Quentin Coldwater (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
magician_king) wrote2020-01-12 01:19 pm
magician_king) wrote2020-01-12 01:19 pm
IC INBOX for The Last Voyages
You know what to do.
He looks up at him in surprise, then down at the egg again, and wonders;
"Is that something that you feel like we need to talk about?"
And maybe he wonders about whether or not there's maybe cyanide in the egg, but he doesn't mean it, and it doesn't feel appropriate to say it.
If Jedao and Quentin get into a battle of being provocative with one another, this is going to turn into a bloodbath.
"Is that something that you feel like we need to talk about?"
And maybe he wonders about whether or not there's maybe cyanide in the egg, but he doesn't mean it, and it doesn't feel appropriate to say it.
If Jedao and Quentin get into a battle of being provocative with one another, this is going to turn into a bloodbath.
"I don't know," Jedao says, and sticks one of his own remaining bacon strips into the yolk to break it, a completely automatic Shuos-politeness response, even though the sophistication of poisons means that the bite he takes demonstrates literally nothing. If anyone asked him, he'd say he did it to encourage Quentin to eat through subconscious mimicry, and he'd even believe it.
"I think so. Or maybe things around it. He came to ask me what he did wrong, you know. Because he didn't understand, and he so desperately wants not to upset you again."
"I think so. Or maybe things around it. He came to ask me what he did wrong, you know. Because he didn't understand, and he so desperately wants not to upset you again."
Edited 2018-03-23 10:07 (UTC)
"Low blow, Fantastic Mister Fox."
He says, breathing out hard and showing proverbial throat, looking down and reaching for the bacon to copy him.
"Fine, okay, yes, it wasn't great. I thought I'd difused it but apparently I didn't comfort him enough."
He says, breathing out hard and showing proverbial throat, looking down and reaching for the bacon to copy him.
"Fine, okay, yes, it wasn't great. I thought I'd difused it but apparently I didn't comfort him enough."
"He needed explanation more than comfort. If he doesn't understand, he can't be sure to perform correctly next time. And it's not your fault you're one of the very last people he'd push, rather than nodding very convincingly stoically. Well, it's a little bit your fault, offering to help with the aging problem. Thank you, by the way."
He starts spreading sour cherry jam on a waffle for himself.
"There are a lot of social things that he just...has no context for at all. And the thing is -" he puts the knife down, no matter how blunt it is, before getting to the real point, another ingrained bit of fox-version good manners. "I think he does understand what upset you now, and maybe even mostly believes it wasn't his fault. But I don't know whether I should advise him to just indulge you, and never mention that there are pockets of atrocities in the vastness of all worlds that you are, in fact, slightly naive about, because you've got history with people making assumptions and you hate hearing anything like it. Or not."
He's not looking at Quentin now; he keeps his voice steady but it gets a little softer. He really doesn't want to have this fight. Not as a fight, not again. Doesn't even particularly want to remind Quentin of the time they halfway had it before; there's a small clutch of fear low under his ribs that Quentin will take the reminder and suddenly remember - knowing this was a terrible idea.
"But I don't think you actually need, or want, to be protected that way. From gratuitous detail, yes, but not from the basic facts of our lives. So we're talking about it."
He starts spreading sour cherry jam on a waffle for himself.
"There are a lot of social things that he just...has no context for at all. And the thing is -" he puts the knife down, no matter how blunt it is, before getting to the real point, another ingrained bit of fox-version good manners. "I think he does understand what upset you now, and maybe even mostly believes it wasn't his fault. But I don't know whether I should advise him to just indulge you, and never mention that there are pockets of atrocities in the vastness of all worlds that you are, in fact, slightly naive about, because you've got history with people making assumptions and you hate hearing anything like it. Or not."
He's not looking at Quentin now; he keeps his voice steady but it gets a little softer. He really doesn't want to have this fight. Not as a fight, not again. Doesn't even particularly want to remind Quentin of the time they halfway had it before; there's a small clutch of fear low under his ribs that Quentin will take the reminder and suddenly remember - knowing this was a terrible idea.
"But I don't think you actually need, or want, to be protected that way. From gratuitous detail, yes, but not from the basic facts of our lives. So we're talking about it."
Edited 2018-03-23 10:40 (UTC)
"He didn't tell me there were things I am naive about. He told me that he and I have different ideas about what constitutes something being very bad."
He says, putting the bacon down, appetite going all of a sudden. It's partially the subject matter, it's partially the fact that he hasn't had vodka in a long time, and his body is worse during the morning after, like using long neglected muscles.
