lifetothefullest | [IC Inbox]

I'm fine.

[He glances at Sweets briefly.]

Saw the medic and everything.

[It hurts and it won't heal quick like he wants, but that's the point.]

That's good, but you should still sit down. How many ribs did you break?

[Because it'll give him a sense of how concerned he should be, and if he should watch for any worrying symptoms.]

Three.

[Probably cracked some of the plates holding him together too. Ephemera doesn't think about those much. They won't be important until they fail.

He stares at the mural. Chorus burning. It never happened, but it could have.]

That's enough to warrant sitting.

[He's not letting this go, both because he genuinely wants Ephemera to rest a bit and because it'll also give Lance reason to sit down too.]

[Ephemera glances at Sweets. It seems important to him. So he nods. Sits down carefully at the kitchen table.]

Sorry about the mess.

[There are paints and paint stains everywhere.]

[Okay, good, one thing done; Lance takes a chair across from him, glancing briefly at the indicated mess and then back at Ephemera.]

It's fine.

[He means it; paint is the least of his concerns right now.]

Lets start with what happened with Kyna. Can you tell me in more detail how the argument and fight occurred?

[He not only wants to know exactly how it went down, but he wants to hear how Ephemera describes it.]

[Ephemera prods two of the paint tubes until they're lined up, just for something to focus on. It doesn't help much.]

Does it matter? I fucked up. She said shit and I let it get to me.

I wouldn't be asking you if it didn't matter.

[He's being as patient as he can manage at the moment, which isn't all that patient, so he's really not interested in being second-guessed.]

[Ephemera doesn't look at Sweets. Gives the paints another prod.]

Wasn't looking for her. She just showed up. Said I was ruining the vibe, or something. I told her to fuck off.

[He tightens his jaw.]

She said he was better than me. Washington. Then she called me a liar. Said some things about Drake. I got mad.

[Lance is still struggling to shift into professional mode, so he frowns in reaction to that half-explanation. Striking out, so far.]

And then?

[Ephemera keeps his eyes down. He doesn't want to talk about this.]

I told her what she could do with her shitty taste. Went wrong, after that.

What caused it to go wrong, and how did it do so?

[He already knows the answer for the most part, but again it's about how Ephemera says it.]

[Ephemera tightens his mouth. Breathes.]

She got me in the face. I didn't have my helmet on. Couldn't see.

[It's not an excuse. It actually makes things worse, like Washington said.]

Reflex. Thought I had to put her down.

You skipped something.

[He's growing even less impressed with the answers as they go on, which is saying something. But he's working on keeping that out of his tone, so although the comment is stated firmly it doesn't hold any accusation; that's about all he can manage at the moment.]

[Ephemera glances up briefly.]

What? What did I skip?

[For better or worse, it's a genuine question.]

You skipped immediately from arguing to her attacking you. Something happened between those events.

[He knows this for sure because Ephemera already told him earlier, but not in this more detailed retelling.]

I--oh.

[He did, didn't he? Ephemera thins his mouth. Is this what he's doing now? Forgetting things when it becomes convenient?

Suck it up. Do your job.]

I grabbed her. Was gonna throw her in the dumpster.

[Alright, better, but Lance doesn't like that he completely skipped it at first. Still, he'll just keep that in mind for the moment, and nods at Ephemera to go ahead and continue the story.]

[That's the end, isn't it? He grabbed her, she retaliated, he reacted to the retaliation. Ephemera gives the paints another prod.]

I got her in the ribs. She hit me with something when she went down, I don't know what it was.

[Magic. It doesn't matter. It hadn't slowed him down.]

Felt her ribs go, when I hit her. She was cursing her head off, but she could still breathe okay. Told her to go see a medic.

[He really dislikes this, and he well aware of the fact that he's having enough trouble staying professional that it's getting to the point where he should consider stopping the conversation and trying again later. But he's not quite there yet, even if it takes him several seconds before he decides how to respond.

He doesn't want to directly point out any of the impressions he's gotten just yet, both because he's not entirely sure if he's being oversensitive to things and because if he isn't it's better to see if Ephemera can come to the conclusion on his own. So for now, he asks a question--]

What would you have done if she weren't okay?

Taken her to Pell.

[If she'd been that badly hurt, she probably couldn't have stopped him.

Ephemera twitches. Stares at the wall.]

If she died, I don't know.

How would you have felt?

[Because that's really more what he's trying to get at.]

[Ephemera hesitates. It's not the question he expected. What would he have felt?]

I don't know. Regret.

[There's only been one time where the people he targeted weren't the ones he intended to hurt, and that was--different. Not what Sweets is talking about.

He's quiet for a moment. Then:]

Tired.

[Regret is something, at least.]

Tired in what respect?

I killed a lot of people. There was the war and then there was--hnn.

[He shrugs. Pushes the paints out of alignment. Pulls down the collar of his shirt just enough to show the tattoo there. Redemption printed out rough and blocky.]

Almost killed some kids, once. They had armor on and we had orders. Would've been justified. But CT, my captain, he said no. We're not gonna do that. Little brats still took all our rations.

[He's quiet for a moment. Lets go of his shirt.]

I almost killed those kids. 'cause their parents were on one side and we were on the other, and command said they had to go. I remember I was...tired, afterward.

Think it would've been like that, if I'd killed her.

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