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"Yeah, well, what's my life if I'm not being caught up in someone's horrible plans?"
There's no venom to it, though, and he tips his head into Jacobi's touch a little. "It's fine, Jacobi. It doesn't actually bother me at this point, you know, it's just. Something shitty that happened." He puts on a cheeky smile for him. "Suppose this means I can't use it in my wedding speech, then?"
There's no venom to it, though, and he tips his head into Jacobi's touch a little. "It's fine, Jacobi. It doesn't actually bother me at this point, you know, it's just. Something shitty that happened." He puts on a cheeky smile for him. "Suppose this means I can't use it in my wedding speech, then?"
"It's still there," he reminds him. "Alongside all the other horrible shit that happened to you."
He drops his hand to put his shirt and hoodie back on. As much as he doesn't mind the scars, now that he knows what their purpose is, he's less inclined to show them.
"But no. I'm writing your speech for you so you don't go rogue."
He drops his hand to put his shirt and hoodie back on. As much as he doesn't mind the scars, now that he knows what their purpose is, he's less inclined to show them.
"But no. I'm writing your speech for you so you don't go rogue."
"Just means I'll have to beta it before I get up to the mic," he replies easily. Easier than discussing the rest of the bloody flood.
Hah. Literally.
"Think you can grab me a singlet and shirt while I clean up a bit?" he asks, glancing back at Jacobi. "Short sleeves, if you can, I'd rather not have any more write-offs."
Hah. Literally.
"Think you can grab me a singlet and shirt while I clean up a bit?" he asks, glancing back at Jacobi. "Short sleeves, if you can, I'd rather not have any more write-offs."
"Oh sure, save the shirts."
He leaves Tim for a moment to rummage through his closet. Singlet is easy. The shirt takes some thought.
He returns triumphant, finding a teal number he drapes over his arm. "Alright. Let's get you dressed and ready for the day, Mr. Unprocessed Trauma."
He leaves Tim for a moment to rummage through his closet. Singlet is easy. The shirt takes some thought.
He returns triumphant, finding a teal number he drapes over his arm. "Alright. Let's get you dressed and ready for the day, Mr. Unprocessed Trauma."
By the time Jacobi gets back, Tim's finished cleaning up most of the mess, though another towel has had to be sacrificed to the run-off, and the bandages are more distinctly spotting now, though by no means soaked through.
"In my defence, it's hard to process something when you literally don't have the memories for it," he counters, giving his hands one last quick wipe before he takes the shirts.
"In my defence, it's hard to process something when you literally don't have the memories for it," he counters, giving his hands one last quick wipe before he takes the shirts.
He tasks softly. "You're going to need to change those soon. And - I don't know - get a blood transfusion."
He says it with a bit of a laugh, but there's obvious worry and panic in his tone.
He says it with a bit of a laugh, but there's obvious worry and panic in his tone.
He finishes pulling the singlet over his head before he gives Jacobi a vaguely worried look.
"I'm still doing okay, Daniel. It's really not that bad, it just..." He glances down to his arms. "It looks worse than it is. That's all."
"I'm still doing okay, Daniel. It's really not that bad, it just..." He glances down to his arms. "It looks worse than it is. That's all."
"You can't say that when it is actually life-threatening."
He helps him with the shirt. "Will you go find Jon? I'm sure he's a goddamn mess and refusing to admit it."
Not that Jacobi has any idea just how bad it is.
He helps him with the shirt. "Will you go find Jon? I'm sure he's a goddamn mess and refusing to admit it."
Not that Jacobi has any idea just how bad it is.
Tim actually pauses with his shirt bunched over one bicep at Jacobi's comment on Jon, and the way his jaw suddenly sets as he clenches it for a moment says...
Well. A lot.
"Yeah. He is."
Well. A lot.
"Yeah. He is."
"You check in with me every few hours? Or I'm coming to hunt you down."
He does help him with the rest of his shirt, though.
He does help him with the rest of his shirt, though.
[Quietly]
So. Why were you fighting?
[He'd asked the exact same question before, but he suspects the answer might be different with less adrenaline and not in front of Eiffel.]
So. Why were you fighting?
[He'd asked the exact same question before, but he suspects the answer might be different with less adrenaline and not in front of Eiffel.]
That depends on why you're asking. If it's because you give a shit, I might answer.
If it's because you're angry and defensive, then I'm going to stonewall you.
If it's because you're angry and defensive, then I'm going to stonewall you.
[Very thoughtfully:]
Anger and giving a shit are mutually exclusive?
Is this a new Warden thing?
Anger and giving a shit are mutually exclusive?
Is this a new Warden thing?