"And he told me that about the study of magic, implying pretty heavily that I couldn't tell him anything that'd scare him. It was more than mildly infantilizing."
He says, putting the bacon down, appetite going all of a sudden. It's partially the subject matter, it's partially the fact that he hasn't had vodka in a long time, and his body is worse during the morning after, like using long neglected muscles.
"And he told me that about the study of magic, implying pretty heavily that I couldn't tell him anything that'd scare him. It was more than mildly infantilizing."
Jedao groans for a moment, and rubs his eyelids.
"For someone who insisted he's never had a double meaning in his life, you're very sure about what other people are implying. Haven't you noticed he misses regular metaphors half the time? He wasn't talking about magic, he was just talking about...life. His life. He's scared of all kinds of things. But he endures, because he was conditioned and tortured and lived under the threat of death for imperfection. If he meant anything other than the very literal, it was that you couldn't tell him anything that would scare him off. And once he's set on a task, I probably couldn't either."
Jedao makes himself breathe.
"And I don't know how the hell it's infantilizing. Most adults have different ideas than he does, or I do, about what might be very bad. It's not a function of maturity to be born in world without casual torture or slavery. Everyone should be."
They just...weren't.
"For someone who insisted he's never had a double meaning in his life, you're very sure about what other people are implying. Haven't you noticed he misses regular metaphors half the time? He wasn't talking about magic, he was just talking about...life. His life. He's scared of all kinds of things. But he endures, because he was conditioned and tortured and lived under the threat of death for imperfection. If he meant anything other than the very literal, it was that you couldn't tell him anything that would scare him off. And once he's set on a task, I probably couldn't either."
Jedao makes himself breathe.
"And I don't know how the hell it's infantilizing. Most adults have different ideas than he does, or I do, about what might be very bad. It's not a function of maturity to be born in world without casual torture or slavery. Everyone should be."
They just...weren't.
"Fine."
He says, even though it clearly isn't, even though he's clearly sick with frustration and his face is starting to burn. He knows this isn't one of those arguments he ever wins, or ever feels any better for fighting.
It's weird, having the familiar feeling come back with Jedao, who usually just understands whatever stammering explanation Quentin manages. He pushes the plate aside so he doesn't have to breathe the scent in so much, as his stomach lurches.
"Okay."
He says, even though it clearly isn't, even though he's clearly sick with frustration and his face is starting to burn. He knows this isn't one of those arguments he ever wins, or ever feels any better for fighting.
It's weird, having the familiar feeling come back with Jedao, who usually just understands whatever stammering explanation Quentin manages. He pushes the plate aside so he doesn't have to breathe the scent in so much, as his stomach lurches.
"Okay."
Jedao pushes a glass of water toward him.
"Small sips?" He suggests, frustration already slipping into tight, pinched worry.
"I know it's not. So I don't get it either." Damn, says the way his eyebrows furrow together; but also: this is a puzzle to figure out. "I want you to tell me what I'm getting wrong," he says, precise and solid and mostly guiltless, in a way that wants pragmatics, rather than reassurance. "But it can be not now, or it can be never. Do you want to go?"
"Small sips?" He suggests, frustration already slipping into tight, pinched worry.
"I know it's not. So I don't get it either." Damn, says the way his eyebrows furrow together; but also: this is a puzzle to figure out. "I want you to tell me what I'm getting wrong," he says, precise and solid and mostly guiltless, in a way that wants pragmatics, rather than reassurance. "But it can be not now, or it can be never. Do you want to go?"
"Yeah, I think I'd better. I'm really not feeling well."
He admits, getting to his feet, ignoring the water, and looking up at him, finally, managing a smile that is in the neighbourhood of reassuring.
"I'll find him later and make sure to apologize. And I'll see you soon, right?"
And everything is going to be completely normal and okay, no matter what he has to do.
He admits, getting to his feet, ignoring the water, and looking up at him, finally, managing a smile that is in the neighbourhood of reassuring.
"I'll find him later and make sure to apologize. And I'll see you soon, right?"
And everything is going to be completely normal and okay, no matter what he has to do.
"Don't, you'll only scare him, and probably both get into a blaming-yourselves contest until one of you catapults backward off the deck rail," Jedao says, simultaneously worried and fond, reaching to grab Quentin's wrists for a moment, if Quentin lets him, not tightly, just a brief hold.
"I'm sorry. I thought I understood and I could just manage everything but I don't, and I hurt you again. I want to listen. When you're ready."
"I'm sorry. I thought I understood and I could just manage everything but I don't, and I hurt you again. I want to listen. When you're ready."
"Come by mine after lunch?"
