If luck is what I needed, then it's no wonder I haven't gotten anywhere.
[Harsh, angry, bitter. He's a raw wire of emotion right now: guilty, outraged, frustrated, depressed, elated. It's hard to tell which parts are his and which aren't. Whatever restraint and control he normally tries to maintain, the Black Box tore through it like tissue paper. His hair is messy from where he keeps dragging his hands through it.]
Sorry. I didn't— I'm not—[He swallows, refocusing. Talking is helping, a little, the sound of his own voice clearer over the noise in his head.] Are you all right?
[He's never seen that sort of look on November's face before, brief as it might have been. Like he's at the edge of something.]
[ The man’s first response doesn’t phase him. After all, Anders has always been the more reactive one out of the two of them. He supposes this is why they have a tentative “friendship” of sorts; they’re a balance. One is all logic and facts, the other is raw emotion, feeling before thought or in tandem with it. Strangely, it’s something he appreciates about the mage. Most are more bothered by his outbursts, but he thinks they serve as a small reminder sometimes.
Of what, he’s not sure. ]
Please. [ With that, he waves off the biting comment. He’s sure Anders has gone through some sort of personal hell in that box. ]
I’ll survive. My hair’s a bit mussed, though. How dreadful. [ A deflection, clear as glass and maybe just as fragile. ]
[Blunt. Aggressive. He is nowhere near all right. In a backwards, twisted way, he wishes November wasn't either, and frustration bubbles up again from low in his chest. He preferred the momentary flicker of something over this, playing at nothing. He wonders, not for the first time, if he's just seeing what he wants to see, grasping at straws that aren't there.
A truly Tranquil mage wouldn't have anything to fear from the Black Box. There's no love, no anger, no uncertainty. Only a directive and a goal to accomplish.
He pushes back.]
Or it— seemed like it. Felt like it. I don't know how... all that is supposed to work. But I do know it couldn't have been any better for you. Do you honestly expect me to believe you're just going to brush this off your shoulder, go on your merry way?
[ Aggressive is something Anders does well. He makes his point and hammers it home. There's no frivolities, no tip-toeing around the subject. Instead, the situation comes across because of his tone, with how he holds himself, and the expression written so clearly on his face. November expects the push, knows his seeming apathy bothers the mage to no end.
What he doesn't see coming is how much it actually stops him in his tracks. His smile remains, but it's thinner, sharper. ]
You expect that I'm not going to do just that? A lot of people died in mine. It's not a new concept.
[The Black Box has pulled something inside him thin, ready to snap. He can't let it go, not this time. He's never been any good at quitting while he was ahead.]
I think you'll act like it. I think you'll try, because that's what you're supposed to be, how you're supposed to be. But is it? Is it really? Can you look me in the face and tell me that not a single one of the deaths you saw in there mattered, not even slightly?
[It's almost a real question, if the slight, helpless edge to his voice is anything to go by. If there's anything to hold on to, anything at all, he's determined to drag it out inch by inch.]
[ All that registers across his expression at first is shock. There's a widening of his eyes, as though he truly hadn't expected it. He's still listening, Anders' words hitting a little too close to home to be comfortable. Because he thinks of the Black Box that he's just stepped out from. That one session, only a few minutes before, with Gliese and Dagger sharpening him as their weapon– all he feels he's ever been good for, lately.
Because he should be empty, Contractors don't feel anything.
He's still thinking about how real it'd felt with his fingers digging into the mage's skin and the consuming ice afterwards. How much he doesn't want it to come to that, because Anders is full of life and caring. November doesn't know much about what happened to the other man, but he knows he doesn't deserve that.
And yet, he can't help himself when the shock bleeds away dangerously. His expression darkens, eyes and mouth going flat, dead, as he steps closer. He purposely crowds his space, voice low and air chilling over as red flickers behind his irises. ]
[He draws himself up but stands his ground, meeting the threat without flinching, chin lifting to accommodate for November's height advantage over him. He refuses to be intimidated away from this. He feels untethered, scattered, reckless, and his eyes scour for something, anything in that expression like what he'd seen a few moments before. What he'd been so sure he'd seen.
