[Eight is sitting at the table, fingers gripping a mug of tea tightly. The hallucinations haven't been physically dangerous for him, but being repeatedly plunged into a walking nightmare of being so utterly alone has left his nerves a bit raw.
He looks up when Four enters the house and stands, leaving the tea at the kitchen table. The look on his younger self's face makes his insides go cold.]
[There's a silence at Eight's question. One that hangs almost ominously in the space between them, the look on his face never changing, as he figures out how to actually approach the topic. That it needs saying isn't in question - not by any stretch of the imagination - but he hasn't quite figured out how to start.
(Briefly it occurs to him that this sort of thing is why he never really goes back, after people leave him. He's no good with any sort of ending, regardless of whether it's someone choosing something else or... this.)]
There's been--
[A death, he can't quite say. It might be a good start, but it's too impersonal too. As if he doesn't care and for once he can't quite pull himself into a facade of just not caring; instead of finishing out the sentence, he shakes his head and starts over.]
It's the hallucinations. They've started to turn deadly.
[Eight stares intently at Four, trying to will him into speaking, but not quite daring to hurry him along. He doesn't really want to hear this, like if he didn't hear, it wouldn't be true, but he knows that reality doesn't work that way.
Finally Four speaks, and Eight's breath catches. He swallows and finds his voice.]
[If only he could make it not true, Four likely would have already. Not so much his own death - he would have done that eventually, sooner or later - but the fact that it hadn't been just him. Nor can he quite manage to actually commit himself to the words 'Ril died' no matter what sort of permutations he tries to come up with.
Thankfully, the nature of Eight's question means that he doesn't have to.]
A Voidling.
[It's not quite the sort of thing Eight had been asking, he's pretty certain. But it does answer the question, and there's enough in the answer - and what he'd implied before - to suggest at what he can't quite bring himself to say.]
[Eight drags his hands over his face and remains silent for a long time. He's at an utter loss for what to say. His mind is such a jumble of shock and helplessness.
The mention of a Voidling does answer the question, and Eight knows exactly what that means. He wishes he didn't, but that's an impractical line of thought. Not knowing won't make it any less true.
[It won't. If it could have, Four would have been more than glad to forget. To let it un-be, to bring Ril back from the death that he'd tried (and failed) to protect her from. But he can't. Even the events themselves will stick with him for a terribly long time, he suspects.
He gives Eight the time he needs, though. It gives him time to not have to think quite so much about it. To brace himself for the rest of the conversation.]
I did what I could, but...
[He'd been there, had fought at her side, but he'd never been meant for that sort of fight. If he'd been better able to heal, maybe, or if he'd been himself the way he should have been... but what-ifs and maybes won't bring Ril back either. Only the gods can, now.]
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no subject
He looks up when Four enters the house and stands, leaving the tea at the kitchen table. The look on his younger self's face makes his insides go cold.]
What's happened?
...and by 431 I mean 531, wow
(Briefly it occurs to him that this sort of thing is why he never really goes back, after people leave him. He's no good with any sort of ending, regardless of whether it's someone choosing something else or... this.)]
There's been--
[A death, he can't quite say. It might be a good start, but it's too impersonal too. As if he doesn't care and for once he can't quite pull himself into a facade of just not caring; instead of finishing out the sentence, he shakes his head and starts over.]
It's the hallucinations. They've started to turn deadly.
woops
Finally Four speaks, and Eight's breath catches. He swallows and finds his voice.]
What...what happened?
no subject
Thankfully, the nature of Eight's question means that he doesn't have to.]
A Voidling.
[It's not quite the sort of thing Eight had been asking, he's pretty certain. But it does answer the question, and there's enough in the answer - and what he'd implied before - to suggest at what he can't quite bring himself to say.]
no subject
The mention of a Voidling does answer the question, and Eight knows exactly what that means. He wishes he didn't, but that's an impractical line of thought. Not knowing won't make it any less true.
Finally he speaks, and his voice is shaky.]
She's died too often. Far too often...
no subject
He gives Eight the time he needs, though. It gives him time to not have to think quite so much about it. To brace himself for the rest of the conversation.]
I did what I could, but...
[He'd been there, had fought at her side, but he'd never been meant for that sort of fight. If he'd been better able to heal, maybe, or if he'd been himself the way he should have been... but what-ifs and maybes won't bring Ril back either. Only the gods can, now.]