Stars of the Nashira Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nashiramods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thenashira2025-12-02 08:56 pm
nashiramods) wrote in thenashira2025-12-02 08:56 pm
Entry tags:
Game Update: August II 2377
🎶 Recommended Listening: Answer - BUMP OF CHICKEN ♪
august ii 2377
EPISODE 8: When You Wish Upon a Spark...
August 16 - 31
NOTE: As a reminder, there will be no event or missions this month while the mod team takes a break. The game update contains prompts for all of August II, so play around to your heart's content!
Star Suite: The Training Room has been unlocked! Special training machines are now available to the Nova Knights, and they now have access to a new Star Suite power, Sparkle of Life. More details about this power are included in the Starlight section. The Rewards page has been updated with information about the next unlockable room, the Portal.
Constellations: 2/7 Constellations captured. The Nova Knights have the Dancer and the Three Sisters.
Weather: Chalra City's hot hot summer continues! While August isn't quite as hot as it was last month, it's a good deal more humid and stickier. Whether it's a swimming pool or a beach, Chalra City residents are flocking to the water to cool off and relax. Sunbathing in the park is a popular activity on cooler days, and local shops and restaurants court young shoppers by offering special services and sales suited to the student wallet. The highs for the month average around 90°F/32C° with lows around 78°F/25C°.
Recap: The Nova Knights got some badly needed wins in the first half of August! Not only did they rescue the Three Sisters from the Harbingers' clutches, but Dirk and Reese escaped from the Abyss more or less intact as well. They managed to foil most of the Harbingers' plans at Littleneck Beach, but the Harbingers got away with their stolen energy, and whatever they were harvesting from the folks consuming Potari Sweet. The Harbingers have since disappeared from Nautis's magical radar, however, suggesting that they're prioritizing their defenses over a proactive attack.
BY DAYLIGHT
⭐︎ Summer break is over — it's back to school for all students. Hope you did your summer homework, or at least copied it from someone else last minute!
⭐︎ As the summer swelters on, the Midnight Diner serves up a Chalra City summer favorite: finger food-sized fried chicken with a spicy yogurt dipping sauce known by locals as pieces and beach sauce. While beach sauce is typically associated with fried chicken, Chalra City residents will put it on just about anything, and everyone's got their own recipe. Master's beach sauce is known to pack a powerful chili kick.
⭐︎ Chalra City commemorates the end of the summer with a fireworks festival on the waterfront running from the 26th to the 28th. Chalra City's artisans take great pride in their craft, and they spend months preparing three consecutive nights of elaborate fireworks displays on the waterfront, each more fantastic than the last, leading up to a truly show-stopping finale on the evening of the 28th. The festival is only active at night, but much like the Smoketree Promenade's midsummer event, there are plenty of food stalls and street vendors to occupy people's time before the fireworks go off. Sparklers are a popular toy for children and adults alike!
In Chalra City, the fireworks festival is about more than just tasty food and spectacle — it's an important opportunity for community togetherness and gathering with friends and family. There's an enduring old custom in this part of Atlace of making wishes on fireworks — if you make a wish aloud as a firework goes off, it may come true, and conveniently, the noise of the fireworks drowns out all but shouting. Of course, most people will agree that it's just an old superstition, but sometimes you can hear a murmur of voices intermingled with the deafening pops and cracks, so perhaps some of the Chalra City folk are a little more superstitious than they'll readily admit. Everyone needs a little something to believe in.
And it wouldn't be a true Chalra City summer event without a little competition! On the evening of 27th, the festival holds a spicy food eating contest hosted by the celebrity comedian Wakaba. Contestants will be tasked with eating a variety of hot sauce-coated foods, with the spicy factor increasing with every round; in between rounds, while the contestants take a brief breather, Wakaba asks them a variety of personal questions, most of which inevitably end on a joke. While there is a small cash prize for winning the contest, the real incentive is bragging rights.
BY STARLIGHT
⭐︎ Hope's Prophecy: Thanks to their past life as a diviner for the Oracle, Hope may occasionally receive prophetic dreams that give the Knights a hint about what's to come. Hope did not have a prophetic dream this time around either, but there's always next time!
⭐︎ Hideout Status: The Aquarium has 20 new quartz shrimp in addition to the four goldfish! The massive tanks are still mostly empty, but it's a start.
The Training Room is now accessible! If you were expecting a classic gym experience, think again — rather than conventional workout equipment, the Training Room holds what appear to be a series of arcade machines with a decidedly Hassalean aesthetic. Apparently, this is how the Nova Knights in their past lives honed their skills! There are currently three working arcade-style workout machines in the Star Plus training series: Star Plus Blazer, a target practice game to help hone weapon proficiency; Star Plus Light Catcher, a Whac-a-Mole style game where you bop cute little star-shaped monsters; and Star Plus Beats, a drumming game with two large drums that helps with magic power circulation.
There are more workout machines, but the rest are all out of order...who knows, maybe you'll find a way to repair them someday!
⭐︎ Star Suite: Another Silver-level Star Suite power has been unlocked! The Nova Knights can now use Soul Flash, a Silver-level finishing move that cleanses ordinary people who have been temporarily possessed or changed by the Abyss. The overzealous beachgoers who had drunk Potari Sweet, for instance, would have been cured in an instant by Soul Flash!
