Is he, though? Every creak of settling wood has him calling out into an empty house for a sister that isn't there. Every cup of coffee drank across from an empty chair has him one step closer to caving. He could just call her, tell her it was a mistake, that he wants her home. It'd be easy. He could do it right now---- he worries his sending stone with a thumb where it sits heavily in his pocket. He could do it right now.
But he pulls his hand out of his pocket and sighs. "I just need time to process everything without running the risk of hurting her. And the effort it took to try and do that with her here was making me angrier than I wanted to be. That's all."
Fuck's sake. He is just like South; South's just like him. Difficult and stubborn and resisting help. At opposite ends of an emotionally tricky line. Even now, his worries orbit the posed risk of hurting her— never mind how she hurt him by getting him killed and pillaging what was essentially his son. He's bothered by that. He's got to be, and yet— no words. Not one uttered grievance. She isn't buying it, and he's doing a piss-poor job at playing salesman.
"North. You're isolating yourself. You carry all this weight and without asking anyone for help. You know what that does to a person? Crushes them. That's why you're angry. That's why you lash out when you don't want to. You're exhausted. You can't expect to work through your feelings when nothing changes."
A beat. She laces her fingers into a knobby, weathered ball. Pulls them apart. "I don't want it to seem like I'm forcing you to talk when you don't want to. If it's too fresh, that's fine. But someone has to push you, and if this conversation is any evidence, it isn't going to be yourself."
Yeah, she's right. North is alone. He isn't isolating himself on purpose, he just doesn't have anywhere to go. It's a little ironic, really--- South, despite her best efforts to be unpleasant, has slotted right in. She's gotten friendly with Carolina, and has a confidante in her. She's talking to a girl who seems to like her back. She signed up for some sort of Secret Santa thing next week, according to that bulletin board. She's got people.
North, on the other hand, has tried to be friendly, tried to integrate, and has come up short.
Maybe it's because South is so raw, so real, so herself. Whereas North has always been a charming fake.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Carolina, but--- as much as it'd be nice to vent, I don't think it should be to you. You're great, and I trust you, I mean that. I know you're just looking after the team, and that you'll do your best to stay neutral. But I don't think I should let off a bunch of steam about South to the person whose house she's staying in. It's not fair. I need to find my own outlet."
She's quiet for a minute, lips drawn into a tight line. Hesitant to walk away from a gash so fresh and so livid and so close in proximity to her. She knows it isn't her responsibility to keep a team together that doesn't exist anymore— knows this is a family issue, not a Freelancer one— and yet. She frustrates imperceptibly. Writhes inwardly at her inability to do anything at all except trust that someone else will come to his aid. Like hopping into an extraction plane and leaving him behind. Don't worry, I'll catch the next one.
"Yeah. Alright," she says slowly, begrudgingly. "I'll drop it. And I hope you find that outlet. Really."
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no subject
Is he, though? Every creak of settling wood has him calling out into an empty house for a sister that isn't there. Every cup of coffee drank across from an empty chair has him one step closer to caving. He could just call her, tell her it was a mistake, that he wants her home. It'd be easy. He could do it right now---- he worries his sending stone with a thumb where it sits heavily in his pocket. He could do it right now.
But he pulls his hand out of his pocket and sighs. "I just need time to process everything without running the risk of hurting her. And the effort it took to try and do that with her here was making me angrier than I wanted to be. That's all."
no subject
Fuck's sake. He is just like South; South's just like him. Difficult and stubborn and resisting help. At opposite ends of an emotionally tricky line. Even now, his worries orbit the posed risk of hurting her— never mind how she hurt him by getting him killed and pillaging what was essentially his son. He's bothered by that. He's got to be, and yet— no words. Not one uttered grievance. She isn't buying it, and he's doing a piss-poor job at playing salesman.
"North. You're isolating yourself. You carry all this weight and without asking anyone for help. You know what that does to a person? Crushes them. That's why you're angry. That's why you lash out when you don't want to. You're exhausted. You can't expect to work through your feelings when nothing changes."
A beat. She laces her fingers into a knobby, weathered ball. Pulls them apart. "I don't want it to seem like I'm forcing you to talk when you don't want to. If it's too fresh, that's fine. But someone has to push you, and if this conversation is any evidence, it isn't going to be yourself."
no subject
North, on the other hand, has tried to be friendly, tried to integrate, and has come up short.
Maybe it's because South is so raw, so real, so herself. Whereas North has always been a charming fake.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Carolina, but--- as much as it'd be nice to vent, I don't think it should be to you. You're great, and I trust you, I mean that. I know you're just looking after the team, and that you'll do your best to stay neutral. But I don't think I should let off a bunch of steam about South to the person whose house she's staying in. It's not fair. I need to find my own outlet."
no subject
She's quiet for a minute, lips drawn into a tight line. Hesitant to walk away from a gash so fresh and so livid and so close in proximity to her. She knows it isn't her responsibility to keep a team together that doesn't exist anymore— knows this is a family issue, not a Freelancer one— and yet. She frustrates imperceptibly. Writhes inwardly at her inability to do anything at all except trust that someone else will come to his aid. Like hopping into an extraction plane and leaving him behind. Don't worry, I'll catch the next one.
"Yeah. Alright," she says slowly, begrudgingly. "I'll drop it. And I hope you find that outlet. Really."