt and—
[ And protecting her at the cost of his own wellbeing. She doesn't know that she'd forgive herself for that, for knowing that he might've suffered helping her. ]
no subject
[His hands curl tighter as he bites back disgust and frustration and vehemence, all turned inward.]
They tell you what happened?
no subject
Jayce told me you and Momo brought me to the door. And that when he tried to take me, you grew defensive. Protective.
[ Growling, concerned. Jayce had been worried enough, she could tell, because the reaction had seemed overblown when he'd brought Mel to their doorstep for help, and then didn't want to let go. ]
no subject
Almost didn't let you go. Brought you to your damn doorstep, and then about ran off with you because every instinct I have was howling at me, telling me to do so. I knew they'd take care of you and let you get some rest, but...
[He shakes his head.]
It's like I didn't trust them to protect you. And I don't trust myself to make that kind of decision on my own. Not now. Not ever.
no subject
[ It's not laying guilt or blame at her feet, nor is it absolving Pom of what happened. She can't absolve someone of something she doesn't condemn them for. But if she'd been awake, as his Imprint, she could've soothed his worries. She could've asked him to do it.
And perhaps that's the issue: with each other, how will they be able to cling to reason rather than to bend to the other's wish? It's bothered her for months now, the ease with which she can do what Jayce wishes, or to make concession after concession for others. And now Pom. For not the first time, she regrets this; she doesn't regret saving his life or to have some kind of connection to him, but that it causes him no small amount of pain and distrust in himself. ]
I'm sorry, Pom. [ She doesn't clarify why. ] I can't condemn you for wanting to help me, or to protect me, even from those who wanted to aid us.
no subject
[That comes out sharper than he'd meant for it to, angrier than he wanted. He shouldn't speak to his friends like that. He shouldn't speak to Mel like that.
His inability to discern what Purl would tell him from the Imprint only stokes the fire.]
This isn't your fault.
no subject
Just wanting to be close. ]
No, it's not. But as I said, I can't condemn you either, not when your actions helped me. What's happening to us... [ She shakes her head. ] It's not your fault.
[ It doesn't sound enough. It doesn't sound good enough. The emotion here... She thinks it's fear, not anger, like an acrid taste on the air. It's the fear of slipping; it's the fear of harming others. She knows it. She knows it well. It's why she can't blame him.
Quietly, she says: ] It's all right to be worried. To be afraid. I am too.
[ Just not of him, for better and for worse. ]
no subject
All he is tells him to push her away, to keep everyone at arm's length. It's what kept him and Purl alive for so long. All that he's learned here — about their Augmentation, about what it's done to them, about what damage solitude and loneliness can do — tells him otherwise. Part of him wants to keep his Imprints close, to protect them; the other part of him isn't sure how safe they'll be if he ever turns on them.
He and Mel promised to watch one another's backs. He knows he should let her, but he's afraid of that, too. He doesn't want that image burned into her mind: his eyes empty, all trace of him as a person just gone.
He swallows hard, his voice threatening to crack.]
I could've killed you. I could've killed you in the woods, and I could've killed you the other day, right in front of your friends. I don't want to hurt you, but what if I do? Why do you keep trusting that I won't when I might not even be myself any longer?
no subject
But he is here, hurting, faltering, buckling beneath the same weight of knowledge that she has: they will all become this, each and every one of them, in some form. They may not become hostile or predatory, but they will likely all have slip-ups. She's had smaller instances of her own.
How much longer do they have as themselves? Mel watches Pom closely, her chest aching with the strain in his voice. She wants to touch him; she wants to hug him; she wants to assure him it will be all right. But if she does, she knows he'll just be swayed by their connection, and she wants him to feel she's being honest. That she isn't manipulating. ]
I could do the same to you. We all could. This may be where we're headed...down a place where we may no longer recognize ourselves in our totality.
[ It isn't about Pom in that sense, but it is, and so she turns somewhat to face him. Her gaze is unwavering, even if there's softness at the edges. ]
I trust you because I believe in the promise we made to one another. And because...I know that if I slipped up, if I made a mistake in my desire to help, I would want someone to try to help me. I would want someone to try, even if they decide later it would be better to kill me.
[ That's not all of it, is it? Mel folds her arms across her chest, as though needing to hold herself together. ]
If you hurt me, then it's my decision whether the hurt is enough, right? That's the agreement we made. That I would know and take action when it was needed.
no subject
[He meets her gaze, his own telegraphed by the glow behind his dark glasses flicking upward to her face. His own reassurances aren't enough; they can't be when he doesn't trust himself, when most of what he's done on his own is cause injury. He needs her word, her reassurance.]
Would you stop me, or would you just let it happen, thinking you could still help? Or would you say that maybe this is what you had coming to you for all the hurt you've caused others? That this is what you deserve as the jaws come down around you?
[Deep down, he knows good and well what his answer would be, what it has always been.]
no subject
If it were you and I alone, and you lost yourself, I would try to help you. And I would try to stop you. I would do everything in my power to stop you.
