[There really is something about hearing a man hit the full breadth of his volume in anger. It pings an instinct to cow. Back down, regardless of what is being said. If it weren't for the gravitas of the offer, the fire simmering beneath her for nearly a month, for the boldness this week lends them both, she might have folded under that force alone.
He uses that force to insist how much he cares. That he knows what she is and what she's doing, because he's said and done all the same. Rosamund feels her lungs cinch tight. Her mouth opens, ready to push back.
But it's the lowered confessions that catch her breath in truth. That he's played out this same conversation before. The particulars may have been different, but the players and pleas were all too similar. She shudders, looking away. It hurts to imagine Vi on the other end of this, saying the same thing he has to her just now. Or maybe they gave each other as good as they were given. Heroic instincts gone awry, and she can see it so easily in both.
Her fists are iron balls beside her. It's odd, she thinks. How little of this was ever part of her own story before. The guilt. The need to sacrifice. The urge to jump in front of every shot. Is it really all that selfless? Or is she desperate to prove what she's not?
Is it still about Vi, in the end?]
...I do. [Her voice is husky now, still in that pristine pitch but ragged, though she's hardly put in the work to run it so.] I want very much to break the cycle. I want these games to end, for good.
But we can't from here. Did the crew not tell you? We can't even get them back unless we achieve enough. Unless something bigger than us all reveals itself, unless some hole opens in reality itself, we're not getting out and we're not getting them back until we've played along.
I don't want to play by these rules, but right now that's the field we're in. That's the game we're being forced to play. Why not use it for something good for once? Some measure of kindness?
[But he won't do it. And if he won't, she doubts Hulkenberg would either. It's a lost bet already. She won't be able to shout or shake or beseech him into it. She's hit not against pliant flesh, but unyielding bone. A core belief.
Rosamund closes her eyes. Inhales thin, takes a second.]
It's fine. [It isn't. But it's a white lie that eases the concession, for her sake and for his.] It was an offer, not a request. You don't have to do anything I ask you to.
[ the heat finally comes out of him with that - an exhale as much as it is a temperature drop, sagging more than releasing. nothing about it feels good, but when she goes soft and ragged so does he. the reason he angers here is not out of vengeance or fury, it's frustration and compassion, laced together and tied with a bow.
silence passes for a moment. strohl takes a deep breath. holds it. holds it till it hurts. then exhales, slow. stay calm. ]
I know about the achievements. [ that, first. all of that compassion and fire, laid low and softened in the face of the hurt and horror of their current situation. he's come down two notches, three, and though he's serious still, it's not full of righteous fury. there's a cracked open rawness, a vulnerability. he so often wears his heart on his sleeve. ] And... I can't say that I don't - that I don't see your logic. I understand where that comes from, too.
[ because strohl is practical. he is smart, and if it hadn't - if it hadn't been so personal he might have even been willing to take the offer. maybe if it was framed a little differently.
but seeing the way rosamund punishes herself - seeing her break apart in his arms on saturday after siffrin was voted for, after rupert shouted at him for an hour about his own tendencies, about how easy it is to throw yourself away and how cruel it is to leave others behind, how badly it hurts those you care for makes it impossible. the idea so fiercely goes against who he is and everything he's done that he can't let himself say yes. he's clever and practical, willing to do wrong to do right, to win against louis by being the snake in his garden.
but he's not louis guiabern, in the end. and the empathy he feels here is so deeply intwined with his nobility that there's not a chance.
nothing he says is angry, now. just plaintive. honest, as he tries to catch her eye. ] What achievement would that get us? Is there some twisted vengeance one we're unaware of? Or is it just that you're the easiest victim because you've done wrong? If that's the case, then so's Todomatsu. So's Matsuoka. So's any other person we've not yet identified that got away with it, your highness. I don't think you're the type to weigh value of lives.
I know what you're getting at, I swear it, I see the logic, probably better than any damn person in this entire bloody terminal. I just - [ a beat, and heavily: ] I won't take a shot blindly into the dark with your death as the arrow and pray that it hits.
