hostileterritory | TLV Inbox

"I can imagine that." Like a compass of a kind, tugging away in the proper direction. The unnecessarily whimsical thought that comes next is that it's like Saga's daughter leading her to where she needs to go. He clears his throat to shake that one off and takes a sip of coffee.

"I'll... do my best not to cause you any trouble." He's been thinking about trouble, lately. The slow burn frustration of being here makes him antsy, makes him want to do something instead of the passive nothing he's done his best to maintain. Outside of his encounters with Arthur, anyway.

She watches him for a long moment before she speaks.

"I appreciate that. And in turn, I want to try and get working if we can. If you don't object to that."

Sorry, hang on, he's staring a little. "Ma'am?"

She raises an eyebrow.

"What part of that surprised you?"

"Well," he says, and stops. "I suppose there's not much reason to be surprised."

She offers a wry little smile.

"I don't think it's fair to you to ask you to 'behave' if I'm not doing anything to get you out of here."

"All right." The words are very measured, not reluctant, but somewhere in the same tonal region. Get out of here. That phrase sinks into him like a splinter. The reason for his restlessness starts to click.

"Uh, what kind of work did you have in mind?"

She hones in on that not quite reluctant tone.

"Are you interested in graduating? I guess I should start there."

She tilts her head to one side.

"That's going to determine a lot about what kind of work I'd have in mind."

"I suppose." He doesn't not want to graduate. It just doesn't feel real, doesn't feel like an actual option, even though he's seen others posting about it when it happens.

But. Maybe the question isn't inaccurate in its premise. Graduation feels like a different kind of obedience. It doesn't feel like something that ends this new limbo. Just moves him to a different stage of the program.

Too bad he can't! Say! Any of that!

Fucking irritating.

The irritation even shows, in the way he bites his lips together briefly and exhales through his nose.

But he might notice her eyes sharpening just a little after he says 'I suppose', not with anger but with scrutiny. How she seems to almost be watching him go through those thoughts inside his own head.

And she nods.

"'I suppose' sounds like you might have some issues with it, even if you can see the logic in it. Care to share what concerns you might have?" A small smile. "I'm very willing to listen."

"Well." He pauses to test the words in his mind, see what's safe to say and what touches the edge and what's entirely too far. At least the truth is simple enough. "I guess I don't believe I'll get to leave either way."

"I assume there's a reason for that belief," she starts off. "Can you share that with me? Because I don't see why you wouldn't be able to leave."

Can he share that with her?

He assumes not.

And yet the sense of being able to speak hasn't gotten caught in his throat. Not yet.

"I don't get to leave things so much as... things end."

"That's the... narrative that you're used to? What you've come to expect?"

He considers that a moment before he says, "Yes, ma'am. Never thought of it like a narrative as such. Just the way things went."

Edited 2024-09-10 23:11 (UTC)

"I think of it as a narrative," she admits, "because narratives can change. Things that just 'are'... it's harder to get your hands around them. Or find the levers. But there are rules for narratives. It might not be as easy as flicking a switch but..."

She offers a smile.

"There's always a way to a different ending."

He knows those are words. They're sentences. They have objective meaning, he understands what she's saying in terms of information. But it's oddly meaningless at the same time.

He has to search for something to say.

"That's a nice thought."

"Not always," she says back, because he might as well have blessed her heart. She doesn't hold it against him, not hardly, but while he might think this is the sort of thought that you'd embroider on a pillow or hang in a frame, for her? This concept is life and death. Had been. Probably will be for the rest of her life.

"It's hard to escape a narrative, especially when it seems like everything lines up just right to send you where you don't want to go. It's one thing for the universe to just be unfair but a narrative implies there's a logic to it. A real double-edged sword."

David has no idea what to say to that, honestly. His face stays politely attentive. Somehow this part of what she's saying makes more sense than the first part did. The helplessness of it, that's familiar. He's just not sure why she wants him to hear this part--it seems counterproductive to what her job is supposed to be.

But what does he know. He's not the warden.

"Yes, ma'am."

Edited 2024-09-11 05:38 (UTC)

"Which is why you get a warden," she continues smoothly. "A co-author. Someone to help you find a new path. A new story for yourself."

She offers a crooked half-smile.

"And I'm apparently pretty good at that. Not that I expect you to believe that before we've even gotten started."

A slightly longer pause. "Yes, ma'am."

Because... well. She has conviction and plenty of it, it seems like. He doesn't particularly want to argue with her about it, not when their situation is temporary.

She can't help but smile a little at that.

"You're sweet," she says. "But I'm hoping I earn that faith."

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