My name is Chauncey. I am a retired deserted former member of the Militia of the Citadel of Ricks. Now I am... someone.
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@chaunceyalone
My name is Chauncey. I am a retired deserted former member of the Militia of the Citadel of Ricks. Now I am... someone.
Admin is @foolsrose
Tag Directory
✱˚。⋆ ↪ 𝐀 𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 . ( a collection of mixed action prompts. adjust phrasing as desired. potentially mature content within. )
[ 1. ] sender steps between receiver and an aggressive stranger, voice low and steady: "walk. away."
[ 2. ] sender teaches receiver self-defense, hands firm on their hips as they adjust their stance.
[ 3. ] sender presses their forehead to receiver's, voice breaking as they murmur, "i don't know how to fix this, but i'm not leaving."
[ 4. ] sender shoves receiver out of the way of a projectile.
[ 5. ] sender combs their fingers through receiver's hair in the aftermath of a traumatic event, whispering words of comfort.
[ 6. ] sender whispers, “i’ve thought about this all day,” before pinning receiver against a wall for a searing kiss.
[ 7. ] sender wipes away the receiver’s falling tears with their thumb and whispers, “i’m here."
[ 8. ] sender patches up receiver's wounds, hands trembling as they whisper, "you can't keep doing this to me."
[ 9. ] sender shoves receiver into a hiding spot, hissing, "stay here or i’ll kill you myself."
[ 10. ] sender finds receiver drunk at a party, sighing. "let’s get you home."
[ 11. ] sender is discovered sleepwalking by receiver.
[ 12. ] sender steals receiver’s weapon and presses it to their own chest, daring: “go ahead. prove me right.”
[ 13. ] sender ‘accidentally’ flashes receiver while changing, purring, "see something you like?"
[ 14. ] sender whispers, "you’ll ruin me," before biting receiver’s lip hard enough to draw blood.
[ 15. ] sender takes over while receiver is giving themselves stitches, promising to handle it.
[ 16. ] sender frantically grips receiver by the shoulders, "don't you dare close your eyes."
[ 17. ] sender fixes receiver’s crooked [ tie / jewelry ], teasing, "nervous?"
[ 18. ] sender shakes receiver out of a nightmare, comforting them in the aftermath. "same nightmare again?"
[ 19. ] sender brings hot tea and medication to a [ hungover / ill ] receiver.
[ 20. ] sender invites receiver to dance with them, insisting, "what? this song's perfect."
[ 21. ] sender leaves a single rose on receiver’s windshield with a note: "you’re being followed. smile."
[ 22. ] sender pins receiver’s wrists during a sparring match, grinning, "yield."
[ 23. ] sender playfully steals something from receiver, initiating a chase. "come and get it, then."
[ 24. ] sender drapes a blanket over receiver, accidentally waking them. "sorry, go back to sleep."
[ 25. ] receiver returns home only to find sender already there. "finally."
[ 26. ] after a pleasant night out together, sender asks: "can i kiss you goodnight?"
[ 27. ] sender wipes the blood from receiver's face, murmuring, "let's get you cleaned up."
[ 28. ] sender shoves receiver against a vending machine to dodge security, breathless. "act natural."
[ 29. ] sender wakes receiver in the throes of a nightmare, reassuring them, "it's okay, it's not real."
[ 30. ] sender purposefully antagonizes receiver, hurling insults; "what are you gonna do about it?"
Nonverbal rp starters!
I am basing it off of a meme that was already created! I just don't like the sexual part. Its inspired off of this meme!
My muse: person who receiving ask (say "Swap" to swap roles!)
Normal
☝️ tap my muse on the shoulder
👉 Point something out to my muse
🤙 bump into my muse
📓 pass a object to my muse [specify]
🥖 offer food for my muse
🚪 knock on my muse door
🔫 splash water on my muse
🐶 nuzzle my muse [specify where!]
✂️ cut my muse hair
🐈 lean on my muse
🫂 hug my muse
👔 fix/straighten my muses clothes
🌡 give my sick muse soup!
🌲 get lost in the woods with my muse
Angry
🐺 growl at my muse
😬 snarl/show teeth at my muse
🎯 headbutt my muse
👊 punch my muse
🗣 agressively yell at my muse [can specify what is said]
🗯 threaten my muse [can specify what is said]
🫸 push my muse
🔪 point a weapon at muse [can specify]
😡 death glare / glare at my muse
👿 slam my muse on the ground / wall
🐻 claw / bite my muse full force
Angst
👩⚕️ try to treat my muses wounds
😨 try to calm my muse during an overwhelming moment
⛓️ try to physically refrain my muse from doing something dumb / they might regret
😺 hold my muse after they woke up from a nightmare
😭 hold my muse while they are crying
😣 find my my muse that been missing a few days
☠️ find my muse near a dead body
⏰️ wake my muse up from a nightmare
😴 find my muse passed out
Silly
😁 bite my muse
👏 tickle my muse
😱 scare my muse
🤣 prank my muse [specify!]
👅 show my muse a silly face
🥸 wear my muses clothes
🌼 put a flower in my muses hair
🃏 play a game with my muse [specify!]
👃boop my muse nose
🤝 scoop my muse up
🫳 tug my muses clothes / hair
👻 hide from my muse
🥁 playfully pat my muse head like a drum
Log Day ???
Well, this idea has flown out the window. I don’t know when I stopped updating this log, or what day I would be on. I should really date these properly, but it gets confusing with different dimensions following different dates. Perhaps I should stop logging the date altogether, although I would like an indication of the passage of time between entries.
In any case, things with Skittle went excellently. When Skittle left because of the heist thing, it was a bit awkward, but I managed.
In the time between now and my last entry, Skittle also informed Mortimer of my existence (alive), and we made contact. He expressed a desire to forgive me and to get to be on speaking terms with me. The logistics took a while to sort out, but we finally did meet in person.
This afternoon, Skittle, Mortimer, Dawn, and I sat down and had dinner at the house of a Rick named Bo, and his son, Killian. Mortimer looked rough, as expected. Some of the kindness had left his eyes, and the gentleness that used to be so easy for him seemed to take some effort. But he was gentle all the same. It was so sweet to see how he’d connected with Killian. Apparently the two of them shared an original Rick and consider each other brothers.
I’m glad he has a brother who won’t stab a knife in his back. I… I’m not jealous. I don’t… wish I could still cling on to him like that, if I wanted to. As much as Skittle tries to downplay what I did, I still chose my own life over theirs. I don’t deserve to consider him a brother. There’s no one left I can. It’s alright. Clones were never meant to have families in the first place.
Um, too much happened during the dinner to write it all here. Bo is a great cook, and it’s so nice to not have to hide, to see him and Dawn again. Mortimer and Dawn, I mean. Although meeting Bo was nice, too.
At the end of everything, Bo pulled me aside and told me that Mortimer and Dawn hoped I could stay with him, so that I could be in the same curve. I asked if he and Killian and Skittle were all alright with it, and he confirmed. He just didn’t want to pressure me in front of everyone. I accepted. It was probably time I stopped taking up space on the couch anyway. As much as Rick and Skittle insist they don’t mind, I couldn’t help but feel how temporary my space felt. And how little I could offer them in return.
I suppose not much is changing in a way, I’m still relying on others’ generosity, but at least Bo is an adult choosing to ~~adopt~~ house a child. Staying with Skittle felt too much like burdening our friendship with her needing to provide much more to me than I could offer in return, when I feel like our friendship should be as even as possible. She seems like a wonderful peer and friend, and I don’t want to waste that seeing her as some kind of mentor or authority.
Bo, on the other hand, is a fresh person with no preconceptions of what our relationship should or can be. He is not a peer. He is a Rick. He seems kind enough, and I can get myself out of trouble if he is not. The fact that Dawn is willing to agree to this arrangement, however reluctantly, is a good indication that he has shown no signs of obvious malice.
Dawn is staying over with me for the first night. Killian and Bo have shown me around the house and been incredibly kind. Skittle and Mortimer have gone home, but I will see them again shortly. At least, I hope so. I hope I can visit Skittle’s family again as well. Jerry, Rick, Summer, and both Beths were incredibly kind to me and I hope I can get to know them even now that we do not live together.
I feel… bittersweet. It’s good that I’m so close to Mortimer again. It’s good that I’m in a more permanent situation. It’s a lot of change. Some parts of me don’t feel like I deserve forgiveness so soon. I’m feeling how I did when I first moved in with Skittle; this is all a wonderful dream that I’m going to wake up from.
I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. I had started to feel so… important at the Citadel. Even if it was meaningless, it’s hard to lose that. I had a purpose. Now I rely on others’ kindness. And I don’t know when or if I’ll be able to stand on my own.
Log summary: Mortimer and I had dinner. Morti is staying at my new place. I have a new place. Old memories are resurfacing. Old feelings are resurfacing. I’m happy I don’t have to try to hide.
End Log
hi. um. sorry. that this took so long and. everything else. I keep trying to write and rewrite what I want to say but I... there's so much that it feels like trying to convey any of it is like, minimizing it, or an insult of some kind. Like I don't know, trying to show you what the ocean is like when I only have a bucket... that's rambling again. You can tell I've had time to over think this. I think Dawn and Autumn are really worried about you. I am too. Oh god, this is really long and not nearly long enough and... I miss you. I miss who you thought I was too.
Chauncey. You forgot to sign this but I know its you. I... the bucket metaphor is good. I feel like that too. I... except it's like I haven't even seen the ocean. I don't know what I want to saym I don't know how I feel. It's probably for the best if things stay as they were. I don't... I can't... just leave me be. Please.
If that's what you really wanted, I would. There's so much I can never make up to you and so much I can't take back and everything that I would do almost anything to try. You know I'm not good at keeping my word but I... I want to. I really do. But, I know you're just saying that because you're scared. You're scared of getting to close, you're scared of hurting people... do you remember how distant I was when we first met? How long it took me to warm up to you? I was scared of the same thing. that's actually a terrible example because of what happened next but... I guess that's actually part of the point. I was scared to be your friend because I knew I would hurt you, and yet, I... is it terrible of me to say that I think you still would've wanted to be my friend if you knew how it ended?
I--um, maybe this is silly, but your promise was that you'd kill me someday. Not today. Let's stay friends, live long and happy lives, and then when we're old and gray and I have cancer or something, you can put arsenic in my tea and we can laugh about it like an old joke. Every minute I get outside of the militia is a minute longer than I thought I'd have. I'd like to spend at least a few of them with you.
Fuck, yes, of course I'm scared! There is a deep terrible part of me that just wants to... it just wants too.. i hate tahat part. you this but its strong. but its so strong chauncey. Im scardcx. Please. please Ims casred. Fuck sorry. Sorry. Look I can't . I'm not thinking rihght noe . i miss you. i just i cant i cant. I wouldve i think. i dont think it would be such a betrayal. i dont know. i think i still wouldve thought that i could change it somehow that ic omeould chang you. that i could change this. i wouldnt see it . i sstill wouldn't see.
i dont. i dont see the poitn. not in any of this/. I don't understand hay your saying. how could you forecie me. That would be nice. I... you broke your promise to me, I can break my promise to you. We can stand on even ground.
(translation below cut)
Yeah. I. I think I'm going to be nervous until we actually meet up again. maybe. maybe even after that. its going to be okay though. it'll be okay. I know you're scared, it's okay. im scared too. im willing to take the risk okay? I don't want to be scared of you my whole life. I don't want to avoid you my whole life.
You chose to believe in me when I didn't deserve it. I can believe in you now.
I know you hate doing stuff for you, so do it for me, okay? I'm used to being worried about me. I don't like being worried about you. I know the risks, okay? I haven't forgotten your voice. I haven't forgotten your face. I'm taking this risk. Of my own volition. If something happens to me, it's my fault, not yours.
This is the stupidest fulcking aregument ive ever herard. God youre so sotupid. of course itd be my fucking fault. its always my fault. But. If you'd feel better... I'll start trying to het myself suin a place to make arrange ments .
