[ ah. perfect. she's going to jolt a hand up and grip his chin, almost inexorably, so she can murmur into the air by his ear: ] Because it bothers people. Hope that helps!
Edited (you didn't see that) 2022-07-30 05:53 (UTC)
[It’s the audacity of her grip that does it — the quickness, the force behind it, even if she doesn’t deign to grab tightly. But either way, Henry’s own hand reaches upward, latches onto her wrist. Fingers coiled tight.]
It tells me you’re sadistic for the sake of it. No greater meaning than that?
It's in my nature. Really! I've gotta put the screws to somebody, and I'm not exactly stretching my legs, here.
[ overall, the sense is not of a woman who is worried about that intense manner of reaction. no, she just wants to keep Sprezzatura down for as long as this guy's still in the "room". releasing his chin—one finger at a time. ]
You're saying you wouldn't mind it if I had a better reason?
[As her fingers peel away, so does his own grip, loosening in tandem. At some point, he’ll straighten again as his arm drops back down to his side, his whole demeanor coiling back into a pleasant state.]
I just think if you’re choosing violence, you should at least make it productive.
[(Henry is a hypocrite in many ways. One should take his idealizing with the appropriate grain of salt. He does not possess enough self-awareness, or the want for self-examination, to know otherwise.)]
That said, I can’t blame a girl for wanting freedom. I hate to see anyone caged up. Maybe I can talk to your host about it sometime.
[Oh, he's going to get glass in his hair at this rate. He holds up a forearm to shield his mismatched eyes from the glistening shower.]
Why not, Svetka? Maybe if she understood where you were coming from, she'd have a better chance of letting you out now and again. And it can't be much easier for her, either, keeping you boxed up like this. I bet you make a lot of noise when you want to.
[ if you get her out, you're the first one she's going after. ]
Promises, promises. [ she takes a hand through her hair, scoring her scalp and her palm with the glass that has fallen over her. yeah. time to get going, before the lady of the house brings it all down. ] Don't be a stranger. If she doesn't call it quits with you first.
Henry drops his arm, letting shards of glass tumble off of him.]
Don't worry about me. I'll figure something out.
[He's charming when he wants to be.
And like that, Henry severs the connection. Pulling himself out of her head is not nearly as ghost-like as his entry, given all that he's dredged up along the way; he's knotted up memory to bring to the forefront--moved items around in the figurative "room", so to speak--but they will settle back into their proper places. He does not need to linger to put things back where they belong.
But it's quick, at least. Suddenly, he's no longer surrounded by fire, but the breathable air of the motel lobby, seated in a chair across from Sprezzatura, still leaning forward as though he had not moved an inch at all. He blinks once, twice. Straightens, wipes at a warm feeling at his nose. (Bleeding already? How frustrating, this place neutering his powers so.)
Finally flicks his look up towards his companion.]
[ Sprezzatura has also not moved so much as a fraction, though her eyes are wide and her jaw set, and hard. it takes every ounce of her focus to hold her exhausted, frayed mind together so Svetka doesn't burst out of her like she did with Reim. then she feels him leave, and she blinks herself back, takes a sharp, shuddery inhale, and instinctively draws a hand back to slap him.
[He would've been slapped across the face were it not for his bleeding nose, the latter still eking crimson even after he's wiped it away. But Henry would have accepted it; would have played nice enough to take the sting across his face for his transgression, unasked for as it was.]
I spoke to the friend in your head. The oni... Svetka, wasn't it?
[And now that he's back, solid in reality, he feels as though that one trip into her mind had expended far too much energy, drained and tired. Like he's twelve all over again. His brows cinch.]
[ her heart is pounding, just white-hot fury and—fear. stupid. stupid woman. slams her hand down on the arm of the chair instead, clenching it tight. ]
[He leans back, hand trailing up to his bleeding nose a second time, keeping it there for now. Obviously, he is not at all surprised by her anger, though he should at least feign some kind of distaste for it.]
I wanted to see what was there -- and I wanted to help.
[This is fifty percent correct.]
It's what I used to do, finding the hurt and trauma in other people's minds and resolving it for them. [Liberal application of the word resolve, but. True enough.] It was hard to see that burning library and turn away from it, and it was hard not to converse with the monster in your head. I understand if you're angry.
[ he disarms her instantly. this doesn't mean her anger fades; rather, it merely changes shape. he forced his way into the library? he was conversing with her? shoves herself back in her seat, upper lip pulled back in what can only be described as a sneer. ]
My god. Does it matter? [ she reaches into her breast pocket and produces a handkerchief, which she snaps sharply to unfold before holding out to him between finger and thumb ] Surely you are not so stupid as to go poking behind closed doors without asking.
[Even in her flaring, shifting anger, she shows him a kindness. Henry takes the handkerchief and brings it to his nose, stifling the already slowing flow.]
Mm.