[ And it's here that she shows him. He's likely seen it against the monster but Mel realizes that she has never spoken of it aloud, has never outright told Pom or shown him, and she wants to rectify it. She promised to be a friend. Now, that means speaking all of who she is and showing him that hopefully he can trust her judgment.
Gold sprouts along her arm, wisping off of it like steam. She doesn't even need to move her hands now to summon the barrier that suddenly separates them. Her eyes don't even glow. It's taken nearly six months of work, of attuning to that other soul for help, but she can do this much. ]
Everything in my power. And I would try to get through to you until I could do nothing else but to kill you. [ Those last words come with a constriction of her throat, voice wavering even as her gaze does not. She banishes the shield, still fatigued from the day before. ] If you managed to get past me, if you managed to close your jaws around me...
[ The truth. ]
I would think it was deserved. I would think it was right. But I will not go quietly. I will not allow you to hurt anyone else until there is nothing left of me. That is my promise to you.
no subject
She's right: the desire to help him and the need to stop him are not mutually exclusive. Maybe she wouldn't have been able to stop him in the forest — maybe she wouldn't have tried — but now, she has a promise to keep, as does he. That assurance is enough; it will have to be.
He nods solemnly, swallowing the knot in his throat; his eyes lower themselves less out of shame and more out of deference.]
All right. Thank you, Mel.
no subject
Please, don’t. I’ve done nothing to deserve your thanks. [ Or some kind of fruitless respect. Her power can do little in comparison to others. Making a shield won’t put anyone in the ground; all it’ll do is buy time. ] You and I made a promise and I intend to keep it, for better or worse.
[ And it will be for the worse. The idea of losing Pom, of needing to kill him because he is no longer himself… She can’t bear the thought. Some of that is the Imprint, clawing up into her thoughts and into her chest and scraping out the innards for good measure. Some of it is simply that she knows he is a good person, that he’s trying. Who else out here is willing to get assurance that they’ll be taken care of? ]
I know you’re concerned, Pom. But hearing you sometimes… You sound practically keen on destroying yourself at the slightest provocation.
[ What does that say about how he views himself and his transformation? If nothing else, it troubles her to hear that about her friend, even if that makes her a hypocrite. ]
no subject
It'd be deserved. Maybe it'd be right. [He tries to find his own words rather than repeating hers, and is met with the familiar ache of guilt, sharp and lingering.] I ain't worth much in this world or any other on my own, not after all I've done, all I've gotta make up for.
[He squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing at the old wound in his chest; already, his nails are like claws, no longer human, their points cutting through the weave of his shirt.]
no subject
[ Anyone else would think of their own survival or at least to pull away enough to be free of the pain. Anyone else would be clawing to keep themselves alive. Pom simply...gave up and accepted it was better that way. She can't ever forget it. ]
Wouldn't it be better, then, to keep trying? To stay alive and do what you can for as long as you can?
[ At last, Mel reaches out a hand. She's still far enough away that doing this along won't create contact between them. But she wants him to know she's there. ]
I know it's difficult. I...I have a lot to make up for, too. I want to keep trying, though. And I'd like to keep trying with you, beside you, if you'll let me.
no subject
... but he'd like to try to be that person. He just can't do it alone. He's never been worth anything on his own. Purl gave him value back home, made him a person for the first time; here, it's his Imprints — his friends, he has to remind himself — who keep him that way.
His eyes open, flick toward Mel's hand. While he doesn't yet take it, he does step forward, away from the edge of the roof, from his worst impulses, from running again.]
Yeah. It would be better to keep trying. If not for me, then for them. For you.
[Someone has to watch out for Mel, after all; someone has to be there if it all goes wrong, if she's swallowed up by her Soul and no longer in there.]
no subject
It's not disappointment that colors Mel's features but a deep-seated sadness that lodges somewhere in her chest and doesn't loosen. To say anything would paint her as a hypocrite; not that she lives or tries for the sake of others, but to rid herself of the dogged shadow of her mistakes. To be better. To try to find the path she is meant to be in, now that so many doors continue to collapse in on her. But it hurts, it hurts so much, to hear her Imprint say others are more important than him. And she thinks back, again, to that day—
If she'd said something different, would he have given up?
Beneath that, however, is something else. Some small flame of gratitude towards him; some flicker of want, that desperate yearning to be seen. To be cherished for who she is. To be loved. Mel wants so desperately to snuff it out and see it nothing more than cindered ash. But in the face of Pom's reluctance to care for himself, in her own request to remain at his side...can she let that flame die in good conscience? Can she live with herself as a hypocrite if this one thing can keep him alive, keep him close, keep him with her?
(Selfish. Always selfish.) ]
So long as you are aware it goes both ways. At least, it does for me.
[ To keep trying for herself. And if not for herself, then for others. No one else should have to suffer for her mistakes. ]
And I meant what I said. Thank you for coming to me. I know you feel as if you did nothing...but even when I couldn't get up, knowing you were there— I felt safe with you.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)