lifetothefullest | [IC Inbox]

You're welcome.

[Lance picks up his mug of coffee again, as if just remembering it's there, but doesn't drink it just yet. Instead, he decides to address the first part of what Ephemera said.]

Wanting to go out fighting is an understandable desire, but you may want to reconsider whether it's still as important to you now as it was. The situation here is not the same, and you have other things--and people--to live for, even if you could no longer fight.

I've always been a soldier.

[Ever since he enlisted and he never once looked back. A fighter, a soldier, that was what his family needed him to be.

He's quiet for a long moment, watching Sweets.]

But you're right. It's different now. With these people. I need to be different.

[He shifts on his feet a little, self-conscious at being watched, but the response itself is encouraging at least.]

That's good to hear. There's more to your life than being a soldier.

There could be.

[It's strange to think that. To consider anything else. He thinks about Drake and Lup, about Kyna -- even Washington, briefly. How they all ended up in this weird place and no matter what came before, they've built something. Pulled together and found each other.]

I like it here, you know? These people. My friends. I can be a whole person around them.

You can be a whole person anywhere.

[It's not a correction, exactly, but rather a reminder. It's good that Ephemera is making improvements, but connecting those to other individuals or a setting can be a dangerous mistake.]

[Ephemera hums, not disagreeing. Not exactly.]

Maybe. I wasn't, for a while.

[He gives Sweets a faint smile.]

's okay. Apparently I got my head blown off, back home.

[Alright, well, he's setting his coffee back down.]

What do you mean?

[About that last part. And okay, sure, it's pretty obvious what he means, but the question is really just meant to prompt more explanation.]

[Ephemera shrugs. It doesn't bother him much.]

Washington and the others. I wouldn't stay down, apparently.

[He mimes a gun and points it at his head. Bang.]

I don't remember it.

[If this were any other situation Lance probably wouldn't be able to resist telling Ephemera not to do the gesturing part, finding it both flippant and unnecessary, but he lets it go in this case. Instead he just tries to focus on the actual conversation, but he's really not mentally prepared to discuss something like this even though he does his best.]

Has it not happened for you yet?

Can't tell. I don't remember all of it.

[He sets his coffee down abruptly. He doesn't want it anymore.]

I remember falling. Landed bad. Knew I was done. Then--

[Then things got fuzzy.]

Hnn. Woke up here.

[That sounds familiar; the details are different, of course, but it's a situation Lance has experience with.

He doesn't want to think about that, though, and startles just a little at the sudden noise of the coffee mug on the counter; he was already too far in his thoughts, and it pulls him back to the present. He wants to ask how Ephemera knows now for sure what happened, but decides not to in favor of condolences.]

I'm sorry.

[He really can't say too much more than that, especially not right now.]

Edited 2018-01-09 03:23 (UTC)

[Sweets looks disturbed by the revelation. Ephemera assumed it wouldn't be much of a surprise. People like him die all the time. Hell Jumpers, motherfuckers who throw their lot in with space pirates and bastards like Felix. Live crooked, die young. Just how it goes.]

You don't have to be.

[He's quiet a moment.]

You all right, Doc?

[It isn't hugely surprising, it's just that it's difficult for him not to empathize and right now he's just not mentally or emotionally able to handle that as well as he normally can.

But he nods at the question, even if he can't bring himself to answer verbally due to a combination of nausea and just lacking the energy to lie. Of course, the more or less non-response is probably not super convincing anyway.]

Okay.

[It's obviously not okay. Remember the twins, Ephemera thinks. When they stopped talking. Keep calm, be steady, and they'd be calm too.

He stays where he is. Doesn't reach out.]

You want some water?

[Water is probably a good idea; he hasn't been completely failing to stay hydrated or anything, but he still hasn't been as successful as he probably should've been. So he nods again, vaguely aware that he's probably worrying Ephemera, but it's going to take a moment to gather enough willpower to force himself to be more present once again.]

All right.

[One thing at a time. He turns slightly, keeping Sweets on his good side, and gets a clean glass. Fills it in the sink. Cold water. It helps. Sometimes.

He sets it down next to Sweets, then steps back.

Don't try to touch. It goes wrong, sometimes.]

There you go.

[He appreciates that Ephemera is giving him space, but at the same time it's a very clear indicator that Lance is definitely worrying him. But for not he focuses on the water, picking the glass up carefully; his hands aren't shaking, at least not really, but he just feels unsteady overall.

But the cold water does help, even if he kind of has to force himself to drink it, but he definitely feels less hazy once he's had about a third of the glass and manages to find his voice.]

Sorry. I'm okay.

[Better. It's just a bad moment, doesn't look like it's going to spiral. The twins spiraled, sometimes. You could see it coming. Ephemera remembers losing them. How much it hurt waiting for them to make it back.

He goes back to his coffee. Drinks. It's something to focus on and that helps.]

You can sit down. If that helps.

[He considers the offer to sit down, but he knows from experience it doesn't generally make much difference for him mentally, and he's feeling a little more steady physically now.]

I think I just need a moment, but thank you.

[And a brief pause as he sips more water, gaze directed off to the side.]

I'm... I'm sorry I can't give you better advice, at the moment, regarding what you told me.

[Now that the fog is wearing off, he's starting to feel guilty about how completely unhelpful he was--and is still being--about something so serious.]

Okay.

[Keep it simple. Ephemera tips his head to the side to watch Sweets. Wondering.]

I'm not gonna ask. It's not my business. I don't pretend I'm any good at this either, but if you wanna talk about it, that's fine too.

[He can feel Ephemera watching him, especially as he becomes more fully aware of his surroundings again, and it's agitating. But he knows it isn't meant that way, and instead of immediately deflecting Lance is quiet a moment at the offer.]

It isn't... It isn't ethical, to tell someone I'm advising about my own issues.

[And that's something he takes seriously; it's different when giving a friend advice, as he does back home, but here he's more formally counseling people and there's a line he can't cross. Of course, that leads to an issue of having very few people he can talk to, but the people here need him to be acting a psychologist and he can't just compromise that because of his own problems.]

Didn't know that.

[There's a lot he doesn't know. Ephemera shrugs again. Drinks his coffee. It's starting to go cold.]

You got anybody you can tell?

[He nods again in response, but then catches himself and realizes he should answer verbally as well just to make it clear he's still doing okay.]

Yeah.

[He's not sure if he will, because that's another issue, but there are a few people he can talk to.]

Maybe do that.

[He hesitates.]

Everybody's got their shit, Doc.

[And he has a guess at what's bothering Sweets. Just a guess, though.]

Just how it is.

Yeah.

[It isn't necessarily and agreement to talk to someone, but it's an acknowledgement of understanding as well as a conformation of the rest of what Ephemera said; everyone definitely has their own things to deal with.

He lets there be silence for another moment or two, before glancing toward his half-forgotten and untouched coffee, before finally looking back at Ephemera directly.]

Do you um... Would you mind if I take this back home? I'll bring the mug back tomorrow or something.

[He makes a vague gesture at the coffee as an indicator of 'this'. He knows he'll probably want the coffee tomorrow, and he certainly isn't going to waste it even if he doesn't.]

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