ic inbox

[credere]

 [ voice | video | text | spam ]

Comments

[magician_king]

"Who'd you kill?"

Asks Quentin, with all his usual decorum, pouring him a cup of cocoa and offering it over, carefully.

[credere]

Credence accepts it unthinkingly but just holds it.

"Fives. And - Lark."

He doesn't see Lark in his other form, often, but he recognises it when he sees it.

[magician_king]

"Huh."

Says Quentin, flinching a bit- sorry Fives, it's been kind of a rough week where your subordinates have been concerned. Maintenance is not operating great, as a whole.

"Well, that really sucks. I'm sorry, Credence. You're a good person, and a good friend, and that shouldn't have happened to you."

[credere]

Credence curls in around his cocoa.

"Nothing happened to me. I did it to other people."

[magician_king]

"The flood happened to you, and made you do things to other people. Most of us would rather be killed than have that happen."

He points out, quietly.

"If you talk to Lark, and talk to Fives, they'd tell you the same."

[credere]

The idea of talking to Lark or Fives, even though he knows he'll have to eventually, makes him feel nauseous even though there's nothing to throw up.

"I," he says, and then chokes up, because it was so much easier to talk to Shiro about this when she'd gone through the same thing. "I d-didn't see you."

[magician_king]

"I became something different."

He says, and crumples, right away, reassurance failing him, face flushing hot and ugly, reaching to busy himself with tearing off bits of bread, slathering them with jam and better.

"It was quiet. I didn't reach out much."

[credere]

"Oh."

And Credence hates seeing that happen to Quentin's expression, hates knowing that he's done that to him - so he pulls focus right back onto himself, regardless of how much it hurts to do it.

"....He didn't feel bad about anything. He didn't feel any - guilt. He didn't...doubt."

[magician_king]

He blinks, and butters the bread, and instructs him;

"Drink your cocoa. Um." A watery breath. "That sounds like- a terrible relief. A freedom, but with sick consequences."

[credere]

He sips at it. It's good, warm, and Quentin hasn't made it too sweet - but it still makes his stomach lurch.

"....sometimes I want to feel like that. Sometimes I want to just....not care."

[magician_king]

"It sure seems like the people on board who don't give a shit are happier."

He agrees, and reaches to take the cup back, trading it for some bread.

[credere]

Again, he takes it, but just looks at it for a long few moments before pushing some into his mouth.

"He - I wasn't happy. He was angry, all the time. But that's all he was."

Not shamed, not hurting. Just angry. There was a...cleanness to it, that he can only barely remember feeling now.

[magician_king]

"That is. I've been there. Just clean, strong rage."

And, for the record;

"I ruined my life, giving into it. Got Alice killed."

[credere]

Credence flinches, very slightly, and swallows his bread against the rising tide of bile in his throat.

"That's - why he liked her so much. He couldn't...really hurt her."

Sorry, Quentin, this has all been complicated by the weirding of his relationship with his kinda-not-really-girlfriend.

[magician_king]

"You're not him, Credence. And you're going to find a way to feel okay without being just furious. And you should know- even if you do hurt people, sometimes, by accident, on purpose, once or twice- it doesn't mean you're not worthy of love."

He promises him this, with all his heart.

"Okay?"

[credere]

Credence gives him the baleful look of someone who's spent his life being taught he's not worthy of love because he's a Hell-bound freak of nature, then eats another mouthful of bread.

"Okay."

[magician_king]

"I love you. Even if you'd killed like, ninety people this flood, I'd still love you, despite having some concerns."

Says Quentin, matter of factly.

[credere]

Credence just stares blankly into space for several long moments, while he chews and swallows. He can't unpack a statement like that. Wouldn't know where to start.

"...Okay."

[magician_king]

He swallows, and looks down, going to fumble with the cocoa, pour himself a second glass, try to drown the suspicious little part of his brain that wants to try to interpret Credence's responses as apathy, dislike, rather than the result of specific, ongoing, long term abuse. Something to drink for himself, a little of that bread, and maybe a little silence will be all right.

[credere]

"...I just..."

The silence feels too heavy, the weight of unsaid words too great.

"I don't understand....why."

[magician_king]

"I don't know how to explain. I just- know."

He admits, eyes burning.

"So I've got a weird, unrelated question for you, that I need an honest answer to."

[credere]

Credence draws in a slightly shuddery breath, then lets it out, and nods.

"Okay."

[magician_king]

"Would I be a good father?"

He asks, extremely quietly, looking at the bread.

[credere]

"I don't know what good fathers are like," he points out, very quietly. Good parents, period. If he said anything, yes or no, it would be facile - and Quentin would know that, surely.

[magician_king]

"Me neither."

He answers, voice drying up a little, head tipping back to rest against the wall, eyes closing very, very tight.