He offers, eager to give him whatever he's looking for, trying exceptionally hard to do the right thing, the communicative thing, to not furl up and shut down, as badly as he wants to.
He offers, eager to give him whatever he's looking for, trying exceptionally hard to do the right thing, the communicative thing, to not furl up and shut down, as badly as he wants to.
"You were glad I talked to you," Jedao reminds him, with a small smile and a gentle squeeze of his hands, reacting to Quentin's physical desperation more than the verbal offer. "And I was so glad you made me promise to talk it out with Fives, last time," the unmitigated success of which is mostly driving his doggedness now.
"Even though it was terrible at first and went against all my instincts. I'll be there, I promise."
He barely manages to bite off the darling his mouth wants to add, aching with the unsaid endearment; it feels more unfair to add than anything Quentin called a low blow before.
Then he remembers he's a Shuos, and being a hypocrite besides.
"Go hide and breathe a little, sweetheart," he says, releasing Quentin's wrists.
"Even though it was terrible at first and went against all my instincts. I'll be there, I promise."
He barely manages to bite off the darling his mouth wants to add, aching with the unsaid endearment; it feels more unfair to add than anything Quentin called a low blow before.
Then he remembers he's a Shuos, and being a hypocrite besides.
"Go hide and breathe a little, sweetheart," he says, releasing Quentin's wrists.
It's there in his expression like a rock crashing through a pane of glass. Pleasure, and then the realization that no, Quentin. There are days when this is all easy and fine, and there are days when it fucking sucks and is terrible and he wonders why he tortures himself.
He smiles, overbrightly, and turns and goes in a hurry.
He smiles, overbrightly, and turns and goes in a hurry.
There are things Jedao frets about: Mikodez's everything, what Kujen made him into, whether the barge is falling apart and how much he wants to be the asteroid owl about it.
Despite the twinge and tug of that final expression, this is not the kind of thing he lets himself fret about. He does his usual work, and he knocks at the appointed time, with a package of leftovers under one arm if he didn't spot Quentin at lunch - and maybe even then, given the way he picks at things.
Despite the twinge and tug of that final expression, this is not the kind of thing he lets himself fret about. He does his usual work, and he knocks at the appointed time, with a package of leftovers under one arm if he didn't spot Quentin at lunch - and maybe even then, given the way he picks at things.
When he opens the door the hangover and nausea have receded, which is good. The embarrassment is a little less. His face is freshly washed, his clothes are ironed, more tidy, and his expression is serene.
"Hey. Come on in- how was your shift?"
Aggressively normal, today.
"Hey. Come on in- how was your shift?"
Aggressively normal, today.
"What are your questions?"
He wonders, sitting down on the bed too, cross legged and facing him, hands going to rest on his knees. He seems prepared, actually, to face them.
He wonders, sitting down on the bed too, cross legged and facing him, hands going to rest on his knees. He seems prepared, actually, to face them.
"Okay. So. These are not in order, because I did not let myself obsess over this, but within the general area of troubleshooting: Was it the conversational proximity to the study of magic, in particular, that made it upsetting? Do you think it's not true, that you and Fives have different ideas of what's very bad, or not relevant? Was is wrong to say because of context, or because of assumptions it makes or you think it makes, or is it cruel generally? Are there similar statements you would react to the same way, or differently? Do you feel like people infantilized you by saying similar things before? Was it insulting because you're fundamentally superior to us in some way that presumably led to your selection even before expert training, and that makes it inappropriate for Fives not to be scared of things you've survived? Do you think he's a sheltered child who doesn't understand the real world? Because he is, in some ways. He's thirteen, and I'm a dirty old man. There are plenty of things about your life he doesn't understand. Which ones should we be more aware of to not fuck up like this again? Was there something I said, in particular, this morning, that set you off badly, or was it just the experience of not being able to make yourself understood to someone who was upset with you? Is there something I can do to make miscommunication easier in the future, or did we handle this okay?"
This is Jedao's idea of not obsessing over something. Thinking about it actually reminded him of troubleshooting a game in the final design stages: track the glitches back to their sources, find the pieces that don't work. The mindset wasn't as difficult to move to people as he might have expected.
"Feel free to start anywhere that sounds helpful."
This is Jedao's idea of not obsessing over something. Thinking about it actually reminded him of troubleshooting a game in the final design stages: track the glitches back to their sources, find the pieces that don't work. The mindset wasn't as difficult to move to people as he might have expected.
"Feel free to start anywhere that sounds helpful."
Edited 2018-03-24 02:22 (UTC)
He listens to this barrage, and gives in to the urge to lean back, to rest his palms on the bed and stretch his spine and get just a couple of inches of more space, like that'll make all the difference.
