...I know. I feel like that too, a lot of the time. And I know you were doing it because you care.
[shifts his hand to strohl's, giving it a little squeeze.]
But I'm pretty tough, you know? Maybe not in the same way you are, but I can take care of myself. I've made it this far. [and more importantly, after a moment:] I don't want you to ever think your only worth is in something like that, either. You have so much value outside of how much you can protect other people.
[ have you ever just been so violently read for filth!!!!! rupert nails it.
it's something strohl's felt for ages. something instilled him, by his relatives. he heard their round the corner grumbles about their ward, it's not like we can just send him to an orphanage, but it's troublesome to have another mouth to feed. over and over again, he was reminded as he struggled with the grief and loss of his parents, that he was worthless - never directly, because that's not how nobility works - but nevertheless.
but he found worth in caring for his people, in helping others. as many people as he could. from will to random strangers, from the remaining survivors of halia, to anyone. if he can help, he's worth something. and rupert gets it, in one go - that that's a stupid mindset.
he blinks again - startled, letting rupert take his hand, covered in callouses, then... huffs, and looks away. ]
Lord knows I know that. [ that rupert's tough. whether he can swing a sword or not has little to do with it. that's the easiest part to cover, besides the enormity of everything else, and there's a clear guiltiness to his sort of smile, the one that says wow you caught me red handed.
then returns the gesture. ] ...hah. Well. That's kind of you, Rupert - thank you. I know you're sincere.
well - by the time this memory's over strohl's like already halfway up out of his chair like he might try to protect rupert from his own fucking brain, from something that already happened to him at one of these damned places before.
and it's so - it's so like rupert, to say that. tell them i'm sorry, in his last moments. the sharp gasp of an inhale he took in at the beginning finally catches, and he breathes out, shaky, harsh. ]
... The second time....?
[ the second game, he manages - shakily, angrily, all at once, and trying to respond to this like a normal person instead of wanting to kick memory's ass. ]
[ PLEASE!!!!! he says this like vaguely huffy as he plops back down finally, trying to shake the mental image of rupert getting his head bashed in. there's a moment where he takes stock, trying to make sure he's okay, and now actually pushing that handkerchief into his remaining hand. jeez. ]
[he's maybe a little bit unnaturally still, and he takes the handkerchief with a grateful nod even if he doesn't do anything with it quite yet. muttered:]
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[shifts his hand to strohl's, giving it a little squeeze.]
But I'm pretty tough, you know? Maybe not in the same way you are, but I can take care of myself. I've made it this far. [and more importantly, after a moment:] I don't want you to ever think your only worth is in something like that, either. You have so much value outside of how much you can protect other people.
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it's something strohl's felt for ages. something instilled him, by his relatives. he heard their round the corner grumbles about their ward, it's not like we can just send him to an orphanage, but it's troublesome to have another mouth to feed. over and over again, he was reminded as he struggled with the grief and loss of his parents, that he was worthless - never directly, because that's not how nobility works - but nevertheless.
but he found worth in caring for his people, in helping others. as many people as he could. from will to random strangers, from the remaining survivors of halia, to anyone. if he can help, he's worth something. and rupert gets it, in one go - that that's a stupid mindset.
he blinks again - startled, letting rupert take his hand, covered in callouses, then... huffs, and looks away. ]
Lord knows I know that. [ that rupert's tough. whether he can swing a sword or not has little to do with it. that's the easiest part to cover, besides the enormity of everything else, and there's a clear guiltiness to his sort of smile, the one that says wow you caught me red handed.
then returns the gesture. ] ...hah. Well. That's kind of you, Rupert - thank you. I know you're sincere.
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[but he gives a little nod, letting it go for now.]
I know that it's probably hard to stop feeling that way, but... I hope you'll at least think about it.
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[ so. yeah. he'll think about it. he will try, at the very least - he squeezes the hand in his. ]
Thank you. Genuinely.
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[oops memory time]
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well - by the time this memory's over strohl's like already halfway up out of his chair like he might try to protect rupert from his own fucking brain, from something that already happened to him at one of these damned places before.
and it's so - it's so like rupert, to say that. tell them i'm sorry, in his last moments. the sharp gasp of an inhale he took in at the beginning finally catches, and he breathes out, shaky, harsh. ]
... The second time....?
[ the second game, he manages - shakily, angrily, all at once, and trying to respond to this like a normal person instead of wanting to kick memory's ass. ]
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[quietly, as he brings the heel of his palm up to rub at his eyes for a second.]
Worse than how I died in the first round... Sorry you had to see that.
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[ PLEASE!!!!! he says this like vaguely huffy as he plops back down finally, trying to shake the mental image of rupert getting his head bashed in. there's a moment where he takes stock, trying to make sure he's okay, and now actually pushing that handkerchief into his remaining hand. jeez. ]
Bloody hell.
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...Thanks. [...] I don't really know what to say.