"We have very little but time," Astarion agrees. "I've learned a great
deal in my time here. Admittedly, much of that was so I could follow even
a basic conversation about Earth's culture, but - still."
He's working as he talks, slowly and deliberately, so that Rosita can watch
and take note.
"Different, I think. There are...divergences in a history we otherwise
share, long preceding both his death and mine. Different people, different
events, but the same broad arc."
"Most people don't have to be 'flexible' enough to deal with a place like
this," Astarion observes. "I hear there's such a thing as being so
open-minded your brain falls out, and you've a stronger head than that.
It's something I admire about you, actually."
"That you're practical and thoughtful," Astarion says, just as dry in
return. "I - struggle to give much thought to anything beyond the immediate
future."
"I'm doing fine here," Astarion says mildly, "where all my needs are met
and little changes from month to month. I....honestly don't know if I'd
last a tenday in a world like yours."
"I wouldn't let you fall," is what she offers, seriously.
"But that's the rub, isn't it? Here is not there, or wherever either of us goes next, or anywhere but here. I have no idea if I should adapt to here, or hold on to what's allowed me to survive out there. I wouldn't know what to tell you even if you were asking."
She reaches to pick up the pants, to study the stitches he's put in and the way the edges match up.
"Can't you do both?" Astarion wonders, as he watches her. "You spent years
in that place. The lessons you learned won't be so easily forgotten just
because you're taking up some new ones, surely."
"Two," she answers, quietly. It feels like more, but the truth is, "It's been two years since the virus. And the hardest lessons are the ones I'd have to forget about to be happy here."
Always be ready for what you have to be taken from you. Always be ready to be lied to, or stepped on, or traded.
"People are hideous, Astarion. All that keeps most of them in line is the threat of punishment."
"I know," he says - quietly, solemnly. He's seen, and intimately
experienced, what even people in a 'civil' society are capable of when that
threat of punishment is removed.
"But is that kind of lawless world the one you plan on returning to?"
Having inspected the patch, she turns the garment to another tear and starts setting it up how she remembers him doing.
"I don't know. But even if it isn't, I'm worried I wouldn't be able to stop waiting for the new world to fall, too." That's the price for thinking ahead.
He watches carefully, making a couple of slight corrections - little more
than suggesting she give herself more space to work.
"All worlds fall eventually, darling, but just because you've been witness
to one once-in-an-epoch eventuality, that's no reason to believe they'll
start following you around. Hells, once you've graduated, stay. Make a deal
and use it to apocalypse-proof wherever you go next."
"And I did all that as an inmate. Seems like it's more important that I'm me than a warden." But she shakes her head, because that isn't actually the bone to chew here, with him. It's not his fault in any way, shape, or form that she hates the system here.
"But I'm... glad. I just don't know. I know more about what I don't want than what I do."
"Ah. That, I understand." He smiles balefully. "I don't think either of us
have had nearly so much of an opportunity to work up a wishlist, so much as
we've kept encountering things we never want to experience again."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"The library here would be able to explain how to build a loom, I'm sure," Astarion suggests. "It's not a skill I'm at all familiar with."
He picks up a sheet of thin paper and folds it into a size that would cover the tear with room to spare.
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She sets the sacrificial pants beside him, and settles down to watch, paying rapt attention.
"It's part of what pisses me off about this place so much. The things people take for granted, without even thinking about it."
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"We have very little but time," Astarion agrees. "I've learned a great deal in my time here. Admittedly, much of that was so I could follow even a basic conversation about Earth's culture, but - still."
He's working as he talks, slowly and deliberately, so that Rosita can watch and take note.
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"Are you glad you have Gale here at least?"
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"...Yes. Though it's a little odd to know he's not quite the Gale I travelled with. Close enough to get along with, though, certainly."
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"Jesus is from a few years ahead of me. I get what you mean about the weirdness."
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"Yes. I'm from ahead of Gale, as well, though it seems our paths have diverged somewhat regardless. He...kept slightly different company to myself."
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It's... a problem, though she tries not to let it be.
"Like that you mean? Or something different?"
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"Different, I think. There are...divergences in a history we otherwise share, long preceding both his death and mine. Different people, different events, but the same broad arc."
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She sighs.
"I can't decide if that actually makes it harder to figure things out, or if I'm just... inflexible."
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"Most people don't have to be 'flexible' enough to deal with a place like this," Astarion observes. "I hear there's such a thing as being so open-minded your brain falls out, and you've a stronger head than that. It's something I admire about you, actually."
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"That you're practical and thoughtful," Astarion says, just as dry in return. "I - struggle to give much thought to anything beyond the immediate future."
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She's compared him to a cat, but she's the one who's feral and standoffish.
"But I'm not surprised."
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"I'm doing fine here," Astarion says mildly, "where all my needs are met and little changes from month to month. I....honestly don't know if I'd last a tenday in a world like yours."
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"But that's the rub, isn't it? Here is not there, or wherever either of us goes next, or anywhere but here. I have no idea if I should adapt to here, or hold on to what's allowed me to survive out there. I wouldn't know what to tell you even if you were asking."
She reaches to pick up the pants, to study the stitches he's put in and the way the edges match up.
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"Can't you do both?" Astarion wonders, as he watches her. "You spent years in that place. The lessons you learned won't be so easily forgotten just because you're taking up some new ones, surely."
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Always be ready for what you have to be taken from you. Always be ready to be lied to, or stepped on, or traded.
"People are hideous, Astarion. All that keeps most of them in line is the threat of punishment."
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"I know," he says - quietly, solemnly. He's seen, and intimately experienced, what even people in a 'civil' society are capable of when that threat of punishment is removed.
"But is that kind of lawless world the one you plan on returning to?"
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"I don't know. But even if it isn't, I'm worried I wouldn't be able to stop waiting for the new world to fall, too." That's the price for thinking ahead.
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He watches carefully, making a couple of slight corrections - little more than suggesting she give herself more space to work.
"All worlds fall eventually, darling, but just because you've been witness to one once-in-an-epoch eventuality, that's no reason to believe they'll start following you around. Hells, once you've graduated, stay. Make a deal and use it to apocalypse-proof wherever you go next."
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"And be a warden?" She withers the word in her mouth.
"I'm almost certain the fact I won't commit to what you're saying is what's keeping me here."
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"Why wouldn't you? You've...helped me think differently," Astarion shrugs. "Others too, I don't doubt."
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"But I'm... glad. I just don't know. I know more about what I don't want than what I do."
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"Ah. That, I understand." He smiles balefully. "I don't think either of us have had nearly so much of an opportunity to work up a wishlist, so much as we've kept encountering things we never want to experience again."
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