"Of course he's got a higher threshhold for what constitutes something horrifying than I do. Both of you do."
That isn't where this starts.
"And I'm definitely not fundamentally superior to you. The only mistake I made was getting into this argument in the first place, because there's just no way out of it. I think the things I'm talking about were very bad, and you guys think he wouldn't see them that way."
"Of course he's got a higher threshhold for what constitutes something horrifying than I do. Both of you do."
That isn't where this starts.
"And I'm definitely not fundamentally superior to you. The only mistake I made was getting into this argument in the first place, because there's just no way out of it. I think the things I'm talking about were very bad, and you guys think he wouldn't see them that way."
Jedao looks down at his hands.
"Those are different things, though. Whether things are bad and how we see them. I mean - I don't think the Feast of Dust was very bad. Wrong, absolutely. Terrifying, specifically because of what it meant for the memetic security of the barge. Intellectually, morally, I know that should never happen to anyone. But gut reaction - not very bad, as remembrances go. And my very bad gauge is sort of broken even compared to other people from the Hexarchate."
He picks at the edges of his gloves, even though there are no frayed threads at all.
"I feel like I'm being an asshole, trying to - prove it, or something. But it's like - it feels like, to me, that you halfway agree with us and halfway don't. And if we guess wrong we hurt you. So maybe we shouldn't guess at all? But to me that seems infantilizing. To just never talk about it. And maybe there's no way out of the stupid is-this-isn't-this parts, but. Why - why is insulting, for him to disagree with you about that? Why does it imply things?"
"Those are different things, though. Whether things are bad and how we see them. I mean - I don't think the Feast of Dust was very bad. Wrong, absolutely. Terrifying, specifically because of what it meant for the memetic security of the barge. Intellectually, morally, I know that should never happen to anyone. But gut reaction - not very bad, as remembrances go. And my very bad gauge is sort of broken even compared to other people from the Hexarchate."
He picks at the edges of his gloves, even though there are no frayed threads at all.
"I feel like I'm being an asshole, trying to - prove it, or something. But it's like - it feels like, to me, that you halfway agree with us and halfway don't. And if we guess wrong we hurt you. So maybe we shouldn't guess at all? But to me that seems infantilizing. To just never talk about it. And maybe there's no way out of the stupid is-this-isn't-this parts, but. Why - why is insulting, for him to disagree with you about that? Why does it imply things?"
"Because it follows that anything I've ever known just isn't ever going to be that big a deal to him."
He says, at last, and has to get off the bed, and away from him, busying himself finding a teacup, going to fill it with water.
"Not rape, not death, not mutilated souls- and shit, this is why I hate this conversation so much. I don't actually want to talk to either of you about any of that, especially not if you're just going to look at me smugly like that's nothing, cadet. Or worse, like oh, look at the little civilian, exposed to things only a soldier should see. It's just a nasty little trap where I either flay myself, or cede the argument. So please, for the love of fucking God, take the victory. I'm wrong about magic. None of it is that bad."
He says, at last, and has to get off the bed, and away from him, busying himself finding a teacup, going to fill it with water.
"Not rape, not death, not mutilated souls- and shit, this is why I hate this conversation so much. I don't actually want to talk to either of you about any of that, especially not if you're just going to look at me smugly like that's nothing, cadet. Or worse, like oh, look at the little civilian, exposed to things only a soldier should see. It's just a nasty little trap where I either flay myself, or cede the argument. So please, for the love of fucking God, take the victory. I'm wrong about magic. None of it is that bad."
He shifts, just a little, at mutilated souls, a winch tightening the knots in his shoulders.
"I don't think you're wrong about magic," he says carefully, slowly. "And I don't think it - has to follow. There's - this reminds me of the thing that you hate people doing to you? Where they assume you're being condescending, just because you know things they don't. But with suffering instead of rocket science, which, yes, is fucking awful to do the scratch work on. We know some things you don't, about us. And you know things we don't about magic. And it doesn't mean the things you've been through don't matter. And it doesn't mean we think that. The dismissive things."
"I don't think you're wrong about magic," he says carefully, slowly. "And I don't think it - has to follow. There's - this reminds me of the thing that you hate people doing to you? Where they assume you're being condescending, just because you know things they don't. But with suffering instead of rocket science, which, yes, is fucking awful to do the scratch work on. We know some things you don't, about us. And you know things we don't about magic. And it doesn't mean the things you've been through don't matter. And it doesn't mean we think that. The dismissive things."
"Then why am I not allowed to say 'some of magic is very bad' and you just answer 'wow, okay, I respect you and I believe you, I'll be careful and listen to what you're telling me.'"