But— nothing. Just like that: there and gone.
His jaw clenches; he swallows hard. Gooseflesh pricks at his arms, a side-effect of either the sudden, unnatural chill, or sudden old memories of empty expressions. It's hard for him to say which.]
I could have been like you. [If things had gone differently, if he hadn't been so lucky, so often in the wrong place at the right time. His voice is harsh, resigned.] I know what it means. I know what it costs, even if you can't see it anymore.
[ Somewhere, in a small part of his mind, he takes note at how Anders doesn't back down. How he doesn't flinch, even as the air cools and November feels the radiation bubbling up in response. It's his expression, though, that pauses him in his in tracks.
Sharpen the weapon–
He takes a step back quickly, as though he's been bitten, looking the same sort of wild he had when he'd stepped out of the Black Box. Anders' words half register and he tucks his hands in his pockets, warming them back up. It's illogical, to back down. It doesn't make any sense when there's someone essentially meeting his threat with another one. When he could have this used against him.
But all he can think about is how close he'd just been to fulfilling his own simulation, without prompting. ]
[Tension cracks. The temperature restabilizes, and the rigid line of his shoulders wilts as he lets go of the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The confusion that passes over his face is muted and brief, but there. He'd almost expected them to come to blows; he doesn't understand what changed in the span of a few seconds.
But it's there, again—the flicker, the thread. Something to hold onto, something to pull on until the rest unravels. There's no denying that there is something now, not after what just happened. November can't be empty, no matter how much he'd like to be.
Anders should be relieved. Satisfied. This should feel like a victory.
Instead, he just feels weary. There's no cure for Tranquility, not one he's ever heard of. How would someone cope with rediscovering their own emotions after so long separated from them? He doesn't know.
But how much does that matter, in the end? If there's one thing he's always been sure of, it's that no one deserves to live this way.]
All I've done is tell you the truth. [His voice is quieter now, softer around the edges.] You might want to consider listening.
In this instance, he has to agree. Not only because of what Anders is telling him. What the mage is pushing on, hoping that the crack in the dam is enough to crumble the rest of the walls. But there's also a chilling self-realization on several levels. It's numbed over, as usual, but the thought's in his head, which is more than he could say from before. Taking a deep breath, he exhales slowly, re-centering. Normally that's all it takes, but he knows this will bother him. Knows it, because he still thinks about Hei and how his actions didn't make sense.
(And how he finds himself relating more and more). ]
It doesn't really matter, does it? [ He's aware of that now. ] Even if I do, where does that get me?
[What he hears is an opportunity to plead his case. It's the most slack that November's ever given him on this topic; he doesn't intend to let it slip out of his hands.]
It might get you nowhere. But it could also get you somewhere, and that's more than a lot of others in your position could say. Think about it: if they were wrong about this, what else could they have been wrong about?
[He has no idea who the "they" he's referring to is, in this case, only that there probably is some kind of "they" to speak of. This is how he desperately wants it to be, his conspiracy theories gaining traction. Not a permanent severance, like the Tranquil, but something more muted and flimsy, only effective as far as its victims are properly conditioned. He wants November to try, but more than that, he wants November to want to try.]
It's right in front of you. How can you still think it's not a risk worth taking?
[ It's making sense and not making sense all at once. He's never been one prone to headaches, but he feels one coming on and it makes him just want to walk away from this entire conversation. Anders is trying. The mage has been given an inch and he's taking a mile, pulling and pulling on the thread to see if it'll unravel.
