[She falls out of this one with a budding migraine and a wish to vomit. Camille has learned to hate this place. Now she wants it scrubbed off the land entirely, burn and buff it until they hit paleolithic rock. How many times today has she tripped and fallen into someone's open wound?
Mathis is here, nearby. She rises, willing her jelly legs to hold her weight as she puts both her hands on his shoulders. Her expression is pale, but open, hurt. Heartbroken.]
He made you? [Is that what this is? Camille shakes her head, looking between his eyes.] Mathis...
[he's wide-eyed, shaken by that; the name she shares with his 'brother' doesn't help, and for a few moments he seems dazed, looking back at her with-- fear. uncertainty.
then he blinks, his gaze clearing to look at her, really seeing her. the fear is gone, but the uncertainty...
she knows what he is, but he doesn't know how she's going to take that. how she sees him, knowing he isn't... he's not really human.]
[He's frightened again. Must be hard to hold your ground when people keep whipping the rug from under you. He shouldn't be though. Not of her, nor himself. Of being a burden or a pest. She doesn't think she's met a kid with less backbone in her life.
She could pity him. Rather does sometimes. Mostly though, she wants to give him a lesson that will stick.]
I don't care who made you, or why. It doesn't matter where you came from. And if your head's a little messed up, that's okay. So many people's are.
You can choose who you want to be. Nobody else gets to decide that for you. All right?
Edited (the transition between tags wasn't right HELP) 2024-06-28 03:44 (UTC)
F-Famine has... scolded me about all of that, yes...
[he's shrinking back slightly as she speaks-- not that he isn't listening, or that he's taking her saying it as scolding, but. of course he can't help worrying.]
...I know. I know, but I-- it's difficult to know how.
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I feel it is safe to say that she is the superior Camille
Mathis is here, nearby. She rises, willing her jelly legs to hold her weight as she puts both her hands on his shoulders. Her expression is pale, but open, hurt. Heartbroken.]
He made you? [Is that what this is? Camille shakes her head, looking between his eyes.] Mathis...
[What does she even say?]
no subject
[he's wide-eyed, shaken by that; the name she shares with his 'brother' doesn't help, and for a few moments he seems dazed, looking back at her with-- fear. uncertainty.
then he blinks, his gaze clearing to look at her, really seeing her. the fear is gone, but the uncertainty...
she knows what he is, but he doesn't know how she's going to take that. how she sees him, knowing he isn't... he's not really human.]
no subject
Mathis.
[He's frightened again. Must be hard to hold your ground when people keep whipping the rug from under you. He shouldn't be though. Not of her, nor himself. Of being a burden or a pest. She doesn't think she's met a kid with less backbone in her life.
She could pity him. Rather does sometimes. Mostly though, she wants to give him a lesson that will stick.]
I don't care who made you, or why. It doesn't matter where you came from. And if your head's a little messed up, that's okay. So many people's are.
You can choose who you want to be. Nobody else gets to decide that for you. All right?
no subject
[he's shrinking back slightly as she speaks-- not that he isn't listening, or that he's taking her saying it as scolding, but. of course he can't help worrying.]
...I know. I know, but I-- it's difficult to know how.
no subject
[She rubs those frail shoulders, voice softening.]
The only way to start us by living.