[ Normally, Parker is observant. Diligent, even, and quick to pick up on things. Normally, even Parker has her friends to lean against and keep her on a good path. Normally, however, she is not in a spaceship outside of her comfort zone fighting through a state of mind (of being) not easy to overcome. It doesn't help the sleep she keeps on skipping and the food she keeps on ignoring and everything else where she just creates the misery of her own. She toughens it out with anger and resentment.
Only healthy things. ]
I'm pretty sure I said pen and paper. Don't know how to be more specific. Pen. Paper. It's a yes or no answer.
[ She opens her hands, expectant gesture, before dropping her arms back down against her hips. ]
[He pauses, thumb brushing over the seam in the helmet several times before applying an even pressure, rocking the plating. Still loose.]
No, it's not. You said you need pen and paper. You did not ask ask.
[His gaze is still fixed narrowly on the helmet, but he sets the small tool down with that, looking up at her with an equally narrow expression. His tone is even, still, the rhythm of his words as slow as it ever was.]
If you wished for a yes or no answer, you should have spoken more carefully.
[He uses both hands to lift the helmet off of his knees, setting it to his side before standing.]
[ She makes a face at him, upper lip slightly curled with a little scrunch of her nose and eyebrows drawing a frown on her forehead. She did tell him she had said, not asked. It was a direct question because she has no concept of measuring one's words. It's not part of her DNA to beat around the bush. ]
Yeah, whatever. [ She says dismissively, arms crossing over her chest, clear disregard to what he's saying and with little energy to tell him he's wrong. She's from New York. Who has time to be polite?
When he finally looks at her, Parker tilts her head slightly. There's a bruise on her jaw, a cut on her bottom lip and dark circles under her eyes that could unfold to her feet. She looks fine. Wonderful time here up in the Station. Nobody's been misbehaving. ]
[Parker's physical state prompts absolutely no reaction. She would heal quickly enough, even if she resented it. The evidence merely supported what he already knew. She was on a destructive path.]
Very well.
[He moves past her without an obvious invitation, but it's clear enough he's going somewhere further than the nearest wall or shelf, turning out into the hallway and winding downward.]
She takes a subtle step back from his path, keeping that distance she needs at all times. Lets him take a couple more steps before following him to the hallway.
With small talk out of the question, they walk in silence. Mostly because it's an unlocked skill. But partially because you can't because the weather is out of the picture without windows on the station. Or in space. Silence is comfortable anyway with someone as restricted as Prince, but that's as far as she will go when it comes to being comfortable in this place. ]
[It is a good thing that she's more comfortable with silence, because there is quite some time of it. He winds down the hallway, through the hangar, the broad open stretch of it nearly empty except for the occasional ship, each in a different style.
Past that, into one of the lifts, the silent slide of the floor beneath their feet as it lowers them even deeper into the guts of the station. The light is dimmer here, as if the station was aware of how little it was used. It was, of course.
Eventually they come to a wall seemingly like any other, the slightest indentation that, with the wave of Prince's hand opens.
Someone had a door.
He doesn't pause at the entrance, but rather steps inside, the lighting that reveals the interior not the cool white radiance of the rest of the station, but a warm, heavily tinted light, catching across heavy tapestries and a low couch and a very sturdy desk that looked to be solid wood. He also doesn't take the time to invite her in, as he heads straight towards the desk itself.]
[ If everyone was as quiet as Prince, Parker would be kicking a lot less of a fuss. Sharing is caring until sharing is an annoyance then it's just terrible and everything is bad. So, yes, she likes it.
She keeps her distance even on the elevator, not to the extent of hopping to the farthest corner and stay there, but keeping that usual distance she does from people. Not a something that happened here in the Station specific. She has always been like this. She keeps quiet and still, not even glancing at the broad shouldered man, keeping her eyes ahead.
The instance that he opens the "door" to his room, however, Parker tenses and straightens up. ]
Talk about hypocrisy. [ She says, mostly to herself, between gritted teeth, tired look to the door and she could almost feel jealous if she wasn't so dead inside already.
