driftfleet | (no subject)

[by the time she speaks, he's sliced up the last of that meatstuff and dropped it in the pan--it smells really good, after all of that protein junk, and now that he's got his full sense of smell back.

he looks back at her again... but this time, he picks up a spatula, taps it on the counter twice, and then points with it to the table. this is a much clearer gesture, accompanied by the slight tilt of his head. pull up a chair, have a seat.

he must expect her to just do it, since he goes back to cooking. he's got a pot of something grain-like that he scoops out onto his frying food.]

[ She gets the hint much more easily this time and after some hesitation, she obeys. Personally, she's a little more upset about being moved around like a pawn on a game board than she is hungry, but the food does smell good and, well, she's a little weak to anything warm that smells nice. It at least offers some comfort, even if it makes her miss Barakiel sharply.

She watches him for a while in silence, uncertain if he either doesn't believe what she's told him or simply doesn't care. She's not really surprised that he knows how to cook apparently. Of course he'd be somewhat self-sufficient. She is a little impressed though that he seems to move about the kitchen as though all of this is second nature. Even she probably couldn't do that well if left to her own devices. ]

Mm... nice apron.

[he shrugs. hange and coil get the lab, and zhas gets the kitchen. everybody needs a hobby.

he packs down rice, sets down his spatula, and finally steps away from his work. he pulls on his shoulder while he turns, stretching out the tendons and muscles--one of the many strange effects of getting all healed up is that his shoulders eased up for the first time in years. now that he's back to his old habits, he has to feel them complain and ache all over again...

so he glances at the wall, neck stretched to the side, wearing an apron, and somehow looking exactly as serious, unimpressed, and vaguely annoyed as ever.]

Met Coil yet.

[ Cecil shakes her head in answer to his... well, his question. ]

He and Hange don't like each other much, it seems.

[ As she says this, she prepares a mild Cure spell, shooting it off in his direction to help with the tight muscles. She doesn't ask him first if it's all right to heal his aches and pains. ]

[well, at least he doesn't freak out this time...]

Stop that. [--hissed through his teeth, right before he shudders. you'd think she poured a bucket of ice water on him, not a small healing spell.]

I'm only trying to help. Why does it upset you so much?

[he shakes his head. he hates explaining. he told her that already. with his shoulders now relaxed against his will, he pushes forward with what he was talking about before.]

Listen. If Coil acts like a brat, tell me. Don't play games with him.

I didn't plan it.

[ She was planning to just smack him upside the head a few times instead, really. ]

But don't change the subject. Use your words, Zhas.

[on the one hand, he doesn't trust her at all not to play the let's-be-friends game, the what's-your-angle game, or even just try to assert her dominance over him--something that Coil would hate her for if she didn't do it right. on the other hand, he's... bitter and jealous, and overprotective of the one thing he has control over on this ship. he doesn't want anyone beating up his friend but him.]

No. [how's that for words?] I'm serious. I need to know if he disobeys my orders.

[ Urge to smack him slowly rising... ]

Then you should probably know he already seems to be doing it if you've issued any "orders" regarding how he interacts with those on this ship who aren't you. Hange is not pleased with his apparent attitude.

I know.

[they've talked. very recently. he isn't mad because cecil showed up on their ship; he's mad because cecil's being here upsets a tentatively stable balance. coil can hate their bizarre roommate--coil isn't allowed to hate half the crew.

so he just... stares her down, eyes glowing very dimly in the relatively helpful kitchen light. he wants absolute understanding on this.]

[ Considering this is the same sort of conflict she just came out of with Kaneis in her own crew, Cecil really isn't feeling particularly tolerant of Zhas' usual behavior. She looks utterly unimpressed with his glaring and after a bit, she sighs deeply and moves to get up from the table. ]

Fine. Majority rules. If they let me, I'll transfer off this ship.

This isn't about you!

[--he shouldn't have shouted, but his hands are balled up into fists and the energy had to go somewhere. he wants to grab her, keep her there so that she'd just listen. instead, he drags it all back and focuses on taking off his apron. he starts talking, quickly--a little hard to follow with his monotone.]

He came back weak and insubordinate. He isn't keeping his emotions in check. He will not survive on our world if he keeps up his reckless pettiness and nothing anyone can say to him, no matter how logical, is going to get him to stop.

[he wads up the apron, tosses it on the table.]

Our world isn't like that. I-- [goddamn it. it pains him to say this.] I need you to cooperate. I need to know when he fails, because if he can't respect you, our world will destroy him. Does that make sense to you?

[he's frustrated, but... there's a deep fear under all of it. maybe she can hear it, in those last words. that quiet desperation... strung out and irritated.]

Edited 2014-12-18 19:48 (UTC)

[ Cecil doesn't handle being yelled at by people who don't respect her all that well. She also doesn't take too kindly to being told how to interact with other people. The fact that she and Zhas generally have this tension between them when put together at any given time just makes matters worse and the bitter bite of anger and resentment hits her as soon as he raises his voice.

