No comfort in anything involving Verso. Sciel just turns her eyes up to the sky, thinking of the Continent, how beautiful it had been anywhere the light touched, anywhere someone saw fit to set a lantern or a candle.
But she knows that wistfulness, that reminder that many died. They did. Hundreds of thousands died so they could get where they are. There is no comfort in that, either, not really, but Sciel has done her mourning for the senseless violence of life and who gets to have it and for how long. How cruel, she thinks, that Lune was made to feel responsible for that, the machinations of other, even crueller people.
“Only a few of us made it to the end, but every single Expedition helped get us there,” she says, voice a little softer, more sober. Every body a warning, every journal or handhold a waypoint. “We made it there together.”
For all the good any of it did. Lune holds back the words just in time, pressing them into the roof of her mouth with her tongue while that familiar blend of guilt and disappointment churns within, the different shades of failure. What inroads she'd begun to make into accepting what had happened in these passing months, the fog had undone, every single whisper still echoing in her ears.
Her fingers pluck at bits of grass, devoting the task too much attention. "Yeah."
As usual, letting her thoughts venture down these paths threatens to plunge her into melancholy, silent obsession and self-flagellation. She forces a hard stop to it, boxes it all up again and shoves it into the back of her mind. Nobody needs to be subjected to her dysfunctions on such a nice day, Sciel least of all.
"We should try to set something up once we're back in Etraya," she says, in a steadier voice. "For the sparring, I mean."
The slightly morose expression that had taken over Lune's mien clears away at that, making way for attentive curiosity as she turns her head to look at Sciel.
Oh. Sciel meant a personal question. Lune still isn't thrilled about such things, after a lifetime's worth of walling away her thoughts and feelings. She's tried to do better, here, but it's hard to put into words something that's just... always been. She draws in a breath, exhales quietly.
"Both," she eventually settles on, with a small shrug of one shoulder.
She knows she’s asked something uncomfortable, but Lune, she reasons, is already uncomfortable; what good is sitting on a beautiful little hillside in an eternal spring if it comes with a side of doom? She waits patiently for the answer, her brows furrowing with sympathy.
“Seems tough to hold onto that alone,” she says. “You don’t need to.”
"I'm used to it." While true, it sounds too dismissive even to Lune as it leaves her mouth, after everything they've gone through together. Sighing, she gropes for words, the look she gives Sciel caught somewhere between grateful and apologetic.
"I know. Sometimes it's just... better to push those things aside. Easier." With a hint of a crooked smile, she adds, "Besides, it's too nice of a day to obsess over things that can't be changed."
“Easier for who?” she asks, but that one’s rhetorical. Lune is like that felled Axon sometimes, limbs heaving under the weight of everything built on her shoulders, no matter how awe-inspiring her strength or powerful her presence, Sciel has never envied it. “It seems like it’s itching to come out, regardless of the weather.”
She smiles back, and adds, just to soften it: “And it doesn’t have to, right now, if you really don’t want to. I’m just saying… I’ll listen, when you’re ready.”
Edited (Fixing a sentence lol) 2025-12-27 04:27 (UTC)
Lune stays silent. A lifetime of sacrifice, of putting everything else aside to finish her parents' work, feeling undeserving of personal distractions when more important things were on the line... the future of Lumière is more important than any individual life. She doesn't know how to unlearn any of that. And now there's nothing left to show for all the toil, anyway.
"I don't know what's left to say," she replies quietly after a moment. "My mind gets... stuck, sometimes. Too much time to think, here— without anything more immediate, urgent."
Sciel shifts over, closer, leaving just a little bit of space between them in case Lune wants it. She wraps her arms around her knees, comfortably, her head still turned to Lune, her expression calm.
“There’s never enough real distractions,” she agrees. “We’ve talked a little about what happened, whether we failed or not… but we’ve never really talked about how it felt.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But she knows that wistfulness, that reminder that many died. They did. Hundreds of thousands died so they could get where they are. There is no comfort in that, either, not really, but Sciel has done her mourning for the senseless violence of life and who gets to have it and for how long. How cruel, she thinks, that Lune was made to feel responsible for that, the machinations of other, even crueller people.
“Only a few of us made it to the end, but every single Expedition helped get us there,” she says, voice a little softer, more sober. Every body a warning, every journal or handhold a waypoint. “We made it there together.”
no subject
Her fingers pluck at bits of grass, devoting the task too much attention. "Yeah."
As usual, letting her thoughts venture down these paths threatens to plunge her into melancholy, silent obsession and self-flagellation. She forces a hard stop to it, boxes it all up again and shoves it into the back of her mind. Nobody needs to be subjected to her dysfunctions on such a nice day, Sciel least of all.
"We should try to set something up once we're back in Etraya," she says, in a steadier voice. "For the sparring, I mean."
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“We should,” she says, warmly, and she pushes herself up to sit again, weight leant on one hand, towards Lune. “Can I ask you a question?”
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"Of course. Always."
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“When you swallow your feelings down like that,” she says, “is that for me? Or for you?”
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"Both," she eventually settles on, with a small shrug of one shoulder.
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“Seems tough to hold onto that alone,” she says. “You don’t need to.”
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"I know. Sometimes it's just... better to push those things aside. Easier." With a hint of a crooked smile, she adds, "Besides, it's too nice of a day to obsess over things that can't be changed."
no subject
She smiles back, and adds, just to soften it: “And it doesn’t have to, right now, if you really don’t want to. I’m just saying… I’ll listen, when you’re ready.”
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"I don't know what's left to say," she replies quietly after a moment. "My mind gets... stuck, sometimes. Too much time to think, here— without anything more immediate, urgent."
No Paintress, no Expedition.
no subject
“There’s never enough real distractions,” she agrees. “We’ve talked a little about what happened, whether we failed or not… but we’ve never really talked about how it felt.”