Trish Una (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
figlia_morbida) wrote2022-08-08 05:05 pm
figlia_morbida) wrote2022-08-08 05:05 pm
Ryslig | IC inbox
Main Username: < Zigazigah >
Public Appearance UN: < Western_Horizon >
Anon: < sharpdistance > , < kidcharlemagne > (not actually anon now because of Hinata)
no subject
[He's frustrated, very. But the salient feeling right now is confusion, and that's what shows. Her logic is baffling to him. He would be able to grasp it, if not for one thing.]
Diavolo has never once operated from a place of logic since we've known of him. Your involvement in all of this is proof alone. He believed based on no evidence whatsoever that you were a threat to his very life, that you were out to get him, that you wanted what he had, that you even knew who he was. He thought he could outfox the limits of humanity. Even here, he's operated outside of logic.
The man is insane. Why are you ascribing a sane man's notions of reason to him?
no subject
But that makes it easy to explain.
Trish lifts up two fingers to emphasize her next statement, which is:]
Two reasons.
I am aware he is insane. However, I don't disbelieve insane people can learn. This doesn't mean that I think he's interested in learning for his betterment, but rather that to achieve his goals, he has to approach things differently. He's died because of his hubris, and while I'm loathe to credit him with the ability to understand consequences, it's not very often you can come back from a mistake that critical not once, but twice. And I can't fathom that he's entirely stupid, otherwise I'm left to wonder how the hell Passione functioned at all with him at the helm.
Passione itself is my second reason. He had a Stand more powerful than any other, so I assume he ruled through fear and careful culling rather than any sort of loyalty. We had to contend with traitors after all, and they only acted because they thought they'd found a weakness through me. Regardless, he had people to act on his behalf, but without his Stand, I don't imagine he has any following here. No one but Doppio, and if Doppio is an extension of himself, in a manner of speaking, then letting Doppio act recklessly would also be a risk to himself.
Again, we haven't seen him in months. That's singularly the most typical and most illuminating thing he's done since the summer. He's gone back to secrecy, like you would expect, but he hasn't done anything that we know of besides continue to exist.
He was never a patient man, [Trish murmurs, while tracing the scar hidden under the white fur of her wrist] so unless something changes, I assume his failure to act means something's changed.
no subject
[Slightly, anyway. It's logical enough. It still feels like he's missing something, but what she says convinces him that he's just . . . well, struggling to read her, as he ever does. The two of them are the same in that way, all smokescreens. So maybe he just read things wrong. And that's exactly why he came here in the first place: to figure out if he was reading things wrong.]
[So he breathes out slowly through his nose, shoulders relaxing slightly. Then he nods, although not quite in agreement.]
I could nitpick that. But I'll say instead that I understand your logic, although I disagree with it on many counts.
[That Diavolo was not patient. That Doppio is acting recklessly. That silence is not a good sign in the least, not from a man who lived in anonymity for decades. That is what worries him. But—]
I don't think it's inherently, wholly wrong. And I hope that you're right, frankly.
[When he tips his head this time, it's not with the intent to read her, to see her secrets. His expression is beseeching.]
I can't assume them to be a neutralized threat while they're still breathing. Do you understand why?
no subject
She can't ask, but she'd noticed the lilt of one of his earlier questions. About what Doppio is angry about, and she thinks of Requiem, but she still can't reconcile a fate that cruel with the boy in front of her. So a mystery it will remain.
Just like Giorno can't seem to reconcile what she's come to believe about Diavolo, but if she were wholly honest...she'd admit her uncertainty even now. After all, if it was as open and shut as she's pretending, she wouldn't still be rationalizing every angle months on, right? Diavolo is impossible to understand, and they could both be right and wrong about different things. They could argue back and forth and come to as many conclusions as they wanted, but they'd never reach the truth.
The only one who really knows is Doppio, and he'll never share.
Her gaze skitters at that expression of his, because Giorno is raw in ways she can't fathom sometimes, even when they've come a long way. They can obfuscate well, sure, but that only makes it more blinding when the other is plain and open, like the sun peeking over the rim of a cloud. Her fingers close around her wrist.]
...I do. I haven't forgotten what they've done.
[Not ever.]
But I've lived in fear long enough. I'm not doing it again without reasonable cause.
[She promised herself she wouldn't. That's all.]
no subject
Good, [he murmurs, leaning forward and ducking his head to look her in the eye, because he needs to — because this is important.] That's good. That's exactly how it should be, Trish.
