[Her mind scrambles to reassess—all the conversations she'd thought they were on the same page about and hadn't been. Not quite, anyway. He knows this loss even more intimately than she does.]
[ Nathan takes his time on his way, turning answers and stories over in his head. The easiest thing to do would be to tell Kyna that he's changed his mind. Ignore the voice that tells him he owes her, and tell her something else. She wouldn't know the difference.
He takes the long way. On foot. Circles the block twice, like motion and air will help. It does, but not in the way he wants it to, so when he shows up it's— been a while since their exchange.
Not exactly hours. But, you know. Probably longer than was strictly polite. His knock is light, quiet. ]
Hey.
[ Comes the greeting. His gaze slides past her and into the apartment. Not stepping in, in case anyone else is home. ]
Sorry I'm late. [ He doesn't sound that sorry. Tense, more like. ]
[ Less reassuring than you think, Kyna. Nathan shoves his hands into his pockets. Nods tersely, just once, and takes a step or two inside. Hovers awkwardly as he takes it in: the decor she might or might not have, color of her walls, the floor. ]
Nice place.
[ Mundane shit. Nathan's jaw clenches tight, but he's not exactly looking at her. Hard to tell whether he's amping himself up or just regretting being here. ]
[There's not much of a personal touch yet. It's mostly the furniture the place came with, the windows half grown over with plants climbing up the outside of the building. There are, however, a lot of pillows on the couch. Apparently someone likes them.
Kyna is more focused on his expression than what he might be seeing in the apartment, though. It makes her chest tighten.]
[ Plants. Pillows. Someone's crashing on her couch, which makes sense, given he's crashing on someone else's right now. Nathan stares a practical fucking hole at her window. Like he gives a shit about plants. ]
Yeah.
[ No. Not really. He sighs, loud and frustrated, and scrubs a hand over his face. ]
Just got a headache.
[ Which is true enough. He looks at her, finally, but his gaze drops quick to her hand. Frowns at that, too, like seeing it in person might help him figure out whether it really is okay. ]
[ The last thing he wants to do. There's some sort of cosmic irony here, that Kyna had told him she wasn't alright and now here he is, trying to figure out how to word what he wants to. He stays there, not near the counter or the door or the walls to her apartment, staring at the ground like it's done him a personal wrong.
Just fucking say something, Lowell. Don't just stand there. Just fucking say something. ]
Ask me again.
[ has this happened to you before? Blue eyes glance upward, fix onto hers. ]
[He has an intensity to him that throws her sometimes, so much so that she has to fight the urge to look away. She bites her lip instead, forcing herself through it.]
[ He keeps looking at her. Carefully, calmly, the way you watch something you want to pay attention to. ]
They don't let you keep your magic in prison. S'where I was, before this.
[ It's part of the truth, not the whole of it. Maybe that's why the words come out easy. Nathan had thought, here and there, that maybe he'd frightened her -- that if she remembered the entire thing, her eyes golden and bowed over him, him forcefully fighting her off -- that maybe it was better to just let things be. Chase up nothing. Let the space extend.
And he still had to check anyway. What a fucking idiot. ]
Losing it doesn't get easier. Never does. [ Gaze drops to the floor. He inhales suddenly, sharply, like he's readying himself for something. ] Things change, or you do. But it still feels like shit, every day. Didn't want to tell you that over—
[ AIM messenger or whatever the fuck. Fucking hates texting. Nathan makes a vague gesture, annoyed, dismissive. ] Doesn't matter. It'll feel different, eventually. You'll feel different. That's what I wanted to say.
He's surprised, a little, that that's what she asks. But he meets it. Nathan exhales that breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and his frown eases up in a way that turns his expression quiet. ]
You find out who you really are. No short-cuts, no spellwork. No distractions.
[Kyna, by contrast, tenses up, shoulders hunching. She has no idea how to describe herself without starting with magic first. She has no idea who she's supposed to be without it. What he's saying sounds both impossible and terrifyingly probable.
She wrestles with it for a moment, struggles to think of a response. No option she can come up with feels fitting, and she crosses her arms almost protectively.]
[ He watches her, for a moment. Looks away from her and to the window instead, to give her— what. Some mental room, maybe. ]
Nothing that surprised me.
[ A failure of a son. A Falconer who managed to convince himself he was ever right for the job. An addict, a liar, a thief. Someone who hurt others for answers. An impulsive fix for an expensive problem, making him chained to the Menagerie. Alone, cast off, destined to watch everyone he'd ever known in his past life die.
Nothing he didn't deserve. Nathan scratches the side of his jaw as he sighs, some of it still tinged with frustration. ]
[It's not much of an answer, but she doesn't pry. It doesn't seem fair to, and anyway, his reassurance makes her stomach twist. Maybe she should just thank him, brush it off, but she has a strong feeling he'll see right through it. She exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the floor.]
Half the time I don't know what to do with myself. I just... I don't feel like me, you know?
[ Ironic, where he is now. How some of what he's saying is churned up from the things his sister used to tell him over the phone, careful and pleading and tired of his bullshit. Hadn't really listened to her much, over the years.
But he remembers more than he thought. Nathan shrugs, but it's not unkind. Everything she's saying outloud, he's felt. Is feeling. ]
[She scoffs at that. You'll figure it out is what everyone has been saying to her. Ian, Ren, Fenris. She was expecting something more helpful from Nathan.]
Why'd you come all the way over here? You could have told me this over the network.
