No, scratch that, she definitely just said 'shrug' out loud.
Oh well.
He continues to pet the edges of her hair as she talks, considering her words. At the beginning of all this, he hadn't thought of it in terms of 'building towards' anything, but eventually somewhere along the line he began to asses her capacities in terms of 'progress', gained or lost. ]
About three years, give or take? We were only a handful of realities away from home when we crashed on Earth--those who didn't die in the epiphany fire died on the dissection table. I was able to escape, but I had nowhere to go--just my ship. [ He draws one knee up, drumming the fingers of one hand against it pensively. The memories don't draw up pain like they used to, healed-over psychological scars. ] I was so angry, Vriska. Lost in my own pain. I spent most of that first year in prison, being tortured. Second year, I got out, but I hadn't really learned anything, and ended up making poor choices because I couldn't think for myself.
[ She doesn't need the details, though he suspects she'll ask for them. Those memories still hurt. ]
Third year, I stopped caring, went into space and tried to live under the radar. [ His tone is softly deprecating, as they both know he doesn't really do 'under the radar'. It wasn't all that healthy. He never did well in isolation. ] Eventually, I made friends. Actually lived, you know? I guess that was the healing I needed. That's when the CDC found me.
[ At no other point in his story would he have accepted the CDC's offer. He needed to be there, at that time, knowing what he did about himself and his options in life. Maybe they would have gotten him fresh-faced out of the Avengers, running from the accuser corps on Hala--but would he have been as effective? Doubtful. Just scared. ]
[ no stuttering, no shakiness— no apologies. his voice goes stern, his expression solid, resolute, nothing but truth in his words ( and whether that's heard or not, it doesn't waver ). for a moment, armada's words come through, clean, and when he says it, it's a request. it wouldn't happen again. he wouldn't allow it to happen again. he was putting aside what he's promised himself to do since the moment he accepted his gloves and his will— and he wouldn't do that. ]
You're not my shield.
[ he feels a warming surge of resolve— all but a silent crack of tiny embers over his brow that quickly disperses. they're quick to vanish, he doesn't realize it was there ( he feels it, though ), but he thinks it at the moment. fight. protect. which is why it comes. ]
And you won't need to be.
[ he was the shield. he had a job to do, and not just for her, or for anyone here. his hand reaches for something, in his pocket— out he pulls is a fairly simple charm, tattered and worn, actually scorched at its tip. a little thing that meant nothing to vriska, or anyone here, but to tsuna, it meant the world.
and he wasn't about to let them down, either. he wasn't a mafia boss, he didn't want to be a boss, or the leader— but his eyes don't show that weepy child, frightened out of his skin or quick to be skittish, stuttering or smiling sheepishly. compared to a crying, no-good tsuna, this tsuna looked like he was ready to rip through everything to shield his kind. ]
It's the other way around, and I'd rather die than put any one else in danger like that.
[ and it's true— if he had to die for his friends, he would. but they, they didn't have to do that for him. it's the other way around. as the boss should. ( including how he indirectly okay'd his own death if he was a problem, despite not actually knowing about it ). it's almost scary, considering tsuna, but— the real tsuna stirs. the real tsuna was a leader figure, because those who adored his resolve would follow. because the sky protected them by any means he had. tsuna was strong, was fierce— and only the right direction would lead him there.
if this is considered the right direction.
there's a lot more turmoil going on in his head than he lets on. when was the next time he would kill? who would it be? why? and in the end, it all tries to be overloaded with a single thought. protect them. it'd be an endless fight for him, but one thing was certain— he'd go forward. he had to. ]
[ Was that-- flames. Again. Just like Kyoya. What was it with these boys and being literally on fire when they felt strongly about things?
But at least it was a real, physical indicator to her that this wasn't just words. Vriska doesn't entirely understand how the flames work, but she's fairly certain he couldn't do that just for show. Plus, there's conviction in his words, too. He's not crying this time, or shaking, or averting his eyes while she rips arrows out of her body. He's not throwing up or throwing things on the ground like a petulant child. He's showing her spine.
She doesn't buy it.
But some of her harder edges do fall away, her shoulders rounding as she sighs and pulls her mouth into a thin line. She leans forward just enough so she can rest her chin on her knee, and her eyes are half-lidded when she speaks. ]
You're right. It's not your job. And I'm not your shield! I'm just the idiot who saved your life.
[ She leans forward more, letting her knee fall slightly to one side so she can stare him down. ]
I believe that you mean this, Tsuna. But words only mean so much! You're going to have to prove it. On the battlefield, with your own two hands. And if you fuck up again? I won't save you.
[ There's something about the flatness of her tone. Something odd and very dark. What's obvious is that she won't shield him again should the need arise. But she seems to mean more than that. Something worse. The comment sounds strangely like a threat. ]
[Rude little thing. He frowns for that, turning his head, teasing back.]
You're in trouble for swiping kisses.
[But he warms, a feeling that glows him, again--- pleasant, and leaving his lips sort of blushed. His better arm lifts, brushing fringe from her face.]
Hahahahahahahaha. Just when I think we can't up the pedant ante any further, you prove me wrong!
FROM: serket.vriska@cdc.org
Fine. I will save the wheels made out of 8alloons and fluffy hop8easts for people we like, and the ones with spikes and dripping acid for the people we don't.
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