That said, she isn't completely unaffected by the more vulnerable feelings she can pick up behind his wrath. She remembers what he said to her the night they had their little sparring match. Given his usual disposition and what he himself just admits, it's not a huge leap to guess he's channeling his fear, confusion, and helplessness through his anger.

She still gets up from her seat, but instead of leaving the kitchen, she closes the distance between them and gently rests her hands on his biceps. She doesn't raise her voice to match his volume, but rather, deliberately lowers hers and softens her tone. It sounds a lot like she's... comforting him?? ]

All right, all right... I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Zhas.

Edited 2014-12-19 03:38 (UTC)

[which might be a foreign concept to him, with the way that she subtly recoils, drawing closer into himself. he barely moves, but he's very tense. his painted lips press into a thin line, and he looks away from her.

but he quiets down. that's probably the most important part. he simmers, dwelling and torn up over the fact that he isn't feeling a simple anger anymore. it feels like it's trying to claw its way out of his throat.]

Don't... apologize. [quieter, but plainly stated:] It's not your fault.

[ The reaction to her comforting doesn't come as too much of a surprise, but since he doesn't actually pull away from her, she begins to rub his arms a little, very lightly, very softly. She's careful not to come on too strong, wanting to make it clear that she's not trying to force him into anything, but only trying to help, only expressing compassion and understanding. What does surprise her though is the rejection of her apology and why he rejects it. It's not because he means to be cold, but because he truly doesn't believe she needs to apologize. ]

It isn't yours either. Whatever has made Coil the way he is now was out of your hands. Do not blame yourself. You cannot help him and we cannot help you if you are weighed down with your guilt and frustration.

[he puts up with that for a very generous four seconds before he (almost involuntarily) shudders away from her touch. there's not much room for him to move away, but he somehow manages.

at least her words sound... well, he's not sure if he agrees with any of it, or even fully understands, but it still sounds like something she might have said, and that in itself is a little comforting. he still doesn't look at her.]

I can't help him if he sneaks around my orders. Do you understand.

[ When he moves away, she withdraws her hands out of respect for his unspoken wish not to be touched anymore, not offended herself in the least bit. She recognizes that it's really a wonder he stayed still for as long as he had, after all. ]

Of course I do. A lot of your yelling could have been avoided if you had just said this in the first place.

I don't know how things were done exactly where you're from, but it seems rather clear that communication wasn't too important or even welcomed. You aren't at home anymore. You know this already. All of us on this ship are accustomed to leading at home, and we all have our own methods and ideas as to how to approach that. You can't simply treat us like insubordinates and expect us to obey without question or conjecture. Please don't raise your voice at me like that again when all I am doing is trying to understand the situation.

I will do as you wish with Coil, unconditionally. He is your responsibility and your only direct connection to your home world. I respect that. I belong on this ship even less than I belong on any of the others and it is not my intention to make matters worse.

[as bad as he is at talking, at least he seems like a good listener.

because he lets her talk. he had his words, she can have hers, even if he holds tension in his jaw and his shoulders and has to fight down his own disagreements. yes, he's used to leading. yes, he knows this is a different place, a different situation. his throat hurts. the food is still cooking on the stove.

her words settle in the air and, after a silence, he says the one thing he thinks is worth saying.]

Why don't you think you belong here.

[ She looks at him a bit like she can't really believe he's asking that. ]

It's not a matter of belief. I know I don't. In truth, none of us belong in this world. We belong in the places we were born.

I took up the responsibility to lead that ship and help the people on it to the best of my ability. And now I'm here instead. Even if I didn't choose this, I would still be abandoning them if I didn't try everything in my power to get back to them.

Besides that, it is not a secret we aren't friends.

No.

[to what, zhas? what was that saying no to? he glances behind himself, at the cooking food. the situation has lost steam. he's still angry, but no angrier than he always is.]

Might be here for a reason.

[...excuse him, he needs to turn the stove off and flip the food over before it burns.]

[ Well, then, he can do that while she just stands there, feeling really confused and mildly bewildered. Here for a reason? Who? What? She's not sure she understands what he means by that at all. It feels a bit like she should be surprised he even commented in the first place, but the remark still certainly leaves much to be explained. And she doesn't feel as if asking will even get her anywhere right now. ]

[give him a moment--he reaches for a bowl, scoops up a serving, and holds it out with the assumption that Cecil is going to take it from him.]

What do you know about vampires.

[ The question seems to make her instantly uncomfortable-- so much so that she forgets to plainly refuse the bowl. Instead, she just gulps hard and her brow furrows, blue-eyed gaze dropping to the floor in thought. ]

They are vile creatures who literally thrive off of the bloodshed and suffering of others, in the plainest and most direct of ways.