Parker stays at the door, like a creepy vampire that can't get in, but mostly because she doesn't want to. It's one thing to come to terms to have to talk to Prince to ask (demand petulantly) for something. It's entirely another to get in his room. Or whatever this is. ]
[He doesn't respond to her petulant words, either. The fact that Parker was incapable of keeping her mouth shut on whatever poison came to the forefront of her mind was swiftly becoming predictable, and he had no intention of explaining to her the sheer number of cycles he has spent in the doorless rooms of the life support wing, or in spaces closer and more intimate even than that. He would be unlikely to discuss it with anyone.
He had a door. He had earned it.
Instead he focuses on his task, pulling behind the desk and sliding out the exact right drawer. It is full, but uncluttered, and after a short time he finds a notebook, not overly large, with a small clasp. It would not be easy to replace.
A pen, with a simple black metal barrel and a slightly curved nib joins it in his hand, and just like that the drawer slides closed, Prince again covering the narrow distance between the desk and the door in a few strides before holding both out to her.]
[ She likes being reliable in her predictability. Or something. Besides, it's a door. That's like, basic hygiene. Everyone should have it. If you ask her, that is.
She waits at the door, one hand in her pocket, the other rubbing the heel of her palm against her eyes tiredly, while he looks for the pen and paper she asked for. When he walks back towards her with the notebook outstretched to her, Parked takes it with one hand, turning it around as if to make sure it is a notebook. What else would it be, ya tit? ]
Mhm. [ It's all about she offers, before frowning at him. Might as well, even if she's sure it won't lead to nowhere. ] Why did you agree to come to this place?
[He stares at her for a moment, expression blank before glancing slightly to the right. He doesn't owe her his story, and it is very doubtful she will get anything from it. That she will learn any lesson.
But this was his duty, in part. When the hosts asked for a hand, he was to provide it. There was value in that.]
I came here to save my men.
[The memory hasn't faded, but it has changed. It is difficult to see it as he had seen it then, as the child that he was. Still, there were some things that hadn't changed, even now.]
The enemy came upon our army, and it tore through them as if they were nothing. I knew they would defend me no matter the cost, but anyone could see it made no difference. So I chose to end it. I came here.
[His eyes stay focused, away from her, lingering in the memory for some time before he turns his attention back to her, expression unchanged.]
[ Nobody could blame him for thinking the way he does about Parker. Nobody could blame anyone for thinking the way they do about her. It tends to be most people's impression of her. She has always been a difficult person, there is no denying. The first steps are especially hard with her. The amount of people that have the patience to tolerate that first layer of cynical armour to peel it away are few and far in between. And it has only gotten worse in recent years, with all that grief rotting inside her, aggravated by the fact that she has chosen to isolate herself from everyone here. She had started to forgive herself from all that guilt a little bit back home, but it is not something you can just "man up" from. After you have been put through loss and torture, you are bound to be left with marks that will never go away.
But that doesn't mean she doesn't know how to learn from given information.
Her eyes narrow that little bit when he does provide her with an answer, searching for his face, taking in his posture. She doesn't say anything while he speaks, going through his words carefully. Maybe it had been a noble sacrifice. Maybe it had been the only way. Maybe it had been cowardice. His Majesty's army. Her thumb taps against the cover of the notebook once. Warmonger. It taps twice. Who could say?
There's a moment of silence between his words and hers. Her thumb stops tapping. She breaks the quiet with weighted words. ]
So you've seen it? This enemy? And you're sure it was them?
[The question brings a furrow to his brow, seemingly thrown aback by her question- as ludicrous as it was, and his answer comes surprisingly quickly for him, with a narrowing of his eyes.]
I very much doubt it.
[Which sounded like an insane thing to say, except that he believes she means to ask if he's seen the true face of their enemy. An outlandish concept- while he could not guarantee that he hadn't- they did not know what they looked like, and therefore could not know what they did not look like- even he doesn't imagine himself so very special.]
It was far more likely they were their agents. There is very little incentive I could imagine in them ever showing their true faces.
[ There is either an issue with the translation or he's speaking in crazy talk. Maybe she's just fucking stupid. Parker looks at him with a mildly frustrated expression. It's one step forward, a thousand steps back with these people. It's frustrating, to say the least. Not that she isn't used to hitting the wall time and time again. She tends to pick herself back up more often than not. But it's getting harder to do it lately.