This is the stupidest fucking argument ive ever heard. God youre so sotupid. of course itd be my fucking fault. its always my fault. But. If you'd feel better... I'll start trying to get myself in a place to make arrangements .
Thank you. I mean it. I'll see you soon.
hi. um. sorry. that this took so long and. everything else. I keep trying to write and rewrite what I want to say but I... there's so much that it feels like trying to convey any of it is like, minimizing it, or an insult of some kind. Like I don't know, trying to show you what the ocean is like when I only have a bucket... that's rambling again. You can tell I've had time to over think this. I think Dawn and Autumn are really worried about you. I am too. Oh god, this is really long and not nearly long enough and... I miss you. I miss who you thought I was too.
Chauncey. You forgot to sign this but I know its you. I... the bucket metaphor is good. I feel like that too. I... except it's like I haven't even seen the ocean. I don't know what I want to saym I don't know how I feel. It's probably for the best if things stay as they were. I don't... I can't... just leave me be. Please.
If that's what you really wanted, I would. There's so much I can never make up to you and so much I can't take back and everything that I would do almost anything to try. You know I'm not good at keeping my word but I... I want to. I really do. But, I know you're just saying that because you're scared. You're scared of getting to close, you're scared of hurting people... do you remember how distant I was when we first met? How long it took me to warm up to you? I was scared of the same thing. that's actually a terrible example because of what happened next but... I guess that's actually part of the point. I was scared to be your friend because I knew I would hurt you, and yet, I... is it terrible of me to say that I think you still would've wanted to be my friend if you knew how it ended?
I--um, maybe this is silly, but your promise was that you'd kill me someday. Not today. Let's stay friends, live long and happy lives, and then when we're old and gray and I have cancer or something, you can put arsenic in my tea and we can laugh about it like an old joke. Every minute I get outside of the militia is a minute longer than I thought I'd have. I'd like to spend at least a few of them with you.
Fuck, yes, of course I'm scared! There is a deep terrible part of me that just wants to... it just wants too.. i hate tahat part. you this but its strong. but its so strong chauncey. Im scardcx. Please. please Ims casred. Fuck sorry. Sorry. Look I can't . I'm not thinking rihght noe . i miss you. i just i cant i cant. I wouldve i think. i dont think it would be such a betrayal. i dont know. i think i still wouldve thought that i could change it somehow that ic omeould chang you. that i could change this. i wouldnt see it . i sstill wouldn't see.
i dont. i dont see the poitn. not in any of this/. I don't understand hay your saying. how could you forecie me. That would be nice. I... you broke your promise to me, I can break my promise to you. We can stand on even ground.
(translation below cut)
Yeah. I. I think I'm going to be nervous until we actually meet up again. maybe. maybe even after that. its going to be okay though. it'll be okay. I know you're scared, it's okay. im scared too. im willing to take the risk okay? I don't want to be scared of you my whole life. I don't want to avoid you my whole life.
You chose to believe in me when I didn't deserve it. I can believe in you now.
I know you hate doing stuff for you, so do it for me, okay? I'm used to being worried about me. I don't like being worried about you. I know the risks, okay? I haven't forgotten your voice. I haven't forgotten your face. I'm taking this risk. Of my own volition. If something happens to me, it's my fault, not yours.
hi. um. sorry. that this took so long and. everything else. I keep trying to write and rewrite what I want to say but I... there's so much that it feels like trying to convey any of it is like, minimizing it, or an insult of some kind. Like I don't know, trying to show you what the ocean is like when I only have a bucket... that's rambling again. You can tell I've had time to over think this. I think Dawn and Autumn are really worried about you. I am too. Oh god, this is really long and not nearly long enough and... I miss you. I miss who you thought I was too.
Chauncey. You forgot to sign this but I know its you. I... the bucket metaphor is good. I feel like that too. I... except it's like I haven't even seen the ocean. I don't know what I want to saym I don't know how I feel. It's probably for the best if things stay as they were. I don't... I can't... just leave me be. Please.
If that's what you really wanted, I would. There's so much I can never make up to you and so much I can't take back and everything that I would do almost anything to try. You know I'm not good at keeping my word but I... I want to. I really do. But, I know you're just saying that because you're scared. You're scared of getting to close, you're scared of hurting people... do you remember how distant I was when we first met? How long it took me to warm up to you? I was scared of the same thing. that's actually a terrible example because of what happened next but... I guess that's actually part of the point. I was scared to be your friend because I knew I would hurt you, and yet, I... is it terrible of me to say that I think you still would've wanted to be my friend if you knew how it ended?
I--um, maybe this is silly, but your promise was that you'd kill me someday. Not today. Let's stay friends, live long and happy lives, and then when we're old and gray and I have cancer or something, you can put arsenic in my tea and we can laugh about it like an old joke. Every minute I get outside of the militia is a minute longer than I thought I'd have. I'd like to spend at least a few of them with you.
(@msc137)
Skittle bit her lip and slid onto the couch next to Chauncey, glancing up at the television. "Hey, uh, whatcha watchin'? Anything good?" she asked, nervous.
She hoped that she wasn't being too obvious. It killed her to disturb his peace like this. But his peace had already been disturbed.
“I'm watching some old Stampy videos. Like, uh, Minecraft and stuff." Chauncey said. He didn't know what was wrong, but he could tell Skittle was nervous.
She probably wanted to ask for something but was scared because he was so… he was small and jumpy. It didn't seem like she liked asking him for anything. "I can totally move to the room if you wanna use the TV,” He guessed at what she might be asking about so he could respond. He tried to push down the nagging feeling that this was bigger than that.
"No, no, no, that's okay!" she quickly clarified. "Stampy is great."
Skittle used to be obsessed with the Lovely World series. It had been a hyperfixation for her, watching every episode, completely out of order, and memorizing every little tradition and running gag.
She had seen them all so many times, in fact, that she could already recognize which episode Chauncey was on at the moment. 355, Friends And Foes, where it's revealed that one of Stampy's helpers had been secretly working for the enemy the whole time.
"Um, I, uh, do you think you could pause it, maybe? I wanted to talk to you about something, if that's okay."
"Oh, uh, yeah. I… was considering skipping the rest of this episode anyway.” The bubble of nerves rose in his chest, and he tried to convince himself that it was unjustified.
Chauncey turned the TV off and turned to face Skittle. “What did you want to talk about?” Maybe she needed him to find somewhere else to go. He'd been staying there a long time, after all. It would make sense they didn't want to deal with that burden anymore.
Skittle was dealing with her own bubble of nerves. Regret weighed on her shoulders. But she couldn't do anything besides this. Nobody could save her from the grave she'd dug herself.
"Um. Jeez, this is hard," she muttered. Chauncey's mistrust wasn't misplaced. "So, um, the other day, Mortimer asked me to come over, and, help him make some pottery."
Tell the story from the beginning. Make every detail of it known. Leave nothing out. Chauncey deserved the whole truth.
Chauncey’s whole body stiffened. He had been anxious before, but it was the sort of easy anxiety he’d learned to handle every day. This was different. Skittle had talked with Mortimer, and now she needed to tell him something. Urgently enough to make him pause his show. The bubble in his chest burst, and he was prepared to deal with a crisis.
“Full report later.” He said. He felt himself transported back into the body and mind of a commander on the Citadel. “Did you give him the intel?” Chauncey didn’t want the full truth. He wanted to figure out how much of the world was crashing down, and how quickly.
He wasn’t anxious anymore. He was numb. He could figure out how he felt about this later. For now, his focus would remain on staying alive.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
"I- yeah. I'm- I'm so fucking sorry, he, he missed you, he- I couldn't, I was drunk, and, he- he doesn't want to hurt you. I swear he doesn't. Chaunce, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry-"
She cut herself off, studied the look on her friend's face. Replayed his words, his tone of voice.
"Yes. Y-yes, sir, I gave him the intel. It was a lapse of judgement. No- no danger is present, to my knowledge."
Meet him where he's at. This wasn't about her.
Chauncey nodded gravely. “Right. May I have that report in writing?” He paused. “When you have time at your disposal.”
“We should prepare for the worst eventuality,” Chauncey said. It made him feel marginally better to plan like this, like he had some kind of control. It made him feel busy, like he didn’t have time to worry or be sad or crumble apart.
He paused, considering his desired outcome. “Did it seem like there was a possibility of amnesty? Could we perhaps meet to discuss a ceasefire?”
His eyes were so deadly serious that it would have been almost amusing on such a small face, had it not been sad and unnerving. They were laser-focused and precise. He was scowling, but it was in thought rather than genuine emotion.
"Right, I'll- I'll write that report as soon as I get a chance. Sir."
If this was easier, if this made the horrendous betrayal Skittle had committed more bearable for him, she would follow his lead.
She steadied herself, threw a filter over her face, straightened her back and squared her shoulders.
"Yes, I believe he's amenable to a meeting of that nature, sir. Although, I'd predict that he would only want to do so if you would like to meet with him as well."
This felt wrong. Boiling down the complex interpersonal conflicts to a military dispute. But who was she to have any feelings about it at all? Her having feelings about it was what made everything fall apart in the first place.
"His- his current location is not known. But I don't believe he's a threat. At least, not to anyone besides himself."
“At ease.” The mannerisms felt stiff and unnatural from Skittle. Chauncey was falling into what was most natural for him, but he didn’t need her to mimic him.
“He went missing…” Chauncey translated quietly. His voice was gentle, and his face softened for a brief moment. He let a little bit of feeling seep back in. His two selves blurred along the edges, and he felt unsure who he was supposed to be. He felt concern for his old friend. Mortimer might be a danger to himself again. And it was still his fault.
He… wasn’t scared. Or he was so terrified it numbed him. It was hard to tell.
Even if Mortimer wanted to kill him, the Curve would stop him. Everything was okay. He couldn’t cry. Not of fear, or worry, or relief. It wasn’t right. Crying solved nothing. They had to nail down a plan. Then, when he was alone, he could cry.
He snapped himself back out of the feeling. Now was the time to act, not panic. “Do we have a channel of communication available to us?”
"Yeah. Yeah, he. Has a blog of his own, now. And, I think it'd make him really happy to talk to you."
Deep breath, and, "He misses you. That's, why he wanted to make pottery in the first place."
There. That was the important part. That was what he needed to know the most.
"I can, hug you. If you want. If that'd make you feel any better. If you're still okay with getting hugs from," from a traitor, "from me."
Chauncey still didn’t feel like he had the ability to fully process the information he was receiving. He took a shallow, shaky breath.
Hugs were so… vulnerable. Entangled around each other like that, it was incredibly easy to be thrown off balance, difficult to attack or defend or aim, and altogether un-ideal for the state of mind Chauncey was in. He recoiled, slightly, at the thought. Hugs were nice when everyone was happy and he felt safe. He did not feel safe.
He shot a look at Skittle’s face as he flinched. In all honesty, he hadn’t started emotionally processing Skittle’s involvement at all. His reluctance had nothing to do with who the hug was from. He knew she’d take it that way unless he did something to rectify it. He tried to think of a form of physical affection that he would want. Some way to say it was just about the hug itself, not her.
Silence hung thick around them as he thought. Chauncey’s eyes slid into his lap.
There was one form of physical comfort that he’d like right now. Memories of sparring with his batchmates flung to his mind. Leaving everything else outside, clearing his mind. Sparring someone showed that you trusted they wouldn’t actually hurt you. You trusted they were competent enough to defend themself. It was something solid. That was what he wanted.
Unfortunately, he put much less thought into how he presented this idea to Skittle.
His eyes remained serious and distant as he stared directly at her. His happiness to have come up with an idea caused a smile to tug on his lips. Combined, the expression seemed maniacal. Cold, yet eager.
He phrased his request in the same way he would to one of his old batchmates. A two-word, easy phrase. One he forgot was not universally understood as what he meant. “Fight me.”
She quickly stood up, taking a big step back. She was shaking. Her heart free-fell into her stomach.