[And that's exactly why he can't relax. Why he can't make the promise to himself that she's made to herself. He isn't afraid, truly. But he's cautious. He always will be. With one potential exception.]
[If it was only him, Giorno alone with none of his people . . . he wouldn't care. He'd throw the heavy mantle of caution off his shoulders and walk into danger headlong, reckless and wild. But this is where he belongs. This is what keeps him real, and sane, and Giorno.]
[He reaches out and touches the back of her hand, where it covers the scar on her wrist — a layer of protection over layers more. Always a failsafe. Always the first and last line of defense. When he speaks, it's light, airy, like he's discussing a movie, or the pros and cons of different kinds of pizza.]
It's not what they've done but what they could do. I hold it in the front of my mind and in my heart because my job is to keep you safe. All of you. To make a world where the people I love don't have to live in fear. Even if it's this world, even if I have to balance awareness of a thousand threats, I will make it so. It's my job. It's my duty.
[This is how he honors the dead and the living and the missing spirit of home. Even if he has to carry out his duty here, in a place a thousand times more challenging than Napoli, it is the most important thing to him. He'd die for it a thousand times, but he'd fight to stay alive even harder. For them.]
itt: no one is happy w the other persons answers
Not harshly, not unkindly. But she is caught.
She feels more than sees his hand move, his presence bleeding into hers — the light weight of his hand over hers settling warm. Warm, but she feels cold enough to shiver.
She realizes, too late, that what she's said is isolating, isn't it? She's not worried, she insists. She's putting it out of her mind. And he's taking it and burdening his own shoulders instead, because he feels like he has to, and with the things she's saying – it only pushed him further into that chasm, didn't it?
She won't take back those words, though. If it makes him feel like he's doing this right, then she won't take that from him, as ill as it makes her feel to hear that lilt in his voice.
Because while she doesn't want him or Bruno or anyone of them to stand alone, she hasn't forgotten how Bruno reacted. They worry for her, and if he knew what she was doing...she can't imagine Giorno reacting much better. Especially not after this.
He cares so much she aches for him. This boy, who she barely knew before, and who matters so much. He says it's his duty, but it's not one she wanted to impose on him. Not ever. She didn't ask for this from him, but it's just how she is. Maybe before they knew each other better, she would have pushed back hard against this kind of talk from him, to push it back into his hands and tell him she won't accept this from him, but now?
She pulls her hands away, gently, tucking her arms against her middle. It's not subtle, but she isn't trying to hide her discomfort. Anyone would be uncomfortable to hear someone talk like this, right?]
...I know, Giorno.
[She murmurs, soft.
She's selfish, she thinks. That's why it's easy to fall back on logic like hers. It's easier not to worry. It's easier to be numb.]
You wouldn't be happy with yourself if you did anything less. But I don't want you to misunderstand me. It's not that I'm not worried at all, but in a place like this, it's easy to stretch yourself too thin.
[She finally uncurls enough to worry the fringes of her dress.]
So...try and remember yourself too. Can you do that for me?
no subject
[Back at the beginning again. He's discomfited. They're not communicating. All of this effort, all of this trying to understand, and she recoils from him. Actively pulls away, like his touch makes her skin crawl. Covers her stomach. Hides her hands. And Giorno sits up, ramrod-straight, mortified and furious at once, not breathing, skin pale, expression drawn.]
[His hands, when they come to rest flat on his knees, are cold and shaking, despite the warmth of sap in his veins, despite the breath of spring on the horizon. He's cold. Not because he's scared. Because he's angry.]
[It's Trish, he reminds himself. It's Trish. She's not doing it on purpose. She's not telling him the same thing she's told him before, the same thing they fought about and resolved before, to upset him on purpose. She's not dismissing what he's telling her out of disrespect. She is not him. They have different perspectives. It's understandable that this would be hard to communicate. It's understandable. Don't be angry. Don't hold onto it. Let it go. Just let go.]
[Just let go. I'm begging you, just let it go, don't hold this in.]
[He doesn't answer her question. Not for a long time. While he doesn't, he's holding his breath. His hands are pressed flat and purposeful against his slacks; even so, his knuckles and nails are so pale they're almost white. He isn't shaking, but only because he's exercising every ounce of his self-control. And then, slowly, he exhales. Through his teeth. Bit by bit. And breathes in again.]
