Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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She gets a short lived grin from him, but it fades as it always seems to. ”You can work on that too. It takes time, but you can learn to react differently. Or really, to walk away and then come back when you can make a different choice.” Her tone is softer now, some understanding in there. Weaver is rarely quick to anger simply because there is little that actually angers her. Though she certainly has had her moments, and can understand a reaction that didn’t go over so well. There’s been more than one occasion where she'd had to admit to being wrong.
There’s a small pouch left on the shelf, and she gestures to it as he talks, leaving it for Loren if he wants to pick it up. She’d done so much of the rummaging, she was starting to feel a little guilty, so she leaves the item for him to explore first if he’d like. ”Some aren’t worth mending. Not all friendships are made to be kept, but some are. You’ll know which ones to spend the time on.”
Letting out a huff of bitter laughter, Loren shrugged a bit helplessly. "Sounds like I've got quite a bit of self-improvement ahead of me." Voice slightly annoyed, he looked almost embarrassed and certainly not happy. Still, he gave Weaver an apologetic smile to know he was mad at himself and not at her.
As she gestured for the last remaining item, he picked it up. However, he made no move to open the sack. Staring at it, clearly distracted by his thoughts, he finally sighed. "I haven't found one friendship, or relationship, that I haven't fucked up somehow at some point." Expression troubled and tone bothered, he bit his lip.
”Perhaps,” she drawls, a roguish grin on her face, ”but don’t we all?” What a true question it was, too. They were all working on improving somehow, and if they weren’t, they probably should be. No one was perfect, not even the gods. A blasphemous thought, surely, but Weaver isn’t exactly the most devout.
His next statement would leave her chuckling, though she doesn’t, given the look on his face. It’s not that she wanted to laugh at him, but merely that he hadn’t found her yet. ”For starters,” she says, sticking out a finger as if counting the number one. ”No relationship is perfect and shit happens.” Another finger. ”You are giving yourself a whole lot of credit for being the only responsible party in a two way street. Not saying you didn’t fuck up, but it usually works both ways.” A third finger. ”You haven’t known me for very long, but I’m pretty hard to piss off.”
Weaver actually managed to startle a laugh out of Loren. "That we are. Or at least, we should be." Tone wry, he gave her an understanding nod. Strangely enough, a little bit of the tension he always seemed to carry around with him bled out of him. While he wasn't relaxed, he seemed more at ease.
As she went on to explain that he wasn't fully to blame and that she was hard to piss off, though, he just shrugged. "Because it's my fault." However, he managed to grin weakly at her. "I'm sure I'll find a way." Even though it was a joke, there was a kernel of truth to it.
Weaver shrugs as he says it is his fault. Perhaps. But she still doubts that it’s all one-sided. Nothing ever is, not really. Not if you dig past the obvious, past the anger down to the truth of the matter. Though she doesn’t push it, not right now. She’s pushed enough for one conversation, she suspects.
Instead, she chuckles slightly. ”Maybe just don’t try,” she says, tone light. Honestly, it would take a lot for him to truly piss her off. A scuffle, a disagreement? Sure. Those things came with life, and there was no reason not to expect them. But to end a relationship? He’d pretty much have to hurt her loved ones, on purpose, and she didn’t think that was the Loren she knew.
Weaver takes a breath, pushing herself off the wall and looking around the room. She lets out the breath, closing her eyes for a moment, as if to remember this place. To remember Maea. ”Is there anything else we should look for, do you think?” It was a small room, and she wasn’t sure there was much left for them to take. Perhaps it was time to leave the dead to rest.
As Weaver advised Loren not to risk it, even the barest hints of ease and humor left him. His expression turned grave, and he found himself meeting her gaze squarely. Something dark and hidden lurked in his eyes. "I won't. But there are things you don't know about me, and probably should." It came out quietly, without much inflection. But he suddenly resembled a different person, not the slightly nervous low self-esteem healer he usually appeared to be.
Then he shook his head and the illusion was broken. "No, I don't think there is." He held up the bag for her to look at. "Any idea what these seeds are?" Not really expecting her to, he took one last look around the room. His expression was sad, but it was a familiar kind of sadness, one that didn't hurt quite as much as when he'd entered.
It’s hard not to notice the change that comes over him because he stops being him for a moment. Her normal mischief drops away, and she looks at him seriously, as if maybe she can look through the outside of him to what hides beneath. ”So why don’t you tell me?” she says, and it is only partially a question. There’s not a demand in her voice, but something akin to it. You cannot just say something like that and let it drop.
Weaver looks at the bag, though unsurprisingly, she has no idea what the seeds are. She shakes her head. ”Could always try to grow them and see what happens?” she suggests, not sure they’d survive in Halo, but maybe. There were a few indoor gardens, and the right plants would make it.
As Weaver requested firmly to be told what it was that Loren was hiding, that made him doubt himself and that he deserved anything good, that made him nervous and self-deprecating and all the other things he usually was, the dark expression came back onto his face. For a moment, he said and did nothing.