Without realizing it, she had landed in a defensive stance. Fear and instinct taking hold. Her arms hovered uncertainly, palms out and towards the ground, elbows bent at her hips.
Of course a hug would be unwanted. Of course he wanted nothing to do with her.
And after what she'd done, wasn't it justified? After the utter destruction of his trust, didn't he have every right to be furious?
No apology would be enough. Skittle could see that, now. He deserved a chance to hurt her, the way she'd hurt him.
Her hands fell to her sides. Her gaze fell to the ground. "Okay."
She swallowed, thick, heavy. "I think I know a place. Let me- let me get my portal gun. I left it upstairs."
Another step backwards, waiting for his confirmation before turning around.
Chauncey could see how apprehensive Skittle looked. The memories of how the new recruits would look at him as a lieutenant flooded his memories. He ran back inside himself, quickly. If the situation wasn’t so tense, it would have almost been funny how quickly he deflated. How quickly his smile dropped. How quickly that focused look left his eyes.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to!” he said quickly. He wasn’t a soldier anymore. Just a child, now. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.” The tears he held back earlier started to form, even as he fought them again. He let himself go completely, sobbing and burying his face in his hands.
Of course Skittle wouldn’t want to fight him. Of course Skittle saw him as a sniveling baby who needed protection. No wonder she was reluctant. What reason had he given her to trust him enough? Here he was, weak and useless. Sobbing on the couch in front of a paused TV.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could barely move. His hands slid down his face and he started desperately rubbing it, trying to remove the tearstains of inadequacy, but more kept flowing down in their place..
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice wavering, resolve collapsing. As a soldier, a hug sounded vulnerable, dangerous, foreign, and revolting. Now that he was letting himself be a child again, he wanted nothing more. He couldn’t stop himself from choking out one more apology before whispering “A hug is fine too.”
It was a matter of seconds for her to rush to his side, her own anxiety forgotten. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, gently leaned him towards her. "Hey, hey, Chaunce, it's okay. It's okay, Chaunce. I've got you."
He felt small in her hold, sniffling and sobbing. Like her, a couple years ago, crying alone in her room, over something she couldn't even remember now. She wouldn't let him face this alone. As long as he let her, she would be there for him.
"Everything is gonna be okay. You don't owe me an apology. You don't owe anyone an apology. You've been through so much. I can't imagine how long you've been holding things in."
Gently, carefully, she rubbed circles in his back with her thumb. "Go ahead and let it all out, okay? Cry as much as you want. I won't let anything happen to you, ever again. I promise, I'll keep you safe, as long as I live."
Be strong. Be brave. Protect him. Not because he can't take care of himself, but because he shouldn't have to.
The terrible question bubbled up to the surface and left Chauncey’s mouth before he could stop it. “Why?” he asked. Why did Skittle care so much? Why did she vow to protect him? Why was she here? What had he done to make himself worthy of her protection? He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.
“No promises, please,” he choked out. He looked up at her, a shaky smile reaching across his face as he tried to make a joke. “I think I’ve had enough of those for a lifetime.”
He felt a little better. A little warmer. Sobs of relief and regret and anger and fear shook his body as he let himself sink into her fully. He gripped onto her shoulder. She was solid. She was real. She was here. Even if he didn’t know why, even if he didn’t think he deserved it, she was still here. His fingers dug into her shoulder. He didn’t want to hurt her. He just wanted to grab onto something, anything stable and never let go.
He couldn’t let go. It must have been painful for her, but he couldn’t make himself lose his grasp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. He was hurting her. He hurt everyone. He buried his face into her shirt.
"It's okay, I'm okay. Hold as tight as you want. I can take it." It did hurt, a little bit, but she didn't mind. "I'm not going anywhere."
A little chuckle, as she continued to run her hand up and down his back. "Alright, no promises. I, heh, I promise not to make any more promises?" Maybe the joke was shitty, but no one could say she didn't try.
His question made her voice fall low, thoughtful. He deserved a good answer.
"I guess. Well."
"I met you, and. You were hurting. Young. Never got a chance to be a kid. You had to learn how to fight. How to make hard decisions. How to juggle life and death every day like it's nothing."
She sighed, softly.
"A constant battle. Death all around you. Either suck it up or die like the rest of them. Authorities abusing their power over you, the very systems of the universe conspiring to make everything so much worse."
A long moment.
"I, I couldn't bear letting you go through that alone. The- the way I have. I do it because you remind me of me, and you don't deserve what I went through."
“You didn’t either,” Chauncey said softly. He softened his grip and sat up a bit. He rubbed his face with his sleeve.
A shadow of a smile started to form on Chauncey’s face. He felt so… seen. Most of the time, if anyone said he was hurting, it just felt like they saw him as weak, as an object of pity. But now, it felt like a recognition, a mirror, a light.
“Thank you,” he said. For some reason, listing to her describing everything just made him feel better. Less alone. Like she understood. Like they were going to make it through this.
“Do you feel alone now?” he asked. If he really did remind her of herself, and she was okay, maybe one day he could be okay too.
"I, I know I didn't. But, I forget sometimes. We can help each other remember."
A matching smile crept onto her face as well. The two of them, kindred spirits in their stories. Holding the same hurts.
Like brothers.
She reached to the coffee table and tugged free a tissue, and then passed it to Chauncey. Giving him the tools for comfort. And, she realized, she wasn't doing it because it was easier than using the tools herself. She was doing it because she trusted him, to use them for himself better than she ever could.
"Sometimes. But, well. Not as much as I used to. It gets a little better every day."
“Remembering together…” Chauncey paused. “I’d like that.”
He was slightly calmer, now. The still, trained, manufactured calm from earlier started to make its way into a genuine feeling of hope. He took the tissue and wiped his eyes. He stared back down at his knees.
He laughed, softly. It wasn’t joyful, but it wasn’t strained or unnatural either. Doubt and relief came flooding to the surface all at once. He looked back up at Skittle. “Thank you,” he said again. He wasn’t sure what else there was to say.
She bit her lip.
"I... don't know if I really deserve a thanks. I still. Broke your trust. Y'know? I got drunk and couldn't keep my mouth shut. It was shitty of me. I'm sorry for that. You don't have to forgive me."
All this protective instinct, churning into guilt.
She hugged her arms, sighed again.
"I can tell you what his blog is if you want it. Don't feel bad if you don't."
He smiled as he looked at her. "You know, that's actually what I was thanking you for. I don't think I would've ever been brave enough to... show my face ever again. I just..." He sniffled. "I think it's almost over now. Because of you. Thank you."
He nodded. "Can you write it down?"
He sighed. Something like this, where everything was messy and confusing and he didn't know how he was supposed to feel or who he was supposed to be, made him want to try alcohol. That was what everyone else seemed to turn to when emotions got this high. But admitting that thought to someone who was actively dealing with an alcohol problem was probably a bad idea.
"You don't have to forgive me for living in your house and expecting you to lie to your grieving friend either," he retorted. "But you will," he said softly. "And I will. We're bred for it." The last sentence was somewhere between a grim truth and a dark joke.
(@msc137)
Skittle bit her lip and slid onto the couch next to Chauncey, glancing up at the television. "Hey, uh, whatcha watchin'? Anything good?" she asked, nervous.
She hoped that she wasn't being too obvious. It killed her to disturb his peace like this. But his peace had already been disturbed.
“I'm watching some old Stampy videos. Like, uh, Minecraft and stuff." Chauncey said. He didn't know what was wrong, but he could tell Skittle was nervous.
She probably wanted to ask for something but was scared because he was so… he was small and jumpy. It didn't seem like she liked asking him for anything. "I can totally move to the room if you wanna use the TV,” He guessed at what she might be asking about so he could respond. He tried to push down the nagging feeling that this was bigger than that.
"No, no, no, that's okay!" she quickly clarified. "Stampy is great."
Skittle used to be obsessed with the Lovely World series. It had been a hyperfixation for her, watching every episode, completely out of order, and memorizing every little tradition and running gag.
She had seen them all so many times, in fact, that she could already recognize which episode Chauncey was on at the moment. 355, Friends And Foes, where it's revealed that one of Stampy's helpers had been secretly working for the enemy the whole time.
"Um, I, uh, do you think you could pause it, maybe? I wanted to talk to you about something, if that's okay."
"Oh, uh, yeah. I… was considering skipping the rest of this episode anyway.” The bubble of nerves rose in his chest, and he tried to convince himself that it was unjustified.
Chauncey turned the TV off and turned to face Skittle. “What did you want to talk about?” Maybe she needed him to find somewhere else to go. He'd been staying there a long time, after all. It would make sense they didn't want to deal with that burden anymore.
Skittle was dealing with her own bubble of nerves. Regret weighed on her shoulders. But she couldn't do anything besides this. Nobody could save her from the grave she'd dug herself.
"Um. Jeez, this is hard," she muttered. Chauncey's mistrust wasn't misplaced. "So, um, the other day, Mortimer asked me to come over, and, help him make some pottery."
Tell the story from the beginning. Make every detail of it known. Leave nothing out. Chauncey deserved the whole truth.
Chauncey’s whole body stiffened. He had been anxious before, but it was the sort of easy anxiety he’d learned to handle every day. This was different. Skittle had talked with Mortimer, and now she needed to tell him something. Urgently enough to make him pause his show. The bubble in his chest burst, and he was prepared to deal with a crisis.
“Full report later.” He said. He felt himself transported back into the body and mind of a commander on the Citadel. “Did you give him the intel?” Chauncey didn’t want the full truth. He wanted to figure out how much of the world was crashing down, and how quickly.
He wasn’t anxious anymore. He was numb. He could figure out how he felt about this later. For now, his focus would remain on staying alive.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
"I- yeah. I'm- I'm so fucking sorry, he, he missed you, he- I couldn't, I was drunk, and, he- he doesn't want to hurt you. I swear he doesn't. Chaunce, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry-"
She cut herself off, studied the look on her friend's face. Replayed his words, his tone of voice.
"Yes. Y-yes, sir, I gave him the intel. It was a lapse of judgement. No- no danger is present, to my knowledge."
Meet him where he's at. This wasn't about her.
Chauncey nodded gravely. “Right. May I have that report in writing?” He paused. “When you have time at your disposal.”
“We should prepare for the worst eventuality,” Chauncey said. It made him feel marginally better to plan like this, like he had some kind of control. It made him feel busy, like he didn’t have time to worry or be sad or crumble apart.
He paused, considering his desired outcome. “Did it seem like there was a possibility of amnesty? Could we perhaps meet to discuss a ceasefire?”
His eyes were so deadly serious that it would have been almost amusing on such a small face, had it not been sad and unnerving. They were laser-focused and precise. He was scowling, but it was in thought rather than genuine emotion.
"Right, I'll- I'll write that report as soon as I get a chance. Sir."
If this was easier, if this made the horrendous betrayal Skittle had committed more bearable for him, she would follow his lead.
She steadied herself, threw a filter over her face, straightened her back and squared her shoulders.
"Yes, I believe he's amenable to a meeting of that nature, sir. Although, I'd predict that he would only want to do so if you would like to meet with him as well."
This felt wrong. Boiling down the complex interpersonal conflicts to a military dispute. But who was she to have any feelings about it at all? Her having feelings about it was what made everything fall apart in the first place.
"His- his current location is not known. But I don't believe he's a threat. At least, not to anyone besides himself."
“At ease.” The mannerisms felt stiff and unnatural from Skittle. Chauncey was falling into what was most natural for him, but he didn’t need her to mimic him.
“He went missing…” Chauncey translated quietly. His voice was gentle, and his face softened for a brief moment. He let a little bit of feeling seep back in. His two selves blurred along the edges, and he felt unsure who he was supposed to be. He felt concern for his old friend. Mortimer might be a danger to himself again. And it was still his fault.
He… wasn’t scared. Or he was so terrified it numbed him. It was hard to tell.
Even if Mortimer wanted to kill him, the Curve would stop him. Everything was okay. He couldn’t cry. Not of fear, or worry, or relief. It wasn’t right. Crying solved nothing. They had to nail down a plan. Then, when he was alone, he could cry.