[It's just Trish. It's just Trish. She doesn't mean it like that. — Fugo understands. He would never say something like — Not the same. Don't. Don't do it. Breathe. It's Trish.]
[When he finally speaks, his voice is even and conversational.]
Please don't think I forgot what we talked about when Steve was dead, or that I haven't taken it to heart. I can promise you I have. I've changed my behavior. I'm holding myself accountable. But I need you to understand something.
[Another breath in, another out. He flexes his fingers, stretching them wide, before dropping both hands loose between his knees. He looks at her, but he doesn't demand her attention the way he did before. Not this time. Not after that reaction.]
This is what I chose for myself. I chose this responsibility actively and deliberately. This is who I am and exactly who I want to be. We're in Ryslig, and that does not change my role, not really. Not when it comes to this. Not when everyone I love is here with me. I am going to make things better. I am going to keep my people safe. I'm not sure how to reconcile your reaction, because what you're reacting to is just—
[His breath catches. Draws back in on a sharp inhale that hurts his chest. And out through his teeth.]
Me.
[roblox voice] oof
She sees the tremor of his hands, the tightness of his expression, and her molars sink into the inside of her cheek, worrying the pink flesh. She knows what she's said, she remembers how he hates to repeat himself, and likely...hearing things repeated to him. Her breathing is shallow, slow, the whole time she watches Giorno sit there, quiet but tense. The atmosphere is oppressive, suddenly, and she watches him – watches, watches. Her tail sweeps close to her body unconsciously, even though shrinking back seems to be what pissed him off to begin with.
What...did he want her to say?
That gentle touch, that bid to catch her eyes and to declare that he would stand vigil and it's good that she can look away from the ichor that tinges the world black. She knows he talked about making their time in this world as comfortable as possible, petitioning any help she could give him in attaining that goal. What use is she in helping if she's allowed to ignore why this world is so miserable in the first place? What doe she want from her, really?
But more than that...he's driven by a purpose she can't understand. It's something that defines him. It's something that informs his every move. The person who looked into her eyes and spoke so gently is the Giorno Giovanna he wanted her to see. The boy who would make the world shine like gold.
She loves this boy. She loves the boys with everything she has.
[Narancia, wearing Giorno's face, declared with every ounce of his soul that he would protect her until the very end. In the instant after, he was dead.]
[Doppio insists that her father has been broken by what Giorno's Stand did, as if Giorno is someone cruel. But if he felt that was his duty, then maybe...]
When Giorno looks her way again, she feels her heart beating rhythms against her rib cage. She doesn't...want to fight him again. She doesn't. She can't be any good to him if he shuts her out. She needs to...
Trish reaches up to brush aside one of her mottled bangs. Maybe she's earning her spots.]
I know you haven't forgotten. I only said that because I...need to hear it sometimes. That you're taking care of someone I care about very much. But I also know you hate to repeat yourself, so I won't ask that of you.
As for how I reacted, it has nothing to do with you. What you said just made me remember all over again just how much there is to worry about.
[Which...isn't a lie, considering the circumstances. She worries about herself, she worries about them. She worries, regardless of what grand declarations he makes.
Still, she's able to sit up straighter when a whole truth leaves her lips.]
I'm grateful to you, Giorno. I always will be.
oof with reverb
[Because after everything, something about his most intrinsic and true self, who he was and what he has formed himself into, disgusts her. Because no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that she has been honest with him, something still feels wrong.]
[She says it has nothing to do with you, and his eyes narrow. In his head, softly: She's lying. Which follows in turn in response to the gratitude. Why would she be grateful to him if his purpose makes her recoil? Why would she express gratitude now of all times, when that's not what he's ever cared about, as though it's supposed to mollify him?]
[He thinks about telling her to her face that she's lying. He thinks about smiling and expressing gratitude in return and leaving. But she wouldn't let him. She won't let him lie, and she doesn't want to hear the truth. What does that leave him?]
[He sits back, ultimately, hooks his ankles on the bar under his seat and sighs. The change in position helps release some tension, although not much.]
Well. I'm sorry, in that case, to have reminded you, right after you said you're tired of living in fear. That was careless of me. I'll choose my words more carefully next time.