Star Suite powers cannot be alone; they must be used in concert with at least one other Nova Knight, and the more Knights who participate, the stronger the attack. It can only be used once per supernova transformation. Characters in eclipse lose access to Star Suite powers for the duration of their eclipse.
⭐︎ Maomao's Garden: If Maomao has made any crucial progress, she hasn't shared it with anyone. Instead, she's just fully taken over the Lab and relocated the entire hydroponics garden there for better study. Trespassers will be hissed at.
⭐︎ Nautis Updates: Late in the evening of the 15th, Nautis informs everyone with unusual gravity that two more of their number have been claimed by the Abyss: Sunbeam and Crescent. As far as she can tell, they're not in one of the more surface-level pockets of the Abyss like the last few Nova Knights, but somewhere deep and as of yet unreachable like Nova Zenith. The Harbingers have gone to great lengths to hide themselves from Nautis, so it'll take time before she can find a way that deep into the Abyss. She urges everyone not to lose heart — their friends aren't dead, only captured, and the Nova Knights are coming for them.
> I know it's hard to think about having fun at a time like this, but...
> I just don't think it's good to dwell too long on what's already happened! You've got to take all that emotion and let it drive you forward! ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ
> Besides, you know they wouldn't want you giving up at every setback! We'll prove their faith in us and rescue them for sure!
> So you have to make sure to take care of yourselves, OK?
> We've got some of the training machines up and running if you want to feel productive about your emotions ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
> I hear this city's got some great fireworks...I know! You should all go take pictures for me! ^_^
> After all, it's not like I can go myself... Don't you want me to enjoy the fireworks? Don't I deserve to witness beauty too?
> I've been hard at work trying to put together what the Harbingers did to the Three Sisters and everything...
> The Constellation will recover, but yikes, those clowns really did a number on it. What they did was basically sacrilege! Don't they know these are precious artifacts of Hassaleh's Ocean Temple?!
> It really fries my circuits to see those good-for-nothing villainous losers abusing priceless pieces of our history (｡•̀ ⤙ •́ ｡ꐦ)
> The Constellations' magic was never meant to be used so directly...I don't think they have any idea what they were tampering with.
> Thank the stars they didn't! They could have done much worse than mess with some drinks. We can't let another Constellation fall into the Harbingers' hands again!
> But it seems like they're laying low for the time being... So I think it's time for everyone to take a load off! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
⭐︎ Intel: Although it's still unknown as to how the Harbingers' ship managed to disappear itself from Nautis's sensors, a conversation overheard by Dirk and Reese during their escape strongly suggests that while Mistiluxia clearly has dealings with the Abyss, the other Harbingers may not even know of its existence.
That doesn't mean all is quiet on the Nova Knight front, however. Even though there doesn't appear to be real any Harbinger activity on Earth these two weeks, there is an uptick in drinks monster sightings — more specifically, slushie monsters. While many of the monsters the Nova Knights face are directly summoned by the Harbingers, some, like the drinks monsters, are a byproduct of the Abyss's influence on Earth. So while there may not be a bigger Harbinger plot to foil, these monsters still need defeating! It is really hot out, though...would getting hit by just one frozen slushie attack be all that bad?
no subject
Dirk isn't fazed by this revelation, per se. He just doesn't really 'get' it on a personal level. Then again, how much does he 'get' of the human experience? Less and less, it seems to him, with every new development in his life.
He listens to the rest with a semi-detached ear. Even if he doesn't emote or react visibly, he is paying attention to it all; his disconnect isn't the same as disinterest. Keeping his mouth shut helps conceal a lot. Like when their hand movement distracts him briefly--behind his shades, his sharp eyes drop to watch their fingers twitch.
The hand itelf never rises from where it rests. His gaze snaps back up to their face.
He continues to listen.
But much like whatever is going on with Hope's gender, he has no frame of reference for any of the experiences or relationships Hope is elaborating on. He's capable of recognising that's a 'him' problem and not a Hope problem, though. So, he... well, he tries.
"Sounds... complicated." This is as close as he can get to an understanding response. "Don't let this put you off, but speaking honestly, I have no idea what that's like. Any of it." Did Hope want brutal, dubiously self-effacing honesty with the subtlety of a thrown brick? Because Hope is getting brutal, dubiously self-effacing honesty with the subtlety of a thrown brick.
"You mentioned transitioning.... whenever you did that. I'd guess that's one thing that's entirely yours already, then? Your gender, I mean. That's all you. Stake claimed. You did that." If he sounds awkward, it's because he is. What's worse, he knows he is. "Or so I'm assuming. I don't actually know what you did, or how."
This is excruciating. He can't leave it like this. There's no way to backpedal now--or, well, there is, but it would take at least as many words as biting that proverbial bullet and it would leave him a lot more unsatisfied. Intellectually and otherwise.
Now that he knows, his curiosity is going to kill him if he doesn't ask. Besides, isn't that part of getting to know someone? Isn't that the fucking point of this conversation? To know them, or get to know them? Or try to?
