[ He's pleased that she approves of his method, that he might be getting this right after all. There's an ease to his body language, a relaxation that hasn't come out all that often since he's been in this world. So she gets a small smile in return, his own approval of her suggestion. ]
Arright. [ He sits down on a flat rock, one that's just a little wet, a little dirty, but comfortable enough and easy to move from should anything happen, and looks back up at her. ] Snacks sound good.
[ And then he casts his line out, and at some point, it hits him this is the first time he's sat with someone along a shoreline in decades. It's not quite the same. Here it's a mostly abandoned shoreline with nothing but water in the distance and nothing behind them; there it's along a pier with city off to the side and behind them, tall skyscrapers obstructing the horizon, an indication of too many people crammed in too small a space, most buildings dilapidated, the nice ones clearly not for people like him. Here he's sitting on a flat slab of rock and fishing; there it's a massive slab of concrete and the waters are probably too polluted to catch anything that could be considered edible.
Here he's with Himeka; there he's with a woman who looks old enough to be his mom, and he's young, maybe a pre-teen at best, and the side of his face is bruised and dried blood clings to his temple, above his eye, along his nose, the corner of his lip.
Amos looks out over the water, waiting for a bite, something to happen.
Lydia stares out at the water alongside him, several silent moments, before she finally turns to him. He doesn't move, just keeps staring out ahead, cold and empty and angry. "What you did today was hard," she says, and he doesn't look at her. "When you're hurt, hurting others is easy. It takes strength to choose not to."
He blinks, doesn't look at her, doesn't acknowledge her in any way.
"When life has not treated you with kindness," she continues, as though he's paying attention, like he hadn't remembered every single word she'd said that day verbatim, "doing the right thing anyway always takes strength. When you can even tell what the right thing is."
There's self-deprecation there. Then, he doesn't catch it. Now, he knows it all too well.
He still doesn't look at her, just keeps staring out at the water.
"I love you, Timothy," Lydia says, and then he turns to look at her, eyes shining, narrowed. "But I am not righteous." His breath hitches for a second, back to normal. "I can't teach you to be that."
She turns away from him; he keeps looking at her, like she's got his full attention now, and whatever it was he'd been stewing in is no longer worth the facade. "Maybe you and I can imagine a version of me that is good, and kind, and wise. I'll pretend to be her. You can pretend to love me enough to listen."
Her voice is hard on listen. It's not an order, but it is serious. He swallows, pushing something down as his eyes shine that much more, that much closer to breaking.
"Maybe that's enough for people like us." Voice back to normal, and she takes his hand, small then, and he stares down at it before looking back up at her, swallows again, blinks and looks away, back out at the waters before them. Doesn't break.
Amos blinks, looks down at his hands holding his fishing pole, out at the still waters where nothing much is happening yet. Turns his head to look at Himeka. She's scaly and her hair is long and red, not shoulder-length and a dirty blonde. She's younger than he is and hasn't been prematurely aged, hasn't been beat down by life, and when she's talked to him about her worldly knowledge it wasn't anything remotely like what they'd experienced. ]
Huh.
[ It's a quiet noise, faintly bemused at how different sitting by the water can be, and then he looks back out at the Hydra Gulf again, waiting for something to happen. ]
no subject
Arright. [ He sits down on a flat rock, one that's just a little wet, a little dirty, but comfortable enough and easy to move from should anything happen, and looks back up at her. ] Snacks sound good.
[ And then he casts his line out, and at some point, it hits him this is the first time he's sat with someone along a shoreline in decades. It's not quite the same. Here it's a mostly abandoned shoreline with nothing but water in the distance and nothing behind them; there it's along a pier with city off to the side and behind them, tall skyscrapers obstructing the horizon, an indication of too many people crammed in too small a space, most buildings dilapidated, the nice ones clearly not for people like him. Here he's sitting on a flat slab of rock and fishing; there it's a massive slab of concrete and the waters are probably too polluted to catch anything that could be considered edible.
Here he's with Himeka; there he's with a woman who looks old enough to be his mom, and he's young, maybe a pre-teen at best, and the side of his face is bruised and dried blood clings to his temple, above his eye, along his nose, the corner of his lip.
Amos looks out over the water, waiting for a bite, something to happen.
Lydia stares out at the water alongside him, several silent moments, before she finally turns to him. He doesn't move, just keeps staring out ahead, cold and empty and angry. "What you did today was hard," she says, and he doesn't look at her. "When you're hurt, hurting others is easy. It takes strength to choose not to."
He blinks, doesn't look at her, doesn't acknowledge her in any way.
"When life has not treated you with kindness," she continues, as though he's paying attention, like he hadn't remembered every single word she'd said that day verbatim, "doing the right thing anyway always takes strength. When you can even tell what the right thing is."
There's self-deprecation there. Then, he doesn't catch it. Now, he knows it all too well.
He still doesn't look at her, just keeps staring out at the water.
"I love you, Timothy," Lydia says, and then he turns to look at her, eyes shining, narrowed. "But I am not righteous." His breath hitches for a second, back to normal. "I can't teach you to be that."
She turns away from him; he keeps looking at her, like she's got his full attention now, and whatever it was he'd been stewing in is no longer worth the facade. "Maybe you and I can imagine a version of me that is good, and kind, and wise. I'll pretend to be her. You can pretend to love me enough to listen."
Her voice is hard on listen. It's not an order, but it is serious. He swallows, pushing something down as his eyes shine that much more, that much closer to breaking.
"Maybe that's enough for people like us." Voice back to normal, and she takes his hand, small then, and he stares down at it before looking back up at her, swallows again, blinks and looks away, back out at the waters before them. Doesn't break.
Amos blinks, looks down at his hands holding his fishing pole, out at the still waters where nothing much is happening yet. Turns his head to look at Himeka. She's scaly and her hair is long and red, not shoulder-length and a dirty blonde. She's younger than he is and hasn't been prematurely aged, hasn't been beat down by life, and when she's talked to him about her worldly knowledge it wasn't anything remotely like what they'd experienced. ]
Huh.
[ It's a quiet noise, faintly bemused at how different sitting by the water can be, and then he looks back out at the Hydra Gulf again, waiting for something to happen. ]