You should. The amount of grief you have caused me is out of all proportion for a man who wears his tie tucked into his trousers.
[Yup, there's the Beckett he knows and loves. Just for a moment there before it's back to housebroken softiepire.]
I'm sorry that I am not coming your way. Brian needs my help - I appear to have somehow developed a social circle. It's very alarming. Though not nearly as much as your insistence on asking how I am doing when I understand you're missing a bloody limb.
You're stronger than you know, Rhys. [Quietly, because he can clearly picture that falling. He's lost a few limbs himself back in the days when he could regrow them... it makes him shudder to think now, and he continues rather more drily.] Of course, it will be all sorts of ironic if your balance has entirely shifted by the time the effect wears off and you're fitted with new ones.
[It'll happen. He's sure it'll happen. This is not optimism. He doesn't do optimism.
He pulls in a low, hissing breath.]
I'm afraid we didn't have much hope of retrieving you from the beginning. We - Fiona and I, that is, we killed Stein. But in retrospect that was only good for delaying us from getting to Angel.
[Beckett isn't too big on self-loathing, but he can manage it when he really tries.]
[ A sound that's almost like a laugh, choked by tears that Rhys has been forcing back since the beginning of this conversation. Is that Beckett, being proud of him?
Rhys regains his composure, bringing his arm up to wipe his eye. Dumpy trills. ]
You couldn't have known what... wh-what was going to happen, so no wallowing in misery, mister.
[ Stitches, though. Or. Stein. ]
T-too... too bad that didn't stick, huh? He actually sent me an apology, like. Like he just inconvenienced me and didn't drag me kicking and screaming into --
[God, Rhys, why do you cry even when you're happy, Beckett is not fit to untangle the subtleties of your emotions right now. He just wants you to know he thinks you can totally do this.
He lets out a sigh.] I could have known. I did know, someplace. But she... [he trails off, unsure. Because in Rhys's place he would've wanted Angel to do exactly the same thing, but he and Rhys are very different people, after all.]
I don't think he quite grasps such things as morality - and that's coming from me, as you know things are dire. He tried to justify his actions. You know how that ended. And if I see him again it will end the same way. It might stick better the second or third time.
[His tone is not nearly as bloodthirsty as this statement might merit. In fact it's rather cold and straightforward, which is its own kind of creepy.]
[ It might be a little creepy, but Stein outcreeps Beckett even at his creepiest.
And he's not really against murder when it's someone who has screwed him over. As long as he's not the one getting his hands dirty. Though, in this case, he's not sure he'd be able to stop himself from doing something stupid if Stein got close.
Wiping eye again. Steadying voice. We don't talk about what Angel had to do, no sir.
We move on. ]
But we have more important things to worry about. T-to focus on, I mean.
[He's not sure, personally, if we talk about it or not. Angel probably needs to, though that is for her to say. For all he knows, Rhys might not even remember. He could ask, but - fussing aside, he doesn't want to raise what might not be there. Beckett knows a thing or two about mercy killings and slitting the throat of things that are left of people you once loved. And he knows about things your head understands but your gut might never.
Give it a while. Let things rest. They need a rest, all of them. So very badly.]
Yes... I suppose we have plenty. [Though he's having a hard time thinking about any, right now, beyond the immediate things that Rhys has brought up. It's been happening to him a lot, these moments of finding himself in a white fog. Something, something...] What about Fiona...?
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bookofnope) wrote2015-10-04 01:39 pm
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[ A nervous chuckle accompanied by a familiar scream of the (mechanical) damned. ]
Are -- h-how... how are you doing? Have you been doing?
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[Yup, there's the Beckett he knows and loves. Just for a moment there before it's back to housebroken softiepire.]
I'm sorry that I am not coming your way. Brian needs my help - I appear to have somehow developed a social circle. It's very alarming. Though not nearly as much as your insistence on asking how I am doing when I understand you're missing a bloody limb.
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[ He is going to let that tie comment slip, apparently. Tall noodle man must be tired. ]
Look, I ask because I know it's... kind of worse, in a way. To be the one left when...
[ Rhys clears his throat, shivers, and pulls Dumpy in to quiet the background screaming. And, you know, just for the sake of the hug. ]
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[It'll happen. He's sure it'll happen. This is not optimism. He doesn't do optimism.
He pulls in a low, hissing breath.]
I'm afraid we didn't have much hope of retrieving you from the beginning. We - Fiona and I, that is, we killed Stein. But in retrospect that was only good for delaying us from getting to Angel.
[Beckett isn't too big on self-loathing, but he can manage it when he really tries.]
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Rhys regains his composure, bringing his arm up to wipe his eye. Dumpy trills. ]
You couldn't have known what... wh-what was going to happen, so no wallowing in misery, mister.
[ Stitches, though. Or. Stein. ]
T-too... too bad that didn't stick, huh? He actually sent me an apology, like. Like he just inconvenienced me and didn't drag me kicking and screaming into --
[ PHOO. Breathe, man. ]
Did he try that with you? Fiona?
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He lets out a sigh.] I could have known. I did know, someplace. But she... [he trails off, unsure. Because in Rhys's place he would've wanted Angel to do exactly the same thing, but he and Rhys are very different people, after all.]
I don't think he quite grasps such things as morality - and that's coming from me, as you know things are dire. He tried to justify his actions. You know how that ended. And if I see him again it will end the same way. It might stick better the second or third time.
[His tone is not nearly as bloodthirsty as this statement might merit. In fact it's rather cold and straightforward, which is its own kind of creepy.]
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[ It might be a little creepy, but Stein outcreeps Beckett even at his creepiest.
And he's not really against murder when it's someone who has screwed him over. As long as he's not the one getting his hands dirty. Though, in this case, he's not sure he'd be able to stop himself from doing something stupid if Stein got close.
Wiping eye again. Steadying voice. We don't talk about what Angel had to do, no sir.
We move on. ]
But we have more important things to worry about. T-to focus on, I mean.
no subject
Give it a while. Let things rest. They need a rest, all of them. So very badly.]
Yes... I suppose we have plenty. [Though he's having a hard time thinking about any, right now, beyond the immediate things that Rhys has brought up. It's been happening to him a lot, these moments of finding himself in a white fog. Something, something...] What about Fiona...?