"Tell you what, I'm just going to go ahead and ask you something, and you can ask me whatever the hell you want in return. No holds barred." That's fair, he thinks. A truth for a truth.
"What do you mean by 'transitioned?'"
no subject
(Or something. Man. They do actually believe that, don't they? Maybe they aren't as terrible at this teaching job that they're barely clinging to as they thought.)
"Oh! I mean, like. Um. So I was born a guy," they say, almost surprising themself with how quickly they're just coming out with it. "And it never, like, felt right—it's hard to explain. But it got a lot worse when I was a teenager," they continue, talking around one particular part of growing up, "And I started to realize that I related way more to the other girls I was around and I kind of always had. And I think, like... I started going by Hope when I was 15, and then a year or so later I went on E, and I've been living like this ever since. Ten years this year."
As they talk about it, they don't really notice, but their stance opens up a little. Their arms drop to their sides, they look up and towards Dirk a little more often instead of being caught in their own thoughts, they smile... it's the most relaxed and casual they've looked basically this whole time.
"Sorry," they say, and they look like they could almost laugh at themself for a second. "I actually have no clue if that answered your question."
no subject
Okay. That does in fact track with what Dirk broadly assumed to be the case, and it's a little less weird somehow than the opposite--at least to Dirk's mind.
"I think so," he says at last. It's not the most satisfying answer, but he realises that may have been his fault--and it was what he was asking when he first asked it.
"It at least answered the very open-ended and in retrospect precursory question I asked just now. I just have a hell of a lot of other questions that it didn't answer. But you didn't fail with your answer--I failed with my question." Never let it be said that Dirk Strider does not take responsibility for his mistakes.
At least when it comes to the ones he recognises as mistakes.
"Don't know if answering them is going to change the fact that I don't really get it, though. Speaking personally. At least not about... that." There are other ways he's felt wrong, or found he could relate more to something that wasn't what he was supposed to.
"But I can't say I've ever had a second thought about my gender. Not once. Even before it was just me and Cal--I'm talking day one right out of the womb. Being male was just the most obvious thing in the world to me. Like with Cal. I always knew what I was." There is a pattern here. Dirk is aware of it; he doesn't care to highlight it, but he's fully conscious of what it implies.
But this isn't like that--his kinship with his puppets, both as puppetmaster and as (perhaps) something else, something closer to objecthood than personhood--is a completely separate subject. It just kind of happened to fall into the conversation, thanks entirely to his Bro's abrupt disappearance from his life. There aren't any other major markers of time in his early life. He didn't have peers--except Cal. He didn't have a guardian, or caretaker, or parent--except for Cal. He didn't exist in any way in the world--except to himself, and to Cal. Cal was the other through which he saw himself, and the fact that he and Cal were both male was a non-question before questions even existed.
Gender, for Dirk, is one of the few things he is absolutely, one-hundred-percent, unwaveringly certain about, embraces in himself, and is in no way trying to change. If anything, he's concerned about the exact opposite--he loves his male-ness, his manhood and masculinity, and is in fact attracted to that quality in general (sexually, yes, but aesthetically and maybe even spiritually.) Which leads to him pushing himself further in that direction--in pursuit of the masculinity he's not only very comfortable and content with having been presented with at birth, but which he would like to enhance and to embody more completely.
That's about as opposite of what Hope is talking about as is possible to humanly experience--or so he thought. But thinking about now...
Maybe not?
".... huh. Maybe that actually makes sense. Not to make this about me, but I've always been a man. I love being a man. I love manhood, and masculinity, and men in general. I can't--and I don't want to--imagine an alternate reality where I'm anything but a man. Nothing against anyone else, but it's not me. I don't want to try and be anything else, either. I don't think I can, but if it were given to me as an option--" he waves a hand, slightly agitated by how idiotic he knows he's starting to sound, "--which clearly it is, I know--" he's not trying to erase you here, Hope--
"--I would sooner kill myself."
Cal, of course, is grinning in a wildly inappropriate way, an expression aimed directly at Hope.
no subject
Probably not, but, like, maybe.
"That's how it felt for me, too," they say to the way he chooses to cap it off, and god help them they do have a grin that almost matches Cal's, though theirs fades much more quickly. This time, when this subject comes up, they want to treat it with the gravity it deserves. Especially after the vision that Shelley had shown them in that mirror, the one that felt... too real. Like it was a plan they might have actually gone through with. Like it was one that would have worked. They sigh. Not the right time to dwell on it.
"I was lucky enough to have other people to tell me what I was. I could figure it out before I had to live too long in a body that I hated." They don't say out loud that they have their brother's early influence to thank for it; it would probably be a bad idea. "There's a universe out there where I never did any of this, though, and I don't like that version of me's odds. It's really just..."
They don't really know how else to say it. They sigh out a lifetime of tension that they still somehow know how to carry with them. "It's hell. To be in that kind of position. I'm really glad," and they look up at Dirk again and they sound so sincere about it, "That it's not something you've had to worry about. That level of security is a good thing to have, and aren't there enough things to worry about? I'm really glad I'm not having a gender crisis right now. Not helping the other crises, but at least I have that figured out." They try to crack another little joke about everything they're dealing with. That worked so well last time, right?
no subject
All that talk of crises should have been enough to keep him busy, but it's not, really--all those crises are secondary, to him. This other universe, the one where Hope never finds a way to themself--what does Dirk do, there? Is he any different, at all? Does he live, or die? Is he changed?
