Rhy just watches him. If Ronan needs to get it out, he'll listen-- even if he doesn't understand half of what he says. Ronan knows that. He knows Rhy has no idea what country or language he's referring to; it isn't said for Rhy, but for himself, and so Rhy doesn't ask.
He doesn't try to stop Ronan or distract him while the other man fiddles with his dreamed-up things on the shelf, golden eyes following Ronan's hands not because he thinks the objects have anything to do with the conversation but for the same reason he assumes Ronan is fidgeting with them in the first place: something to do, outside of their racing thoughts, the way Rhy grounds himself with his arms crossing in front of his chest in an unconscious self-soothing gesture. He wants to reach out; he doesn't.
"I never assumed you had," Rhy responds quietly. Killed anyone, he means. But his attention snags, brows creasing faintly, on the part about destroying a world.
There is so much about what Ronan is and what he does that Rhy can't understand. Rhy's never heard him talk about humans like this before, like some sort of creature entirely apart from the world. Like it somehow gives him the right to be above it all.
Rhy grows frustrated, verging on angry, the sort of real anger Ronan has rarely seen from him. There's an edge creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to hear Ronan out. The conversation has veered so far from what he thought they'd come here to work out.
"Maybe you're right," he agrees flatly. "What difference does it make? Human war, human casualties. You find it easier to separate yourself? Fine. If that's a choice available to you. Unfortunately, I am merely human, and it isn't so easy for me."
"You don't understand," Ronan says, with more pity than exasperation. After all, that's the entire point. The human experience is a narrow one, with fixed rules like gravity and morality. It's a cage Ronan was trapped in, too, for most of his life.
"You'll always be fighting this war. It's the same one you've been fighting since the beginning of time. And even in a world like this, where magic is so alive, the Free Cities are already an industrial cesspit. The sooner they're wiped off the face of the planet, the better. Before they re-invent nukes and Zyklon B."
He's well aware Rhy has no idea what he's talking about, which is of course why he doesn't see where Ronan's coming from. He doesn't know what the stakes really are.
"At least Thorne serves a purpose. That psycho queen is standing between everyone else and the Singularity."
Ronan sighs, drifting closer to Rhy. "I really thought you might get it," he murmurs, his voice growing almost mournful. "You... You're as close to it as I am. I thought you loved it, too. But if you did, you'd care more about protecting it than you do about the people who will destroy it the second they get a chance. The same way they've done in every other world."
"This isn't about the Singularity. This is about the innocent people dying needlessly for one woman's egotistical fit of rage. If you cannot see that, Ronan, I don't know how to explain it to you."
The disappointment cuts deep, his stomach a brick, throat raw.
It feels like a bad dream. That Ronan would be saying this, that he would think like this, after all his talk of saving the world. But it's not the world he cares about. Only the magic.
How is that not clear? Not even that much? Is Rhy so blind?
"They're going to ruin everything the second they have the chance. We can't let them get one."
No.
Ronan shakes his head and corrects, "I can't let them."
Because he failed once already. Because this is his chance to do it right. Maybe Rhy will understand eventually, but until that day comes, he's going to have to stay out of the way. Ronan doesn't want to hurt him. He doesn't want to hurt anyone.
The silver orb cracks like an egg as Ronan's fist closes around it. When he opens it again, a shimmering cloud rises from it, a fine dust of glitter caught in the invisible current of the air. Ronan lifts his hand, palm up, and blows. Carried with his breath, the sparkling cloud tumbles gently toward Rhy's face. It's a beautiful thing. The most dangerous enchantment Ronan has in his arsenal.
"I'm leaving, Ronan," Rhy snaps when he has the audacity to continue. He simply doesn't know what else to say, as the anger grips him laced through with something too akin to grief, his shock at what's just happened compounded now by the shock of everything he apparently hadn't seen in Ronan, and he needs to step away. He needs to leave, now, before he does something he regrets even more than being here at all.
Rhy steps back, toward the door, only dimly noticing that Ronan is holding some sort of item. His vision feels narrow and too sharp, focused on the door handle over anything else, breaths coming fast and tense.
He registers the shimmering dust only barely, but instinct makes him put his hand up, covering his face with the crook of his elbow and flinching away, with a look at Ronan that is just as confused as it is alarmed.
Ronan doesn't make another move, letting the orb do its work. It needs nothing else from him, already dreamt so perfectly for its purpose.
It's a mindfuck. There's no avoiding it once it's detonated, its sparkling dust clinging like frost on Rhy's bronze skin. He can hold his breath, but that won't save him. He can shut his eyes, but that won't save him. It's already too late to run. The bewildering magic began dazzling Rhy before the thought to run could reach his legs.
Ronan waits until Rhy's panic has evaporated, along with everything else that occupied his mind just moments ago. Then he steps forward, the crease between his eyebrows etched with both pity and apology.
"You're alright," he gently assures Rhy, though the gesture is mostly for himself. Rhy has no space to question anymore whether he's alright or not. Ronan pulls him into a tight embrace, then eases him down onto one of the couches. It's not so unusual for the Summoned to meditate here, and from the outside, Rhy looks as though he's crossed into the Horizon. Ronan brushes away the dust that hasn't already vanished, then straightens and steps back to survey his work.
It's hard not to be hurt by Rhy's reaction, but at least it's gone now, along with the memory of the conversation that inspired it. Maybe Ronan can try again later to make him understand. Or maybe Rhy was never built to understand him.
Ronan sighs and turns away, slipping out of the room.
Whatever happens, it happens too quickly-- or not at all. Rhy is aware, very suddenly but also rather dimly, of Ronan's arms around him, the solid press of his body guiding him, the familiar voice in his ear. He relaxes, sinks into the cushions, while his body catches up with the new calm in his mind and the physical reactions of shock and anger melt away bit by bit.
