"I'm thinking of the Admiral. And Khonshu. I'm still kicking because of them, but in exchange they both made my life a lot weirder and harder to figure out how to deal with."
Marc sticks his hand out. Even though Kahl doesn't have hands right now. Shake on it.
"Promise? No strings if you help out, no blame from me if you dont."
Marc is genuinely conflicted about this, and stares blankly at the itty bitty paw for a second.
"It's complicated.
It's something he can never have, even if he knew he deserved it. The revenge. Something that would just eat at him, with nowhere to go. Fuck him up, make him angry at everybody else. Make him hard to be friends with, hard to be married to.
You don't ever wish you could go to sleep and have a dream that none of it ever happened? That she was kind? That she loved you?"
"I wish she had the guts to kill me on the day of my birth."
He could not have imagined kindness, to dream of it.
"I will never have my revenge either. Itempas murdered her for petty jealousy. I will never touch her. I am hard to be friends with. But people do it anyway."
And that is worth something: real and true.
"My father was a trickster god. I allowed myself to believe the lie, just for a moment. To believe he, at least, could care for me. And so I came close, and he stabbed me in the heart. Lies only benefit the liar. Always."
His voice is stern and solemn, rather than furious.
"A lie may be pleasant to hear. But it hurts you in the end. The gap between you and the truth is always there, and it is a knife."
Steven can't take the body on purpose. Marc can't even do that, he never figured out how.
But Marc was an idiot and forgot that this is the negative trigger, the one that started this whole mess back in November, two months before the ship. Your fault, Marc, he accidentally thinks, and that's it, the flickers of black get too close together.
"It is. But that's okay. There was no place for me there, and there is here."
Kahl hops into Steven's lap, standing up with his front paws on his chest, and gives him a little lick on his cheek.
"Lie down. Go back to sleep," he suggests, with a little more power behind it than words. Not enough to force it if Steven wants to fight it, but enough to make it easy to drift down and not think about how he got out of his contraption.
"You're still here," he croaks, disoriented. He can count on one hand the number of times he's panic-buttoned out Steven by accident in the last ten years. He knows what the triggers are, even! Steven comes out when he's damn well scheduled to, and Marc courteously does the same. Marc should have unintentional switches locked completely down by now, why is he suddenly incapable of simple shit? He is very angry with himself.
He lifts the pillow from under his head and covers his own face with it. Maybe he will simply suffocate and not have to talk to any soul-seeing gods ever again. Maybe the next afterlife will have exclusively mundane humans that he can push away and keep at arm's length until everyone stops asking him questions forever. Maybe. We can hope.
There are some things you can only say in the dark, when no one else is awake. When it's quiet. When you're both supposed to be asleep.
Marc doesn't look over. He doesn't even uncurl.
"I can't get him to remember it," he says. It's very quiet. His voice is as steady as he can make it. "No matter how bad the switches got, he won't remember it. Or them. Or me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He stretches out, just like a regular cat, butt up, toe beans spread.
"If I help you, it will be because I choose to, not because I have an obligation to you, or you to me. But I do like you, so your chances are good."
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Marc sticks his hand out. Even though Kahl doesn't have hands right now. Shake on it.
"Promise? No strings if you help out, no blame from me if you dont."
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"Promise."
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Okay. Uhh, pets. It is weird to pet an intelligent being, and Marc is not nearly as good at it as Steven, due to this awkwardness.
"And, uh. Thanks for not telling him. I'm going to, just ... just I don't know if he's ready."
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This thing they're doing right now sucks, but Steven doesn't hate him, which makes it way less scary.
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Blink.
"I nudged him to talk to Trevor because I knew if I went in myself I'd just lose my temper, and I wanted information. But. Besides that conversation?"
Marc shakes his head. Nope. He didn't do that.
Marc's grounding method before he has to say something unpleasant and is probably going to do it anyway is a slow, steady breath.
"You know the funny thing is, I think this is what revenge looks like for Steven. I just don't know if he even remembers who he's actually mad at."
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"And that you have made him forget is a blasphemy to me," he says, soft and solemn, serious as an unmarked grave.
cw child abuse mention
"It's complicated.
It's something he can never have, even if he knew he deserved it. The revenge. Something that would just eat at him, with nowhere to go. Fuck him up, make him angry at everybody else. Make him hard to be friends with, hard to be married to.
You don't ever wish you could go to sleep and have a dream that none of it ever happened? That she was kind? That she loved you?"
cw child abuse mention/suicidal-ish thoughts
He could not have imagined kindness, to dream of it.
"I will never have my revenge either. Itempas murdered her for petty jealousy. I will never touch her. I am hard to be friends with. But people do it anyway."
And that is worth something: real and true.
"My father was a trickster god. I allowed myself to believe the lie, just for a moment. To believe he, at least, could care for me. And so I came close, and he stabbed me in the heart. Lies only benefit the liar. Always."
His voice is stern and solemn, rather than furious.
"A lie may be pleasant to hear. But it hurts you in the end. The gap between you and the truth is always there, and it is a knife."
1/6
At first Marc thinks it's the lights going again, actually? It's a flicker, like broken film reel. Wait, did you see that too, or was that...?
2/6
3/6
Marc stumbles over something he hopes is an apology.
"S - shit. I thought I'd be fine talking about it, I'm,"
You spineless fucking coward, look what you did now, Marc.
"- I - don't. Don't tell him, don't tell him, don't."
4/6
5/6
But Marc was an idiot and forgot that this is the negative trigger, the one that started this whole mess back in November, two months before the ship. Your fault, Marc, he accidentally thinks, and that's it, the flickers of black get too close together.
Well. That coulda gone better.
6/6
"I hope... I hope that's not what sent you here."
London accent is back. Steven holds the whole body differently; eyes wide and sympathetic, jaw and shoulders not tensed all to hell.
"Can we cuddle again, is that alright?"
Re: 6/6
"It is. But that's okay. There was no place for me there, and there is here."
Kahl hops into Steven's lap, standing up with his front paws on his chest, and gives him a little lick on his cheek.
"Lie down. Go back to sleep," he suggests, with a little more power behind it than words. Not enough to force it if Steven wants to fight it, but enough to make it easy to drift down and not think about how he got out of his contraption.
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Steven goes to hug and nuzzle, if Kahl will let him. Oh. Oh friend ;_;
He lies down, curls up. He does want to go back to sleep, really, he's not sure what woke him up...?
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Marc isn't back until nearly four in the morning.
"You're still here," he croaks, disoriented. He can count on one hand the number of times he's panic-buttoned out Steven by accident in the last ten years. He knows what the triggers are, even! Steven comes out when he's damn well scheduled to, and Marc courteously does the same. Marc should have unintentional switches locked completely down by now, why is he suddenly incapable of simple shit? He is very angry with himself.
He lifts the pillow from under his head and covers his own face with it. Maybe he will simply suffocate and not have to talk to any soul-seeing gods ever again. Maybe the next afterlife will have exclusively mundane humans that he can push away and keep at arm's length until everyone stops asking him questions forever. Maybe. We can hope.
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Marc doesn't look over. He doesn't even uncurl.
"I can't get him to remember it," he says. It's very quiet. His voice is as steady as he can make it. "No matter how bad the switches got, he won't remember it. Or them. Or me.
I can't blame him. I guess."