Does it matter?
A question that will remain unanswered.
As Hope speaks, Dirk realises there has been a change in the dynamic. It's not a thing he notices when it happens. It's already happened, but he's only now recognising it--like finding oneself much further from shore than intended, and now the way back can no longer be seen on the horizon.
Or at the very least, it's a bit of a speck on that horizon, and it takes a keen, practised, or maybe just desperate eye to spot it, and the desperation or determination to begin the way back. Whether or not the eye's owner can accomplish the feat is an entirely separate matter.
Distance is one measure of this change. Climate is another. Fairer weather, metaphorically speaking, felt in the energy and air between them. The friction smoothed out, the natural rise of escalation levelling into an exchange--not of ultimatums and judgments, but of something simpler and more human. Thoughts and feelings, maybe. There's no challenge here. It leaves Dirk feeling lost at sea. Adrift, in the worst way.
He just doesn't know how to swim when the surface is so calm.
Something about the way Hope grins at him when they agree with him makes his eyebrow lift--but he doesn't challenge them at all. Not on that. (In truth, it's almost a charm point. He hangs onto that, for a moment.)
Instead, what catches on his mental gears is something they don't even suspect.
"Someone... told you what you were?" He thought Hope was talking about the work inside themself--who they were, free of anyone else's claim.
no subject
"I didn't know what being trans meant, or really what gender even was. Not on my own. It was one of the last things my brother shared with me before my dad discovered me and... took me away, um." The sentence lands heavy, the words weighing down their hands in their lap. They try to move on without dwelling on it too much, for both their sakes.
"He was sharing a manga with me, something from about thirty years ago I think? The protagonist could change genders just by bathing in a certain temperature of water, and I couldn't have been more than six at the time but he was willing to indulge his little half-sibling's questions and it all just... kind of kicked off from there." They look up, towards the sky, knowing that Zeke is looking up at the same one right about now, and they smile as their words trail off.
And the reality, the memory of the person they're sharing all this with pokes at the edges of their idyll memories and they feel their eyes go wide. Like they've fucked up by being too happy about their family. "Right, um. I figured out who I was all my own. I just needed the nudge to discover what I was first. If that makes sense?"
no subject
Which is a bit ironic, because it's thanks to that detouring that Hope has now revealed quite a bit more about their family. Which is a subject he'd previously chosen not to ask for details about--but the thing about gaining new information, about putting pieces together and assembling an understanding and knowing, is that there's an undeniable pleasure about it.
"I know that anime, actually. Never struck me as the genre to inspire personal epiphany, but..." he waves a hand. It could be a dismissive gesture, but he doesn't really mean it that way. He's the man with no one and nothing but a vintage puppet to guide his revelations or insights. Who the fuck is he to judge? It's hard to communicate nonchalance in the moment, though.
Maybe he's just disappointed because this line of inquiry was a non-issue in the end.
Or maybe he's bitter. So maybe what he says next is a little spiteful.
But his interest in their response to it is genuine.
"Honestly, I can't relate to any of it, so chalk that up to a 'me' problem this time. But I am starting to connect some dots here about why you don't like your dad."
no subject
"Yeah, I was just a kid when he... you know, found me and took me away from my mom and brother. To raise me in his stupid manor with all his other bastards." They didn't exactly expect that they'd come out so hot given this inch of runway, but here they are. It's a little embarrassing; they shrink in on themself just a bit, but the words don't stop.
"He's an awful dad. The only reason we were all there was to manage his PR—his wife is, like, amazing at finding anything on anyone, so she's the one who tracked us all down, and she made damn sure that none of us did anything that embarrassed him." Addiena still does that, of course, but other than the way their shoulders stiffen when they bring up their not-mother, Hope is pretty sure they haven't given too much away.
"It's kind of shocking that I made it out as well-adjusted as I did." They glance over at Dirk and turn up a corner of their mouth, then share the look with Cal, too, just to make sure he's included. "I've been out of there and back in the real world for seven years now, just kind of readjusting to what normal people do when they reach adulthood. Doing a real bang-up job of it," they add, always happy to make fun of themself.
no subject
It's not the mansion or the surveillance that's drawing his perfect poker face out of alignment. Neither of those strike him as weird, inappropriate, or bad. Dirk himself loves surveillance, and he loves intel collection and analysis. Information control is a part of life; whether or not you actively engage with it has more to do with how aware you are of it than how much it applies to you. He finds the act of dodging others' efforts at it a habit and even a pleasure. As for the mansion, collecting a bunch of one's offspring in one place like Harley and apparently Carassia is just kind of what you do when you're obscenely wealthy. He considers this practise a meaningfully different one from his whole-of-youth sentence in the Strider penthouse suite--for example, food is routinely available, home repairs and upkeep are not in the hands of a five-year-old, and other human beings exist on a more regular basis than 'not even once in several years.'
