[ It's nice to see him smile, especially when it hasn't been as easy the last few months, and maybe it's the one reason she doesn't say the first thing that always finds it's way back to her mind when Luther starts rambling about the good things here. That she'd still rather be there. Even if every part of it contrasted his sentence and his dictate about 'normal,' she would abandon this world in a heartbeat for her entirely powerless, normal little girl.
Claire is a trump card. (How heartless is that.) Claire would wipe that playful twist to the edge of Luther's mouth right off, and then he'd be torn, too. Guilty for both parts. For himself, and for her. But he isn't right now. And she's all too used to just placing her fingertips on the top of that card and sliding it right back down through the cracks in the floorboards of her mind it tried to peek up through.
Instead, she just gives him a look tilted toward disappointedly judgemental. ]
Incorrect.
You just disregarded at least 50% of the population in every city for those statements. The imPorts are not the only people living in them, and there are thousands of thousands of them, millions across this world, without any powers at all.
Yeah, and I wouldn't recommend settling down with them eithe
[ That, too, is something he can't touch. Patrick, Ray, and what in hindsight looked like such terrifically unsuitable matches. Luther bites down on it like he always does. You won't ever find him criticising them; rather the opposite. It's one of the lines he'd drawn for himself.
So. Instead. It's a quick, clumsy segue and a topic change, to the dumb filler show that's on the TV in the room: ]
You know what I do find stupid? This tiny house hunters show. Why would anyone purposefully pay more to cram themselves into 300 square feet?
[ He doesn't respond. He doesn't acknowledge his absolute erasure of so many people and the way he couldn't actually be right. Allison takes it for the win, with another look throwing in his direction at his absolutely anything but subtle sudden shift to the tv program she's been ignoring.
Making her glance briefly toward it. ]
Insanity. The same urge that rules the people who need to keep moving into bigger and bigger mansions simply because their paycheck says they can.
[ Those words domino and hit on another thought of his; something he's been considering saying, a confession, one that wants to blurt itself out. It doesn't feel quite right admitting it here, right in front of Diego — who can probably tell (much to his irritation) whenever Luther and Allison are shooting looks at each other again and essentially whispering behind everyone's backs, and yet Luther can't ever stop himself from doing this, either. ]
Yeah. We never needed forty-seven bedrooms or whatever. And then obviously our other house became too big. I like the size of what we've got now, it feels more sensible.
I kind of miss how it used to be, though.
[ A second after he's sent it, he's already half-wishing he could undo it. Should he have said it? He probably shouldn't have said it. Oh god. He keeps his gaze trained on the TV, not able to look at her just this moment, doesn't want to see her reaction. ]
[ Allison lets her eyes go back to being closed, no more even slightly interested in the tv show than she'd been before this one started. She could be lying down in her room, but she doesn't actually feel compelled to use the energy to move up the stairs yet. She'd have to come back down for dinner later anyway.
Allison feels conflicted about a lot of things the examples make her think about, including, unlisted and unimportant to anyone but her, the little house on Graham Ave. ]
Everyone together, stacked in on top of each other?
[ If they were in separate rooms, and if Luther were actually typing this out, he could have furiously desperately stabbed the SEND button and then flung his communicator under his bed or something, so he doesn't have to stare at the inbox waiting for a response. That would have been easier. He's still half-wishing he could crawl under this armchair and escape.
Instead his whole face feels stiff and rigid with the effort of keeping it motionless, holding his jaw and cheek muscles in perfect stillness, burningly self-conscious. Luther's never been the best at poker faces to begin with. ]
[ For a moment, Allison doesn't so much as breathe. She just stares at those words. Thinking that she was an idiot. Scrolling up and re-reading. Thinking that she probably wouldn't have assumed the other if he'd said it out loud. Thinking that if it was 'just you and me' they probably would have been having this conversation out loud. She wouldn't have felt the need to start a conversation like this.
She has to fight the urge to open her eyes and glance at Diego. Or Luther. For wholly different reasons each. Instead focuses on keeping her eyes closed, fingertips pressing just barely into her stomach, as something to focus on instead. ]
[ Case in point: this whole damn mental network conversation. They're both thinking about it, the corners it backs them into in search of privacy. ]
Yeah. And I mean, it's good, I like having him around. But I got used to things a particular way. It's just... different now.
[ Okay. Shut up, Luther, he thinks, and then forces himself to not touch the message anymore. He's blanked out the last few minutes already, can barely recall what's happening in the show. Are the interviewees on the second or third house? He doesn't know. ]
[ Different, like she doesn't really feel like she's more than another version of herself when she comes home. One she didn't mind, one she'd been for the whole length of time in the big house. But it'd been different, when it was just them, here, in this littler space.
When she hadn't felt like she had to think about it. None of it necessary. It was a little like going back to having bars on windows she'd never noticed she'd thrown them, the shades, and even the glass panes away. Not until they were all suddenly there again. Miniature versions of different kinds of walls. Of ways she was. Or wasn't. ]
[ Luther exhales. And it's— some indefinable weight and tension off his shoulders that he hadn't even realised was there to begin with. A strange unclenching of relief, simpatico, understanding. Knowing that he's not alone and pathetic in being so wistful over the past six months, this half-year they'd had together. That she, miracle of absolute miracles, misses it too.
