video

[darkov]

--uh-!

[a little gasp. this thing's kicking on again, doing things. this it's not sounds-- it's...his face? Martin stares, baffled, holding his breath as he stares. slowly, he tilts his head, turns, recognizing this is...him? really? he's not terribly familiar with his face; his own reflections in the glass around here have been spooking him - one more terrible thing to add onto this experience.

he's quite the mess: grimy, sweaty, bangs smeared against his face, looking like he's just spent a day being chased by a pack of wolves. that...that might've gone over a bit better, actually.

after this beat of realizing this is his face, he makes an unhappy sound, his expression twisting unhappily.

his voice is very small, whispering:]

I-I don't...I don't know... [a sniff. he drags a hand across his face; the device is tilted, so the screen sees only the sky and the two buildings he's hiding between. late afternoon somewhere. the top of his head bobs in and out of a corner of the picture, and there's some rustling of pages and an abrupt crumple.]

I don't know. [a huff. the picture wobbles and there's a clack as the device is put on the ground; nothing but a steady stream of sky and some muffled sounds as ambiance.]

Comments

[rathercommon]

[ A slight hesitation. Then, quietly: ]

Is it all right if I - give you a hug?

[darkov]

[his gaze had begun wandering again, but it shot right back up when he reran that prompt back over in his head. he stares, slowly growing more confused.]

...Why?

[rathercommon]

Because you seem awfully overwhelmed. And a hug can...help with that sometimes.

[darkov]

[...]

...Oh. [a beat, starting to flush red.] That might be...I-I don't know. People and Darkovs...

[rathercommon]

[ Uh - ]

People and...what?

[darkov]

Dar-darkovs. Me. [he peels his hands off the table, picking at the cuffs of his sleeves. this, at least, he can talk to with some certainty:] We don't...get involved with people. It's a rule. That way, the monsters stay away from people. We kill them. That's it.

[there's a twitching at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn't make it to a smile -- it just makes him look nauseous.] So it's strange...I'm just something people aren't supposed to, to think about. I mean...usually...

[rathercommon]

[ Yeah, that's...not a very pleasant smile. Kitty doesn't try to return it: instead, she pursues this, curious. ]

So - are you not a human, then?

[darkov]

[shaking his head quickly.] No'm. I'm just a-- [one eye squints, pulling this from memory, reciting it as such:] a tool. A weapon. Something to be useful, first and. Foremost. [nod.] Darkovs are...for people, but not to be among people. See?

[rathercommon]

[ She sits back, suddenly frowning. Her voice gains a ferocity that's new: up till now, she's always had a studiously gentle tone. ]

That's crap if I've ever heard it.

[darkov]

--Eh? [beat.] But...it's...that's it. That's what--Darkovs...are...

[rathercommon]

[ Nearly interrupting him: ]

Complete crap. No one is a tool to be useful. You're not for people. You're for your bloody self, I should say.

[darkov]

[stammering:] I-I, that's...But that's not...That's not how it is...

[rathercommon]

Of course that's how it is.

[ A quick, jerky wave of her hand is followed by an ugh of abject disgust. ]

Every bloody world, there are people like these, who try to convince others that they're nothing more than slaves. It happened in my world, certainly. And it's revolting in my world. I hate it. And you should hate it too. You're a thinking, living creature, and you don't serve anyone that you don't want to serve, do you understand?

[darkov]

[he shrinks, sliding down in his seat some while she goes on. his eyes wince when she starts saying you're-this and you-that...lumping all of this on him like he even knows what to say or do about it.

fumbling:] Tha-that's...but that's just...what Darkovs...are...and-and that's, I mean-- that's all--

[rathercommon]

[ Scowling: ]

Says who?

[darkov]

[he's getting close to disappearing under the table before he catches himself with his hands on the edge of the seat.]

E-everyone! Everyone I know...I knew...Where I live. Where I'm--from?

[rathercommon]

[ She lifts her eyebrows. ]

Humans? Is it humans who've said that to you?

[darkov]

Y--well, the. Lumas, yes, they're...I mean, they're the only people I'm supposed to know anyway, but! [sitting up a little more.] But-but Grandfather, too. And everyone. All the sixth generations...the ones left-- they're old, and it's always been like that! S-so--

[rathercommon]

And who told them? Humans, right. Lumas.

[darkov]

I...I guess so. I don't know. I don't really-- ask. Because it's...it doesn't really matter. Sorry.

[rathercommon]

[ She frowns even deeper. ]

Yes, it does matter. If someone's been denying you your worth - that's not acceptable.

[ But she finally relents a little bit: ]

I won't demand that you agree with me right now. But just think about it. Think about who you are, and what you want. And pay attention to how other people live, and think about what makes you different from them, that you would ever have to give up what you want to serve what they want.

[darkov]

[wincing. this...he's not sure this is really...a really good use of his time. but he doesn't want her to get mad at him, either.]

Um. Sure. Al-alright...

[rathercommon]

[ Sternly: ]

Really all right?

[darkov]

[grimacing:] I-I mean...I just don't know if that's really-- [starting to slide down the chair again.] I mean. Ye-yes. Alright.

[rathercommon]

[ A frustrated, satisfied huff, and a nod. And then she hesitates, and asks - ]

What were we talking about before all that?