November doesn't know if it will. ]
Because it doesn't make sense. There's no logic in it. [ His answer is honest; it's difficult to think any other way, even now. Even when he's dimly aware of his consciousness from years ago to the present is very different. ]
Sometimes, things can't go back to the way they used to be. [ A life growing up in a place that isn't here; it looks like a film strip. It doesn't feel real. ]
[He can't actually argue with a point like that. After everything that's happened to him, everything he's done, it seems impossible to try to reach for the person he used to be—even if he wanted to, which he doesn't. It might show in the sudden flicker of uncertainty on his face, or the way his momentum is temporarily derailed.
Temporarily. If he is anything, he is dogged.]
I'm not talking about going back. I'm talking about going forward. Logic isn't always the best way to approach some things, you have to know that by now.
[ With Anders' slight hesitation, he feels like he's finally reached some kind of similar page. They all have their histories, the places that they remember and sometimes want to go back to. It's hard for him to remember all the details of his life prior to becoming a Contractor; everything about those times is a little hazy around the edges. His future, too, is hard to pinpoint. All he knows is that he's a different Contractor now than he was when he started.
Which the mage seems to be latching onto and not letting go. ]
I know that. [ He wants to convey frustration, but it comes out neutral, slightly edged with resignment. ] I can't tell my mind to choose a different path anymore than you can ask yours to stop your heart.
[He doesn't want that to be true. But it's such a familiar argument, he can't help the way it makes his stomach sink. Can you cure a beheading? In Thedas, everything he's saying would be ludicrous, impossible, a waste of breath and time. If this turned out to be the same way, after all this, he doesn't know what he'd do. Another world with people like his, with abuses like his, might be too much to consider.]
I don't believe that. Things can be learned. They can be unlearned. Today proves that it's at least possible, you can't tell me that's not true.
What harm is there in trying? If I'm wrong, then— [something in his expression cracks] I'm wrong. You can tell me "I told you so" as much as you like.
Anders, the point is that I didn't learn anything. [ One day, he'd woken up like this, unprompted. He'd only fallen asleep, uncomfortably, under a heavy overhanging brush. The next thing he remembered was reflexively grabbing someone's hand as they'd tried to knife him, blue light, and a rush of cold. After that, it was staring at the body of the friend who'd been next to him, numb all over and only faintly curious why. ]
Trying to incite emotion feels like reaching blindly into a dark room. [ He doesn't know what his hand will connect with. Like when he'd gone into the Black Box. ]
[He's silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. His jaw clenches. He finds he can't maintain eye contact, and glares at the opposite wall instead.
He is, slowly but surely, being worn down. Inevitability digs claws of doubt back into him, right at the edges. Some things simply are. They can't be changed, only toppled. Some people suffer, and can't be fixed. Some people can't notice at all that they might be suffering.]
I'm still not hearing a decent reason why you won't.
[He doesn't have much in way of arguments left. It might be a sign he knows he's losing.]
[ He notes the lack of eye contact and decides not to comment on it. Anders is the type to fight to the very end, as he is now. Some battles, though, aren't the ones that can be won. Or if they can, it's not immediate. ]
Because asking someone to start a fire they don't have the tools for isn't going to get you anywhere.
[ If there is something there, it's buried beneath layers of frost. ]
You have them. You just don't know how to use them.
[He sounds more resigned than insistent, now. To him, it feels like November is at the very edge; if he'd just take one more step, it might make all the difference. But this is an old situation, and a familiar argument. People like this look at the world like their feet were nailed to the floor.
He still wants to try. He probably still will try, never accustomed to giving up after falling down only once.]
If that's what you want to think, I'm not going to stop you.
[ November is taking advantage of Anders' resignment here. Pushing back, because what else is there to do? He doesn't understand how to tap into whatever lies underneath. It feels so foreign to him, coming in bits and pieces almost unbidden. He'd heard before, that Contractors that revert feel like their lives were unreal, a film strip. To him, his life before what he is now seems that way. ]
But even if it is true, I don't see the point the Black Box was trying to get at with that route. Logic will always be first and foremost. [ Except when it pertains to Decade. He's not about to say that out loud, though. ]
i love you still
[Harsh, angry, bitter. He's a raw wire of emotion right now: guilty, outraged, frustrated, depressed, elated. It's hard to tell which parts are his and which aren't. Whatever restraint and control he normally tries to maintain, the Black Box tore through it like tissue paper. His hair is messy from where he keeps dragging his hands through it.]