[And that's all. He doesn't know what else to say. He's tired. It's taking all of his efforts to be true to himself right now, to the person he wants to be, to not cause irreparable damage to their relationship with any of the ugly words waving knives on the tip of his tongue.]
no subject
She can't think of any part of what she did nor what she said being disagreeable or reprehensible in any way. She wasn't expecting his mood to instantly improve, but neither did she anticipate the tension to remain palpable enough to wade through.
He's angry, and she can't fathom what he expected from her when he sought her gaze and said what he had so casually. The weight behind it was staggering. It's so much responsibility for one person. How it made her feel was reasonable then, wasn't it? She told herself she would never be like these boys, until her Stand proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wanted to be like them. Indeed, in most ways she does...but not all.
And now he's convinced she reacted poorly to him.
Trish wants to spit venom back when he turns her own words against her in such a barbed way, but she holds back as much of the bile rising in her throat as she can, pinching her tongue between her teeth. It was never her goal to make him angry, and she chants that reminder to herself.
That being said, she doesn't succeed entirely in masking her own irritation, her tail sweeping quick arcs across her comforter as she leans forward, lips set in a thin pink line.]
Listen to me. I told you it's got nothing to do with you and I stand by that.
[That's the mostly-truth she can cling to. Giorno didn't upset her, not intentionally. Not Giorno as she sees him. Giorno feels rebuffed, which is emphatically not what she wanted, even if she didn't like this pretty words.
She roots around in what they've talked about for something, anything to approach constructively, and decides:]
My single problem with what you said is...I don't want you to worry for me. That's not the impression I wanted to give you at all.
[That's good. That's exactly how it should be.]
You can disagree with my thoughts all you want, but don't patronize me. I wouldn't have an opinion at all if I was happily ignorant to the situation.
no subject
[I don't want you to worry for me.]
[But he worries for everyone. He worries about everyone.]
[I don't want you to worry for me.]
[But that's the whole point.]
[I don't want you to worry for
me—][Worry instead of her. Take the worry from and remove her from the equation entirely. Erase her. That . . . he almost understands. Almost. But he tips his head to one side all the same, frowning. Trying to make it make sense.]
. . . That's what I want to do for everyone. [No, not quite.] That's what I'm meant to do for everyone. The people I love and the people I don't know. To fix those things . . . that hang over our lives from birth to death, so we don't have to live haunted and hunted by them.
But not for you. You don't want that from me.
[So much so that her body curled in on itself. That she didn't want to be near him. That's the beginning and the end of what he has to give, and she doesn't want it.]
[That's got everything to do with him. She's wrong. But he doesn't want to fight, either. He'd rather just leave. He'd rather disappear from her sight than belabor the point any further. What he needs now, more than anything, is confirmation. The clink of bars into place, the turn of a key. The end of a story.]
i cant believe theyre worried babies and fighting about it. you guys are the SAME
The inside of her cheek is nearly raw from the way she's worried it with her teeth.
He doesn't catch on his own words, but she snags on the difference between want to do and meant to do. And she wonders if he's doing it on purpose. Slipping in that slight change where his ideals and his purpose become inextricable from his sense of self.
She knows that's what bothers her, beyond the insurmountable challenge it would present to anyone, even Giorno Giovanna – but the fact it bothers her seems to be a problem. And maybe it is, because she thinks of Doppio's claim of Diavolo being broken by Gold Experience Requiem, and she wonders where Giorno draws the line between his sense of justice and what justice might mean to other people.
The difference between going too far, and not going far enough.
If she curled away from anything, it was the weight behind his words. That's not something she could take indelicately.
The sweeps of her tail dwindle to nothing as she thinks, because her answer may fix this or make it worse, settling on:]
...That's not what I said. You're an incredible person, but that last thing I want to do is shunt responsibility that should be mine onto you.
We promised to help one another, but hearing you talk like this, it makes me wonder if I've failed.
[That is, to be someone he can rely on. As opposed to someone who needs protecting.
But then, she's not a gangster.
She's not someone who evolved past King Crimson.
She's a normal girl, and even with her new body, that remains true. Just like how everything that is Giorno Giovanna has bled from the silhouette of this plant-boy since the moment he found her on the beach.]
hueuuughghnng
[The words come out faster than he can stop them, hands curling into fists on his knees as the anger bursts back into full bloom.]
We keep having the same conversation. I'm honest with you, you don't like it, we don't talk, I tell you more, we make up. And I try to meet your expectations and I try to do what you ask me to do — which I have been doing, Trish, I listen every time. But it's not enough, because you think I'm someone I'm not. You've come up with some version of me in your head that isn't real, that's close to me but not quite, and every time I don't adhere to it you recoil from me.