She breathes through her nose in annoyance, tonguing her lower lip as she keeps her eyes on him. Trying to pull his inane logic into a more cohesive puzzle. ]
Okay, so-- Let me get this straight: Your enemy tore through your army. And you know it was them. But it wasn't the enemy that you people keep saying is lurking around the corner, but probably might have been their agents even though you don't know for sure. And you have no idea who the enemy is, but you know that there isn't any incentive for them to show their true faces. Even though every time I ask anything about this enemy of yours, I get shit for it.
[ There's a pause, Parker looking about as convinced as the stork in the story with the fox. ]
I'm the one being an asshole for asking, but you do realise how nonsensical you sound, right?
Do you realize how nonsensical you sound to ask if I was sure it was the Enemy? What other question could you be asking other than if it was the Enemy in their true form? [He is exasperated- Prince was not prone to conversation but Parker seemed incapable of it.] Surely you could not have been wondering whether I was sure the alien force that attacked my people was not simply a coincidence?
[It was ridiculous. He may have, at one point in time, believed that could be possible, if he had not spoken to the Hosts that had first joined him when he had been brought to the station. Their stories were all the same. They were attacked- by something or someone beyond their own capability to survive. It took many forms, but the story always ended the same- because they were here, on the Station, and not dead in their homes. This was simple. She has been here too long, in Prince's opinion, to be questioning these simple facts.]
The enemy has many agents, as I am sure you have been told. We know that they hunt us. They know that we attempt to save potential hosts from their assassinations, and they must surely know that we interfere in their plots. With so many strong beings capable of doing their bidding what possible incentive would there be to let us know anything about them? To put themselves at risk? So I assume we have never seen their true form, and if we have, we did not recognize it as such.
[ She looks at him with an incredulous stare. Of course she is still questioning the simple facts, because she hasn't been presented any proof of either side. All she has heard is the expectancy of believing and trusting without question and there is nothing that makes her do the opposite faster. There has to be more than words, especially when they have been provided by people she does not trust. Expecting her to offer her trust is expecting her to offer her loyalty, and that is something that she does not give lightly. She isn't seeing any reason to do so so far. ]
Yeah, I've been told a lot of things, and none of them make sense. I've asked what does the enemy want, and all you can answer is "hunt you down". I've asked what do you want, and you say "to save the hosts". So, what makes you better? Neither you or them care about the people you call hosts. [ There's a pause, she leans back, shaking her head. ]
You're just running desperate to find a brain to shove these things in to.
[ In that moment, when she was picked up, there were four more people better than her in arm's reach. There has to be a reason for it, right? It has to be because they are desperate. They couldn't have picked her up knowing the difficult person she is. How, fundamentally, she isn't good nor strong, even if she tries. Maxine was better and Jonny was stronger. The only reason she had said yes had been out of fear and guilt, one that has been pushing her down more and more every time. ]
It means we do not know who is pulling the strings.
[He says the words slow and heavy, as if Parker may be short of hearing. Clearly she was not taking in anything that they had told her. Her next words, however, bring a flash of hot anger that is strong enough that it overcomes even his tightly controlled barriers, sizzling down the line that connects him to Cathaway. It is possible, even, that other hosts, those that may be listening sense it as well.]
We are the people we call Hosts, you foolish child- [he is just short of yelling, deep voice louder than it usually is, but hissing at the edges for the control it takes to be no louder. The fact that his voice doesn't echo is only because the station itself seems to eat the sound from the air around them-] The same thing that happened to you happened to us all. What makes you think we want you? What do you give us- you and your simple false equivalencies- what benefit is there to you? You are a burden, and that does not seem likely to change.
[There are things he has struggled his whole life to learn. To be steady, to strike a balance between the flows. To be as a stone, to weather any storm. Patience was chief among the virtues. These were the things he had been taught his entire life, that his father and his aunts had tried to instill into him. But his core had been impatient, his flows imbalanced, and strive as he might, as often as he managed to come to some equilibrium, he could not always maintain it. His emotions, distasteful as they were, vulgar in their display, could be seen.