Sorry. I didn't— I'm not—[He swallows, refocusing. Talking is helping, a little, the sound of his own voice clearer over the noise in his head.] Are you all right?
[He's never seen that sort of look on November's face before, brief as it might have been. Like he's at the edge of something.]
thank u bb
Of what, he’s not sure. ]
Please. [ With that, he waves off the biting comment. He’s sure Anders has gone through some sort of personal hell in that box. ]
I’ll survive. My hair’s a bit mussed, though. How dreadful. [ A deflection, clear as glass and maybe just as fragile. ]
And you?
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[Blunt. Aggressive. He is nowhere near all right. In a backwards, twisted way, he wishes November wasn't either, and frustration bubbles up again from low in his chest. He preferred the momentary flicker of something over this, playing at nothing. He wonders, not for the first time, if he's just seeing what he wants to see, grasping at straws that aren't there.
A truly Tranquil mage wouldn't have anything to fear from the Black Box. There's no love, no anger, no uncertainty. Only a directive and a goal to accomplish.
He pushes back.]
Or it— seemed like it. Felt like it. I don't know how... all that is supposed to work. But I do know it couldn't have been any better for you. Do you honestly expect me to believe you're just going to brush this off your shoulder, go on your merry way?
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What he doesn't see coming is how much it actually stops him in his tracks. His smile remains, but it's thinner, sharper. ]
You expect that I'm not going to do just that? A lot of people died in mine. It's not a new concept.
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I think you'll act like it. I think you'll try, because that's what you're supposed to be, how you're supposed to be. But is it? Is it really? Can you look me in the face and tell me that not a single one of the deaths you saw in there mattered, not even slightly?
[It's almost a real question, if the slight, helpless edge to his voice is anything to go by. If there's anything to hold on to, anything at all, he's determined to drag it out inch by inch.]
no subject
Because he should be empty, Contractors don't feel anything.
He's still thinking about how real it'd felt with his fingers digging into the mage's skin and the consuming ice afterwards. How much he doesn't want it to come to that, because Anders is full of life and caring. November doesn't know much about what happened to the other man, but he knows he doesn't deserve that.
And yet, he can't help himself when the shock bleeds away dangerously. His expression darkens, eyes and mouth going flat, dead, as he steps closer. He purposely crowds his space, voice low and air chilling over as red flickers behind his irises. ]
You don't know anything about me.
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But— nothing. Just like that: there and gone.
His jaw clenches; he swallows hard. Gooseflesh pricks at his arms, a side-effect of either the sudden, unnatural chill, or sudden old memories of empty expressions. It's hard for him to say which.]
I could have been like you. [If things had gone differently, if he hadn't been so lucky, so often in the wrong place at the right time. His voice is harsh, resigned.] I know what it means. I know what it costs, even if you can't see it anymore.
Maybe I understand you better than you think.
no subject
Sharpen the weapon–
He takes a step back quickly, as though he's been bitten, looking the same sort of wild he had when he'd stepped out of the Black Box. Anders' words half register and he tucks his hands in his pockets, warming them back up. It's illogical, to back down. It doesn't make any sense when there's someone essentially meeting his threat with another one. When he could have this used against him.
But all he can think about is how close he'd just been to fulfilling his own simulation, without prompting. ]
Don't. Just, don't.
no subject
But it's there, again—the flicker, the thread. Something to hold onto, something to pull on until the rest unravels. There's no denying that there is something now, not after what just happened. November can't be empty, no matter how much he'd like to be.
Anders should be relieved. Satisfied. This should feel like a victory.
Instead, he just feels weary. There's no cure for Tranquility, not one he's ever heard of. How would someone cope with rediscovering their own emotions after so long separated from them? He doesn't know.