Ah, I see we have opted for the sarcastic approach! Very good choice. Super effective.
[A pause.]
Look, we're friends. So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.
I threw zero damn punches. All you saw was me signing to him, and then him hit me, and then me try to block and restrain. Did I piss him off? Yes. Was it to make him angry enough to hurt himself? No. Was it for a reason? Also yes.
The why is hard. It's his story. Not mine. He simply refuses to acknowledge it.
[A pause.]
Look, we're friends. So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.
I threw zero damn punches. All you saw was me signing to him, and then him hit me, and then me try to block and restrain. Did I piss him off? Yes. Was it to make him angry enough to hurt himself? No. Was it for a reason? Also yes.
The why is hard. It's his story. Not mine. He simply refuses to acknowledge it.
[Gonou is silent for a long moment. At last, still quiet:]
I know you didn't throw any punches, Jacobi. He was clearly the one who started hitting.
But I don't like finding my friends trying to hurt each other in the hallways. Sometimes, digging into a bleeding wound can hurt quite a bit more than a punch.
I know you didn't throw any punches, Jacobi. He was clearly the one who started hitting.
But I don't like finding my friends trying to hurt each other in the hallways. Sometimes, digging into a bleeding wound can hurt quite a bit more than a punch.
You weren't my friend in that moment.
But if Eiffel sees you as any sort of friend, he'll tell you the beginning of his story. I hope he does. I'm sorry you won't ever know the ending.
But if Eiffel sees you as any sort of friend, he'll tell you the beginning of his story. I hope he does. I'm sorry you won't ever know the ending.
You mean, I wasn't sufficiently on your side?
[His tone is edged.]
[His tone is edged.]
Yeah, exactly. You didn't stroke my ego and tell me how much you adore me.
No. You came in fucking hot. That's what I meant.
No. You came in fucking hot. That's what I meant.
I --
[... Jacobi actually does have a very good point about the overreaction.
The silence stretches for a long moment. At last, low:]
The last time I saw him fighting in the halls, he was rendered into a bloody mist immediately afterwards.
But you're right.
[and this takes some swallowing of pride, so there's another brief silence before--]
I'm sorry.
[... Jacobi actually does have a very good point about the overreaction.
The silence stretches for a long moment. At last, low:]
The last time I saw him fighting in the halls, he was rendered into a bloody mist immediately afterwards.
But you're right.
[and this takes some swallowing of pride, so there's another brief silence before--]
I'm sorry.
[The apology is appreciated, but the second bit of news hits him hard.]
He was what?
He was what?
Violently killed by magic the week after we got back from the Galley.
[In a flat and matter-of-fact tone.]
[In a flat and matter-of-fact tone.]
Jesus. Well, hey. Look at what a little context gives us. Understanding.
[Despite the words, he does sound more sympathetic than outright sarcastic.]
Look, I'm the loose cannon. I'm the one that people don't trust. When there's a fight, it's always - what did Jacobi do wrong? You know those assholes automatically picked me as the one with the nukes?
And hey, I get it because I'm usually instigating it. But uh - this was different, alright? I didn't just rile him up because he annoys me. The last thing I wanted was for him to get more hurt.
[Despite the words, he does sound more sympathetic than outright sarcastic.]
Look, I'm the loose cannon. I'm the one that people don't trust. When there's a fight, it's always - what did Jacobi do wrong? You know those assholes automatically picked me as the one with the nukes?
And hey, I get it because I'm usually instigating it. But uh - this was different, alright? I didn't just rile him up because he annoys me. The last thing I wanted was for him to get more hurt.
Well.
I know how reluctant Eiffel is to throw a punch, and I know you don't like him.
[He recalls Jacobi telling him about Eiffel being friends with Maxwell's killers. There had been more than just annoyance there.]
I, ah, may have been overprotective. But if I walked in on Eiffel punching anyone I'd assume they must've pushed quite a few buttons first.
Now, if he were insulting the last six generations of their family, he's likely to be the aggressor....
Why did you rile him up?
I know how reluctant Eiffel is to throw a punch, and I know you don't like him.
[He recalls Jacobi telling him about Eiffel being friends with Maxwell's killers. There had been more than just annoyance there.]
I, ah, may have been overprotective. But if I walked in on Eiffel punching anyone I'd assume they must've pushed quite a few buttons first.
Now, if he were insulting the last six generations of their family, he's likely to be the aggressor....
Why did you rile him up?
Yeah, you are overprotective. But so am I.
[He tsks.]
Can't answer that one.
[He tsks.]
Can't answer that one.
I'm... not asking for the details of what you said. Only why you thought it was so important for him to hear it that you thought it was worth pushing him into a rage.
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