bookofnope | [IC Contact -- Snowblind]

Um, the umbrella things are cute. Maybe not so much if they were jammed into your skull with a straw for brainslurping purposes, but still!! Geez.
The rest of your ~delirious ramblings~ are a lot more solid. Thank you. I know you'll protest, but you really are a lot better at this comforting business than a crinkly old grumpire has any right to be. :P ♥♥

[ Hahaha look at all this teasing NEITHER OF THEM CAN BE CRYING WHEN THERE IS ALL THIS SILLINESS GOING ON RIGHT!! HAHA!! HA!!!!!!! ]

Anyway, um!! The current issue: Handsome Jack (of the non-bodysnatching variety) is nearby, knows I'm here, and is very intent on travelling alongside me as I head for Rhys. Which... sounds bad.
But!

- He's not *demanding* that he goes with me
- He's promising to behave (which I am obviously not going to trust, but I DO trust that he'll at least try)
- It may be safer than travelling alone, admittedly?

An important factor in trusting that he'll try to behave is
Well. I mentioned that the AI knocked me out when he took me? And I told Jack. That the AI hit me, I mean. I'm pretty sure it messed him up a little.
Because even though *he* didn't do it, that technically means he could be capable of it? And that's the one thing both of us have always thought he'd never ever do
So I think he's trying to prove to *himself* that he's not like that. That he's the good one, laughable though that is.
I'm going to check with Rhys too, but under the circumstances: am I incorrect in thinking that letting him tag along is fine?
(Admittedly I'm also certain that this will be the closest I can get to punching the AI in his stupid invisible face. What with his jealousy and possessiveness. He can freaking EAT IT)

Just this once, since I've started it, I will forgive you the "old". "Crinkly" is pushing it. Which does not mean that I will say no to the inevitable hug, circumstances being considered.

[NO CRYING HERE oh my god everything is snot again and he doesn't even care

But yes. Advice. Problem. Jack.

Jack.]

In the spirit of crinkly old wisdom, however, I am going to have to be brutally honest here. We were all reasonably confident that the AI could be contained and persuaded to behave. That was a critical error on our part.

[Look at all these first person plurals. It wasn't you, Angel. Not your fault.]

If the other option is travelling alone, letting him tag along is safer if only because I doubt he will try the same basement trick twice. But.

[He is about to say it. Lord what has become of him.]

It may be time that all of us who are embroiled in this in any way recognize that when it comes to Handsome Jack's... anything, we should not trust our own judgement.

There are worse things to be than crinkly! And I can't help but note that you've stopped objecting to "grumpire" entirely. Progress. Though don't you think anticipating a *single* hug is optimistic on your part?? :P

And you make excellent points, as always. Bleh.
Perhaps if I'm travelling with him, a contingency plan is most sensible? In case he does pull anything, I mean. Because I agree that planning for any eventuality is the only way to deal with *any* Jacks for the foreseeable future.
The name of the douchebag from your world was Sascha, right? So if I'm in any kind of trouble, I can drop that name into a message somehow and alert you that way?

You've found me out. I have been a secret optimist all along. A secret grumpy optimist. With a talent for contradictions.

[Remember when he had dignity because he sure doesn't.]

I'm glad we've in agreement. Singularly so. By all means let's have a contingency or twelve.

Sascha, yes, that was the name. If you have some sense of where you are, I might be able to find out if anyone else is in the vicinity to whom I can get a message to reach you more quickly than we could. We're rather far southwest in the tunnels - the house with the collapsed first floor

[Aaaand the lack of a period there may just tip her off that this is not really a finished sentence. It's more like oh shit probably shouldn't have mentioned that house. She'll know what they'd found there.]

[ Oh.

She's heard of people having their blood run cold, but this is the first time she's really understood it. Beckett knows what she did. Which is a stupid thing to realise - of course he knows, she told him she was going to do it - but. This is different.

She can't let herself cry again, she's supposed to be stronger than this - ]

You mean the house I killed Rhys in.
We don't have to dance around that on my account.

[Well he could just go and tie himself up for NIMA in the morgue again. Why didn't he think? He's supposed to be good at that. Was supposed to be, once. It was going to have to come up at some point, for all that he knows both of them are firm believers in the power of leaving things unspoken and behind them. But here? Now?]

The house you killed Jack in. We hardly have to talk about it, either. It was done. It's over.

[These things are rarely ever over.]

[ There is a very, very long pause. ]

No. The house I killed Rhys in.

[ It's like an offering - he deserves to know what she did. He deserves to know that she trusts him enough to tell him. That, and there's a tiny part of her that thinks she needs to be punished for it. What better way than by laying out her sin for Beckett to see?

(The same part is also telling her that this is selfish, she'd burdening him with the knowledge, she's using people just like she always has. She can't win.) ]

Jack medicated himself into a stupor and checked out. The gurgling mess that was left was definitely Rhys.

[He sees it - how can he not? He knows sin an he knows sacrifice, and the picture she paints is appallingly clear. Angel with her blade - it would have been a blade - over her captor and victim, killing what she loves to save it, like her whole life in miniature. And alone. If she killed Rhys while Jack was out of it, how did she die?

