Too bad Legato had one (mostly) calm but determined lifeline to the outside. Rin had put it off, letting him stew a little more and preparing herself mentally, because what she'd said to his filter before she truly had believed: he was pathetic. Even as she was so disgusted with his actions, he was pathetic. He needed help.
She also did believe he'd have to break before he could really be helped at all. But she didn't feel too bad about thinking of that happening. What would be broken had no value at all, and couldn't really survive.
She brought a pillow to sit on and a book. And there had been arguments, of course, but Rin could be pretty steely when she wanted and she'd wanted. So she made it in.
There wasn't really any pity when she looked at him. "Hello, Legato."
"And, this is some misguided 'good deed?" He just didn't understand the angle that he knew was under there somewhere. The possibilities rolled around in his head, and he experimentally applied them to her, one by one.
"Is your conscience heavy? Does this make you feel better? Are you gloating?"
"So suspicious of everything," she said, mildly enough. He was always unsettling but she could deal with it. She'd dealt with more powerful, if less malevolent.
Either way, she wasn't here to let him pick her apart.
Fitful silence followed, as he failed to find anything to work with in order to carry his string of questions onward. If he'd been in a more coherent state, something like that would hardly deter him. But, right now, he was having a difficult enough time getting a handle on his own mind, let alone dissecting someone else's. He wouldn't give up completely, of course... but he was forced to drop it for the present moment.
For now, he would have to content himself with shifting restlessly, trying to work feeling into his arms.
This one was longer. "This one's by Adam Zagajewski." A pause.
"Try to praise the mutilated world. / Remember June's long days, / and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew. / The nettles that methodically overgrow / the abandoned homesteads of exiles. / You must praise the mutilated world. / You watched the stylish yachts and ships; / one of them had a long trip ahead of it, / while salty oblivion awaited others. / You've seen the refugees heading nowhere, / you've heard the executioners sing joyfully. / You should praise the mutilated world. / Remember the moments when we were together / in a white room and the curtain fluttered. / Return in thought to the concert where music flared. / You gathered acorns in the park in autumn / and leaves eddied over the earth's scars. / Praise the mutilated world / and the grey feather a thrush lost, /and the gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns."
She also did believe he'd have to break before he could really be helped at all. But she didn't feel too bad about thinking of that happening. What would be broken had no value at all, and couldn't really survive.
She brought a pillow to sit on and a book. And there had been arguments, of course, but Rin could be pretty steely when she wanted and she'd wanted. So she made it in.
There wasn't really any pity when she looked at him. "Hello, Legato."
Reply
Reply
"You seemed perfectly content pitying me from a distance, before. ...What changed?"
Reply
"No one else is going to deal with you for a while yet." And no one else (sans maybe Jilly) knew him like Rin did.
Reply
"Is your conscience heavy? Does this make you feel better? Are you gloating?"
Reply
Either way, she wasn't here to let him pick her apart.
"I have another one. Shall we?"
Reply
For now, he would have to content himself with shifting restlessly, trying to work feeling into his arms.
Reply
"Try to praise the mutilated world. / Remember June's long days, / and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew. / The nettles that methodically overgrow / the abandoned homesteads of exiles. / You must praise the mutilated world. / You watched the stylish yachts and ships; / one of them had a long trip ahead of it, / while salty oblivion awaited others. / You've seen the refugees heading nowhere, / you've heard the executioners sing joyfully. / You should praise the mutilated world. / Remember the moments when we were together / in a white room and the curtain fluttered. / Return in thought to the concert where music flared. / You gathered acorns in the park in autumn / and leaves eddied over the earth's scars. / Praise the mutilated world / and the grey feather a thrush lost, /and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns."
Reply
Leave a comment