There is a narrative temptation to say that he's no stranger to completely weird and inappropriate ways to contain and raise children, but that would imply that he's capable of recognising when a situation qualifies for that kind of explicit derogatory--which he's absolutely fucking not.
Despite everything, he is actually aware that his own childhood turned into an extreme, illegal, and nigh-unprecedently dangerous case of neglect. He just doesn't think it was necessarily wrong.
As for anyone else's upbringing, his perspective is actually more warped by a completely different man's total failure at parenthood: old man Harley.
Which is a whole Thing. A thing that Hope has vaguely reminded him of, but in a way that makes Harley's actions seem almost respectable by comparison. Thus the pause.
Dirk is only barely cognisant of the fact that Harley might have been doing some of it wrong, and yet parts of Hope's barely-prompted gutspilling still manage to strike Dirk as fucking weird.
"'All' of you?" The words leave his mouth and his scepticism is actually audible.
"Not to distract from what you just said. You've been doing the whole 'normal people' thing great, by the way. I had no idea there was anything weird about you. But I gotta backtrack because how I react to this depends entirely on how many bastards we're suddenly talking."
Cal meets Hope's gaze, and then he and Dirk look at each other before Cal looks back at Hope and Dirk looks up at the sky--seemingly stuck in a state of thought.
When Dirk does look--uh, maybe at Hope, maybe straight ahead--Hope can see themself reflected in the polished gleam of his shades' lenses.
"Just how far was this dude sowing his wild oats? I'm currently picturing literal dozens of kids in one fucking mansion, maybe even scores. Like he's assembling some kind of fucked-up children's army in hopes of conquering Chalra with a wave of half-bred child foot soldiers. Or maybe infiltrating the upper echelons--literally out there seeding the government with his own product."
no subject
They remember the other kids. Anna, who'd already been in her teens when Hope had gotten there. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and the most visibly pissed about it all. Jessy, two years older than Hope and already having started her transition—and yet, she'd always seemed somehow happy to be there. And Lina, who'd shown up from an adoption center and whom Hope had always been a little unsure as to whether she was even one of his kids. They'd always treated her like their little sister, though.
But they frown as they go through that list. "He really liked tracking down girls. Maybe he thought we would dilute his bloodline if we were allowed to be out there," they say, bitter but with an uneasy tone beneath it. Trying to move past it themself, so they don't have to think about it for too long, they continue, adding another name to the list of things for Dirk to remember. "Maybe it was just a coincidence. I was there for a while until J.R. and I started talking about gender together. He..."
They breathe out, trying to remove their father like a toxin from their body that just keeps finding ways to build itself back up. It's healthy. It's healthy and it's normal to talk about this stuff, and you don't have to infodump. You can just talk about these things like people would talk about an old breakup or the weather, or something banal like that. You've got this.
"He always supported whatever stuff we said we wanted to get into. I don't remember him being interested in anything, but he bought us whatever we needed to keep us happy and stop us from wanting to leave. Anna bust out of there as soon as she legally could," they say with a glance in the same direction as the road that that older woman had taken to greener pastures, "But my sisters and I didn't even know to question it."
They're giving too much away, but it feels nice. It feels nice to get this off their chest, even if there's the risk of being too open too fast. Scaring him off probably isn't likely, but walking out of this conversation with new wounds is unavoidable.
CW sexual language, imagery, and... conspiracy?
Dirk's brows don't so much inch ever-closer together as they 'millimetre' their way there. Two thick, angular blond caterpillars, each reaching over the steep slopes of his shades towards the other. To describe his expression as 'vexed' would be--well, accurate, for once. He's wearing an expression, and he's even wearing it on his whole face. Would you look at that.
"......"
He sits in that for an entire two or three seconds, even. Thinking. Processing. Holding pieces up against each other to see if they click to close a circuit.
Then, abruptly, he takes a big breath, his brows returning to their standard level of strictly stoic 'nothing to read here'--as though he's reached some kind of conclusion. Which he has.
"How good did you say his armpiece was at intelligence again? If it were just you, I'd say coincidence, but two of you, for a clean four-zero? The maths start looking less and less probable. I'm not suggesting he was collecting some kind of fucked up child harem--unless you think he was, in which case I guess I'm providing you with a little statistical support to substantiate those suspicions, and then I guess all I've got to add is 'fucking yikes.'" He shakes his head, as if all he can muster in the wake of that psychological nuke is mere disappointment in Mr. Carassia's life and choices.
But he's not done thinking about this. Or asking about it.
"Did--or rather, does he have any legitimate kids? I don't, uh, keep up with that kind of thing--the only press I actually care about is my Bro's business and mine."
He could have left it there and waited for an answer, but it doesn't occur to him not to loop Hope into his direct train of thought now. In a sense, he's kidnapped them onto it--whether or not this is a 'tied to the tracks' moment or merely a runaway train is almost immaterial.