There's a sudden, concentrated ache under his ribs, like his mortal heart is constricting, buckling under the thought of her being alone. Dignity be damned. Whatever unspoken rules of avoidance they have be damned. He switches the feed to video. If he can't hold her, at least he needs to see her face.]

Angel. Look at me.

[ She can't. She can't. She's streaked with tears and intensely ashamed of herself for starters, and there's the issue of her missing tattoos. It'd be less of an ordeal to go back to her bunker and sit there forever, at least reassured by the knowledge that nobody can see.

But not doing it would be worse still. Because Beckett is crying and she did that and to keep hiding would be like spitting in his face.

She does button up her coat and pull the sleeve down over her hand before making the switch to video herself, though. It's silly - doubly silly since her eyes no longer glow, which isn't something she can hide - but it makes her feel a little less exposed all the same.

It takes another second for her to actually look at him through her curtain of hair, but she does it. Baby steps. ]

Sorry.

[It's strange and confusing and appallingly human, the way the sight of her face brings a wave of emotions all tangled together. Is it fear or is it relief? Her eyes don't glow. He only has a dim memory of when his had stopped. Too busy to think about it at the time... out of her view, he brushes his gloved hands together, and runs the tip of the tongue over his blunted fangs.

He's not wearing his glasses. No tears shed, but his eyes are bloodshot and damp, and there's a telltale raspy catch in his voice. He could pass it off at the aftermath of a coughing fit if he had to, but he doesn't care. Fiona, Haurchefant, Watson - he doesn't care what they see. He's speaking to her and her alone.]

Look at me.

[And she does, and his mortal heart could stop.]

I'm going to dispense some hard to swallow adult wisdom in just a moment, if you're worried on that account. But before that, I want you to know that I love you. Whatever you've done, think you've done, thought of doing - I couldn't care less about any of it. In three hundred years I've never wanted to turn anyone, but if you willed it, if I could - I would make you my childe without a moment's thought. Nothing you can tell me will change that.

[ Welp. Her face crumples again at that, and her attempt at actually saying something turns into an embarrassingly loud sob. There's a few seconds of tearful struggling before she finally gives up, holds up a finger and splutters something that sounds an awful lot like jusseconigottaboohoohoo before setting the tablet aside.

She's back a few seconds later. With tissues. She's been carrying these around for ages and now they're all going to get used up AND SHE DOESN'T EVEN CARE. ]

Love you too. A lot. [sniff] But you know that. I'm - I - ugh, I'm a mess, sorry -

[ Since when is she the one who can't deal with things? So dumb. She scrubs at her face with the tissues almost angrily, frustrated beyond reason at how the tears are coming so easily while words don't, and huffs in exasperation. ]

Thank you. For - for thinking I'm worth that. But for the record, you don't have to turn me for us to be family. Because we - that's. It's already a thing.

[ Inelegantly expressed, maybe, but it comes with a watery smile. A proper one. That counts for something, right ]

[Beckett waits for her with quiet dadpire patience. He's not surprised at the tears. He's practically crying, so Angel is more than entitled to some boohoohoo (curse her for having tissues though all he's got is a rather traumatised handkerchief).

He holds off on any further tear-inducing comments for now. Because dignity. His and also hers. A matched set. It's one of the reasons - not for how much he loves her, though he does that a lot, but why he cherishes her as he does. Worries about her as he does. Because he knows.

Possibly that is what family means.]

Yes - yes, it is. [His voice is quiet, because this is still a strange confession, a strange feeling, but that doesn't make it any less true. The Kindred are gone and he belongs nowhere in all the worlds, but he belongs with her, with them.]

But as for - [He clears his throat slightly, wanting to look away and gather his thoughts among all these feelings, but not daring to.] You've spoken to Rhys since waking, I assume. You must have.

Erm - yes. Of course. I had about a billion messages from him waiting when I came around, so I let him know I was alright as soon as possible.

[ Talking about other people is, as always, easier. She's a little more composed already, though her anxiety shows through a little more than it ordinarily would. Her guard is already down, it'd feel dishonest - disrespectful - to put it back up. ]

He's - I'm sure he'll be alright now. I was a little worried I'd been gone significantly longer than he was, so it's good to know it wasn't that long.

It didn't even occur to me that I'd come back last. Stupid of me, really.

It's rarely occurred to anyone. [A simple reassurance to give, since in his experience that's been simple fact. He's not about to tell her much else that is simple, so at least there is this.

But there is a lot else. He takes a bracing breath.]

He'll be all right. He's surprisingly durable. [At any other time there would be a joke here. Now, this is actually said with unconditional respect.] You did right. I know it, he knows it, and you'll know it too, at some point. But I expect it will be a while. It takes time, and... experience, to work off the effects of looking someone in the eye as you kill them.

[IC Contact -- Snowblind]

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video; STILL CRYING

video; hOW DARE YOU DO THIS,

I DO WHAT I WAaaaaaaaaa...

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