[ they're so different, manuela and blade. she leans in to her emotions, dramatic sometimes but earnest nonetheless; blade, in contrast, has long ago convinced himself he has no feelings at all. other than the stellaron hunters, blade hasn't cared about anyone or anything in seven centuries or more, and the muscles he might once have used to express things like hurt and sorrow and friendship are long since atrophied with disuse.
but—
manuela was kind to him. from the beginning she's been kind to him, despite their fumbling start in the cottage in the vale. despite blade's stoicism, his reticence, she has never treated him as anything other than a companion, and that... that means something. doesn't it? shouldn't it? how little blade remembers of friendship. ]
I— [ he begins, although even as he speaks he isn't sure what he's going to say. ] —You were. You were wrong.
[ it's funny. back in the punishment room, it had felt like torture to do anything other than speak; now, speaking itself feels like torture, but blade has suffered worse pain than this, and he would rather this than allow manuela to labor under the misunderstanding that blade hates her.
(later, he will ask himself why it matters and find it difficult to answer.) ]
I'm—sorry. For what I said. [ about men deserving better than being a warm body to fill an empty space, or whatever. he can't remember the exact phrasing and he doesn't think it would do any good to try to dredge it up. ] I was alone for seven centuries. I've been told I'm... [ what did silver wolf say, that time? ] Badly socialized.
[ like a skittish dog who wants affection but doesn't know how to seek it without growling. it's taking everything he has to be honest now, and even then his gaze has dropped to his hands on the table, unable to meet manuela's eyes. will she know that he means it? blade isn't sure how he'll convince her, if not. ]
I don't remember how to do this. I'll probably hurt you. I meant what I said about being a monster. [ his hands are trembling. blade clenches his fingers into fists. ] But I'll... try. If you still want me to.
no subject
but—
manuela was kind to him. from the beginning she's been kind to him, despite their fumbling start in the cottage in the vale. despite blade's stoicism, his reticence, she has never treated him as anything other than a companion, and that... that means something. doesn't it? shouldn't it? how little blade remembers of friendship. ]
I— [ he begins, although even as he speaks he isn't sure what he's going to say. ] —You were. You were wrong.
[ it's funny. back in the punishment room, it had felt like torture to do anything other than speak; now, speaking itself feels like torture, but blade has suffered worse pain than this, and he would rather this than allow manuela to labor under the misunderstanding that blade hates her.
(later, he will ask himself why it matters and find it difficult to answer.) ]
I'm—sorry. For what I said. [ about men deserving better than being a warm body to fill an empty space, or whatever. he can't remember the exact phrasing and he doesn't think it would do any good to try to dredge it up. ] I was alone for seven centuries. I've been told I'm... [ what did silver wolf say, that time? ] Badly socialized.
[ like a skittish dog who wants affection but doesn't know how to seek it without growling. it's taking everything he has to be honest now, and even then his gaze has dropped to his hands on the table, unable to meet manuela's eyes. will she know that he means it? blade isn't sure how he'll convince her, if not. ]
I don't remember how to do this. I'll probably hurt you. I meant what I said about being a monster. [ his hands are trembling. blade clenches his fingers into fists. ] But I'll... try. If you still want me to.