[ Gorgug appreciates the honesty--it sounds honest, just because it isn't hopeful. There's always the expectation of it, like any question about how fucked a group of people are should be followed by it, and it's not that Gorgug doesn't appreciate the sentiment behind it. His parents have always been that with him, even as he grew up the friendless kid, the too-angry kid. Too big, too other.
But there's something more real about this: Sharon's pessimism, the understandable reason for it. Gorgug's conflicted, thinking through it; quiet as he does, but present in how his emotions struggle with his thoughts. This could be it, this bizarre world, this weird shitty thing with gods. This could be all they get.
... ]
I could be stone for the rest of my life. [ It's a sobering possibility. Acceptance in the observation, and Gorgug speaks slowly as he continues. ] You know, I didn't-- when I was growing up, I didn't like my body. But before I came here, I was... I started to feel better about it. I had friends for the first time, and I even-- I got a girlfriend. I made her pretty mad before I had that weird dream that led me here, but...
[ But what is he saying? The thing is, he isn't surprised, in a sense. He's been waiting for the other shoe to drop, the one that's been dangling for over a year of his life since he died. He came back, and it never felt like he should have. It was too good. He was never meant to have it good.
And his agitation, it's not really anger. But the city air is thick with it, and his confusing feelings makes it easy to infiltrate, tasting different across the tether. It's humid like how the streets of Manhattan currently are, soaking through Gorgug's stone.
It presses against their link, Gorgug feeling it rise in himself--and whatever other thoughts he had, they're gone as he hurries to excuse himself, mental voice thick and apologetic: ]
I have to go punch something.
[ He pulls away from their connection, going as far as to remove the mask from his face just to give distance from his emotions. Even if it means he can't see, only adds to his upset, fuels the rage he finds he can't contain.
[ It's a terrible realization to hand someone, and hearing the quiet acceptance in his voice makes Sharon's chest tighten painfully. For a fleeting moment, she wonders if she's made the wrong choice. Maybe she should've softened it somehow, dulled the edges of the truth enough to make it easier to swallow. But would that have been any kinder?
He starts to ramble then, words tumbling together as he pieces through everything he might have just lost, every implication crashing down on him. Emotion surges through him in waves, not quite anger yet, but something close to it, something that will burn hotter the moment it finds the fuel. Guilt coils low in her belly. ] All right. [ It's the only thing she can manage before he removes the mask. The direct connection severs, cutting off that clearer stream between them, but the tether remains. She can still feel the shape of what he's carrying.
She doesn't attempt to pry into him, but instead, she lets something gentler drift across the bond—a warmth, an unspoken offering of comfort if he needs it. She's already accepted the awful reality before them; she's willing to help him through the same. ]
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But there's something more real about this: Sharon's pessimism, the understandable reason for it. Gorgug's conflicted, thinking through it; quiet as he does, but present in how his emotions struggle with his thoughts. This could be it, this bizarre world, this weird shitty thing with gods. This could be all they get.
... ]
I could be stone for the rest of my life. [ It's a sobering possibility. Acceptance in the observation, and Gorgug speaks slowly as he continues. ] You know, I didn't-- when I was growing up, I didn't like my body. But before I came here, I was... I started to feel better about it. I had friends for the first time, and I even-- I got a girlfriend. I made her pretty mad before I had that weird dream that led me here, but...
[ But what is he saying? The thing is, he isn't surprised, in a sense. He's been waiting for the other shoe to drop, the one that's been dangling for over a year of his life since he died. He came back, and it never felt like he should have. It was too good. He was never meant to have it good.
And his agitation, it's not really anger. But the city air is thick with it, and his confusing feelings makes it easy to infiltrate, tasting different across the tether. It's humid like how the streets of Manhattan currently are, soaking through Gorgug's stone.
It presses against their link, Gorgug feeling it rise in himself--and whatever other thoughts he had, they're gone as he hurries to excuse himself, mental voice thick and apologetic: ]
I have to go punch something.
[ He pulls away from their connection, going as far as to remove the mask from his face just to give distance from his emotions. Even if it means he can't see, only adds to his upset, fuels the rage he finds he can't contain.
It just makes sense in the moment. ]
no subject
He starts to ramble then, words tumbling together as he pieces through everything he might have just lost, every implication crashing down on him. Emotion surges through him in waves, not quite anger yet, but something close to it, something that will burn hotter the moment it finds the fuel. Guilt coils low in her belly. ] All right. [ It's the only thing she can manage before he removes the mask. The direct connection severs, cutting off that clearer stream between them, but the tether remains. She can still feel the shape of what he's carrying.
She doesn't attempt to pry into him, but instead, she lets something gentler drift across the bond—a warmth, an unspoken offering of comfort if he needs it. She's already accepted the awful reality before them; she's willing to help him through the same. ]