"I'm wracking my brain over here, trying to come up with some kind of unifying explanation that makes a lick of goddamn sense. 'Only' four isn't that many, but what's the time frame on that? Are you all the same age? That could be a clue as to whether it was deliberate or if he's just a serial sidepiece skeet-shooter. Was he aiming for something with all that juice?" He pauses, using Cal's puppet hand to support his chin as he thinks. Cal's other arm is draped supportively around his neck. The perfect image of a plush codependence.
"Unless he's the most fertile motherfucker in Chalra, that's a lot of loads unaccounted for. What's his conjugal coconspirator's part in this? Is she chill with all this, or is she in the background fucking seething? Do you know what their relationship is like? Was it a political or business marriage? Is she a secret lesbian? Or maybe she's into it. Maybe this is a cucking thing."
Did Hope want to think about their father's sex life in this much detail? If not: too bad. This is Dirk Strider's actual mental process, printing hot and fresh off the mental presses.
no subject
"Oh my god," they stammer out, and put their palm up in the universal "stop" gesture. "Please. I really don't wanna think about my dad's junk. Can I just..."
They close their eyes, shake their head a little bit as though wiping an Etch-a-Sketch clean, then open their eyes and continue. "Anna was 14 or 15 when I got there, and J.R. was 9—two years older than me. I still talk to her," they add, though not really as often as they used to. "She got into a bad relationship a couple years ago and it really messed her up. Oh, um, and Lina was maybe 9 or 10, but me and J.R. had grown up a little more. I must have been 14. So that's..."
They've done the math on this before, but they have to remind themself, looking up towards the sky and counting on their fingers while they mouth the numbers. The sky is starting to turn the right shade for dusk; it's pretty, they think idly between figuring out ages. The fireworks are probably going to start soon, which means it's time for them to also start thinking of wishes. (Ha. Like they don't have enough of those.) One thing at a time, though.
"He had four kids in twelve years if I got it right?" they say now that they're back in reality and freed from the math labyrinth. Regarding both of them and looking more at Lil Cal's eyes than Dirk's (just because they actually can), they finish this particular trip down memory lane: "I don't remember how old everyone was when he brought them in, but I remember Anna being, like, mortified that someone as young as me was there. So I don't know if that says anything about what he was trying to do or if he was just, you know. That—that thing you said about shooting." They're not going to repeat it.
They hadn't even considered Addiena's role in all of this, but the biggest thing they still remember about her is to try really hard to not piss her off. Janus wasn't absent so much as he was hands-off, but Addiena... even when she wasn't anywhere in sight, her presence had this way of lingering like a spider in the cracks between the floorboards. A shudder alights on Hope's shoulders despite the heat.
CW accidental misogyny with objectifying imagery
Otherwise, they get nothing. His eyes barely glance to their hand, and that minimal movement isn't visible through his shades. He's staring them in the eye--waiting, attentive. A least until they get lost in the maths.
Like... really lost, apparently.
He tries to be patient, and to keep up--two things that are generally feasible, but which in combination become much harder. He takes the trivia as it comes, along with the numbers--which he puts together immediately (15 9 7 -> 14 means plus 7 to all, so the broadest range would be 22 16 14 and 9), but Hope... doesn't. And that's fine, he can wait a second while they do. But then they just... stop talking, and stare into the sky. Mouthing and tapping their fingers while they do the work he's already done.
He has no idea what to do himself. Sure, he can sit. He does that. For at least a couple of seconds. Then he looks at the sky. This takes maybe another second. And already he can feel himself fraying. Each one of those seconds feels longer and longer, time expanding from each one logarithmically as he act of simply sitting here, not moving and not speaking, next to another person with whom he is supposed to be in conversation, begins to actively shred his brain.
Out of restlessness, and habit, he turns to the other person present: Cal. He (Dirk) shifts him (Cal) off his (Dirk's) shoulders, turning the puppet to face him with his bright eyes and cheeky grin. He plays with Cal's hands, waving them a little as though the puppet is talking and gesticulating, then putting a soft mitt over his (Cal's) mouth, for some tittering laughter. Then Cal reaches out and touches Dirk's hair, and Dirk uses his free hand to smack Cal's hand lightly off his 'do. And then his other hand off his cheek, because dude, boundaries--
Hope's final answer--which is to say, the conclusion Dirk came to however many seconds ago--barges its way between them through Dirk's ears as Dirk alternatively bobs each of Cal's hands up and down, and he looks up at Hope with a deadfaced expression for a second while turning Cal's head to look at them in turn. Just in time to make perfect eye contact, in fact.
"Thirteen on the wide end of the margin, but yeah," he says, picking up the thread flawlessly. "You know, next time you have a bunch of numbers like that, you can toss them to me and I'll crunch them for you." He waves one of Cal's hands, and--while it's not clear when he got his other hand up in Cal's controls--the doll opens and closes his jaw quickly and repeatedly, like he's muching up a delicious snack. "I'm a bit faster than you, so you can save yourself some effort."
Or, you know, do what Dirk did and spend hours of your life doing math in your head to keep yourself busy while you're alone and bored and doing everything yourself, until it becomes an effortless process. And assuming, which he already has based on this single instance, that Hope doesn't just have a natural head for numbers and their patterns and therefore needs (or could benefit from) the help of someone like him.
Yes, it's better to do it yourself, and keep doing it until you get good at it. Until it's effortless.
