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[vecna]

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[vecna]

[She's trying her best, okay.

His eyes follow her movement, then trail back up to her expression. This must still be a difficult thing to do, he thinks. If what she's about to give him is a gift, then it is the equivalent of an olive branch, just a slightly awkward one.

Still... he holds out his hand. He's curious.]

[velluminous]

[ all at once, as though she's had to manually override her own inertia, she brings her own hand out of her pocket and presses a folded handkerchief into his upturned palm. on it, there is an embroidered black widow spider—her abdomen carefully built up and up so its curve rises above the fabric, her delicate legs poised. she has attempted to mimic the look of a web with fine silver threads that flicker in the light.

the fabric is red.

stiffly, ] I am realizing some things recently.

[vecna]

[He isn’t sure what it is at first, not until he slowly unfolds the cloth and realizes that it’s a handkerchief. Red — to hide the blood that’s always eking from his nostril. Clever.

But of course he appreciates the embroidery in the corner the most: a black widow spider, delicately interwoven, legs long and the red hourglass on its abdomen bright. Henry loses all pretense of his polite smile, then; instead, his expression shifts into an almost childlike appreciation, turning it over in his hand. Earnest fondness, so rare for him.

He almost doesn’t register her remark. He should— thank her for this. But first:]

And… what’s that? The things you’re realizing.

[velluminous]

[ waiting with bated breath—please like it, please say thank you, please mend the rift that she swears she can feel sometimes between them. like the tiniest tear in a seam. ]

Everything here is going to end, one day, and I cannot stand myself to have our last words be ones spat in anger. It will eat me from inside out. I'm lonely, Henry.

[vecna]

[The gratitude's coming. She needn't worry about that. But first-- lonely. That strikes a chord in him, like needles pricking in his chest, but Henry still is not able to turn his own awareness in that direction. He can't, just not quite yet; but perhaps he doesn't have to. She already knows that they share many similarities, and that is one of them.

His lips thin slightly as he folds the handkerchief back up with careful, careful delicacy.]

I know, Sprezzatura. [He knows from the strings. He knows from before that, in the cafeteria, the realization of how much they share.] But wipe this worry from your mind. [He steps closer, if she does not shy away.] I'm not upset with you. If you can forgive me, I can do the same.

[velluminous]

[ closer, she smells a little bit of wine. and her cheeks are flushed—barely.

when confessed murderer Henry Creel steps closer, she stays exactly where she is. there's no recoil this time, either because she has processed the situation in full, or enough for her to accept it, or because her reaction time simply isn't there right now. this isn't the sort of thing anyone external can tell.

so what if he's killed? wouldn't she, if she had the chance? oh, without question... without question. and that's not a truth that she can easily share with Arthur, Herlock, Miss Tsuruno, Wilbur, Ace... the truth is an ugly one, and most days it is without remorse, and rarely any desire to seek a better way. she knows better ways exist and she doesn't want to use them. that's the point. that's the entire fucking point. so if she is the worst possible version of herself, where does that leave her?

who does that leave her to confide in?

helplessly, ] ...It's silk.

[ the handkerchief. ]

[vecna]

[He does scent it. And he does see that darkened flush around her cheeks. She's been drinking.

Not just tired, then. Not as much as she wishes to dismiss it, so easily; and if he were less kind, he would pry into her mind and wrench free the real reasons, bring them to light, so he needn't keep guessing.

But he doesn't. The way she's looking at him, it's almost as though she wants his approval — something that is easily given today.]

It’s wonderful. I’ve never owned anything quite like it. …Thank you.

/2

[velluminous]

[ ;O; ]

[velluminous]

[ her throat tightens—it would be visible, if not for the high collar—and she clenches her jaw (this is visible) to ward it. one hand comes up to rake gloves fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her face. ]

Good. It is unique, after all. No one else has ever had one like it.

[vecna]

[Oh, girl. Henry very carefully slips the handkerchief into his pocket. It's so nice, it'd almost be a shame to smear it with his blood, but he's sure he'll put it into practical use sooner rather than later.]

Did you make it yourself?

[velluminous]

[ it has already seen blood spilt—hers, as she jabbed herself with the needle in the black-and-white darkness of her room. her mouth moves silently for a moment, and she sways once before her tail moves to counterbalance it. ]

I couldn't ... couldn't sleep. So.

[ so she sat awake, miserable and half-drunk, and embroidered a handkerchief for a killer. but Henry doesn't need to know that much detail. ]

[vecna]

[She's looking a little... unsteady, there.]

Then that just makes it more unique. More special. I'll be taking good care of it.

[But, also...]

Not to change the subject, but how much have you had to drink?

[velluminous]

[ her brow pinches when he says that—she didn't come out here for him, or for anyone, to talk to her about her drinking. what does it even matter? there are worse things to do after a trial like that. ]

No more than usual.

[ on the defensive. immediately. ]

[vecna]

You say that, but you're swaying on your feet.

[She smells like wine. If this is "usual", then he's never been privy to the sight before.]

I'm not here to lecture you, but it's obvious something's bothering you more than you're letting on.

[velluminous]

[ :) ]

I have told everything. [ the trial, the insomnia, the loneliness, Endorsi. ] It does not satisfy you? We must speak on my vices in better detail?

[ she does bring up a sleeve to cover her mouth, though ]

[vecna]

Everyone has a vice. I don't care about the drinking.

[As though Henry is inclined to take the high ground on anything so trivial.]

I just wonder if you would feel better if you spoke about it with a friend.

[As confirmed, today.]

[velluminous]

[ there is a fault line running through her restraint.

it cracks ]

...You didn't hear it, Henry. So much screaming.

[vecna]

Screaming?

[Does she mean after the elevators dropped? But he was there for that, too. The chaos of the aftermath.]

[velluminous]

At each other, who to—to help. Miss Jahad and I had disagreements. Harsh. And now she has been clawed away by warden.

[vecna]

[Ah. Now that makes more sense.]

And, like you said, you regret leaving things with her as they were.

[velluminous]

She will be back.

[ she won't be back. ]

There is still... still time.

[vecna]

[She could back. But what are the odds? Slim, unlikely. Henry doesn't believe it will happen.]

Do you really think she would be upset with you, or blame you? For emotions getting heated. Everyone's cages, I think, were... tense.

[velluminous]

She said it would be fine if I hated her.

[ she tips forward, grabbing his sleeves in her hands ]

Do I seem like hateful woman, Henry? Am I really...? Am I woman capable only of powerful love or powerful hate?

[vecna]

[...Henry slips one arm free of her grasp if only to place his hand on her shoulder, steadying. He is not entirely certain she's not just going to tip over again.]

No.

[Perhaps it is not ideal, receiving consolation about powerful hatred or love from Henry Creel, who has plenty of the former but lacks so much of the latter. But he understands a thing or two about overwrought emotions; he keeps his own caged up, but very much alive, inside of him. He knows that there are subtle shades to them, too.]

And if you were close, she would have known that, too. That you didn't hate her.

[velluminous]

[ consolation is consolation, and she needs consolation. the alcohol flush on her face makes her fathomless eyes seem that much brighter, as she darts her look around anywhere but his face. like if she avoids eye contact, he won't be able to read her.

ha ha. ]

Don't you let her take you, Mister Creel.