finlay mccracken. (yinned) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2013-01-04 22:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! log, ! plot: kidnapping, edwin seabeck, finlay mccracken |
Who: Edwin and Fin
What: Edwin comforts Fin the only way he can with his body.
When: 4 January
Where: European safehouse
Status: COMPLETED LOG
Warnings: Jillian's beautiful writing might bring you to tears.
Mette and Padraig were back, but the focus was on the dead. It happened this way and he hoped that neither of them were in much of a state to notice. Trauma was a strange thing - some people wanted comfort and attention to prove that they were still in the world, still mattered, and some wanted to hide away, block out all the detritus and at least have some outward appearance of peace to counteract the turmoil within. He didn’t know which type they’d be. He didn’t know which type Fin would be either, but he still showed up at the door to the female bunks with a cup of tea. Friendship was an obligation in some respects - an obligation to care, an obligation to put oneself out there, an obligation to listen and comfort - but not all obligations weighed heavily.
Edwin tapped on the door before going inside. “Fin?” he asked gently, unsure of what he’d find within.
Fin heard someone say her name and looked up, her face was read and streaked with tears. Every time she tried to keep her emotions at bay they demanded to be let out - it wasn’t something that she was proud of, but since hearing the news, it had been a vicious cycle of sobbing and then feeling the aching nothing that was the empty place where he friends had been,
“Hi,” she said, licking her lips. She moved to greet him and hoped that maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell that she can been crying.
“Oh, stay there,” he said softly, closing the door behind him. The shades drawn made the room feel funereal. Apropos. Edwin crossed over to her, towering over her curled up form, and offered her the cuppa. The red-rimmed eyes escaped him - his vision couldn’t pick it up - but the rasp in her voice was enough of an indicator.
“I thought about biscuits but... I can’t imagine you’re very hungry at the moment,” he added quietly as explanation.
“No - not really,” Fin said. But she was grateful for the tea - just the fact that he had brought it to her spoke more volumes that words could. Tea was comforting and she enjoyed the warmth against her hands. Before she came here, she would have never expected to be friends with someone like Edwin, someone smart, someone who had gone to uni - someone who was so kind and good.
She moved over to leave him a space to sit. “Thank you.”
That was the answer to that question. He took a seat next to her, compacting himself somewhat. “Sure. They don’t carry whiskey, so...” Edwin remarked, tilting his head in a vague shrug. “Tea it was.”
No, there wasn’t anything comforting to say and he’d had plenty of practise on the other side of this tableau, bundled up and fighting off the worst of his nature, trying not to dissolve, but not this side. Edwin didn’t know what he was supposed to do, what was called for. Feeling his way through the dark was never comfortable, but this he’d withstand because Fin had done him a kindness and those were too rare to not reciprocate in kind.
Fin would settle for Edwin sitting beside her at least she could pretend to be okay for him - she clearly couldn’t do it for herself but maybe she could do it with another person there beside her. Just maybe. “It’s too bad I could go for a strong drink.” And a fag. Her throat hurt from crying but she sipped her tea and it felt better.
“I think you’d find yourself to be in the majority there.”
He knitted his fingers together and rested them on his bent knees. Thoughts streamed in and out of his head - why the fatalities had been so concentrated on this side of the world, what it would feel like to be back at IVI with such noticeable gaps, if his assumptions were right and training would become far more accelerated. Only one came out.
“Did you get to see them over the holiday at least?” The moment the words found purchase in the air, he inwardly winced.
The question was simple and had their roles been reversed Fin would have likely asked an equally as stupid question of the boy beside her. But it caught her unaware and she took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. “I went and had drinks with Mal a few times - he doesn’t - didn’t,” she corrected herself and winced. “Live far from where I was. But Myra was in Ireland.” They were supposed to have the rest of break and Fin took a breath trying to stop the sobs that were building up in her chest.
He should really just shut up. Empty an area of sound, of voice, and something rushed into fill it - Edwin knew that. People, more than nature even, abhorred a vacuum and at least the thoughts they filed it with were self-generated and not extricated. Edwin wasn’t trying to be clever; this wasn’t talking Nawal or Hunter out of reality or reasoning someone out of their position. He couldn’t deal with loss.
Fin hadn’t even seen Myra before the end. It wouldn’t have helped but it wouldn’t have hurt either. Her mouth made a thin line and Edwin ventured back into the vacuum of sentiment, unable to resist it himself. “Stupid question. Sorry.”
“No - it’s fine,” Fin said. “It’s fine,” she said assuring herself more than him but she didn’t want to feel like he had to walk on eggshells around here either. She rested a hand on his arm for a second trying to offer him physical reassurance. “It’s okay.” She wished that she had music on her computer to fill the awkward silence because what could either of them say at this moment? Nothing.
She sipped her tea. “Don’t worry about it.”
Okay, contact was okay. He filed that away as he reached up and pled his sunglasses off, knocking the ear pieces against his thigh to collapse them. The fit perfectly into his breast pocket, which was the whole reason he wore button up shirts in the first place. It made the darkness of the room a bit less dark and... well, she was vulnerable. Now he was too.
He found her free hand and threaded his fingers through. If his mouth was determined to fail him as usual, then perhaps this could work better.