Certainly now, although with the last thoughtless words that escape his mouth he is already beginning to regret allowing this display. Thoughts and emotions were acceptable. Acting upon them-
He bites down the next words he would say, takes a breath and a step back, chin raising slightly. There is tension in the control he exerts over himself, still simmering beneath.]
[ Parker stares at him, unchanged in her stance or demeanour. Eyes locked with his and all she does as he lets his tirade go on. Until he says the last words that clearly leave his mouth without him wanting. That strikes something and Parker's lips twitch-- into almost a smile. With no humour, but like something familiar. His outburst has more realness to it than the measured steps he keeps taking - he and everyone else.
A burden, unwanted-- those are things she is used to being since she was old enough to understand the world around them. There are reasons for her to be distrustful and guarded and difficult, after all. Taking that role has always felt more natural than anything else because of it. It is by being a burden back home that she has taken down lies and masks. Not that she is always this extreme, but her loved ones aren't here to pull her out of her hole. It's a disease you can't really see. And considering she keeps herself distant, it's no wonder anyone would take it as something you could just get over. Stubbornness or unwillingness. It is not that, but the festering wound that she had once started to heal which is slowly tearing her bit by bit.
Some things are just better hidden by presenting yourself as a burden than others.
Parker looks at him one last time, from head to toe, and gives him a shrug. ]
Sure.
[ She takes two steps back, staring at him in challenge of nothing, before turning around to leave. ]
[Prince's cool mask has returned by the time Parker turns away, as if it had never gone, were it not for the slight flush barely visible on his cheeks and the added tension in his shoulders. When she leaves he sighs- another thing he is not supposed to do, a tell that could be dangerous- if he were still a boy on a planet with the weight of a nation across his shoulders. As it is now, there is no one to notice such a weakness- not the sigh and not the hand that raises to press his fingers against his brow, a firm even pressure.
Perhaps not no one, but no one who would be surprised by the fact that he was capable of such things.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Only healthy things. ]
I'm pretty sure I said pen and paper. Don't know how to be more specific. Pen. Paper. It's a yes or no answer.
[ She opens her hands, expectant gesture, before dropping her arms back down against her hips. ]
no subject
No, it's not. You said you need pen and paper. You did not ask ask.
[His gaze is still fixed narrowly on the helmet, but he sets the small tool down with that, looking up at her with an equally narrow expression. His tone is even, still, the rhythm of his words as slow as it ever was.]
If you wished for a yes or no answer, you should have spoken more carefully.
[He uses both hands to lift the helmet off of his knees, setting it to his side before standing.]
How much paper do you require?
no subject
Yeah, whatever. [ She says dismissively, arms crossing over her chest, clear disregard to what he's saying and with little energy to tell him he's wrong. She's from New York. Who has time to be polite?
When he finally looks at her, Parker tilts her head slightly. There's a bruise on her jaw, a cut on her bottom lip and dark circles under her eyes that could unfold to her feet. She looks fine. Wonderful time here up in the Station. Nobody's been misbehaving. ]
A notebook will do.
no subject
Very well.
[He moves past her without an obvious invitation, but it's clear enough he's going somewhere further than the nearest wall or shelf, turning out into the hallway and winding downward.]
no subject
She takes a subtle step back from his path, keeping that distance she needs at all times. Lets him take a couple more steps before following him to the hallway.
With small talk out of the question, they walk in silence. Mostly because it's an unlocked skill. But partially because you can't because the weather is out of the picture without windows on the station. Or in space. Silence is comfortable anyway with someone as restricted as Prince, but that's as far as she will go when it comes to being comfortable in this place. ]
no subject
Past that, into one of the lifts, the silent slide of the floor beneath their feet as it lowers them even deeper into the guts of the station. The light is dimmer here, as if the station was aware of how little it was used. It was, of course.
Eventually they come to a wall seemingly like any other, the slightest indentation that, with the wave of Prince's hand opens.
Someone had a door.
He doesn't pause at the entrance, but rather steps inside, the lighting that reveals the interior not the cool white radiance of the rest of the station, but a warm, heavily tinted light, catching across heavy tapestries and a low couch and a very sturdy desk that looked to be solid wood. He also doesn't take the time to invite her in, as he heads straight towards the desk itself.]
no subject
She keeps her distance even on the elevator, not to the extent of hopping to the farthest corner and stay there, but keeping that usual distance she does from people. Not a something that happened here in the Station specific. She has always been like this. She keeps quiet and still, not even glancing at the broad shouldered man, keeping her eyes ahead.