He becomes aware of the room sometime later. Unable to figure out how he'd ended up in it, Rhy stumbles out, and is almost immediately swept up again in the dark, frantic mood of the castle and the other Summoned, especially Kell. When asked where he was, he can't really answer, but considering all that's happened, Rhy vaguely blames the shock and possibly some of those Ikorr drinks catching up with him belatedly. Difficult to tell. Difficult to care, when he is so distracted. He doesn't think about it again for a long while.
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abraxaslogs2022-09-03 06:16 pm
no subject
He doesn't try to stop Ronan or distract him while the other man fiddles with his dreamed-up things on the shelf, golden eyes following Ronan's hands not because he thinks the objects have anything to do with the conversation but for the same reason he assumes Ronan is fidgeting with them in the first place: something to do, outside of their racing thoughts, the way Rhy grounds himself with his arms crossing in front of his chest in an unconscious self-soothing gesture. He wants to reach out; he doesn't.
"I never assumed you had," Rhy responds quietly. Killed anyone, he means. But his attention snags, brows creasing faintly, on the part about destroying a world.
There is so much about what Ronan is and what he does that Rhy can't understand. Rhy's never heard him talk about humans like this before, like some sort of creature entirely apart from the world. Like it somehow gives him the right to be above it all.
Rhy grows frustrated, verging on angry, the sort of real anger Ronan has rarely seen from him. There's an edge creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to hear Ronan out. The conversation has veered so far from what he thought they'd come here to work out.
"Maybe you're right," he agrees flatly. "What difference does it make? Human war, human casualties. You find it easier to separate yourself? Fine. If that's a choice available to you. Unfortunately, I am merely human, and it isn't so easy for me."
no subject
"You'll always be fighting this war. It's the same one you've been fighting since the beginning of time. And even in a world like this, where magic is so alive, the Free Cities are already an industrial cesspit. The sooner they're wiped off the face of the planet, the better. Before they re-invent nukes and Zyklon B."
He's well aware Rhy has no idea what he's talking about, which is of course why he doesn't see where Ronan's coming from. He doesn't know what the stakes really are.
"At least Thorne serves a purpose. That psycho queen is standing between everyone else and the Singularity."
Ronan sighs, drifting closer to Rhy. "I really thought you might get it," he murmurs, his voice growing almost mournful. "You... You're as close to it as I am. I thought you loved it, too. But if you did, you'd care more about protecting it than you do about the people who will destroy it the second they get a chance. The same way they've done in every other world."
no subject
"This isn't about the Singularity. This is about the innocent people dying needlessly for one woman's egotistical fit of rage. If you cannot see that, Ronan, I don't know how to explain it to you."
The disappointment cuts deep, his stomach a brick, throat raw.
It feels like a bad dream. That Ronan would be saying this, that he would think like this, after all his talk of saving the world. But it's not the world he cares about. Only the magic.
no subject
How is that not clear? Not even that much? Is Rhy so blind?
"They're going to ruin everything the second they have the chance. We can't let them get one."
No.
Ronan shakes his head and corrects, "I can't let them."
Because he failed once already. Because this is his chance to do it right. Maybe Rhy will understand eventually, but until that day comes, he's going to have to stay out of the way. Ronan doesn't want to hurt him. He doesn't want to hurt anyone.
The silver orb cracks like an egg as Ronan's fist closes around it. When he opens it again, a shimmering cloud rises from it, a fine dust of glitter caught in the invisible current of the air. Ronan lifts his hand, palm up, and blows. Carried with his breath, the sparkling cloud tumbles gently toward Rhy's face. It's a beautiful thing. The most dangerous enchantment Ronan has in his arsenal.
no subject
Rhy steps back, toward the door, only dimly noticing that Ronan is holding some sort of item. His vision feels narrow and too sharp, focused on the door handle over anything else, breaths coming fast and tense.
He registers the shimmering dust only barely, but instinct makes him put his hand up, covering his face with the crook of his elbow and flinching away, with a look at Ronan that is just as confused as it is alarmed.
no subject
It's a mindfuck. There's no avoiding it once it's detonated, its sparkling dust clinging like frost on Rhy's bronze skin. He can hold his breath, but that won't save him. He can shut his eyes, but that won't save him. It's already too late to run. The bewildering magic began dazzling Rhy before the thought to run could reach his legs.
Ronan waits until Rhy's panic has evaporated, along with everything else that occupied his mind just moments ago. Then he steps forward, the crease between his eyebrows etched with both pity and apology.
"You're alright," he gently assures Rhy, though the gesture is mostly for himself. Rhy has no space to question anymore whether he's alright or not. Ronan pulls him into a tight embrace, then eases him down onto one of the couches. It's not so unusual for the Summoned to meditate here, and from the outside, Rhy looks as though he's crossed into the Horizon. Ronan brushes away the dust that hasn't already vanished, then straightens and steps back to survey his work.
It's hard not to be hurt by Rhy's reaction, but at least it's gone now, along with the memory of the conversation that inspired it. Maybe Ronan can try again later to make him understand. Or maybe Rhy was never built to understand him.
Ronan sighs and turns away, slipping out of the room.
no subject
He becomes aware of the room sometime later. Unable to figure out how he'd ended up in it, Rhy stumbles out, and is almost immediately swept up again in the dark, frantic mood of the castle and the other Summoned, especially Kell. When asked where he was, he can't really answer, but considering all that's happened, Rhy vaguely blames the shock and possibly some of those Ikorr drinks catching up with him belatedly. Difficult to tell. Difficult to care, when he is so distracted. He doesn't think about it again for a long while.