[ Nathan sighs. Loud, frustrated, and hands find his hips as he stares down at his feet. The tone and set of his body language changes by degrees, then all at once.
Truth is, the answer's easy. For him, anyway. 'Cause I fucking hate texting. 'Cause I wanted to talk to you in person. 'Cause I thought you could use a friend, 'cause I thought you were goddamn scared of me before this, 'cause I give a fucking shit about what you think. That's what you're supposed to do, when someone tells you they're not okay. You— make sure they are.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Say it gets easier going without
That you'll adjust.
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has this happened to you before?
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Yeah.
Not this. But close.
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what happened?
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[ Nathan, suddenly and viscerally, fucking hates neural networks and screens. ]
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you can come over to my place if you want
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Be there soon
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[Does Kyna pace while she waits? Absolutely.]
action.
He takes the long way. On foot. Circles the block twice, like motion and air will help. It does, but not in the way he wants it to, so when he shows up it's— been a while since their exchange.
Not exactly hours. But, you know. Probably longer than was strictly polite. His knock is light, quiet. ]
Hey.
[ Comes the greeting. His gaze slides past her and into the apartment. Not stepping in, in case anyone else is home. ]
Sorry I'm late. [ He doesn't sound that sorry. Tense, more like. ]
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Hey. It's just us.
[Ian and Lance are off doing whatever dudes with multiple degrees do, probably.]
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Nice place.
[ Mundane shit. Nathan's jaw clenches tight, but he's not exactly looking at her. Hard to tell whether he's amping himself up or just regretting being here. ]
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[There's not much of a personal touch yet. It's mostly the furniture the place came with, the windows half grown over with plants climbing up the outside of the building. There are, however, a lot of pillows on the couch. Apparently someone likes them.
Kyna is more focused on his expression than what he might be seeing in the apartment, though. It makes her chest tighten.]
Um... Are you okay?
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Yeah.
[ No. Not really. He sighs, loud and frustrated, and scrubs a hand over his face. ]
Just got a headache.
[ Which is true enough. He looks at her, finally, but his gaze drops quick to her hand. Frowns at that, too, like seeing it in person might help him figure out whether it really is okay. ]
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Do you want to sit down?
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[ The last thing he wants to do. There's some sort of cosmic irony here, that Kyna had told him she wasn't alright and now here he is, trying to figure out how to word what he wants to. He stays there, not near the counter or the door or the walls to her apartment, staring at the ground like it's done him a personal wrong.
Just fucking say something, Lowell. Don't just stand there. Just fucking say something. ]
Ask me again.
[ has this happened to you before? Blue eyes glance upward, fix onto hers. ]
Ask me again, Kyna.
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Did you... Did you lose your magic before this?
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They don't let you keep your magic in prison. S'where I was, before this.
[ It's part of the truth, not the whole of it. Maybe that's why the words come out easy. Nathan had thought, here and there, that maybe he'd frightened her -- that if she remembered the entire thing, her eyes golden and bowed over him, him forcefully fighting her off -- that maybe it was better to just let things be. Chase up nothing. Let the space extend.
And he still had to check anyway. What a fucking idiot. ]
Losing it doesn't get easier. Never does. [ Gaze drops to the floor. He inhales suddenly, sharply, like he's readying himself for something. ] Things change, or you do. But it still feels like shit, every day. Didn't want to tell you that over—
[ AIM messenger or whatever the fuck. Fucking hates texting. Nathan makes a vague gesture, annoyed, dismissive. ] Doesn't matter. It'll feel different, eventually. You'll feel different. That's what I wanted to say.
[ In person, that is. ]
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She doesn't care that he was in jail, really. She's not going to ask why. It's everything else.]
Different how?
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He's surprised, a little, that that's what she asks. But he meets it. Nathan exhales that breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and his frown eases up in a way that turns his expression quiet. ]
You find out who you really are. No short-cuts, no spellwork. No distractions.
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She wrestles with it for a moment, struggles to think of a response. No option she can come up with feels fitting, and she crosses her arms almost protectively.]
...What did you find out?
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Nothing that surprised me.
[ A failure of a son. A Falconer who managed to convince himself he was ever right for the job. An addict, a liar, a thief. Someone who hurt others for answers. An impulsive fix for an expensive problem, making him chained to the Menagerie. Alone, cast off, destined to watch everyone he'd ever known in his past life die.
Nothing he didn't deserve. Nathan scratches the side of his jaw as he sighs, some of it still tinged with frustration. ]
You're not dead weight, Kyna.
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Half the time I don't know what to do with myself. I just... I don't feel like me, you know?
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[ Ironic, where he is now. How some of what he's saying is churned up from the things his sister used to tell him over the phone, careful and pleading and tired of his bullshit. Hadn't really listened to her much, over the years.
But he remembers more than he thought. Nathan shrugs, but it's not unkind. Everything she's saying outloud, he's felt. Is feeling. ]
Hear knitting's a good hobby to take up.
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Why'd you come all the way over here? You could have told me this over the network.
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Truth is, the answer's easy. For him, anyway. 'Cause I fucking hate texting. 'Cause I wanted to talk to you in person. 'Cause I thought you could use a friend, 'cause I thought you were goddamn scared of me before this, 'cause I give a fucking shit about what you think. That's what you're supposed to do, when someone tells you they're not okay. You— make sure they are.
He feels like a damn idiot.
Grits his teeth. Stays silent.
Give him a fucking minute, would you? ]
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