Then he drew himself up to his full height. "I used to torture children. My relatives, to be exact." He took a deep breath. "And I very much thought it was the right thing to do." He was quite firm on that point.
His hands clenched into fists. The suggestion about the seeds was an unwelcome intrusion into the conversation that had suddenly grown quite serious. "I was planning to start a greenhouse anyway." The response was distracted, and it was clear he didn't care about the bag anymore.
She watches him, giving in the space and time he needs to muster up the answer. Time and space yes, but this wasn’t the sort of thing she was going to let him out of, either. At this point, she wants to know, and according to him she needs to know. So she waits as the dark expression flits back over his face. She’s starting to recognize that look, as it seems to show up when his family history is involved.
What he says isn’t what she expects. Not that she necessarily expected anything, but definitely not that. It takes her a moment, but it isn’t hatred or disgust on her face, just something thoughtful. ”I mean, I can’t say that’s exactly great,” she says finally, slowly, trying to find the right words. ”But I’m also not going to hate you for the person you were.” Because the Loren she knows isn’t the kind to torture children, and she knows enough of his past to imagine that someone taught him that it was the right thing to do. ”Why, though? Was there a reason?”
She forgets all about the seeds. They may have been Maea’s, but they feel irrelevant now. There would be time enough for greenhouses later.
04-16-2020, 10:12 PM (This post was last modified: 04-16-2020, 10:13 PM by Loren.)
When Weaver didn't respond right away, Loren found himself tensing, fully expecting heated words. However, as she responded almost reasonably, he blinked instead, shock writ large on his features for a moment before he schooled them into a neutral mask. "Does it matter?" His words were carefully devoid of anything that might give away his feelings.
Still, his eyes narrowed slightly. "That's not the only thing I've done. I've tried to take my own life, twice. In front of other people both times, people I professed to care about. I've treated my friends like shit in a fit of pique. I've managed to alienate pretty much anyone whose ever known me given enough time, because I am selfish, don't think about others, and am careless in both speech and action." As he spoke, he grew more withdrawn, more standoffish, colder.
He goes from shocked to neutral rather quickly, but she doesn’t let it deter her. ”Yes, though only because it helps me understand you,” she says. Information has always been Weaver’s currency of choice. It is how she understands the world and the people in it, how she navigates her way through life. She knows what he has done, but not why. Her assumption is because his family taught him it was the right thing to do, and sometimes we are too young or too foolish or too hopeful to see any further past pleasing one's family. That is something she can defend. But if that is not the case, she’d at least like to know so she doesn’t make excuses for him.
He goes on though, and she listens, leaning back against the bookcase and crossing her arms as before. There is nothing angry about the posture, as it is her usual position, though it does look as if she is settling back in for a conversation. ”You are those things, or you were? she asks, emphasizing the last word. ”That’s the crux of the issue here. What matters, in this moment, is not the things you have done, but whether or not you intend to be better than them.” Her voice is careful, perhaps slightly cool, but certainly not disgusted. That said, if he wants to continue down a path of self-destruction, if she is wrong in her belief that he wants to change, then perhaps she is wasting her time.
For a long moment, Loren remained quiet. Then he nodded tersely at Weaver. "Fine." His jaw feathered with tension for a moment. "I don't remember how much I've told you about my family, but the stronger members used to torture the weaker ones into being stronger and more compliant. I was weak, but obedient, so the only ones I could torture were those weaker than I." Which were mostly children, which hopefully went without saying.
Hesitating for just a moment, he sighed. "I want to say were. But honestly, I don't know." He shrugged. "Every time I try to do better it seems like I fail. Some days it feels easier just to be what people see me as." A thoughtless and selfish asshole who only cared about himself.
She listens as he speaks, remembering earlier conversations though she didn’t think he’d told her this much detail about his family. ”You told me enough that this doesn’t shock me. So no, I don’t think you are an awful person simply because you were raised to do awful things.” He was certainly not the same weak boy he describes, at least not magically. Though maybe he was still weak...maybe she had him pegged wrong.
Yet, Weaver isn’t usually the sort to give up quite so easily. ”It is easier to be what they think you are. It is easier to simply fall into the trap set by others, to fall back into old habits. And if that’s the life you want to lead, go for it. I won’t stop you, though I admit, I don’t really want to watch it either. I like you a little too much for that.” She pauses, not done, but simply taking a moment. ”But some part of me thinks that’s not really who you want to be anymore. I’m not gonna sit here and tell you the road from ‘were’ to ‘are’ will be easy - it won’t be - but if that’s the path you want to walk, you don’t have to do it alone.”
As Weaver spoke, Loren couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Running a hand through his hair, he gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you." It came out softly, but with a great deal of gratitude.
As she went on, though, he immediately shook his head. "It's not the life I want. Or who I want to be." He spread his arms a bit helplessly. "But I've alienated and hurt a lot of people, and I don't know how to change their perceptions of me. Or my perceptions of myself, really." He let out a huff of clearly mirthless laughter and shook his head again, much more sadly this time.