He snapped himself back out of the feeling. Now was the time to act, not panic. “Do we have a channel of communication available to us?”
"Yeah. Yeah, he. Has a blog of his own, now. And, I think it'd make him really happy to talk to you."
Deep breath, and, "He misses you. That's, why he wanted to make pottery in the first place."
There. That was the important part. That was what he needed to know the most.
"I can, hug you. If you want. If that'd make you feel any better. If you're still okay with getting hugs from," from a traitor, "from me."
Chauncey still didn’t feel like he had the ability to fully process the information he was receiving. He took a shallow, shaky breath.
Hugs were so… vulnerable. Entangled around each other like that, it was incredibly easy to be thrown off balance, difficult to attack or defend or aim, and altogether un-ideal for the state of mind Chauncey was in. He recoiled, slightly, at the thought. Hugs were nice when everyone was happy and he felt safe. He did not feel safe.
He shot a look at Skittle’s face as he flinched. In all honesty, he hadn’t started emotionally processing Skittle’s involvement at all. His reluctance had nothing to do with who the hug was from. He knew she’d take it that way unless he did something to rectify it. He tried to think of a form of physical affection that he would want. Some way to say it was just about the hug itself, not her.
Silence hung thick around them as he thought. Chauncey’s eyes slid into his lap.
There was one form of physical comfort that he’d like right now. Memories of sparring with his batchmates flung to his mind. Leaving everything else outside, clearing his mind. Sparring someone showed that you trusted they wouldn’t actually hurt you. You trusted they were competent enough to defend themself. It was something solid. That was what he wanted.
Unfortunately, he put much less thought into how he presented this idea to Skittle.
His eyes remained serious and distant as he stared directly at her. His happiness to have come up with an idea caused a smile to tug on his lips. Combined, the expression seemed maniacal. Cold, yet eager.
He phrased his request in the same way he would to one of his old batchmates. A two-word, easy phrase. One he forgot was not universally understood as what he meant. “Fight me.”
She quickly stood up, taking a big step back. She was shaking. Her heart free-fell into her stomach.
Without realizing it, she had landed in a defensive stance. Fear and instinct taking hold. Her arms hovered uncertainly, palms out and towards the ground, elbows bent at her hips.
Of course a hug would be unwanted. Of course he wanted nothing to do with her.
And after what she'd done, wasn't it justified? After the utter destruction of his trust, didn't he have every right to be furious?
No apology would be enough. Skittle could see that, now. He deserved a chance to hurt her, the way she'd hurt him.
Her hands fell to her sides. Her gaze fell to the ground. "Okay."
She swallowed, thick, heavy. "I think I know a place. Let me- let me get my portal gun. I left it upstairs."
Another step backwards, waiting for his confirmation before turning around.
Chauncey could see how apprehensive Skittle looked. The memories of how the new recruits would look at him as a lieutenant flooded his memories. He ran back inside himself, quickly. If the situation wasn’t so tense, it would have almost been funny how quickly he deflated. How quickly his smile dropped. How quickly that focused look left his eyes.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to!” he said quickly. He wasn’t a soldier anymore. Just a child, now. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.” The tears he held back earlier started to form, even as he fought them again. He let himself go completely, sobbing and burying his face in his hands.
Of course Skittle wouldn’t want to fight him. Of course Skittle saw him as a sniveling baby who needed protection. No wonder she was reluctant. What reason had he given her to trust him enough? Here he was, weak and useless. Sobbing on the couch in front of a paused TV.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could barely move. His hands slid down his face and he started desperately rubbing it, trying to remove the tearstains of inadequacy, but more kept flowing down in their place..
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice wavering, resolve collapsing. As a soldier, a hug sounded vulnerable, dangerous, foreign, and revolting. Now that he was letting himself be a child again, he wanted nothing more. He couldn’t stop himself from choking out one more apology before whispering “A hug is fine too.”
It was a matter of seconds for her to rush to his side, her own anxiety forgotten. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, gently leaned him towards her. "Hey, hey, Chaunce, it's okay. It's okay, Chaunce. I've got you."
He felt small in her hold, sniffling and sobbing. Like her, a couple years ago, crying alone in her room, over something she couldn't even remember now. She wouldn't let him face this alone. As long as he let her, she would be there for him.
"Everything is gonna be okay. You don't owe me an apology. You don't owe anyone an apology. You've been through so much. I can't imagine how long you've been holding things in."
Gently, carefully, she rubbed circles in his back with her thumb. "Go ahead and let it all out, okay? Cry as much as you want. I won't let anything happen to you, ever again. I promise, I'll keep you safe, as long as I live."
Be strong. Be brave. Protect him. Not because he can't take care of himself, but because he shouldn't have to.
The terrible question bubbled up to the surface and left Chauncey’s mouth before he could stop it. “Why?” he asked. Why did Skittle care so much? Why did she vow to protect him? Why was she here? What had he done to make himself worthy of her protection? He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.
“No promises, please,” he choked out. He looked up at her, a shaky smile reaching across his face as he tried to make a joke. “I think I’ve had enough of those for a lifetime.”
He felt a little better. A little warmer. Sobs of relief and regret and anger and fear shook his body as he let himself sink into her fully. He gripped onto her shoulder. She was solid. She was real. She was here. Even if he didn’t know why, even if he didn’t think he deserved it, she was still here. His fingers dug into her shoulder. He didn’t want to hurt her. He just wanted to grab onto something, anything stable and never let go.
He couldn’t let go. It must have been painful for her, but he couldn’t make himself lose his grasp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. He was hurting her. He hurt everyone. He buried his face into her shirt.
"It's okay, I'm okay. Hold as tight as you want. I can take it." It did hurt, a little bit, but she didn't mind. "I'm not going anywhere."
A little chuckle, as she continued to run her hand up and down his back. "Alright, no promises. I, heh, I promise not to make any more promises?" Maybe the joke was shitty, but no one could say she didn't try.
His question made her voice fall low, thoughtful. He deserved a good answer.
"I guess. Well."
"I met you, and. You were hurting. Young. Never got a chance to be a kid. You had to learn how to fight. How to make hard decisions. How to juggle life and death every day like it's nothing."
She sighed, softly.
"A constant battle. Death all around you. Either suck it up or die like the rest of them. Authorities abusing their power over you, the very systems of the universe conspiring to make everything so much worse."
A long moment.
"I, I couldn't bear letting you go through that alone. The- the way I have. I do it because you remind me of me, and you don't deserve what I went through."
“You didn’t either,” Chauncey said softly. He softened his grip and sat up a bit. He rubbed his face with his sleeve.
A shadow of a smile started to form on Chauncey’s face. He felt so… seen. Most of the time, if anyone said he was hurting, it just felt like they saw him as weak, as an object of pity. But now, it felt like a recognition, a mirror, a light.
“Thank you,” he said. For some reason, listing to her describing everything just made him feel better. Less alone. Like she understood. Like they were going to make it through this.
“Do you feel alone now?” he asked. If he really did remind her of herself, and she was okay, maybe one day he could be okay too.
"I, I know I didn't. But, I forget sometimes. We can help each other remember."
A matching smile crept onto her face as well. The two of them, kindred spirits in their stories. Holding the same hurts.
Like brothers.
She reached to the coffee table and tugged free a tissue, and then passed it to Chauncey. Giving him the tools for comfort. And, she realized, she wasn't doing it because it was easier than using the tools herself. She was doing it because she trusted him, to use them for himself better than she ever could.
"Sometimes. But, well. Not as much as I used to. It gets a little better every day."
“Remembering together…” Chauncey paused. “I’d like that.”
He was slightly calmer, now. The still, trained, manufactured calm from earlier started to make its way into a genuine feeling of hope. He took the tissue and wiped his eyes. He stared back down at his knees.
He laughed, softly. It wasn’t joyful, but it wasn’t strained or unnatural either. Doubt and relief came flooding to the surface all at once. He looked back up at Skittle. “Thank you,” he said again. He wasn’t sure what else there was to say.
(@msc137)
Skittle bit her lip and slid onto the couch next to Chauncey, glancing up at the television. "Hey, uh, whatcha watchin'? Anything good?" she asked, nervous.
She hoped that she wasn't being too obvious. It killed her to disturb his peace like this. But his peace had already been disturbed.
“I'm watching some old Stampy videos. Like, uh, Minecraft and stuff." Chauncey said. He didn't know what was wrong, but he could tell Skittle was nervous.
She probably wanted to ask for something but was scared because he was so… he was small and jumpy. It didn't seem like she liked asking him for anything. "I can totally move to the room if you wanna use the TV,” He guessed at what she might be asking about so he could respond. He tried to push down the nagging feeling that this was bigger than that.
"No, no, no, that's okay!" she quickly clarified. "Stampy is great."
Skittle used to be obsessed with the Lovely World series. It had been a hyperfixation for her, watching every episode, completely out of order, and memorizing every little tradition and running gag.
She had seen them all so many times, in fact, that she could already recognize which episode Chauncey was on at the moment. 355, Friends And Foes, where it's revealed that one of Stampy's helpers had been secretly working for the enemy the whole time.
"Um, I, uh, do you think you could pause it, maybe? I wanted to talk to you about something, if that's okay."
"Oh, uh, yeah. I… was considering skipping the rest of this episode anyway.” The bubble of nerves rose in his chest, and he tried to convince himself that it was unjustified.
Chauncey turned the TV off and turned to face Skittle. “What did you want to talk about?” Maybe she needed him to find somewhere else to go. He'd been staying there a long time, after all. It would make sense they didn't want to deal with that burden anymore.
Skittle was dealing with her own bubble of nerves. Regret weighed on her shoulders. But she couldn't do anything besides this. Nobody could save her from the grave she'd dug herself.
"Um. Jeez, this is hard," she muttered. Chauncey's mistrust wasn't misplaced. "So, um, the other day, Mortimer asked me to come over, and, help him make some pottery."
Tell the story from the beginning. Make every detail of it known. Leave nothing out. Chauncey deserved the whole truth.
Chauncey’s whole body stiffened. He had been anxious before, but it was the sort of easy anxiety he’d learned to handle every day. This was different. Skittle had talked with Mortimer, and now she needed to tell him something. Urgently enough to make him pause his show. The bubble in his chest burst, and he was prepared to deal with a crisis.
“Full report later.” He said. He felt himself transported back into the body and mind of a commander on the Citadel. “Did you give him the intel?” Chauncey didn’t want the full truth. He wanted to figure out how much of the world was crashing down, and how quickly.
He wasn’t anxious anymore. He was numb. He could figure out how he felt about this later. For now, his focus would remain on staying alive.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
"I- yeah. I'm- I'm so fucking sorry, he, he missed you, he- I couldn't, I was drunk, and, he- he doesn't want to hurt you. I swear he doesn't. Chaunce, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry-"
She cut herself off, studied the look on her friend's face. Replayed his words, his tone of voice.
"Yes. Y-yes, sir, I gave him the intel. It was a lapse of judgement. No- no danger is present, to my knowledge."
Meet him where he's at. This wasn't about her.
Chauncey nodded gravely. “Right. May I have that report in writing?” He paused. “When you have time at your disposal.”
“We should prepare for the worst eventuality,” Chauncey said. It made him feel marginally better to plan like this, like he had some kind of control. It made him feel busy, like he didn’t have time to worry or be sad or crumble apart.
He paused, considering his desired outcome. “Did it seem like there was a possibility of amnesty? Could we perhaps meet to discuss a ceasefire?”
His eyes were so deadly serious that it would have been almost amusing on such a small face, had it not been sad and unnerving. They were laser-focused and precise. He was scowling, but it was in thought rather than genuine emotion.
"Right, I'll- I'll write that report as soon as I get a chance. Sir."
If this was easier, if this made the horrendous betrayal Skittle had committed more bearable for him, she would follow his lead.
She steadied herself, threw a filter over her face, straightened her back and squared her shoulders.