The instance that he opens the "door" to his room, however, Parker tenses and straightens up. ]
Talk about hypocrisy. [ She says, mostly to herself, between gritted teeth, tired look to the door and she could almost feel jealous if she wasn't so dead inside already.
Parker stays at the door, like a creepy vampire that can't get in, but mostly because she doesn't want to. It's one thing to come to terms to have to talk to Prince to ask (demand petulantly) for something. It's entirely another to get in his room. Or whatever this is. ]
no subject
He had a door. He had earned it.
Instead he focuses on his task, pulling behind the desk and sliding out the exact right drawer. It is full, but uncluttered, and after a short time he finds a notebook, not overly large, with a small clasp. It would not be easy to replace.
A pen, with a simple black metal barrel and a slightly curved nib joins it in his hand, and just like that the drawer slides closed, Prince again covering the narrow distance between the desk and the door in a few strides before holding both out to her.]
This should suffice.
no subject
She waits at the door, one hand in her pocket, the other rubbing the heel of her palm against her eyes tiredly, while he looks for the pen and paper she asked for. When he walks back towards her with the notebook outstretched to her, Parked takes it with one hand, turning it around as if to make sure it is a notebook.
What else would it be, ya tit?]Mhm. [ It's all about she offers, before frowning at him. Might as well, even if she's sure it won't lead to nowhere. ] Why did you agree to come to this place?
no subject
But this was his duty, in part. When the hosts asked for a hand, he was to provide it. There was value in that.]
I came here to save my men.
[The memory hasn't faded, but it has changed. It is difficult to see it as he had seen it then, as the child that he was. Still, there were some things that hadn't changed, even now.]
The enemy came upon our army, and it tore through them as if they were nothing. I knew they would defend me no matter the cost, but anyone could see it made no difference. So I chose to end it. I came here.
[His eyes stay focused, away from her, lingering in the memory for some time before he turns his attention back to her, expression unchanged.]
no subject
But that doesn't mean she doesn't know how to learn from given information.
Her eyes narrow that little bit when he does provide her with an answer, searching for his face, taking in his posture. She doesn't say anything while he speaks, going through his words carefully. Maybe it had been a noble sacrifice. Maybe it had been the only way. Maybe it had been cowardice. His Majesty's army. Her thumb taps against the cover of the notebook once. Warmonger. It taps twice. Who could say?
There's a moment of silence between his words and hers. Her thumb stops tapping. She breaks the quiet with weighted words. ]
So you've seen it? This enemy? And you're sure it was them?
no subject
I very much doubt it.
[Which sounded like an insane thing to say, except that he believes she means to ask if he's seen the true face of their enemy. An outlandish concept- while he could not guarantee that he hadn't- they did not know what they looked like, and therefore could not know what they did not look like- even he doesn't imagine himself so very special.]
It was far more likely they were their agents. There is very little incentive I could imagine in them ever showing their true faces.
no subject
She breathes through her nose in annoyance, tonguing her lower lip as she keeps her eyes on him. Trying to pull his inane logic into a more cohesive puzzle. ]
Okay, so-- Let me get this straight: Your enemy tore through your army. And you know it was them. But it wasn't the enemy that you people keep saying is lurking around the corner, but probably might have been their agents even though you don't know for sure. And you have no idea who the enemy is, but you know that there isn't any incentive for them to show their true faces. Even though every time I ask anything about this enemy of yours, I get shit for it.
[ There's a pause, Parker looking about as convinced as the stork in the story with the fox. ]
I'm the one being an asshole for asking, but you do realise how nonsensical you sound, right?
no subject
Do you realize how nonsensical you sound to ask if I was sure it was the Enemy? What other question could you be asking other than if it was the Enemy in their true form? [He is exasperated- Prince was not prone to conversation but Parker seemed incapable of it.] Surely you could not have been wondering whether I was sure the alien force that attacked my people was not simply a coincidence?
