[ she has faith in that honesty. not because what he says is comfortable. she can feel how it sits in her stomach like a stone; heavy with its own weight and truth, but manageable, as it must be. her hands fist, pressed over her stomach. the gesture isn't entirely voluntary. it's not enough to shove the sensation away.
she swallows, watching him from the corners of her eyes. she accepts what he says about her, too, because it isn't anything she feels needs an answer. he says what he means. that's been her experience. if it's easy or not to live with is up to her to handle, not for him to mitigate.
she lifts her chin, turning her face his way. ]
Yes. But not everyone will be.
[ there's no uncertainty in her heart when she makes that claim. a fondness, mingled in with the unhappy resignation, the fear of what violence meant, of having to welcome some of that violence into herself, wraps around her heart, making it easier to breathe. not by much, but by enough.
like the gun could be taken down into its composite parts, so could most challenges. things start out small. they're a sum of their parts, not a singular, looming inplacability she's been thrust up against.
the galaxy is likely different. there is a great capacity for harm, self interest, greed, all the self-satisfied and centralized emotions. but that, too, is a flaw of any group. she's started understanding the differences in perspective and species interests. how those even who look alike don't think alike. how kindness can be more costly than cruelty to some. how indifference and apathy are easier. how derision is simple when it means less is directed at you.
hope, and a love that's both general and specific, and a determination. all those confusing feelings, and she chooses to hold those tighter, and closer, as she stills where she sits by his side. ]
For all our differences, kindness will exist in others, too.
[ like you. ]
Not everyone. I...
[ it's difficult to weigh the needs of those she cares for most against the need to not indulge and lose herself to the violence that's becoming more and more commonplace in her life. she'd thought Oska and the insect violence was meant to be the odd interlude. now she's learning, firsthand, it's the kinder one. ]
To protect the ones who matter to me, others will be hurt.
[ a question, asking if she'll be that instrument of harm. not through fighting, necessarily; not through physical violence. but there are other ways to generate harm or situations. there has to be more than one way to protect. ]
no subject
she swallows, watching him from the corners of her eyes. she accepts what he says about her, too, because it isn't anything she feels needs an answer. he says what he means. that's been her experience. if it's easy or not to live with is up to her to handle, not for him to mitigate.
she lifts her chin, turning her face his way. ]
Yes. But not everyone will be.
[ there's no uncertainty in her heart when she makes that claim. a fondness, mingled in with the unhappy resignation, the fear of what violence meant, of having to welcome some of that violence into herself, wraps around her heart, making it easier to breathe. not by much, but by enough.
like the gun could be taken down into its composite parts, so could most challenges. things start out small. they're a sum of their parts, not a singular, looming inplacability she's been thrust up against.
the galaxy is likely different. there is a great capacity for harm, self interest, greed, all the self-satisfied and centralized emotions. but that, too, is a flaw of any group. she's started understanding the differences in perspective and species interests. how those even who look alike don't think alike. how kindness can be more costly than cruelty to some. how indifference and apathy are easier. how derision is simple when it means less is directed at you.
hope, and a love that's both general and specific, and a determination. all those confusing feelings, and she chooses to hold those tighter, and closer, as she stills where she sits by his side. ]
For all our differences, kindness will exist in others, too.
[ like you. ]
Not everyone. I...
[ it's difficult to weigh the needs of those she cares for most against the need to not indulge and lose herself to the violence that's becoming more and more commonplace in her life. she'd thought Oska and the insect violence was meant to be the odd interlude. now she's learning, firsthand, it's the kinder one. ]
To protect the ones who matter to me, others will be hurt.
[ a question, asking if she'll be that instrument of harm. not through fighting, necessarily; not through physical violence. but there are other ways to generate harm or situations. there has to be more than one way to protect. ]