He doesn't know how to follow up on that, though. What do you say? What useless sentiment do you pour into that black hole, when there's a thousand things he wants to say but can't, let alone in front of someone else? In the end, he settles for: ]
I'm glad it's not just me.
[ And then, abrupt, Luther finally rises from his seat. "This TV show is gonna drive me to drink. Anybody want a nightcap? I'll make some," he says, and vanishes to the kitchen to pour some glasses for all three of them. Something to keep his hands busy, something to distract him from this disorienting conversation and the way his heart's pounding in his chest as if he's run around the block. This whole thing. This whole topic. It's like a bruised wound and he can't let himself touch it too much, for the sting. ]
[ Luther second six words, and then as quickly as they arrive he's speaking out loud, causing her to open her eyes and look toward him, as he's quickly vanishing off to the kitchen. She tosses a "Sure," over the couch, toward the kitchen where he's gone, but without getting up to look or to a follow. Staring at the ceiling as the thought turns over and over, unexpectedly, in her head. Thinking about being smaller. Compressed, and certain things quieter. Here, and in Dallas, too, in its own way.
That she'd found something that hadn't made her feel that way. And it was gone, too. Before she'd even realized she'd had it. That there was no way to get it back in this situation.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obediences) wrote2019-03-28 10:51 am
no subject
Claire is a trump card. (How heartless is that.) Claire would wipe that playful twist to the edge of Luther's mouth right off, and then he'd be torn, too. Guilty for both parts. For himself, and for her. But he isn't right now. And she's all too used to just placing her fingertips on the top of that card and sliding it right back down through the cracks in the floorboards of her mind it tried to peek up through.
Instead, she just gives him a look tilted toward disappointedly judgemental. ]
Incorrect.
You just disregarded at least 50% of the population in every city for those statements. The imPorts are not the only people living in them, and there are thousands of thousands of them, millions across this world, without any powers at all.
no subject
Yeah, and I wouldn't recommend settling down with them eithe[ That, too, is something he can't touch. Patrick, Ray, and what in hindsight looked like such terrifically unsuitable matches. Luther bites down on it like he always does. You won't ever find him criticising them; rather the opposite. It's one of the lines he'd drawn for himself.
So. Instead. It's a quick, clumsy segue and a topic change, to the dumb filler show that's on the TV in the room: ]
You know what I do find stupid? This tiny house hunters show. Why would anyone purposefully pay more to cram themselves into 300 square feet?
no subject
Making her glance briefly toward it. ]
Insanity. The same urge that rules the people who need to keep moving into bigger and bigger mansions simply because their paycheck says they can.
no subject
Yeah. We never needed forty-seven bedrooms or whatever. And then obviously our other house became too big. I like the size of what we've got now, it feels more sensible.
I kind of miss how it used to be, though.
[ A second after he's sent it, he's already half-wishing he could undo it. Should he have said it? He probably shouldn't have said it. Oh god. He keeps his gaze trained on the TV, not able to look at her just this moment, doesn't want to see her reaction. ]
no subject
Allison feels conflicted about a lot of things the examples make her think about,
including, unlisted and unimportant to anyone but her, the little house on Graham Ave. ]
Everyone together, stacked in on top of each other?
no subject
And when it was just you and me.
[ If they were in separate rooms, and if Luther were actually typing this out, he could have furiously desperately stabbed the SEND button and then flung his communicator under his bed or something, so he doesn't have to stare at the inbox waiting for a response. That would have been easier. He's still half-wishing he could crawl under this armchair and escape.
Instead his whole face feels stiff and rigid with the effort of keeping it motionless, holding his jaw and cheek muscles in perfect stillness, burningly self-conscious. Luther's never been the best at poker faces to begin with. ]
no subject
She has to fight the urge to open her eyes and glance at Diego. Or Luther. For wholly different reasons each. Instead focuses on keeping her eyes closed, fingertips pressing just barely into her stomach, as something to focus on instead. ]
It is different.
no subject
Yeah. And I mean, it's good, I like having him around. But I got used to things a particular way. It's just... different now.
[ Okay. Shut up, Luther, he thinks, and then forces himself to not touch the message anymore. He's blanked out the last few minutes already, can barely recall what's happening in the show. Are the interviewees on the second or third house? He doesn't know. ]
no subject
When she hadn't felt like she had to think about it. None of it necessary. It was a little like going back to having bars on windows she'd never noticed she'd thrown them, the shades, and even the glass panes away. Not until they were all suddenly there again. Miniature versions of different kinds of walls. Of ways she was. Or wasn't. ]
Yeah.
I know what you mean.
I miss it, too.
possibly end or yours to wrap?
He doesn't know how to follow up on that, though. What do you say? What useless sentiment do you pour into that black hole, when there's a thousand things he wants to say but can't, let alone in front of someone else? In the end, he settles for: ]
I'm glad it's not just me.
[ And then, abrupt, Luther finally rises from his seat. "This TV show is gonna drive me to drink. Anybody want a nightcap? I'll make some," he says, and vanishes to the kitchen to pour some glasses for all three of them. Something to keep his hands busy, something to distract him from this disorienting conversation and the way his heart's pounding in his chest as if he's run around the block. This whole thing. This whole topic. It's like a bruised wound and he can't let himself touch it too much, for the sting. ]
☂ End
That she'd found something that hadn't made her feel that way.
And it was gone, too. Before she'd even realized she'd had it.
That there was no way to get it back in this situation.
She really could use that drink. ]