He wonders, looking at the ground.
"I know that your reality is unfathomably twisted, and I know his involves senseless death on a scale unheard of in my history. But I'm not going to talk to you about my life if it comes with this asterisk, footnote 'very bad in Quentin terms, not in real terms.' So yeah. I bit his nose off. I'll just shut the fuck up next time, because it's objectively true."
He wonders, looking at the ground.
"I know that your reality is unfathomably twisted, and I know his involves senseless death on a scale unheard of in my history. But I'm not going to talk to you about my life if it comes with this asterisk, footnote 'very bad in Quentin terms, not in real terms.' So yeah. I bit his nose off. I'll just shut the fuck up next time, because it's objectively true."
He means to say I believe you, or maybe, perhaps contradictory, there are no real terms, but what he says first, in a tight fast ugly burst, is, "I'm afraid of the dark."
There's a hot blush slightly blotchy across his cheeks, and his throat works for a moment, silently, as he tries to say anything else, and also tries not to throw up, which feels very abruptly possible. He takes short, careful, deliberate breaths.
"Like a fucking two-year-old," he elaborates, harshly, the verbal equivalent of digging his nails into his palms, which he is also doing. He swallows. He swallows again. This wasn't where he meant to go -
"There aren't real terms. Or even soldier's terms. I've got a weak spot the size of a white sun for children being hurt, and Fives - you can just guess how much he doesn't." He breathes through his nose.
"I believe you. That there's bad things. You're right, that I was being dismissive, I'm sorry. I really should know better. But I don't think Fives really - you told me, he said that to you, in the context of you warning him about magic. If you asked him what the context was - I mean, he might just stare and you and recite the conversation, because what even is context. But I think he heard you in the context of telling him he might be scared enough to back down and not try something. Anything. That he might not be up to the task he'd been set. And he'd go through a lot of very bad things by any standard before that, or even admitting that, which - would make it come across even more terribly, right? The 'of course it'll be fine' that doesn't even feel optional to him. I don't think you need to shut up next time. I just -"
He unclenches his hands. Breathes. He has a sense of what he would ask, but not the words for it.
There's a hot blush slightly blotchy across his cheeks, and his throat works for a moment, silently, as he tries to say anything else, and also tries not to throw up, which feels very abruptly possible. He takes short, careful, deliberate breaths.
"Like a fucking two-year-old," he elaborates, harshly, the verbal equivalent of digging his nails into his palms, which he is also doing. He swallows. He swallows again. This wasn't where he meant to go -
"There aren't real terms. Or even soldier's terms. I've got a weak spot the size of a white sun for children being hurt, and Fives - you can just guess how much he doesn't." He breathes through his nose.
"I believe you. That there's bad things. You're right, that I was being dismissive, I'm sorry. I really should know better. But I don't think Fives really - you told me, he said that to you, in the context of you warning him about magic. If you asked him what the context was - I mean, he might just stare and you and recite the conversation, because what even is context. But I think he heard you in the context of telling him he might be scared enough to back down and not try something. Anything. That he might not be up to the task he'd been set. And he'd go through a lot of very bad things by any standard before that, or even admitting that, which - would make it come across even more terribly, right? The 'of course it'll be fine' that doesn't even feel optional to him. I don't think you need to shut up next time. I just -"
He unclenches his hands. Breathes. He has a sense of what he would ask, but not the words for it.
Edited 2018-03-24 04:25 (UTC)
"I forgot that he's one of those people who is always trying to do the right thing no matter what, always. And wouldn't know an insinuated criticism if it- well, bit his nose off."
He allows, mollified, immediately and utterly, by the apology, the concession. He comes back over, crawls up to him, into his space, to touch his fingertips, lace their hands together, sit again, knee to knee.
"I know you know more than me. I know you've seen worse than me. I know you're both hardened in a way I can't comprehend. But I feel insignificant all the time, on board the boat, not that bad, not that big a deal- like, I can't get myself to go to PTSD group any more, because people there have real problems. I can usually talk to you guys. If I'm losing my mind about this, it's because I don't want to lose that."
He allows, mollified, immediately and utterly, by the apology, the concession. He comes back over, crawls up to him, into his space, to touch his fingertips, lace their hands together, sit again, knee to knee.
"I know you know more than me. I know you've seen worse than me. I know you're both hardened in a way I can't comprehend. But I feel insignificant all the time, on board the boat, not that bad, not that big a deal- like, I can't get myself to go to PTSD group any more, because people there have real problems. I can usually talk to you guys. If I'm losing my mind about this, it's because I don't want to lose that."
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