[It was ridiculous. He may have, at one point in time, believed that could be possible, if he had not spoken to the Hosts that had first joined him when he had been brought to the station. Their stories were all the same. They were attacked- by something or someone beyond their own capability to survive. It took many forms, but the story always ended the same- because they were here, on the Station, and not dead in their homes. This was simple. She has been here too long, in Prince's opinion, to be questioning these simple facts.]
The enemy has many agents, as I am sure you have been told. We know that they hunt us. They know that we attempt to save potential hosts from their assassinations, and they must surely know that we interfere in their plots. With so many strong beings capable of doing their bidding what possible incentive would there be to let us know anything about them? To put themselves at risk? So I assume we have never seen their true form, and if we have, we did not recognize it as such.
no subject
[ She looks at him with an incredulous stare. Of course she is still questioning the simple facts, because she hasn't been presented any proof of either side. All she has heard is the expectancy of believing and trusting without question and there is nothing that makes her do the opposite faster. There has to be more than words, especially when they have been provided by people she does not trust. Expecting her to offer her trust is expecting her to offer her loyalty, and that is something that she does not give lightly. She isn't seeing any reason to do so so far. ]
Yeah, I've been told a lot of things, and none of them make sense. I've asked what does the enemy want, and all you can answer is "hunt you down". I've asked what do you want, and you say "to save the hosts". So, what makes you better? Neither you or them care about the people you call hosts. [ There's a pause, she leans back, shaking her head. ]
You're just running desperate to find a brain to shove these things in to.
[ In that moment, when she was picked up, there were four more people better than her in arm's reach. There has to be a reason for it, right? It has to be because they are desperate. They couldn't have picked her up knowing the difficult person she is. How, fundamentally, she isn't good nor strong, even if she tries. Maxine was better and Jonny was stronger. The only reason she had said yes had been out of fear and guilt, one that has been pushing her down more and more every time. ]
no subject
[He says the words slow and heavy, as if Parker may be short of hearing. Clearly she was not taking in anything that they had told her. Her next words, however, bring a flash of hot anger that is strong enough that it overcomes even his tightly controlled barriers, sizzling down the line that connects him to Cathaway. It is possible, even, that other hosts, those that may be listening sense it as well.]
We are the people we call Hosts, you foolish child- [he is just short of yelling, deep voice louder than it usually is, but hissing at the edges for the control it takes to be no louder. The fact that his voice doesn't echo is only because the station itself seems to eat the sound from the air around them-] The same thing that happened to you happened to us all. What makes you think we want you? What do you give us- you and your simple false equivalencies- what benefit is there to you? You are a burden, and that does not seem likely to change.
[There are things he has struggled his whole life to learn. To be steady, to strike a balance between the flows. To be as a stone, to weather any storm. Patience was chief among the virtues. These were the things he had been taught his entire life, that his father and his aunts had tried to instill into him. But his core had been impatient, his flows imbalanced, and strive as he might, as often as he managed to come to some equilibrium, he could not always maintain it. His emotions, distasteful as they were, vulgar in their display, could be seen.
Certainly now, although with the last thoughtless words that escape his mouth he is already beginning to regret allowing this display. Thoughts and emotions were acceptable. Acting upon them-
He bites down the next words he would say, takes a breath and a step back, chin raising slightly. There is tension in the control he exerts over himself, still simmering beneath.]
You have your paper. Leave.
no subject
A burden, unwanted-- those are things she is used to being since she was old enough to understand the world around them. There are reasons for her to be distrustful and guarded and difficult, after all. Taking that role has always felt more natural than anything else because of it. It is by being a burden back home that she has taken down lies and masks. Not that she is always this extreme, but her loved ones aren't here to pull her out of her hole. It's a disease you can't really see. And considering she keeps herself distant, it's no wonder anyone would take it as something you could just get over. Stubbornness or unwillingness. It is not that, but the festering wound that she had once started to heal which is slowly tearing her bit by bit.
Some things are just better hidden by presenting yourself as a burden than others.
Parker looks at him one last time, from head to toe, and gives him a shrug. ]
Sure.
[ She takes two steps back, staring at him in challenge of nothing, before turning around to leave. ]
no subject
Perhaps not no one, but no one who would be surprised by the fact that he was capable of such things.]