"You can't do that by pleasing him." He adjusts himself so one shoulder can press against Bene's. "Though the good news is I don't think he finds us especially interesting, nor is it in his best interests to just be violent now that he's known to have attacked two people unprovoked. One of whom is a division head."
Colin takes the hose but doesn't puff right away, staring up at the ceiling and weighing how high he already is.
He's scared. But he's always scared. He has come to realize that he truly can't tell the difference between a real threat and an imagined one, but that hasn't eliminated the need to try. So he tries to work it out by looking at the facts. It's not the most reliable system--he'd told himself all sorts of things so he could ignore the warning signs with Lutair. He finally pops the hose in his mouth and inhales deeply.
"Makes me think too much," he admits with a sigh of smoke. "You know how when you were a kid, you knew there were dangers in the world, but you reckoned the world as a whole wasn't out to get you?"
The analogy might strike a nerve with most people, but for someone whose early life was very insulated from anything even close to uncomfortable, Benedict finds it coming up a bit short. He glances toward Colin, not necessarily agreeing, but still listening.
"When I was a kid, my sisters and I were taught not to wander off with any strangers because we lived in a port city and they might be slavers. Just as an example. But we believed if we followed that rule and looked out for each other, we'd be safe."
"Then you get older, follow all the rules, and they're not keeping you safe. Worse, sometimes you find it's a choice between being kind to someone who might need it while risking your safety, or being safe but cruel. Wanting to give someone like Leander a chance, inviting him into your home, acknowledging you'd jumped to conclusions. Thinking instead of fear, you could have peace and possibly a new friend."
"Unless I'm mistaken, I don't think he cares enough about you for that to be any kind of deciding factor. He'll be the same whether you've forgiven him or not."
They're good points. Very good points. His gaze falls away as he stews on it.
"I didn't think about it like that," he sighs. "That's not really forgiveness, is it? It's just giving more and more ground so you won't have to have an argument. And my friends aren't ground I can give. I just. Didn't like the feeling when I wanted to go find him and beat the shit out of him."
"I guess that means you have to find him and beat the shit out of him," Bene says with a little smirk, but holds up his hand quickly so Colin doesn't think he's serious.
"...you're too good for this. Giving ground to people who don't deserve it. That's a thing cowards do, and that's not who you are."
A thing cowards like himself do is at least lightly implied-- after all, caving to the demands of someone incapable of showing affection was what landed him in so much trouble in the first place. Perhaps he's learned better since then, but only time can tell such a thing.
That gets a pause from Colin as he tries to sort out what to say to that.
"It's important to know your own weaknesses," he says slowly, "but calling myself names like that makes me think I can never be anything else. I don't know how it is for you."
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"...I want him to leave me alone. ...I want him to leave all of us alone."
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This must have been in the Dungeon Times.
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That's going to be a conversation, whether anyone likes it or not.
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"Just be careful. But don't be scared, either. I don't really think he'd admit to this if he was planning to keep pushing people down the stairs."
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"I'm not scared. And I try to be careful."
He hands the hose back, settling in with his fingers clasped over his chest.
"Just..." He chews his lower lip. "Makes you think. That's all."
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He's scared. But he's always scared. He has come to realize that he truly can't tell the difference between a real threat and an imagined one, but that hasn't eliminated the need to try. So he tries to work it out by looking at the facts. It's not the most reliable system--he'd told himself all sorts of things so he could ignore the warning signs with Lutair. He finally pops the hose in his mouth and inhales deeply.
"Makes me think too much," he admits with a sigh of smoke. "You know how when you were a kid, you knew there were dangers in the world, but you reckoned the world as a whole wasn't out to get you?"
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He glances toward Colin, not necessarily agreeing, but still listening.
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"Never mind. Let's talk about something else."
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Colin was clearly trying to make a point, and this won't be the first time Benedict's overall obliviousness has interfered.
"--go on."
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"When I was a kid, my sisters and I were taught not to wander off with any strangers because we lived in a port city and they might be slavers. Just as an example. But we believed if we followed that rule and looked out for each other, we'd be safe."
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It's not terrible reasoning. One might say Colin did the same thing with him, after all.
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Benedict narrows his eyes.
"Unless I'm mistaken, I don't think he cares enough about you for that to be any kind of deciding factor. He'll be the same whether you've forgiven him or not."
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"...because some people worked for your forgiveness?" He looks to him with pensive caution. "And actually care a lot what you think of them?"
Whoof, this is hard to say aloud.
"If you forgive anyone no matter what, is your forgiveness even worth anything? Like." Self-consciously, he tucks a strand of hair behind one ear.
"Doesn't that just make you a doormat? Why would anyone bother trying to make it better if they knew it didn't matter either way?"
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"I didn't think about it like that," he sighs. "That's not really forgiveness, is it? It's just giving more and more ground so you won't have to have an argument. And my friends aren't ground I can give. I just. Didn't like the feeling when I wanted to go find him and beat the shit out of him."
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"...you're too good for this. Giving ground to people who don't deserve it. That's a thing cowards do, and that's not who you are."
A thing cowards like himself do is at least lightly implied-- after all, caving to the demands of someone incapable of showing affection was what landed him in so much trouble in the first place. Perhaps he's learned better since then, but only time can tell such a thing.
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"You don't think I'm a coward?" he asks, sounding touched but unconvinced. "I can't think of a time I did something brave when I didn't have to."
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"There's a coward in here, but it isn't you."
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"It's important to know your own weaknesses," he says slowly, "but calling myself names like that makes me think I can never be anything else. I don't know how it is for you."
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He grabs a pillow off to the side and pulls it toward himself so he can mush his face into it, the universal gesture of Ugggh.
"I don't know," he mumbles into it, "I can't know. I can say whatever I want until something happens to prove it, one way or the other."
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