"Yes, I believe he's amenable to a meeting of that nature, sir. Although, I'd predict that he would only want to do so if you would like to meet with him as well."
This felt wrong. Boiling down the complex interpersonal conflicts to a military dispute. But who was she to have any feelings about it at all? Her having feelings about it was what made everything fall apart in the first place.
"His- his current location is not known. But I don't believe he's a threat. At least, not to anyone besides himself."
“At ease.” The mannerisms felt stiff and unnatural from Skittle. Chauncey was falling into what was most natural for him, but he didn’t need her to mimic him.
“He went missing…” Chauncey translated quietly. His voice was gentle, and his face softened for a brief moment. He let a little bit of feeling seep back in. His two selves blurred along the edges, and he felt unsure who he was supposed to be. He felt concern for his old friend. Mortimer might be a danger to himself again. And it was still his fault.
He… wasn’t scared. Or he was so terrified it numbed him. It was hard to tell.
Even if Mortimer wanted to kill him, the Curve would stop him. Everything was okay. He couldn’t cry. Not of fear, or worry, or relief. It wasn’t right. Crying solved nothing. They had to nail down a plan. Then, when he was alone, he could cry.
He snapped himself back out of the feeling. Now was the time to act, not panic. “Do we have a channel of communication available to us?”
"Yeah. Yeah, he. Has a blog of his own, now. And, I think it'd make him really happy to talk to you."
Deep breath, and, "He misses you. That's, why he wanted to make pottery in the first place."
There. That was the important part. That was what he needed to know the most.
"I can, hug you. If you want. If that'd make you feel any better. If you're still okay with getting hugs from," from a traitor, "from me."
Chauncey still didn’t feel like he had the ability to fully process the information he was receiving. He took a shallow, shaky breath.
Hugs were so… vulnerable. Entangled around each other like that, it was incredibly easy to be thrown off balance, difficult to attack or defend or aim, and altogether un-ideal for the state of mind Chauncey was in. He recoiled, slightly, at the thought. Hugs were nice when everyone was happy and he felt safe. He did not feel safe.
He shot a look at Skittle’s face as he flinched. In all honesty, he hadn’t started emotionally processing Skittle’s involvement at all. His reluctance had nothing to do with who the hug was from. He knew she’d take it that way unless he did something to rectify it. He tried to think of a form of physical affection that he would want. Some way to say it was just about the hug itself, not her.
Silence hung thick around them as he thought. Chauncey’s eyes slid into his lap.
There was one form of physical comfort that he’d like right now. Memories of sparring with his batchmates flung to his mind. Leaving everything else outside, clearing his mind. Sparring someone showed that you trusted they wouldn’t actually hurt you. You trusted they were competent enough to defend themself. It was something solid. That was what he wanted.
Unfortunately, he put much less thought into how he presented this idea to Skittle.
His eyes remained serious and distant as he stared directly at her. His happiness to have come up with an idea caused a smile to tug on his lips. Combined, the expression seemed maniacal. Cold, yet eager.
He phrased his request in the same way he would to one of his old batchmates. A two-word, easy phrase. One he forgot was not universally understood as what he meant. “Fight me.”
She quickly stood up, taking a big step back. She was shaking. Her heart free-fell into her stomach.
Without realizing it, she had landed in a defensive stance. Fear and instinct taking hold. Her arms hovered uncertainly, palms out and towards the ground, elbows bent at her hips.
Of course a hug would be unwanted. Of course he wanted nothing to do with her.
And after what she'd done, wasn't it justified? After the utter destruction of his trust, didn't he have every right to be furious?
No apology would be enough. Skittle could see that, now. He deserved a chance to hurt her, the way she'd hurt him.
Her hands fell to her sides. Her gaze fell to the ground. "Okay."
She swallowed, thick, heavy. "I think I know a place. Let me- let me get my portal gun. I left it upstairs."
Another step backwards, waiting for his confirmation before turning around.
Chauncey could see how apprehensive Skittle looked. The memories of how the new recruits would look at him as a lieutenant flooded his memories. He ran back inside himself, quickly. If the situation wasn’t so tense, it would have almost been funny how quickly he deflated. How quickly his smile dropped. How quickly that focused look left his eyes.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to!” he said quickly. He wasn’t a soldier anymore. Just a child, now. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.” The tears he held back earlier started to form, even as he fought them again. He let himself go completely, sobbing and burying his face in his hands.
Of course Skittle wouldn’t want to fight him. Of course Skittle saw him as a sniveling baby who needed protection. No wonder she was reluctant. What reason had he given her to trust him enough? Here he was, weak and useless. Sobbing on the couch in front of a paused TV.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could barely move. His hands slid down his face and he started desperately rubbing it, trying to remove the tearstains of inadequacy, but more kept flowing down in their place..
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice wavering, resolve collapsing. As a soldier, a hug sounded vulnerable, dangerous, foreign, and revolting. Now that he was letting himself be a child again, he wanted nothing more. He couldn’t stop himself from choking out one more apology before whispering “A hug is fine too.”
It was a matter of seconds for her to rush to his side, her own anxiety forgotten. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, gently leaned him towards her. "Hey, hey, Chaunce, it's okay. It's okay, Chaunce. I've got you."
He felt small in her hold, sniffling and sobbing. Like her, a couple years ago, crying alone in her room, over something she couldn't even remember now. She wouldn't let him face this alone. As long as he let her, she would be there for him.
"Everything is gonna be okay. You don't owe me an apology. You don't owe anyone an apology. You've been through so much. I can't imagine how long you've been holding things in."
Gently, carefully, she rubbed circles in his back with her thumb. "Go ahead and let it all out, okay? Cry as much as you want. I won't let anything happen to you, ever again. I promise, I'll keep you safe, as long as I live."
Be strong. Be brave. Protect him. Not because he can't take care of himself, but because he shouldn't have to.
The terrible question bubbled up to the surface and left Chauncey’s mouth before he could stop it. “Why?” he asked. Why did Skittle care so much? Why did she vow to protect him? Why was she here? What had he done to make himself worthy of her protection? He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.
“No promises, please,” he choked out. He looked up at her, a shaky smile reaching across his face as he tried to make a joke. “I think I’ve had enough of those for a lifetime.”
He felt a little better. A little warmer. Sobs of relief and regret and anger and fear shook his body as he let himself sink into her fully. He gripped onto her shoulder. She was solid. She was real. She was here. Even if he didn’t know why, even if he didn’t think he deserved it, she was still here. His fingers dug into her shoulder. He didn’t want to hurt her. He just wanted to grab onto something, anything stable and never let go.
He couldn’t let go. It must have been painful for her, but he couldn’t make himself lose his grasp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. He was hurting her. He hurt everyone. He buried his face into her shirt.
"It's okay, I'm okay. Hold as tight as you want. I can take it." It did hurt, a little bit, but she didn't mind. "I'm not going anywhere."
A little chuckle, as she continued to run her hand up and down his back. "Alright, no promises. I, heh, I promise not to make any more promises?" Maybe the joke was shitty, but no one could say she didn't try.
His question made her voice fall low, thoughtful. He deserved a good answer.
"I guess. Well."
"I met you, and. You were hurting. Young. Never got a chance to be a kid. You had to learn how to fight. How to make hard decisions. How to juggle life and death every day like it's nothing."
She sighed, softly.
"A constant battle. Death all around you. Either suck it up or die like the rest of them. Authorities abusing their power over you, the very systems of the universe conspiring to make everything so much worse."
A long moment.
"I, I couldn't bear letting you go through that alone. The- the way I have. I do it because you remind me of me, and you don't deserve what I went through."
“You didn’t either,” Chauncey said softly. He softened his grip and sat up a bit. He rubbed his face with his sleeve.
A shadow of a smile started to form on Chauncey’s face. He felt so… seen. Most of the time, if anyone said he was hurting, it just felt like they saw him as weak, as an object of pity. But now, it felt like a recognition, a mirror, a light.
“Thank you,” he said. For some reason, listing to her describing everything just made him feel better. Less alone. Like she understood. Like they were going to make it through this.
“Do you feel alone now?” he asked. If he really did remind her of herself, and she was okay, maybe one day he could be okay too.
(@msc137)
Skittle bit her lip and slid onto the couch next to Chauncey, glancing up at the television. "Hey, uh, whatcha watchin'? Anything good?" she asked, nervous.
She hoped that she wasn't being too obvious. It killed her to disturb his peace like this. But his peace had already been disturbed.
“I'm watching some old Stampy videos. Like, uh, Minecraft and stuff." Chauncey said. He didn't know what was wrong, but he could tell Skittle was nervous.
She probably wanted to ask for something but was scared because he was so… he was small and jumpy. It didn't seem like she liked asking him for anything. "I can totally move to the room if you wanna use the TV,” He guessed at what she might be asking about so he could respond. He tried to push down the nagging feeling that this was bigger than that.
"No, no, no, that's okay!" she quickly clarified. "Stampy is great."
Skittle used to be obsessed with the Lovely World series. It had been a hyperfixation for her, watching every episode, completely out of order, and memorizing every little tradition and running gag.
She had seen them all so many times, in fact, that she could already recognize which episode Chauncey was on at the moment. 355, Friends And Foes, where it's revealed that one of Stampy's helpers had been secretly working for the enemy the whole time.
"Um, I, uh, do you think you could pause it, maybe? I wanted to talk to you about something, if that's okay."
"Oh, uh, yeah. I… was considering skipping the rest of this episode anyway.” The bubble of nerves rose in his chest, and he tried to convince himself that it was unjustified.
Chauncey turned the TV off and turned to face Skittle. “What did you want to talk about?” Maybe she needed him to find somewhere else to go. He'd been staying there a long time, after all. It would make sense they didn't want to deal with that burden anymore.
Skittle was dealing with her own bubble of nerves. Regret weighed on her shoulders. But she couldn't do anything besides this. Nobody could save her from the grave she'd dug herself.
"Um. Jeez, this is hard," she muttered. Chauncey's mistrust wasn't misplaced. "So, um, the other day, Mortimer asked me to come over, and, help him make some pottery."
Tell the story from the beginning. Make every detail of it known. Leave nothing out. Chauncey deserved the whole truth.
Chauncey’s whole body stiffened. He had been anxious before, but it was the sort of easy anxiety he’d learned to handle every day. This was different. Skittle had talked with Mortimer, and now she needed to tell him something. Urgently enough to make him pause his show. The bubble in his chest burst, and he was prepared to deal with a crisis.
“Full report later.” He said. He felt himself transported back into the body and mind of a commander on the Citadel. “Did you give him the intel?” Chauncey didn’t want the full truth. He wanted to figure out how much of the world was crashing down, and how quickly.
He wasn’t anxious anymore. He was numb. He could figure out how he felt about this later. For now, his focus would remain on staying alive.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
"I- yeah. I'm- I'm so fucking sorry, he, he missed you, he- I couldn't, I was drunk, and, he- he doesn't want to hurt you. I swear he doesn't. Chaunce, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry-"
She cut herself off, studied the look on her friend's face. Replayed his words, his tone of voice.
"Yes. Y-yes, sir, I gave him the intel. It was a lapse of judgement. No- no danger is present, to my knowledge."
Meet him where he's at. This wasn't about her.
Chauncey nodded gravely. “Right. May I have that report in writing?” He paused. “When you have time at your disposal.”
“We should prepare for the worst eventuality,” Chauncey said. It made him feel marginally better to plan like this, like he had some kind of control. It made him feel busy, like he didn’t have time to worry or be sad or crumble apart.
He paused, considering his desired outcome. “Did it seem like there was a possibility of amnesty? Could we perhaps meet to discuss a ceasefire?”
His eyes were so deadly serious that it would have been almost amusing on such a small face, had it not been sad and unnerving. They were laser-focused and precise. He was scowling, but it was in thought rather than genuine emotion.
"Right, I'll- I'll write that report as soon as I get a chance. Sir."
If this was easier, if this made the horrendous betrayal Skittle had committed more bearable for him, she would follow his lead.