[He says, the sight of which (handkerchief pressed to his face) may dull his serious intonation.]
It does matter. She was restless, eager to get out. Something like that can only be a strain on you. So maybe I overstepped boundaries trying to understand her motivations -- I know it's not much of an excuse, but I'll make it up to you later.
[ she either can't help or chooses not to stifle her scoff. oh, and she hopes he feels elucidated. she hopes the oni's motivations were worth the trouble that's going to come of seeking them out. ]
Oh, will you, now. [ pressing a thumb into the hollow above one eye, massaging. she has dark undereye circles, which he may not be surprised by now that he knows what's lurking inside. ] Henry. Mister Creel. Listen to me. You and I? We are never doing this again.
[Oh, Ms Vaux. He could slip in anytime he wanted — he could do so now, if he didn’t think he’d pass out after a round two of rummaging around in memory.
But he just dabs at his nose.]
I didn’t mean this.
[Another willing memory dive. No, he’s not that hopeful.]
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It tells me you’re sadistic for the sake of it. No greater meaning than that?
[Let go.]
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[ overall, the sense is not of a woman who is worried about that intense manner of reaction. no, she just wants to keep Sprezzatura down for as long as this guy's still in the "room". releasing his chin—one finger at a time. ]
You're saying you wouldn't mind it if I had a better reason?
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I just think if you’re choosing violence, you should at least make it productive.
[(Henry is a hypocrite in many ways. One should take his idealizing with the appropriate grain of salt. He does not possess enough self-awareness, or the want for self-examination, to know otherwise.)]
That said, I can’t blame a girl for wanting freedom. I hate to see anyone caged up. Maybe I can talk to your host about it sometime.
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For me? Would ya?
[ tiny shards of glass are raining down on them ]
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Why not, Svetka? Maybe if she understood where you were coming from, she'd have a better chance of letting you out now and again. And it can't be much easier for her, either, keeping you boxed up like this. I bet you make a lot of noise when you want to.
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It almost sounds like you want an evil, murderous oni walking around.
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[Wry. It would make about as much sense as anything else thus far.
In the end, that’s a non-answer.]
Well. I should leave before Ms Vaux gets too upset. See you around?
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Promises, promises. [ she takes a hand through her hair, scoring her scalp and her palm with the glass that has fallen over her. yeah. time to get going, before the lady of the house brings it all down. ] Don't be a stranger. If she doesn't call it quits with you first.
[ this is their FIRST MEETING ]
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Henry drops his arm, letting shards of glass tumble off of him.]
Don't worry about me. I'll figure something out.
[He's charming when he wants to be.
And like that, Henry severs the connection. Pulling himself out of her head is not nearly as ghost-like as his entry, given all that he's dredged up along the way; he's knotted up memory to bring to the forefront--moved items around in the figurative "room", so to speak--but they will settle back into their proper places. He does not need to linger to put things back where they belong.
But it's quick, at least. Suddenly, he's no longer surrounded by fire, but the breathable air of the motel lobby, seated in a chair across from Sprezzatura, still leaning forward as though he had not moved an inch at all. He blinks once, twice. Straightens, wipes at a warm feeling at his nose. (Bleeding already? How frustrating, this place neutering his powers so.)
Finally flicks his look up towards his companion.]
Hi.
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—his nose is bleeding.
instead, hisses, ] Where did you go.
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I spoke to the friend in your head. The oni... Svetka, wasn't it?
[And now that he's back, solid in reality, he feels as though that one trip into her mind had expended far too much energy, drained and tired. Like he's twelve all over again. His brows cinch.]
She's quite the character.
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Why did you think you could do this?
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I wanted to see what was there -- and I wanted to help.
[This is fifty percent correct.]
It's what I used to do, finding the hurt and trauma in other people's minds and resolving it for them. [Liberal application of the word resolve, but. True enough.] It was hard to see that burning library and turn away from it, and it was hard not to converse with the monster in your head. I understand if you're angry.
Has she hurt you before?
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My god. Does it matter? [ she reaches into her breast pocket and produces a handkerchief, which she snaps sharply to unfold before holding out to him between finger and thumb ] Surely you are not so stupid as to go poking behind closed doors without asking.
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Mm.
[He says, the sight of which (handkerchief pressed to his face) may dull his serious intonation.]
It does matter. She was restless, eager to get out. Something like that can only be a strain on you. So maybe I overstepped boundaries trying to understand her motivations -- I know it's not much of an excuse, but I'll make it up to you later.
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Oh, will you, now. [ pressing a thumb into the hollow above one eye, massaging. she has dark undereye circles, which he may not be surprised by now that he knows what's lurking inside. ] Henry. Mister Creel. Listen to me. You and I? We are never doing this again.
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But he just dabs at his nose.]
I didn’t mean this.
[Another willing memory dive. No, he’s not that hopeful.]
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But I do. How will you make up to me? Hm? Unpry? She knows your face now.
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