[ silence, for a moment as he brings a hand up and rubs it over his face, rubs away what feels like heat of frustration behind his eyes. ]
... You're a bloody bad liar, you know. [ this is even softer - a tiny bit rueful. it's fine. he can tell it's not. ] You don't have to pretend.
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no subject
He uses that force to insist how much he cares. That he knows what she is and what she's doing, because he's said and done all the same. Rosamund feels her lungs cinch tight. Her mouth opens, ready to push back.
But it's the lowered confessions that catch her breath in truth. That he's played out this same conversation before. The particulars may have been different, but the players and pleas were all too similar. She shudders, looking away. It hurts to imagine Vi on the other end of this, saying the same thing he has to her just now. Or maybe they gave each other as good as they were given. Heroic instincts gone awry, and she can see it so easily in both.
Her fists are iron balls beside her. It's odd, she thinks. How little of this was ever part of her own story before. The guilt. The need to sacrifice. The urge to jump in front of every shot. Is it really all that selfless? Or is she desperate to prove what she's not?
Is it still about Vi, in the end?]
...I do. [Her voice is husky now, still in that pristine pitch but ragged, though she's hardly put in the work to run it so.] I want very much to break the cycle. I want these games to end, for good.
But we can't from here. Did the crew not tell you? We can't even get them back unless we achieve enough. Unless something bigger than us all reveals itself, unless some hole opens in reality itself, we're not getting out and we're not getting them back until we've played along.
I don't want to play by these rules, but right now that's the field we're in. That's the game we're being forced to play. Why not use it for something good for once? Some measure of kindness?
[But he won't do it. And if he won't, she doubts Hulkenberg would either. It's a lost bet already. She won't be able to shout or shake or beseech him into it. She's hit not against pliant flesh, but unyielding bone. A core belief.
Rosamund closes her eyes. Inhales thin, takes a second.]
It's fine. [It isn't. But it's a white lie that eases the concession, for her sake and for his.] It was an offer, not a request. You don't have to do anything I ask you to.
And I won't ask again.
no subject
silence passes for a moment. strohl takes a deep breath. holds it. holds it till it hurts. then exhales, slow. stay calm. ]
I know about the achievements. [ that, first. all of that compassion and fire, laid low and softened in the face of the hurt and horror of their current situation. he's come down two notches, three, and though he's serious still, it's not full of righteous fury. there's a cracked open rawness, a vulnerability. he so often wears his heart on his sleeve. ] And... I can't say that I don't - that I don't see your logic. I understand where that comes from, too.
[ because strohl is practical. he is smart, and if it hadn't - if it hadn't been so personal he might have even been willing to take the offer. maybe if it was framed a little differently.
but seeing the way rosamund punishes herself - seeing her break apart in his arms on saturday after siffrin was voted for, after rupert shouted at him for an hour about his own tendencies, about how easy it is to throw yourself away and how cruel it is to leave others behind, how badly it hurts those you care for makes it impossible. the idea so fiercely goes against who he is and everything he's done that he can't let himself say yes. he's clever and practical, willing to do wrong to do right, to win against louis by being the snake in his garden.
but he's not louis guiabern, in the end. and the empathy he feels here is so deeply intwined with his nobility that there's not a chance.
nothing he says is angry, now. just plaintive. honest, as he tries to catch her eye. ] What achievement would that get us? Is there some twisted vengeance one we're unaware of? Or is it just that you're the easiest victim because you've done wrong? If that's the case, then so's Todomatsu. So's Matsuoka. So's any other person we've not yet identified that got away with it, your highness. I don't think you're the type to weigh value of lives.
I know what you're getting at, I swear it, I see the logic, probably better than any damn person in this entire bloody terminal. I just - [ a beat, and heavily: ] I won't take a shot blindly into the dark with your death as the arrow and pray that it hits.
[ silence, for a moment as he brings a hand up and rubs it over his face, rubs away what feels like heat of frustration behind his eyes. ]
... You're a bloody bad liar, you know. [ this is even softer - a tiny bit rueful. it's fine. he can tell it's not. ] You don't have to pretend.