She steadied herself, threw a filter over her face, straightened her back and squared her shoulders.
"Yes, I believe he's amenable to a meeting of that nature, sir. Although, I'd predict that he would only want to do so if you would like to meet with him as well."
This felt wrong. Boiling down the complex interpersonal conflicts to a military dispute. But who was she to have any feelings about it at all? Her having feelings about it was what made everything fall apart in the first place.
"His- his current location is not known. But I don't believe he's a threat. At least, not to anyone besides himself."
“At ease.” The mannerisms felt stiff and unnatural from Skittle. Chauncey was falling into what was most natural for him, but he didn’t need her to mimic him.
“He went missing…” Chauncey translated quietly. His voice was gentle, and his face softened for a brief moment. He let a little bit of feeling seep back in. His two selves blurred along the edges, and he felt unsure who he was supposed to be. He felt concern for his old friend. Mortimer might be a danger to himself again. And it was still his fault.
He… wasn’t scared. Or he was so terrified it numbed him. It was hard to tell.
Even if Mortimer wanted to kill him, the Curve would stop him. Everything was okay. He couldn’t cry. Not of fear, or worry, or relief. It wasn’t right. Crying solved nothing. They had to nail down a plan. Then, when he was alone, he could cry.
He snapped himself back out of the feeling. Now was the time to act, not panic. “Do we have a channel of communication available to us?”
"Yeah. Yeah, he. Has a blog of his own, now. And, I think it'd make him really happy to talk to you."
Deep breath, and, "He misses you. That's, why he wanted to make pottery in the first place."
There. That was the important part. That was what he needed to know the most.
"I can, hug you. If you want. If that'd make you feel any better. If you're still okay with getting hugs from," from a traitor, "from me."
Chauncey still didn’t feel like he had the ability to fully process the information he was receiving. He took a shallow, shaky breath.
Hugs were so… vulnerable. Entangled around each other like that, it was incredibly easy to be thrown off balance, difficult to attack or defend or aim, and altogether un-ideal for the state of mind Chauncey was in. He recoiled, slightly, at the thought. Hugs were nice when everyone was happy and he felt safe. He did not feel safe.
He shot a look at Skittle’s face as he flinched. In all honesty, he hadn’t started emotionally processing Skittle’s involvement at all. His reluctance had nothing to do with who the hug was from. He knew she’d take it that way unless he did something to rectify it. He tried to think of a form of physical affection that he would want. Some way to say it was just about the hug itself, not her.
Silence hung thick around them as he thought. Chauncey’s eyes slid into his lap.
There was one form of physical comfort that he’d like right now. Memories of sparring with his batchmates flung to his mind. Leaving everything else outside, clearing his mind. Sparring someone showed that you trusted they wouldn’t actually hurt you. You trusted they were competent enough to defend themself. It was something solid. That was what he wanted.
Unfortunately, he put much less thought into how he presented this idea to Skittle.
His eyes remained serious and distant as he stared directly at her. His happiness to have come up with an idea caused a smile to tug on his lips. Combined, the expression seemed maniacal. Cold, yet eager.
He phrased his request in the same way he would to one of his old batchmates. A two-word, easy phrase. One he forgot was not universally understood as what he meant. “Fight me.”
She quickly stood up, taking a big step back. She was shaking. Her heart free-fell into her stomach.
Without realizing it, she had landed in a defensive stance. Fear and instinct taking hold. Her arms hovered uncertainly, palms out and towards the ground, elbows bent at her hips.
Of course a hug would be unwanted. Of course he wanted nothing to do with her.
And after what she'd done, wasn't it justified? After the utter destruction of his trust, didn't he have every right to be furious?
No apology would be enough. Skittle could see that, now. He deserved a chance to hurt her, the way she'd hurt him.
Her hands fell to her sides. Her gaze fell to the ground. "Okay."
She swallowed, thick, heavy. "I think I know a place. Let me- let me get my portal gun. I left it upstairs."
Another step backwards, waiting for his confirmation before turning around.
Chauncey could see how apprehensive Skittle looked. The memories of how the new recruits would look at him as a lieutenant flooded his memories. He ran back inside himself, quickly. If the situation wasn’t so tense, it would have almost been funny how quickly he deflated. How quickly his smile dropped. How quickly that focused look left his eyes.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to!” he said quickly. He wasn’t a soldier anymore. Just a child, now. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.” The tears he held back earlier started to form, even as he fought them again. He let himself go completely, sobbing and burying his face in his hands.
Of course Skittle wouldn’t want to fight him. Of course Skittle saw him as a sniveling baby who needed protection. No wonder she was reluctant. What reason had he given her to trust him enough? Here he was, weak and useless. Sobbing on the couch in front of a paused TV.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could barely move. His hands slid down his face and he started desperately rubbing it, trying to remove the tearstains of inadequacy, but more kept flowing down in their place..
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice wavering, resolve collapsing. As a soldier, a hug sounded vulnerable, dangerous, foreign, and revolting. Now that he was letting himself be a child again, he wanted nothing more. He couldn’t stop himself from choking out one more apology before whispering “A hug is fine too.”
It was a matter of seconds for her to rush to his side, her own anxiety forgotten. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, gently leaned him towards her. "Hey, hey, Chaunce, it's okay. It's okay, Chaunce. I've got you."
He felt small in her hold, sniffling and sobbing. Like her, a couple years ago, crying alone in her room, over something she couldn't even remember now. She wouldn't let him face this alone. As long as he let her, she would be there for him.
"Everything is gonna be okay. You don't owe me an apology. You don't owe anyone an apology. You've been through so much. I can't imagine how long you've been holding things in."
Gently, carefully, she rubbed circles in his back with her thumb. "Go ahead and let it all out, okay? Cry as much as you want. I won't let anything happen to you, ever again. I promise, I'll keep you safe, as long as I live."
Be strong. Be brave. Protect him. Not because he can't take care of himself, but because he shouldn't have to.
The terrible question bubbled up to the surface and left Chauncey’s mouth before he could stop it. “Why?” he asked. Why did Skittle care so much? Why did she vow to protect him? Why was she here? What had he done to make himself worthy of her protection? He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.
“No promises, please,” he choked out. He looked up at her, a shaky smile reaching across his face as he tried to make a joke. “I think I’ve had enough of those for a lifetime.”
He felt a little better. A little warmer. Sobs of relief and regret and anger and fear shook his body as he let himself sink into her fully. He gripped onto her shoulder. She was solid. She was real. She was here. Even if he didn’t know why, even if he didn’t think he deserved it, she was still here. His fingers dug into her shoulder. He didn’t want to hurt her. He just wanted to grab onto something, anything stable and never let go.
He couldn’t let go. It must have been painful for her, but he couldn’t make himself lose his grasp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. He was hurting her. He hurt everyone. He buried his face into her shirt.
(@msc137)
Skittle bit her lip and slid onto the couch next to Chauncey, glancing up at the television. "Hey, uh, whatcha watchin'? Anything good?" she asked, nervous.
She hoped that she wasn't being too obvious. It killed her to disturb his peace like this. But his peace had already been disturbed.
“I'm watching some old Stampy videos. Like, uh, Minecraft and stuff." Chauncey said. He didn't know what was wrong, but he could tell Skittle was nervous.
She probably wanted to ask for something but was scared because he was so… he was small and jumpy. It didn't seem like she liked asking him for anything. "I can totally move to the room if you wanna use the TV,” He guessed at what she might be asking about so he could respond. He tried to push down the nagging feeling that this was bigger than that.
"No, no, no, that's okay!" she quickly clarified. "Stampy is great."
Skittle used to be obsessed with the Lovely World series. It had been a hyperfixation for her, watching every episode, completely out of order, and memorizing every little tradition and running gag.
She had seen them all so many times, in fact, that she could already recognize which episode Chauncey was on at the moment. 355, Friends And Foes, where it's revealed that one of Stampy's helpers had been secretly working for the enemy the whole time.
"Um, I, uh, do you think you could pause it, maybe? I wanted to talk to you about something, if that's okay."
"Oh, uh, yeah. I… was considering skipping the rest of this episode anyway.” The bubble of nerves rose in his chest, and he tried to convince himself that it was unjustified.
Chauncey turned the TV off and turned to face Skittle. “What did you want to talk about?” Maybe she needed him to find somewhere else to go. He'd been staying there a long time, after all. It would make sense they didn't want to deal with that burden anymore.
Skittle was dealing with her own bubble of nerves. Regret weighed on her shoulders. But she couldn't do anything besides this. Nobody could save her from the grave she'd dug herself.
"Um. Jeez, this is hard," she muttered. Chauncey's mistrust wasn't misplaced. "So, um, the other day, Mortimer asked me to come over, and, help him make some pottery."
Tell the story from the beginning. Make every detail of it known. Leave nothing out. Chauncey deserved the whole truth.
Chauncey’s whole body stiffened. He had been anxious before, but it was the sort of easy anxiety he’d learned to handle every day. This was different. Skittle had talked with Mortimer, and now she needed to tell him something. Urgently enough to make him pause his show. The bubble in his chest burst, and he was prepared to deal with a crisis.
“Full report later.” He said. He felt himself transported back into the body and mind of a commander on the Citadel. “Did you give him the intel?” Chauncey didn’t want the full truth. He wanted to figure out how much of the world was crashing down, and how quickly.
He wasn’t anxious anymore. He was numb. He could figure out how he felt about this later. For now, his focus would remain on staying alive.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
"I- yeah. I'm- I'm so fucking sorry, he, he missed you, he- I couldn't, I was drunk, and, he- he doesn't want to hurt you. I swear he doesn't. Chaunce, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry-"
She cut herself off, studied the look on her friend's face. Replayed his words, his tone of voice.
"Yes. Y-yes, sir, I gave him the intel. It was a lapse of judgement. No- no danger is present, to my knowledge."
Meet him where he's at. This wasn't about her.
Chauncey nodded gravely. “Right. May I have that report in writing?” He paused. “When you have time at your disposal.”
“We should prepare for the worst eventuality,” Chauncey said. It made him feel marginally better to plan like this, like he had some kind of control. It made him feel busy, like he didn’t have time to worry or be sad or crumble apart.
He paused, considering his desired outcome. “Did it seem like there was a possibility of amnesty? Could we perhaps meet to discuss a ceasefire?”
His eyes were so deadly serious that it would have been almost amusing on such a small face, had it not been sad and unnerving. They were laser-focused and precise. He was scowling, but it was in thought rather than genuine emotion.
"Right, I'll- I'll write that report as soon as I get a chance. Sir."
If this was easier, if this made the horrendous betrayal Skittle had committed more bearable for him, she would follow his lead.
She steadied herself, threw a filter over her face, straightened her back and squared her shoulders.
"Yes, I believe he's amenable to a meeting of that nature, sir. Although, I'd predict that he would only want to do so if you would like to meet with him as well."
This felt wrong. Boiling down the complex interpersonal conflicts to a military dispute. But who was she to have any feelings about it at all? Her having feelings about it was what made everything fall apart in the first place.
"His- his current location is not known. But I don't believe he's a threat. At least, not to anyone besides himself."
“At ease.” The mannerisms felt stiff and unnatural from Skittle. Chauncey was falling into what was most natural for him, but he didn’t need her to mimic him.
“He went missing…” Chauncey translated quietly. His voice was gentle, and his face softened for a brief moment. He let a little bit of feeling seep back in. His two selves blurred along the edges, and he felt unsure who he was supposed to be. He felt concern for his old friend. Mortimer might be a danger to himself again. And it was still his fault.
He… wasn’t scared. Or he was so terrified it numbed him. It was hard to tell.
Even if Mortimer wanted to kill him, the Curve would stop him. Everything was okay. He couldn’t cry. Not of fear, or worry, or relief. It wasn’t right. Crying solved nothing. They had to nail down a plan. Then, when he was alone, he could cry.
He snapped himself back out of the feeling. Now was the time to act, not panic. “Do we have a channel of communication available to us?”