But in a pinch--or in a conversation where you'll keep Dirk Strider waiting--he's willing to lift his own weight a little. As a.... friend?
"There's a consistent interval of 4 years on average... except for you and JR, that's only two years. Maybe that means something. You're both trans, too. Correlation ain't causation but there's something there, if you ask me." Technically Hope didn't ask him, at all. In fact, this entire conversation is the consequence of questions he asked them... and he's aware of that, but they're still answering his questions, so to Dirk, that means his input is wanted and is now being sought. Consciously or not, Hope clearly wants his help. Or at least doesn't not want it.
That his specific input is both useful and warranted was never in doubt. So here he is. Helping. Volunteering time and thought. That's friendly, right? He's being so helpful and friendly right now.
"So maybe he was up to something shady. Maybe it was creepy. He seems... really into preteens. Preteen girls." Hm. "That doesn't necessarily mean something sinister, though."
He's not just saying that to spare Hope's feelings. Not jumping to conclusions is an important part of the investigative and deductive process
"If the goal was to keep you out of trouble, then that makes plenty of sense. Again, I don't know what the deal is with you getting picked up so young. But the interval is probably a more meaningful bit of data. Like--this is just an idea, but I've read that four or five years is a pretty significant point in child development. That's when some of the higher cognitive skills start showing up. You got a personality, and some basic potential. Independence. I was about that age when my Bro ghosted the entire world, matter of fact. It's not lost on me that if I'd been more of a baby, I'd be dead. But I'm not. And I'm not because I had sufficient motor and reasoning skills to feed myself and problem solve. And then those preteen years... that's obviously its own thing. The thing before the Whole Thing. You really see what a person is about to be, around then. So--and again, this is just a thought, but I'm thinking maybe he was looking for something. Trying to produce something specific in his progeny, and when he didn't see it, he went out and tried again. Which would explain the intervals. Like breeding horses; you have to match the brood mare to the stallion based on a bunch of factors, but you can't guarantee anything. There's no way to be sure he's going to sire a winner. So you breed the mare to him, then the foal has to get born and grow up and go through training and in the meantime you're watching and waiting--and in horses, you keep breeding while you do. There's no reason not to, because they're horses and if they don't measure up then there's ways to deal with that. Glue, horsemeat, therapy horses for disabled children, you get the idea. And there's no downside to having more foals so long as you can keep 'em fed and exercised and keep paying trainers and whatever, so it just makes economic and practical sense. Now, it's pretty frowned upon to turn people into craft paste or sashimi, but maybe whatever he was looking for, he only needed to get it once. And he's only working with one stallion--himself. So, he picks his metaphorical broodmare--no offence to your mother, this is strictly for metaphor's sake--and once she's bred, he has to wait and watch for... whatever, once that foal is on the ground--that's you, here--and if he doesn't see it by a certain age, he tries again. I don't know what that has to do with him only bringing in the girls to keep y'all out of the way or whatever, I don't know what he was looking for to begin with--hell, I don't know that this is anything at all, it's just... you know, one idea. An example."
One of many ways this bizarre tale could feasibly make sense. Or not. Either way, they probably won't forget
no subject
Which is all to say that they smile through it, pretending that it didn't hurt just a little bit even if it was unintentional, and don't comment on it beyond that. And they let him keep talking, and as he keeps talking, the smile fades. Gradually, sure, and then all at once when he calls their mom a broodmare. Again, not intentional, or so he assures them. Again, very hurtful. It's harder to hold on to that grace that they'd offered him this time, their hands closing into loose fists in their lap, but they remember how badly things had exploded the last time they'd fully lost their cool. (They remember the image that Shellustria had shown them of what might happen if they succumb to that anger.)
So they decide to respond to something else. The greater point, instead of the smaller ones. He doesn't know their mom—no one does; their mom's a nobody and likes it that way—so it can't be targeted. None of this is targeted. But the gooey chocolate center of the whole thing is what sits the worst with Hope if they think about it for too long. "I don't know if it's the best idea in the world," they start, thinking they sound startlingly composed for the situation, given the circumstances, "To think about my dad looking for something in me and throwing me away when he didn't find it when I already have so many problems feeling like I'm not good enough."
They don't want a confrontation this time. They just want to speak what's on their mind, say what they think is at least the way they feel towards all of this. Is it likely, if Dirk is right, that their dad gave them those problems in the first place? Probably. But there are some curtains that they're not ready to pull back yet.
"Maybe you're right, you know? Maybe that's it. But it's... like, I want to hang on to the good memories of that place if I can, and I can figure out the rest in therapy or something, you know?" They give this... weak little smile, like they're trying to defuse something but they're not even sure if the bomb is ticking. "I haven't reached out to my sisters in a while. Maybe I can finally ask why Anna was so pissed off all the time and see if she learned something that I didn't." The smile gets a little more real, that surprise coming back into their tone. "I haven't told anybody about my sisters before you. Not even Natalia."
no subject
"I didn't know you and Natalia were close." A well-placed truth can cover for a lot. He might be interpersonally impaired but he's learned a trick or two from tangling with the media. And Old Man Harley. And
Jake--anyway. Who cares about Jake. This is big. This is huge, even. He's honestly a little rocked by it, but he has to keep it chill, play it cool."I guess this is an honour, then. Should I be saying something to mark the occasion, or is this more of a between-friends vibe?" There's a smile--or more like a smirk--curled in the corner of his mouth. It's very small, and it lasts only a couple seconds, but it's there. Then it drops, and he clarifies with a deadpan: "I'm kidding."
