[Matsui is truly too sword for this game and also too full of Catholic guilt for Shenhe's logic :amen:]
As a team, we share the blame. We benefit from the actions of one, regardless of whether we wished for it or not. So the penance is ours to share, as well.
[shenhe is absolutely like huh! that's stupid as fuck!]
Hm. No. [don't just say no] They won't matter. The goal in this game is to eliminate all other teams. There are no amends. There are no wins or losses. There is survival, and there is erasure.
But also, his brow furrows a little on hearing that, because he's thinking about the ice that he's seen in her eyes before - even if they weren't really hers.
After a moment of silence, he holds a hand out her way.]
[it takes her a second. she really has been man standing behind him somewhere this whole conversation.
but - she likes him. for as human as she feels right now, and for as inhuman as she wants to feel, she still does feel something like a kinship with him.
carefully, she walks over to him, and lightly puts her hand in his.]
But he'll gently take her hand, fingers as cold as they ever are. He's quiet for a second. Considering. Staring without seeing their hands.]
...I wish that I had the right words for you. But I can't... speak meaning into things, or know when to speak them, or how. [Not in the way humans can, or even in the way some other swords can.]
If you wish to be the sort of person who helps, though... I will do all that I'm able to support you. It will be difficult. Nothing ahead will be easy. But you shouldn't so easily doubt and abandon your strength of heart.
[her instinct, as always, is to try and warm his hands up. even when she's trying to close herself off, she can't quite help it.
she exhales slow.]
I don't know that I have it in the first place. [strength of heart. that's where she's faltering. she's had hardship, she's been through a lot, but she's never had friends. she's never had this many people to worry about, this many people who have opinions that matter to her, people who she feels she missteps with, over and over.]
[If she's going to sandwich paws him, he will sandwich paws her back, cut palm and everything. He's not normally a very tactile blade, but it's a little easier when that connection and camaraderie already feels like it exists.
He's quiet for a second, though, considering what she's said.]
Inhuman things can also have great strength of heart. [Like Buzen...] But I take it that you mean something has felt-- damaged within you, lately...?
[A curious note, since he isn't sure, and he can only put it into sword terms, but.]
[she says, slowly. it's alright, she's not sure how to put it either. her emotions are so compacted and crunched into an aluminum foil ball that will explode if you put it in the microwave. the microwave is murdergame. i should go to bed my metaphors are starting to get fucking insane]
Unprepared? [that doesn't feel right either.] ... Unfit.
He'll listen to her as she struggles her way through this, though, patient. It's a familiar struggle. He also has no fucking idea how hearts work or what feelings are or how it all goes together.]
Mm... Too much, because there's so much to feel? Not enough, because you don't find your response to these things adequate?
[Trying to piece things together, word by word, looking up toward her face with a quiet, unreadable expression.]
[There's a little part of him that's satisfied to actually get that right, even if he's like, GREAT NOW WHAT. He can put it into words, but he sure doesn't have any wise advice to give... So he just gives her hands a little squeeze in return.]
...Hearts are messy, terrible things, even if they are also strong. They don't follow logical paths, and they won't listen to you. It's hard to tell what things are enough and what things aren't, or to gauge how to navigate it all. I wish that I could tell you it becomes easier with time, but I don't know that it does.
[He's three years and counting and it STILL SUCKS, FRANKLY!!!! He is so terrible at cheering people up amen.]
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no, this time, she says something.]
Matsui. I want to know if it was you.
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He starts a little at the sudden sound of her voice, that said, but doesn't turn toward it this time. His hands lower a little.]
...It was not by my hands. But as it was by a member of my team, then the guilt is mine to share.
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Then it wasn't Buzen, either. [she figures he'd be having a meltdown, if so. she breathes in a short, sharp breath.] What will you do?
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I will make amends as I'm able.
[Which is a fine statement for Matsui "bloodletting" Gou to make. He's quiet for a second after that, before turning more fully toward her.]
Other than that... I've yet to think it through.
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You can't make amends for what he did. [...] Amends are useless in a game like this.
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As a team, we share the blame. We benefit from the actions of one, regardless of whether we wished for it or not. So the penance is ours to share, as well.
[Are amends useless? MAYBE. He will still try.]
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Hm. No. [don't just say no] They won't matter. The goal in this game is to eliminate all other teams. There are no amends. There are no wins or losses. There is survival, and there is erasure.
[she's a lot colder than she was yesterday.]
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I can't think of it in such a way.
[Frankly, he would advise no one do, but that's beyond his scope of emotional health to be able to tackle in any way at all.]
...Are you angry?
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Yes. [she says, after a moment.] I'm certain I am, even if I can't feel it, right now.
[it's buried, because she's protecting... something. someone. her, everybody else. she's not sure.]
... I want to be the sort of person who helps, Matsui. But I don't know if I can do that, here.
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But also, his brow furrows a little on hearing that, because he's thinking about the ice that he's seen in her eyes before - even if they weren't really hers.
After a moment of silence, he holds a hand out her way.]
Will you please come here?
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but - she likes him. for as human as she feels right now, and for as inhuman as she wants to feel, she still does feel something like a kinship with him.
carefully, she walks over to him, and lightly puts her hand in his.]
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But he'll gently take her hand, fingers as cold as they ever are. He's quiet for a second. Considering. Staring without seeing their hands.]
...I wish that I had the right words for you. But I can't... speak meaning into things, or know when to speak them, or how. [Not in the way humans can, or even in the way some other swords can.]
If you wish to be the sort of person who helps, though... I will do all that I'm able to support you. It will be difficult. Nothing ahead will be easy. But you shouldn't so easily doubt and abandon your strength of heart.
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she exhales slow.]
I don't know that I have it in the first place. [strength of heart. that's where she's faltering. she's had hardship, she's been through a lot, but she's never had friends. she's never had this many people to worry about, this many people who have opinions that matter to her, people who she feels she missteps with, over and over.]
These last few days, I've never felt so inhuman.
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He's quiet for a second, though, considering what she's said.]
Inhuman things can also have great strength of heart. [Like Buzen...] But I take it that you mean something has felt-- damaged within you, lately...?
[A curious note, since he isn't sure, and he can only put it into sword terms, but.]
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[she says, slowly. it's alright, she's not sure how to put it either. her emotions are so compacted and crunched into an aluminum foil ball that will explode if you put it in the microwave. the microwave is murdergame. i should go to bed my metaphors are starting to get fucking insane]
Unprepared? [that doesn't feel right either.] ... Unfit.
[a pause.] Too much and not enough.
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He'll listen to her as she struggles her way through this, though, patient. It's a familiar struggle. He also has no fucking idea how hearts work or what feelings are or how it all goes together.]
Mm... Too much, because there's so much to feel? Not enough, because you don't find your response to these things adequate?
[Trying to piece things together, word by word, looking up toward her face with a quiet, unreadable expression.]
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she's quiet for a minute.]
Yes. That's... exactly it. [she says, holding his hands a little more tightly. it's a little overwhelming, the way he put it into words.]
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...Hearts are messy, terrible things, even if they are also strong. They don't follow logical paths, and they won't listen to you. It's hard to tell what things are enough and what things aren't, or to gauge how to navigate it all. I wish that I could tell you it becomes easier with time, but I don't know that it does.
[He's three years and counting and it STILL SUCKS, FRANKLY!!!! He is so terrible at cheering people up amen.]