"Yeah. Yeah, he. Has a blog of his own, now. And, I think it'd make him really happy to talk to you."
Deep breath, and, "He misses you. That's, why he wanted to make pottery in the first place."
There. That was the important part. That was what he needed to know the most.
"I can, hug you. If you want. If that'd make you feel any better. If you're still okay with getting hugs from," from a traitor, "from me."
Chauncey still didn’t feel like he had the ability to fully process the information he was receiving. He took a shallow, shaky breath.
Hugs were so… vulnerable. Entangled around each other like that, it was incredibly easy to be thrown off balance, difficult to attack or defend or aim, and altogether un-ideal for the state of mind Chauncey was in. He recoiled, slightly, at the thought. Hugs were nice when everyone was happy and he felt safe. He did not feel safe.
He shot a look at Skittle’s face as he flinched. In all honesty, he hadn’t started emotionally processing Skittle’s involvement at all. His reluctance had nothing to do with who the hug was from. He knew she’d take it that way unless he did something to rectify it. He tried to think of a form of physical affection that he would want. Some way to say it was just about the hug itself, not her.
Silence hung thick around them as he thought. Chauncey’s eyes slid into his lap.
There was one form of physical comfort that he’d like right now. Memories of sparring with his batchmates flung to his mind. Leaving everything else outside, clearing his mind. Sparring someone showed that you trusted they wouldn’t actually hurt you. You trusted they were competent enough to defend themself. It was something solid. That was what he wanted.
Unfortunately, he put much less thought into how he presented this idea to Skittle.
His eyes remained serious and distant as he stared directly at her. His happiness to have come up with an idea caused a smile to tug on his lips. Combined, the expression seemed maniacal. Cold, yet eager.
He phrased his request in the same way he would to one of his old batchmates. A two-word, easy phrase. One he forgot was not universally understood as what he meant. “Fight me.”
She quickly stood up, taking a big step back. She was shaking. Her heart free-fell into her stomach.
Without realizing it, she had landed in a defensive stance. Fear and instinct taking hold. Her arms hovered uncertainly, palms out and towards the ground, elbows bent at her hips.
Of course a hug would be unwanted. Of course he wanted nothing to do with her.
And after what she'd done, wasn't it justified? After the utter destruction of his trust, didn't he have every right to be furious?
No apology would be enough. Skittle could see that, now. He deserved a chance to hurt her, the way she'd hurt him.
Her hands fell to her sides. Her gaze fell to the ground. "Okay."
She swallowed, thick, heavy. "I think I know a place. Let me- let me get my portal gun. I left it upstairs."
Another step backwards, waiting for his confirmation before turning around.
Chauncey could see how apprehensive Skittle looked. The memories of how the new recruits would look at him as a lieutenant flooded his memories. He ran back inside himself, quickly. If the situation wasn’t so tense, it would have almost been funny how quickly he deflated. How quickly his smile dropped. How quickly that focused look left his eyes.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to!” he said quickly. He wasn’t a soldier anymore. Just a child, now. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.” The tears he held back earlier started to form, even as he fought them again. He let himself go completely, sobbing and burying his face in his hands.
Of course Skittle wouldn’t want to fight him. Of course Skittle saw him as a sniveling baby who needed protection. No wonder she was reluctant. What reason had he given her to trust him enough? Here he was, weak and useless. Sobbing on the couch in front of a paused TV.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could barely move. His hands slid down his face and he started desperately rubbing it, trying to remove the tearstains of inadequacy, but more kept flowing down in their place..
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice wavering, resolve collapsing. As a soldier, a hug sounded vulnerable, dangerous, foreign, and revolting. Now that he was letting himself be a child again, he wanted nothing more. He couldn’t stop himself from choking out one more apology before whispering “A hug is fine too.”
(@msc137)
Skittle bit her lip and slid onto the couch next to Chauncey, glancing up at the television. "Hey, uh, whatcha watchin'? Anything good?" she asked, nervous.
She hoped that she wasn't being too obvious. It killed her to disturb his peace like this. But his peace had already been disturbed.
“I'm watching some old Stampy videos. Like, uh, Minecraft and stuff." Chauncey said. He didn't know what was wrong, but he could tell Skittle was nervous.
She probably wanted to ask for something but was scared because he was so… he was small and jumpy. It didn't seem like she liked asking him for anything. "I can totally move to the room if you wanna use the TV,” He guessed at what she might be asking about so he could respond. He tried to push down the nagging feeling that this was bigger than that.
"No, no, no, that's okay!" she quickly clarified. "Stampy is great."
Skittle used to be obsessed with the Lovely World series. It had been a hyperfixation for her, watching every episode, completely out of order, and memorizing every little tradition and running gag.
She had seen them all so many times, in fact, that she could already recognize which episode Chauncey was on at the moment. 355, Friends And Foes, where it's revealed that one of Stampy's helpers had been secretly working for the enemy the whole time.
"Um, I, uh, do you think you could pause it, maybe? I wanted to talk to you about something, if that's okay."
"Oh, uh, yeah. I… was considering skipping the rest of this episode anyway.” The bubble of nerves rose in his chest, and he tried to convince himself that it was unjustified.
Chauncey turned the TV off and turned to face Skittle. “What did you want to talk about?” Maybe she needed him to find somewhere else to go. He'd been staying there a long time, after all. It would make sense they didn't want to deal with that burden anymore.
Skittle was dealing with her own bubble of nerves. Regret weighed on her shoulders. But she couldn't do anything besides this. Nobody could save her from the grave she'd dug herself.
"Um. Jeez, this is hard," she muttered. Chauncey's mistrust wasn't misplaced. "So, um, the other day, Mortimer asked me to come over, and, help him make some pottery."
Tell the story from the beginning. Make every detail of it known. Leave nothing out. Chauncey deserved the whole truth.
Chauncey’s whole body stiffened. He had been anxious before, but it was the sort of easy anxiety he’d learned to handle every day. This was different. Skittle had talked with Mortimer, and now she needed to tell him something. Urgently enough to make him pause his show. The bubble in his chest burst, and he was prepared to deal with a crisis.
“Full report later.” He said. He felt himself transported back into the body and mind of a commander on the Citadel. “Did you give him the intel?” Chauncey didn’t want the full truth. He wanted to figure out how much of the world was crashing down, and how quickly.
He wasn’t anxious anymore. He was numb. He could figure out how he felt about this later. For now, his focus would remain on staying alive.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
"I- yeah. I'm- I'm so fucking sorry, he, he missed you, he- I couldn't, I was drunk, and, he- he doesn't want to hurt you. I swear he doesn't. Chaunce, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry-"
She cut herself off, studied the look on her friend's face. Replayed his words, his tone of voice.
"Yes. Y-yes, sir, I gave him the intel. It was a lapse of judgement. No- no danger is present, to my knowledge."
Meet him where he's at. This wasn't about her.
Chauncey nodded gravely. “Right. May I have that report in writing?” He paused. “When you have time at your disposal.”
“We should prepare for the worst eventuality,” Chauncey said. It made him feel marginally better to plan like this, like he had some kind of control. It made him feel busy, like he didn’t have time to worry or be sad or crumble apart.
He paused, considering his desired outcome. “Did it seem like there was a possibility of amnesty? Could we perhaps meet to discuss a ceasefire?”
His eyes were so deadly serious that it would have been almost amusing on such a small face, had it not been sad and unnerving. They were laser-focused and precise. He was scowling, but it was in thought rather than genuine emotion.
"Right, I'll- I'll write that report as soon as I get a chance. Sir."
If this was easier, if this made the horrendous betrayal Skittle had committed more bearable for him, she would follow his lead.
She steadied herself, threw a filter over her face, straightened her back and squared her shoulders.
"Yes, I believe he's amenable to a meeting of that nature, sir. Although, I'd predict that he would only want to do so if you would like to meet with him as well."
This felt wrong. Boiling down the complex interpersonal conflicts to a military dispute. But who was she to have any feelings about it at all? Her having feelings about it was what made everything fall apart in the first place.
"His- his current location is not known. But I don't believe he's a threat. At least, not to anyone besides himself."
“At ease.” The mannerisms felt stiff and unnatural from Skittle. Chauncey was falling into what was most natural for him, but he didn’t need her to mimic him.
“He went missing…” Chauncey translated quietly. His voice was gentle, and his face softened for a brief moment. He let a little bit of feeling seep back in. His two selves blurred along the edges, and he felt unsure who he was supposed to be. He felt concern for his old friend. Mortimer might be a danger to himself again. And it was still his fault.
He… wasn’t scared. Or he was so terrified it numbed him. It was hard to tell.
Even if Mortimer wanted to kill him, the Curve would stop him. Everything was okay. He couldn’t cry. Not of fear, or worry, or relief. It wasn’t right. Crying solved nothing. They had to nail down a plan. Then, when he was alone, he could cry.
He snapped himself back out of the feeling. Now was the time to act, not panic. “Do we have a channel of communication available to us?”
"Yeah. Yeah, he. Has a blog of his own, now. And, I think it'd make him really happy to talk to you."
Deep breath, and, "He misses you. That's, why he wanted to make pottery in the first place."
There. That was the important part. That was what he needed to know the most.
"I can, hug you. If you want. If that'd make you feel any better. If you're still okay with getting hugs from," from a traitor, "from me."
Chauncey still didn’t feel like he had the ability to fully process the information he was receiving. He took a shallow, shaky breath.
Hugs were so… vulnerable. Entangled around each other like that, it was incredibly easy to be thrown off balance, difficult to attack or defend or aim, and altogether un-ideal for the state of mind Chauncey was in. He recoiled, slightly, at the thought. Hugs were nice when everyone was happy and he felt safe. He did not feel safe.
He shot a look at Skittle’s face as he flinched. In all honesty, he hadn’t started emotionally processing Skittle’s involvement at all. His reluctance had nothing to do with who the hug was from. He knew she’d take it that way unless he did something to rectify it. He tried to think of a form of physical affection that he would want. Some way to say it was just about the hug itself, not her.
Silence hung thick around them as he thought. Chauncey’s eyes slid into his lap.
There was one form of physical comfort that he’d like right now. Memories of sparring with his batchmates flung to his mind. Leaving everything else outside, clearing his mind. Sparring someone showed that you trusted they wouldn’t actually hurt you. You trusted they were competent enough to defend themself. It was something solid. That was what he wanted.
Unfortunately, he put much less thought into how he presented this idea to Skittle.
His eyes remained serious and distant as he stared directly at her. His happiness to have come up with an idea caused a smile to tug on his lips. Combined, the expression seemed maniacal. Cold, yet eager.
He phrased his request in the same way he would to one of his old batchmates. A two-word, easy phrase. One he forgot was not universally understood as what he meant. “Fight me.”
(@msc137)
Skittle bit her lip and slid onto the couch next to Chauncey, glancing up at the television. "Hey, uh, whatcha watchin'? Anything good?" she asked, nervous.
She hoped that she wasn't being too obvious. It killed her to disturb his peace like this. But his peace had already been disturbed.
“I'm watching some old Stampy videos. Like, uh, Minecraft and stuff." Chauncey said. He didn't know what was wrong, but he could tell Skittle was nervous.
She probably wanted to ask for something but was scared because he was so… he was small and jumpy. It didn't seem like she liked asking him for anything. "I can totally move to the room if you wanna use the TV,” He guessed at what she might be asking about so he could respond. He tried to push down the nagging feeling that this was bigger than that.
"No, no, no, that's okay!" she quickly clarified. "Stampy is great."
Skittle used to be obsessed with the Lovely World series. It had been a hyperfixation for her, watching every episode, completely out of order, and memorizing every little tradition and running gag.
She had seen them all so many times, in fact, that she could already recognize which episode Chauncey was on at the moment. 355, Friends And Foes, where it's revealed that one of Stampy's helpers had been secretly working for the enemy the whole time.
"Um, I, uh, do you think you could pause it, maybe? I wanted to talk to you about something, if that's okay."
