week 9 | tuesday evening

[jackhole]

[ set on tuesday because fucking DOOR. THE DOOR. UGH THE DOOR.

rhys is in his room though, sitting on the edge of the bed and flicking through some files in his arm. most of the files are related to the town, the people in it, and a shitload of rhys' own thoughts on the matter. he's taking a moment to reflect, wondering what to do next and how exactly to survive this. what can he do, who can he talk to, and where can he go next? he has to build a plan, form a strategy to survive and that's... his main priority.

dumpy is perched off in the corner, quiet and resting and aware that this is a moment to reflect. rhys appreciates that.

he's not really expecting to be interrupted. that probably means he's about to be interrupted. ]

Comments

[disapproved]

[ morrigan stares at his hand for damn near a minute. touch was — it was weird to her, admittedly, she hated touching and being touched, the only thing coming natural being slaps with her staff, but rhys expected her to touch him, even if he couldn't be certain it was her. he was allowing it; it was deeply embarrassing, and if she were still alive, well, she would certainly scold him.

but this was the only way she knew to let him know she was here. she reached forth quickly, knowing if she were tentative she wouldn't want to do it — she had to forego her own comfort for the sake of this. was that what being a friend meant? it was — difficult. ]

You are.. the biggest imbecile I have ever met.

[ her hand stays there for a minute, curled up into a ball, not quite holding hands, but rhys will feel some pressure there. after a minute, though, she releases her hand, and two crumpled pieces of paper are suddenly resting on his palm, imperfectly crushed into tiny balls. back to the ghost communication system again, it seemed. ]

[jackhole]

[ when he feels that pressure on his hand, he knows it's her -- he just does. a smile spreads across his face, blissfully happy for a full second there as he stares at where he thinks she is. he's pretty accurate too and he only looks away when he feels the pressure leave his hand. he looks down at the paper balls and lets out a soft huh before pulling his hand back and sitting back again.

as he pokes at the paper balls in his hand, he murmurs quietly now that he knows she's here. ]

You probably just said something rude about me, didn't you?

[ but that doesn't seem to bother him much, instead his grin turns wry and he looks over to the chair again. this is nice, he thinks, to have her here for a moment. ]

I'm sorry, by the way. For the other day, the last time you tried to talk to me. I was just... really angry about your death. Still am, actually -- not at you but at the rest of them. It wasn't fair and none of them act like they regret it.

[ his hands clench into fists and he looks angry for a moment, a flash of the real cold and calculating hyperion company man that he is. when he speaks again, it's even lower this time, a quiet murmur not exactly addressed to morrigan. ]

... They don't know what I know though. I'll fix this and watch them eat crow. Then they'll see.

[disapproved]

[ that was comforting, somehow, in their own strange and darwinistic way. she knew rhys was fighting to survive, and maybe that was why she had some semblance of respect for him — he had priorities, he wasn't merely fumbling in the dark like most of the others were, hoping to outstretch their hands to some impossible goal, no — rhys was realistic, and he knew how to play this game, and this tiny moment of vulnerability — true vulnerability, not the bumbling rhys they all knew — she felt like she was seeing something very private.

that was how she felt about herself too, of course. she had been raised not to trust anyone, not even her own mother — certainly not her mother — and men had been nothing but selfish chauvinists who only wanted a bat of an eyelash from her. but kieran had been born a boy, and she knew he would grow up to be a man — the grand chaos of the world again creating a weird little pocket for her. maybe rhys fit neatly into that pocket, too.

her face tightens, much like rhys's, but in a forlorn sort of way. like she's making herself angry. she sits her head on the palm of her hand, staring off out the window, quietly condemning the hellscape they were in. ]

I trust you to crush them.

[ it wouldn't do for everything to tie up neatly. no, the demons had to die — katerina had to be purged. this is how morrigan felt, at least, and she hoped it was how rhys felt as well.

she reaches forward again to touch his hand — she's not sure what other gesture is appropriate, she just assumed this was one that he liked — a tiny expression of solidarity. ]

You are the one who can do accomplish this, Rhys. 'Twas always you.