But how much does that matter, in the end? If there's one thing he's always been sure of, it's that no one deserves to live this way.]
All I've done is tell you the truth. [His voice is quieter now, softer around the edges.] You might want to consider listening.
no subject
In this instance, he has to agree. Not only because of what Anders is telling him. What the mage is pushing on, hoping that the crack in the dam is enough to crumble the rest of the walls. But there's also a chilling self-realization on several levels. It's numbed over, as usual, but the thought's in his head, which is more than he could say from before. Taking a deep breath, he exhales slowly, re-centering. Normally that's all it takes, but he knows this will bother him. Knows it, because he still thinks about Hei and how his actions didn't make sense.
(And how he finds himself relating more and more). ]
It doesn't really matter, does it? [ He's aware of that now. ] Even if I do, where does that get me?
[ There's no cure to being a Contractor. ]
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It might get you nowhere. But it could also get you somewhere, and that's more than a lot of others in your position could say. Think about it: if they were wrong about this, what else could they have been wrong about?
[He has no idea who the "they" he's referring to is, in this case, only that there probably is some kind of "they" to speak of. This is how he desperately wants it to be, his conspiracy theories gaining traction. Not a permanent severance, like the Tranquil, but something more muted and flimsy, only effective as far as its victims are properly conditioned. He wants November to try, but more than that, he wants November to want to try.]
It's right in front of you. How can you still think it's not a risk worth taking?
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November doesn't know if it will. ]
Because it doesn't make sense. There's no logic in it. [ His answer is honest; it's difficult to think any other way, even now. Even when he's dimly aware of his consciousness from years ago to the present is very different. ]
Sometimes, things can't go back to the way they used to be. [ A life growing up in a place that isn't here; it looks like a film strip. It doesn't feel real. ]
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Temporarily. If he is anything, he is dogged.]
I'm not talking about going back. I'm talking about going forward. Logic isn't always the best way to approach some things, you have to know that by now.
no subject
Which the mage seems to be latching onto and not letting go. ]
I know that. [ He wants to convey frustration, but it comes out neutral, slightly edged with resignment. ] I can't tell my mind to choose a different path anymore than you can ask yours to stop your heart.
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I don't believe that. Things can be learned. They can be unlearned. Today proves that it's at least possible, you can't tell me that's not true.
What harm is there in trying? If I'm wrong, then— [something in his expression cracks] I'm wrong. You can tell me "I told you so" as much as you like.
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Trying to incite emotion feels like reaching blindly into a dark room. [ He doesn't know what his hand will connect with. Like when he'd gone into the Black Box. ]
no subject
He is, slowly but surely, being worn down. Inevitability digs claws of doubt back into him, right at the edges. Some things simply are. They can't be changed, only toppled. Some people suffer, and can't be fixed. Some people can't notice at all that they might be suffering.]
I'm still not hearing a decent reason why you won't.
[He doesn't have much in way of arguments left. It might be a sign he knows he's losing.]
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Because asking someone to start a fire they don't have the tools for isn't going to get you anywhere.
[ If there is something there, it's buried beneath layers of frost. ]
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[He sounds more resigned than insistent, now. To him, it feels like November is at the very edge; if he'd just take one more step, it might make all the difference. But this is an old situation, and a familiar argument. People like this look at the world like their feet were nailed to the floor.
He still wants to try. He probably still will try, never accustomed to giving up after falling down only once.]
no subject
[ November is taking advantage of Anders' resignment here. Pushing back, because what else is there to do? He doesn't understand how to tap into whatever lies underneath. It feels so foreign to him, coming in bits and pieces almost unbidden. He'd heard before, that Contractors that revert feel like their lives were unreal, a film strip. To him, his life before what he is now seems that way. ]
But even if it is true, I don't see the point the Black Box was trying to get at with that route. Logic will always be first and foremost. [ Except when it pertains to Decade. He's not about to say that out loud, though. ]