driftfleet | video;

Who: Mattias Larnaca
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: general waystation area?? vague hand gestures
When: April 22nd

[Lo and behold: Mattias fretting on a bench. It's not an obvious sort of motion, restricted to subtle shifts and twitching fingers, but it's noticeable enough to matter. He's hunched over the comm and what little the background shows is unrevealing. The corner of a building here, the awning of a kiosk there, everything unspecific.]

It's been quite a month, hasn't it? What with the attacks... [he drifts off, never very good with small talk. One of the many gifts he lacks.] It's been good to watch all the repairs. People working together... [Wow, he sure does suck at this. He chews his lip, glancing around as if looking for help. Nope. Nothing. Maybe he'll just get to the point.]

Still, tensions must be running high. Stress and such. Always have a way of sinking in. I've my own, of course. My ship fared poorly in the attacks and that—[He glances away, head sinking slightly.]—it's been the lesser of many events. I don't mean to complain but the effects are starting to wear. My usual methods aren't working. Reading—I just can't seem to concentrate and beyond that... Well. I've little else.

[He sighs, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. It messes it up a bit, but he's careful to smooth it back down.] It feels inappropriate to ask something so selfish but I'm at a loss. And there are a great many things that all of you know... [That I don't is heavily implied. He glances away, switching the comm to one hand so he can properly wring his wrist.] So, I was wondering—how do you cope? With... all of this. It doesn't have to be personal just. Just simple things. Like... jumping off a building. [Immediately, he scrunches his eyes closed.] —Bad example. But, you know what I mean.

[Fiddling nervously, he searches for something else to say, finds nothing, and cuts the feed. ]

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[Again, he freezes. Falls back against the bench, shock twisting into a twitching sneer. Disgust spreads quickly and he regards the comm as if it were nothing but dirt.]

You can't be serious. You want me to sleep with you?

[Okay, at that, he laughs. Pretends it doesn't hurt to see someone like Mattias reject him so thoroughly when he hadn't even meant (in this moment) to bring that up. Acts like that disgust doesn't set his skin ablaze with an irritation that has him wanting to yell.]

It must be on your mind, to focus on that part of it. I was speaking of the rest. [A pause, as he considers, sitting back again.]

Though I wouldn't be against it. You know, it's much more beneficial than violence.

And it's certainly more appealing than talking to you about anything.

[Well, while they're here, he zeroes in on it.]

So you find it appealing?

Oh, shut up.

You quite enjoyed it rough, didn't you? Imagine it with your feelings. I was not lying about it being beneficial.

[And there it goes. The blush. He tries to hide it with a hand, pulling back from the comm but it doesn't help. Draws more attention to it, than anything. The memories are fresh in his mind.]

I'm not interested.

[Except he is. He always will be. But he can't.]

You're blushing.

[He points it out simply, gesturing to the comm with his free hand.]

Are you really trying to say you find no appeal in it? No interest in being less submissive? Your thoughts are always written on your face, Messiah.

Enough, Oren! [He practically shouts it and it startles him. Quiets him to a harsh whisper.]

I won't talk to you and I won't fuck you. You know full well why.

[He raises his eyebrows, crossing an ankle over his opposite knee as he leans back a bit more.]

Ah, yes, you're right. My mistake. I'd thought that information had been held by you even before our time together in this place.

[He knew about his betrayal as they fucked. As he submitted and did everything and anything to please. As he tried and clung desperately. He had hope.]

Don't—

[The words get caught. He purses his lips. Wets them. His heart is beating like mad, chest on fire, anger as hot as it had been when they fought. No, when he had beaten him. He takes a couple minutes to calm down. To breathe in and out. He speaks only when his voice is level.]

It was a mistake. One I can't repeat again.

[Even if he still wants to.]

[Oren's anger shows in quieter ways. In the flat sort of smile he gives in response to that, and the look downwards that's almost defeated but not quite. His grip on the comm tightens.]

Well, then you should be glad, Messiah. Your mistakes can be forgiven, I'm sure.

[His anger comes in pointed comments and quiet implications. In bitter tones that ask for sympathy in ways he didn't even intend. They're more honest.]

Are you trying to make me pity you? After what you did?

[He sounds stronger than he feels, morals twisting and reshaping like warm clay. He's uncertain, now that he knows the reason why and it tears at the fringes of his decisions with every thought.]

[His face scrunches up at that, in brief surprise and then irritation. Something snaps in his mind, and it's almost completely visible how he recoils and tries to push it aside. Anger comes out louder than before.

But it's defensive.]

Pity is the last thing I want. If you intend to lord your point in time over my head, then I'm finished trying to speak with you. Sort out your stress on your own terms, then.

[He'll see how well that works.]

Oh? [He's practically purring.] Did I strike a nerve?

[FUCKING]

Demons piss on you.

[This selfish hypocrisy doesn't need to be pointed out. He hopes it eats at him while no one is around. He's too bothered by his own emotions flaring up right now, and he shuts off the feed, chucking his comm across the floor with an annoyed huff of a sigh.]

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