You tell me you've failed because I talk about your safety and security being my responsibility? How could you possibly see it as that cut and dry? I've asked you for help I don't know how many times, and you've given it, but the second I'm honest about what it is I'm carrying it's your failure? I'm responsible for everyone's well-being. Everyone's. The fact that I want you to be able to someday exist without fear doesn't make you unique! You and Fugo and Steve and Reira and everyone, they're exactly the same. From the beginning, that's what I've wanted. To heal our home from the ground up. To make it safe. I got people killed for that dream. And now I can't be home, so I want to do it here. I want to do the absolute best I can.
I've been trying so hard to balance everything. Stepping back enough to give you space, asking for help when I need it, not making assumptions, being honest with you about everything, from the details to the bigger picture. But you don't really want me to be honest, do you? Because honestly, you can be my closest confidant in the world, the person I trust most of anyone, and I'll still want better for you. I'll still see ways I can improve the world so things hurt less for you. I'm not acting this way because it's you. I'm acting this way because this is who I am. If you can't accept that, then just say so.
hear it hurgling
He's like her, in that regard.
But she's not thinking about that, not anymore, not when she feels her own humming anger climb up her throat in a snarl that reverberates through her chest as she leans forward, hissing through her teeth:]
What the hell are you talking about? I haven't thought of you that way in months. I know you mean that invincible, untouchable boy I knew nothing about.
[If he comes back, then I'll be alright.
She remembers the bout they had in the wake of Fabius Bile. She remembers how much he emphasized he wasn't okay in that moment. Haruno, then, only proved he never was.]
If I did, Giorno, we wouldn't be talking right now.
[Because she wouldn't know to worry. Because he let her in. And he tried to change his behavior, which she appreciates, but it doesn't eliminate the core issue.
But it relieved it, because that's what compromise is, right? Both parties gain something, and give up something in return.]
You cannot in any reasonable capacity expect to show me the person behind this dream, and not have me grapple with the reality of it. No fucking reasonable person would take it at face value.
So I emphasize once again, my response had nothing to do with you. Not a damn thing! It's because this world and the one we left behind are so ugly that I feel this way, but you know what?
I don't have to like every part of who you are and what you're doing and still care about you as a person. Being honest with me doesn't mean I'll be happy regardless of the circumstances. I can support you, I can feel responsible for your connection to me, I can disagree with you – all at the same time – and it's not a wholesale indictment of you in any capacity. If you take having an opinion on my place in your world as total rejection, then I can do nothing to change your mind.
But I have to impress upon you that it's because I know you that you cannot treat us like we're all the same. If that's how you think, it's no wonder my reaction seemed wrong to you. But it's how I feel, and I'm being honest too. However, you don't have to like how I feel either. That's your right.
[Bruno said similar. What he did on her behalf once upon a time wasn't about her. And that was easier to swallow then, because they were strangers. But once again, things have changed. And it nearly drives her mad, that while things like this are different, others stay the same. It's no wonder they're falling apart. Or maybe it's just her tenuous bond with them that's falling apart.
If honesty was all it took, they wouldn't be having this problem right? But something is broken, all of this is crumbling to pieces in her hands, and she un-cups her palms and lets them fall. Against everything she wanted from this, she lets her emotions take the reins.]
If that means I'll hurt you no matter what I say or do, then maybe you should go.
no subject
[He retreats into coolness as she continues speaking, his mouth a thin, brutal line that does not open to interrupt. He never does. He's used to not being listened to. That's why he hates repeating himself. He hates explaining the same thing twice. Because if he has to, it's proof that the person wasn't listening the first time. Yet more evidence that they don't care.]
[When she's done, he nods. Crisp.]
You're wrong. I was not referring to the "invisible, untouchable boy". But what you've said has provided some clarity.
[That Trish does not understand, and perhaps can't understand; or maybe she's making the choice not to see it. Whichever is the truth, he's abruptly done explaining himself. She can figure it out, or not. And whatever it is she's talking around, it will come out in the wash eventually.]
. . . So thank you for that.
[He never wanted to see her as someone he couldn't trust, but he has no other way of interpreting this conversation. He's missing a piece, one that Trish is holding. The picture is obscured.]
[Standing up, he turns and ghosts out the door without another word.]