location: the seven nightclub
players: @nikehq & @dustqold
NIKE had been at the seven for too long. she knew it, wasnât under any illusion that she was handling anything well. the drinks werenât getting her drunk, just fueling her regret, filling her up with doubt and a dirty conscience. the only thing keeping her sane at the moment was babyface, seated next to her, who had come when she called. always there for her, baby was. more proof that he was better than he believed. she wished she could tell him how sometimes, she thought he might be a better person than her. but that was for another time.Â
âdid you hear about radish?â she managed to ask, turning to him after sitting in silence since he had arrived at the bar. babyface knew about her friendship with the boy, radish was always visiting her apartment. always too loud, always earning a knock or two against the wall from babyâs side. she didnât know if she would be able to voice to him what had happened, hoped x was keeping his guild informed for her sake. âand christian?â she didnât want to say his name, didnât want to ask about it, but knew she needed someone to talk to. the player next to her, her neighbor and trusted confidant, was the best option. he always seemed to know what to do, at least to get her mind off of things.Â
there was also the matter of achilles, wounded just as roughly as the other boys, but it didnât seem right to out her guild leader for falling. not with jupiter gone, the race against the guilds to replace blood oath on top. baby didnât have catalystâs best interests at heart. it was what made their friendship dangerous. she couldnât say she respected circus, either. âat least youâre okay.â nike reached over, placed her hand on top of his on the counter. âyouâre the only one.âÂ
this, he thinks, is grief.
itâs a familiar sort of pressure in the hollow of his chest, one babyface knows well enough to recognise - but it is not his grief that festers, here. it doesnât sting and suffocate as he knows it to; rather, it blisters in the air around nike as she sits, quiet and wordless, by his side. the battle on 51 had been difficult, and he knows many lives have been lost, but he hears the screams and the cries as he fights from the fringes; doesnât lift a hand to help anyone but himself get through this - and so he doesnât know the right words, how to offer her comfort or regret or reassurance, and so he says nothing.
did you hear about radish? he hears her say, finally, and something catches in his throat at the name. of course, heâd known long before that nike was friends with the boy - but it wasnât until recently that he realised who radish was, or had been before all of this. (but thatâs not quite a conversation he wants to have, right now. easier to ignore the discovery altogether, even if he feels something not unlike worry tinge the edges of his expression.) a hand fiddles with a drink he doesnât remember ordering, fingers pressing hard against the glass before he answers, only after her second question, âi did.â baby hasnât been given the details, but through word of mouth he knows just enough. âfor what itâs worth - iâm sorry.â and itâs not worth much; he doesnât even know if he means it. heâs never cared for catalyst, but he does care about her.
and what a terrible thing to admit, he thinks. (for all his talk of enjoying a good wager, of being too proud to turn down a challenge, compassion is a gamble where the odds have never favoured him - and no one wants to take on a battle they know theyâll lose. so heâd buried any hint of his already poor empathy; you could hire his blade or share his bed, but if itâs his life for another, he wonât hesitate to make the trade. ...these days, he worries this has changed.) his fingers twitch under her hand; he curls them toward his palm and then back out, idly tracing shapes against her knuckles. his smile is cocky but half-hearted when he responds, ââcourse. and iâm glad youâre in one piece, too.â though judging by the looks of it, she wasnât, really. he doesnât know how to ask her, though; so he doesnât. âdo you know how theyâre holdinâ up? the... those who were hurt?â if heâs prying about one in particular, he certainly isnât likely to admit it.