"Oh, uh, yeah. I… was considering skipping the rest of this episode anyway.” The bubble of nerves rose in his chest, and he tried to convince himself that it was unjustified.
Chauncey turned the TV off and turned to face Skittle. “What did you want to talk about?” Maybe she needed him to find somewhere else to go. He'd been staying there a long time, after all. It would make sense they didn't want to deal with that burden anymore.
Skittle was dealing with her own bubble of nerves. Regret weighed on her shoulders. But she couldn't do anything besides this. Nobody could save her from the grave she'd dug herself.
"Um. Jeez, this is hard," she muttered. Chauncey's mistrust wasn't misplaced. "So, um, the other day, Mortimer asked me to come over, and, help him make some pottery."
Tell the story from the beginning. Make every detail of it known. Leave nothing out. Chauncey deserved the whole truth.
Chauncey’s whole body stiffened. He had been anxious before, but it was the sort of easy anxiety he’d learned to handle every day. This was different. Skittle had talked with Mortimer, and now she needed to tell him something. Urgently enough to make him pause his show. The bubble in his chest burst, and he was prepared to deal with a crisis.
“Full report later.” He said. He felt himself transported back into the body and mind of a commander on the Citadel. “Did you give him the intel?” Chauncey didn’t want the full truth. He wanted to figure out how much of the world was crashing down, and how quickly.
He wasn’t anxious anymore. He was numb. He could figure out how he felt about this later. For now, his focus would remain on staying alive.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
"I- yeah. I'm- I'm so fucking sorry, he, he missed you, he- I couldn't, I was drunk, and, he- he doesn't want to hurt you. I swear he doesn't. Chaunce, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry-"
She cut herself off, studied the look on her friend's face. Replayed his words, his tone of voice.
"Yes. Y-yes, sir, I gave him the intel. It was a lapse of judgement. No- no danger is present, to my knowledge."
Meet him where he's at. This wasn't about her.
Chauncey nodded gravely. “Right. May I have that report in writing?” He paused. “When you have time at your disposal.”
“We should prepare for the worst eventuality,” Chauncey said. It made him feel marginally better to plan like this, like he had some kind of control. It made him feel busy, like he didn’t have time to worry or be sad or crumble apart.
He paused, considering his desired outcome. “Did it seem like there was a possibility of amnesty? Could we perhaps meet to discuss a ceasefire?”
His eyes were so deadly serious that it would have been almost amusing on such a small face, had it not been sad and unnerving. They were laser-focused and precise. He was scowling, but it was in thought rather than genuine emotion.
"Right, I'll- I'll write that report as soon as I get a chance. Sir."
If this was easier, if this made the horrendous betrayal Skittle had committed more bearable for him, she would follow his lead.
She steadied herself, threw a filter over her face, straightened her back and squared her shoulders.
"Yes, I believe he's amenable to a meeting of that nature, sir. Although, I'd predict that he would only want to do so if you would like to meet with him as well."
This felt wrong. Boiling down the complex interpersonal conflicts to a military dispute. But who was she to have any feelings about it at all? Her having feelings about it was what made everything fall apart in the first place.
"His- his current location is not known. But I don't believe he's a threat. At least, not to anyone besides himself."
“At ease.” The mannerisms felt stiff and unnatural from Skittle. Chauncey was falling into what was most natural for him, but he didn’t need her to mimic him.
“He went missing…” Chauncey translated quietly. His voice was gentle, and his face softened for a brief moment. He let a little bit of feeling seep back in. His two selves blurred along the edges, and he felt unsure who he was supposed to be. He felt concern for his old friend. Mortimer might be a danger to himself again. And it was still his fault.
He… wasn’t scared. Or he was so terrified it numbed him. It was hard to tell.
Even if Mortimer wanted to kill him, the Curve would stop him. Everything was okay. He couldn’t cry. Not of fear, or worry, or relief. It wasn’t right. Crying solved nothing. They had to nail down a plan. Then, when he was alone, he could cry.
He snapped himself back out of the feeling. Now was the time to act, not panic. “Do we have a channel of communication available to us?”
(@msc137)
Skittle bit her lip and slid onto the couch next to Chauncey, glancing up at the television. "Hey, uh, whatcha watchin'? Anything good?" she asked, nervous.
She hoped that she wasn't being too obvious. It killed her to disturb his peace like this. But his peace had already been disturbed.
“I'm watching some old Stampy videos. Like, uh, Minecraft and stuff." Chauncey said. He didn't know what was wrong, but he could tell Skittle was nervous.
She probably wanted to ask for something but was scared because he was so… he was small and jumpy. It didn't seem like she liked asking him for anything. "I can totally move to the room if you wanna use the TV,” He guessed at what she might be asking about so he could respond. He tried to push down the nagging feeling that this was bigger than that.
"No, no, no, that's okay!" she quickly clarified. "Stampy is great."
Skittle used to be obsessed with the Lovely World series. It had been a hyperfixation for her, watching every episode, completely out of order, and memorizing every little tradition and running gag.
She had seen them all so many times, in fact, that she could already recognize which episode Chauncey was on at the moment. 355, Friends And Foes, where it's revealed that one of Stampy's helpers had been secretly working for the enemy the whole time.
"Um, I, uh, do you think you could pause it, maybe? I wanted to talk to you about something, if that's okay."
"Oh, uh, yeah. I… was considering skipping the rest of this episode anyway.” The bubble of nerves rose in his chest, and he tried to convince himself that it was unjustified.
Chauncey turned the TV off and turned to face Skittle. “What did you want to talk about?” Maybe she needed him to find somewhere else to go. He'd been staying there a long time, after all. It would make sense they didn't want to deal with that burden anymore.
Skittle was dealing with her own bubble of nerves. Regret weighed on her shoulders. But she couldn't do anything besides this. Nobody could save her from the grave she'd dug herself.
"Um. Jeez, this is hard," she muttered. Chauncey's mistrust wasn't misplaced. "So, um, the other day, Mortimer asked me to come over, and, help him make some pottery."
Tell the story from the beginning. Make every detail of it known. Leave nothing out. Chauncey deserved the whole truth.
Chauncey’s whole body stiffened. He had been anxious before, but it was the sort of easy anxiety he’d learned to handle every day. This was different. Skittle had talked with Mortimer, and now she needed to tell him something. Urgently enough to make him pause his show. The bubble in his chest burst, and he was prepared to deal with a crisis.
“Full report later.” He said. He felt himself transported back into the body and mind of a commander on the Citadel. “Did you give him the intel?” Chauncey didn’t want the full truth. He wanted to figure out how much of the world was crashing down, and how quickly.
He wasn’t anxious anymore. He was numb. He could figure out how he felt about this later. For now, his focus would remain on staying alive.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
"I- yeah. I'm- I'm so fucking sorry, he, he missed you, he- I couldn't, I was drunk, and, he- he doesn't want to hurt you. I swear he doesn't. Chaunce, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry-"
She cut herself off, studied the look on her friend's face. Replayed his words, his tone of voice.
"Yes. Y-yes, sir, I gave him the intel. It was a lapse of judgement. No- no danger is present, to my knowledge."
Meet him where he's at. This wasn't about her.
Chauncey nodded gravely. “Right. May I have that report in writing?” He paused. “When you have time at your disposal.”
“We should prepare for the worst eventuality,” Chauncey said. It made him feel marginally better to plan like this, like he had some kind of control. It made him feel busy, like he didn’t have time to worry or be sad or crumble apart.
He paused, considering his desired outcome. “Did it seem like there was a possibility of amnesty? Could we perhaps meet to discuss a ceasefire?”
His eyes were so deadly serious that it would have been almost amusing on such a small face, had it not been sad and unnerving. They were laser-focused and precise. He was scowling, but it was in thought rather than genuine emotion.
(@msc137)
Skittle bit her lip and slid onto the couch next to Chauncey, glancing up at the television. "Hey, uh, whatcha watchin'? Anything good?" she asked, nervous.
She hoped that she wasn't being too obvious. It killed her to disturb his peace like this. But his peace had already been disturbed.
“I'm watching some old Stampy videos. Like, uh, Minecraft and stuff." Chauncey said. He didn't know what was wrong, but he could tell Skittle was nervous.
She probably wanted to ask for something but was scared because he was so… he was small and jumpy. It didn't seem like she liked asking him for anything. "I can totally move to the room if you wanna use the TV,” He guessed at what she might be asking about so he could respond. He tried to push down the nagging feeling that this was bigger than that.
"No, no, no, that's okay!" she quickly clarified. "Stampy is great."
Skittle used to be obsessed with the Lovely World series. It had been a hyperfixation for her, watching every episode, completely out of order, and memorizing every little tradition and running gag.
She had seen them all so many times, in fact, that she could already recognize which episode Chauncey was on at the moment. 355, Friends And Foes, where it's revealed that one of Stampy's helpers had been secretly working for the enemy the whole time.
"Um, I, uh, do you think you could pause it, maybe? I wanted to talk to you about something, if that's okay."
"Oh, uh, yeah. I… was considering skipping the rest of this episode anyway.” The bubble of nerves rose in his chest, and he tried to convince himself that it was unjustified.
Chauncey turned the TV off and turned to face Skittle. “What did you want to talk about?” Maybe she needed him to find somewhere else to go. He'd been staying there a long time, after all. It would make sense they didn't want to deal with that burden anymore.
Skittle was dealing with her own bubble of nerves. Regret weighed on her shoulders. But she couldn't do anything besides this. Nobody could save her from the grave she'd dug herself.
"Um. Jeez, this is hard," she muttered. Chauncey's mistrust wasn't misplaced. "So, um, the other day, Mortimer asked me to come over, and, help him make some pottery."
Tell the story from the beginning. Make every detail of it known. Leave nothing out. Chauncey deserved the whole truth.
Chauncey’s whole body stiffened. He had been anxious before, but it was the sort of easy anxiety he’d learned to handle every day. This was different. Skittle had talked with Mortimer, and now she needed to tell him something. Urgently enough to make him pause his show. The bubble in his chest burst, and he was prepared to deal with a crisis.
“Full report later.” He said. He felt himself transported back into the body and mind of a commander on the Citadel. “Did you give him the intel?” Chauncey didn’t want the full truth. He wanted to figure out how much of the world was crashing down, and how quickly.
He wasn’t anxious anymore. He was numb. He could figure out how he felt about this later. For now, his focus would remain on staying alive.
(@msc137)
Skittle bit her lip and slid onto the couch next to Chauncey, glancing up at the television. "Hey, uh, whatcha watchin'? Anything good?" she asked, nervous.
She hoped that she wasn't being too obvious. It killed her to disturb his peace like this. But his peace had already been disturbed.
“I'm watching some old Stampy videos. Like, uh, Minecraft and stuff." Chauncey said. He didn't know what was wrong, but he could tell Skittle was nervous.
She probably wanted to ask for something but was scared because he was so… he was small and jumpy. It didn't seem like she liked asking him for anything. "I can totally move to the room if you wanna use the TV,” He guessed at what she might be asking about so he could respond. He tried to push down the nagging feeling that this was bigger than that.
"No, no, no, that's okay!" she quickly clarified. "Stampy is great."
Skittle used to be obsessed with the Lovely World series. It had been a hyperfixation for her, watching every episode, completely out of order, and memorizing every little tradition and running gag.
She had seen them all so many times, in fact, that she could already recognize which episode Chauncey was on at the moment. 355, Friends And Foes, where it's revealed that one of Stampy's helpers had been secretly working for the enemy the whole time.
"Um, I, uh, do you think you could pause it, maybe? I wanted to talk to you about something, if that's okay."
"Oh, uh, yeah. I… was considering skipping the rest of this episode anyway.” The bubble of nerves rose in his chest, and he tried to convince himself that it was unjustified.
Chauncey turned the TV off and turned to face Skittle. “What did you want to talk about?” Maybe she needed him to find somewhere else to go. He'd been staying there a long time, after all. It would make sense they didn't want to deal with that burden anymore.