intraspective | Room 504, Monday Afternoon

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Room 504, Monday Afternoon

Ino got out of class, and it was one she was really going to have to reread her notes for and hope the handouts made sense because paying attention had kinda... failed her there, grabbed a quick sandwich from the common room (because, really, sandwiches were just about the easiest thing ever to make and she was hungry) and wandered back to her room with it in tow.

And the mirror. And the fact that, if she was going to make sure she was ready for things, then she ought to maybe make sure she had everything all set out. For the moment though, she was just sitting on her floor and staring at the mirror while she ate her sandwich.

[Open door, open post!]

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He leaned against the wall.

"She let her work consume her," he said quietly, "not just her time or her energy, but she let it tear her apart from the inside. Frustration, anger, self-hatred... it burned beneath like an acid, inside, and I suppose a part of it gave her the kind of passion I can hardly understand, but it also, it also... it undermined her. The stubbornness, the claws always bared to a challenge...

"There was something in her that rotted, made her more curling scorpion than woman," he told her, no pity in his eyes. Simply... fatigue. Tiredness. He didn't want to say this, but he'd thrown in his kit already and best to go all the way.

"I see it sometimes, the beginnings of it in the sharpness of your eyes, the soulless tone you use," and that came with a pointed look.

"It's nothing like it was with her, not the same, but" and he shrugged, very slightly.

"I shouldn't have said anything."

"I'd rather," she said, "that you say something, than just think it."

Ino didn't look at him. "That's what you think I'm doing?"

He shook his head.

"No. I think you're on the edge of it. I think you're, well, you're smarter than her. And you have more people around you to keep it from happening.

"As I said, only sometimes. Some touches."

"Did you think her mad?" Ino wondered. "And, if so, is a touch of madness really so bad?"

Weird, weird mood.

"I didn't. I thought of her as... uncontrolled. By the end of things, broken."

He watched her carefully.

"I don't think she'd have died if she really wanted to live."

"Maybe she was tired," Ino said, and the ceiling was very interesting. "Always giving yourself, even if it's your choice, is tiring."

"That's part of it.

"Though it wasn't giving. She never gave of herself. No one was ever allowed a piece of her, not even a scrap."

A pause.

"Except, perhaps my father. And I suppose, in a biological sense, myself. But even then, she never admitted to either of us, so what does that say?"

He shook his head.

"Tired. Worn. Worn away."

He worried for her.

Edited 2009-01-12 19:58 (UTC)

"It's a different kind of giving," Ino said. "In not giving at all. I can get it, a bit. I think she just got used to it, being like that."

"There's a difference between getting used to something and getting used to the fact that you'll never get used to something," he said.

"I think it was more the second one."

"Not really," she disagreed mildly. "It's all the same, I think, in the giving up."

He shook his head.

"I don't think so. But that is, of course, my opinion. Never worth much."

He breathed out and closed his eyes.

"To think I came up to see how you were doing and tell you about the washers," he said with, well, a tired smile.

"You're opinion is worth just as much as anyone else's," she said flatly.

A beat.

"...what 'bout the washers?"

Liir didn't speak to the first, but the second--

"The laundry machines are revolting. They're stealing people's clothes and all manner of other things."

"...ha," she huffed out a bit of a laugh. "I love Fandom."

"And if you need something cleaned, let me know."

"No 'I told you so's'," she asked.

"I'm trying to be good," he said with a small smile.

"Don't make it harder."

"Would I make things harder for people?"

Yes, yes she would. In many senses.

He chuckled beneath his breath.

"Yes. It's one of your best qualities."

"And worst, huh, according to you?"

He shook his head.

"They're separate."

There was a brief pause.

"It wasn't... I hope you don't take what I said as anything more than, well, concern. Honesty, when asked for."

"It's something to think about, at least," she said, not really answering the question.

"And honesty is appreciated."

"Should I leave you to your staring, now that my message is delivered and your answer is given?"

It wasn't snippy. It was... matter of fact, a question to make sure she wanted his company and nothing more or less.

"Yeah," she said. "Just... go. Sorry. I don't think I'm fit for talking to people now, and not saying things I might regret."

He nodded.

"Thank you."

For telling him honestly.

"If you need someone or something, or a puppy, honestly, you know where I am."

But he didn't wait for anymore before nodding and slipping out the door.

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intraspective - 2009-01-12 21:40 (UTC) - Expand

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