ellectrical | (no subject)

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It's evening outside, and already growing cool enough that someone venturing out onto the lawns might want to bring a sweater or jacket with them.

Elle has neither, but for once doesn't seem to care. She walks across the grass as aimlessly as she did back in Madripoor, with enough speed to suggest she really wants to break out into a run.

But she can't. She can't make herself do it. So she just walks toward the edge of the lake.

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She's not quite sure the distinction matters.

So she answers, "You've done - different things because of it."

X is not sure, either.

But she is still a little bit at sea.

"Yes."

Beat.

"That is not inaccurate."

"That's what it is."

It's difficult stepping back, when she's already made the leap forward, but she tries anyway.

"You're - different, with them."

X hesitates.

"I do not know how else to talk. To them."

She pauses.

"If I do not try."

Every day is 'learn a new foreign language' day, for X. But it has gotten a little bit easier.

She shakes her head. "I don't want you to not be - different.

"I just - want you to know it's - not easy. To know what you'll do sometimes."

"I do not want to die," X says, after a moment.

"Anymore."

It feels like that might be useful information, given the current context.

But X is not totally sure.

"I don't think ..."

Her voice drifts off. She's not sure how to explain it more than this.

Finally, she says simply, "Don't let him do it again."

"I will not," X says, firm and matter-of-fact. (Even if some residual uncertainty is visible in her eyes.)

And --

"I do not like being hurt."

The problem might be that, a lot of the time, she's largely indifferent to it.

Still.

Elle meets her eyes again.

"Neither did I."

X takes a breath.

"But we can stop them now. We have."

She does not hesitate.

"It is different."

Most of the time.

Edited 2013-04-02 03:19 (UTC)

"Okay."

She manages to keep her eyes up this time. But she also doesn't let go.

X tugs Elle a little bit closer, shifting position just enough that their shoulders brush once.

Twice.

Some things are easier than words. Sometimes.

Slowly, Elle pulls her left hand out of X's.

But she steps closer to the other woman, and with some hesitancy (and difficulty, given that it's her injured shoulder), puts her arm around X's shoulders.

X only looks startled for half a second.

Then, slowly and carefully, she slips her arm around Elle's waist.

If X were not near to Elle's injured shoulder, some leaning might be involved.

But as she can still smell the blood --

For nearly a minute, Elle stays still.

Then she slowly releases X's shoulders, and moves back, twisting her steps so that, still holding X's hand, it opens like half a dance movement.

"Okay," she repeats.

X just squeezes Elle's hand for a moment, then, very hesitantly, tugs her back in the direction of the bar, or at least one of the larger rocks.

They may be out here, alone, for some time.

Elle takes one step, then stops. Without letting go of X's hand, she lowers herself to the ground again, and sweeps the folder back into her hand.

Then she rises up again. If X wants to guide her, there won't be any resistance.

X accepts this responsibility, pausing momentariliy by the largest of the lakeside rocks, then continuing toward the bright lights of the bar.

It is warmer inside, for one.

And it is less quiet.

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