He made a joke. That was the end of the joke.
Now, of course, it's time to actually address something serious.
"Don't worry about what your dad wanted you to be. One, you don't even like the guy. And two, whatever he thought he was looking for, you already turned out better. So you failed to be something that's fundamentally insignificant--who gives a shit? He's looking for some mere feat of genetics and passed you by, but you're a full-ass Nova Knight. That's a calibre of proof his little progeny project could never hope to touch." There's a kind of pressure to his tone, an intensity that's paired with a jarringly street-level gesture at the end, when he tips his head as if to say: game recognises game.
Then, weirdly, he just... leaves it tipped at that angle to think.
"... also, don't go to a therapist. If his matrimonial spook-bitch is as deep a sleuth as you say, whatever you say to some third party could be compromised. He's got the money, she's got the skill to use it, and at least one of them is just looking for an excuse, I'll bet." There's no logical reason for Dirk to believe this, but instictively, he does. There's a bias there, taking Hope's dislike for them as cause to assume the worst of them. But it's also just how he thinks: his brain is already running off with the details, unspooling suspicions to lead him deeper through his mental labyrinth. Anna might be a safe source--especially if she's pissed--but maybe not. Wouldn't Anna then be surveilled more closely by Hope's father and stepmother? But if she had reason to be pissed, then maybe she does know something. And it would be idiotic for Hope not to ask.
This is where his thoughts are when the first firework goes off.
Loud, and sudden, and completely unexpected. He just about jumps to his feet--to react, to fight(?), to... uh. Do... something. Or nothing. As the case may be.
no subject
How crazy is this, right? They went from crying and screaming and ruining this guy's eggs to having... to having a friendly conversation, truly, one with highs and lows and enough weird moments in it to stick with them in a good way and real, actual advice; with first reveals and serious words shared between the two (three) of them; with mutual understanding or at least an amazing facsimile of it. They'd actually done it. It's such a weird thing to feel right now, happy and relieved and like a normal human being. They dwell in that feeling like a blanket on a cold winter morning while Dirk continues talking about how therapists are a risk, and it's only the firework—bang!—that pops them out of the reverie and into the world again.
They look up at the sky, then over to Dirk who looks like he's just been jumpscared by an animatronic bear, and they laugh brightly. "It's just the fireworks! The show's starting." They glance back up, still feeling some special kind of way as the red and green trails of the first explosion fade into the sky. "You want to head out to the boardwalk and watch it properly?"
no subject
And partially not.
The lack of bite is a little bit embarrassment--and not wanting any defensiveness to show. He is perfectly aware of how much worse that will make him look. But it's not just that. It's also a simple lack of fight in him. Against his better judgment, and without any conscious decisionmaking on his part (a rarity in its own right), he finds himself.... chilled out.
He's still himself--still intense, yes, and serious, and hyper-attuned and hyper-aware and all of that--but his nerves are strung just a bit less tightly, and for once he finds it easy to just. Drop it.
Good? Maybe.
But once dropped, he finds himself caught in the awkwardness of what to say after. It's been so long since he found himself talking to anyone for any length of time without escalation or tension that even the realisation itself is uncomfortable, and discomfort rises like a tide around him.
It was easier when he had a focus--Hope's family history is going with him now, as something to look into--but now it's weird. He's not sure what to do.
His instinct is to dip, but he doesn't.
He doesn't do that.
"Sure," he says instead.
He doesn't know why he says that. It made sense for approximately two seconds--to say yes, so as to demonstrate that he's not afraid of the fireworks--but the instant it leaves his mouth, he regrets it.
Not because watching the fireworks is a problem, but because it's with Hope, and he's already uncomfortable and starting to feel on edge about it, and--
And they asked him to go watch the fireworks with them.
They smiled, they laughed, and they asked him to go do something with them. This, the second realisation, is the one that really sinks him.
They're not upset. They're not trying to push him around or twist his words. They're just relaxed.
Happy, even.
They don't hate him.
It should be a relief--and it is, it's such a relief that it makes part of him kind of angry--but at the same time, the outcome was so inexplicable that it's hard to process clearly. It leaves him feeling numb and out of place, and it fills him with dread. He didn't do anything to make them not hate him right now. But they don't.
And he...
He would kind of like to keep it that way.
But he said 'sure,' so now he's going to the boardwalk. Leaving is the one guaranteed way not to fuck it up yet--this tentative offer of friendship that he's signed onto and somehow hasn't sabotaged immediately despite its fragile neonatal newness--and he just cut off his own exit.
He's either the stupidest motherfucker alive, or--
He glances at Cal. Anxious, and pretending not to be. "Ready?"
no subject
Another firework goes off overhead, and they look up to try to catch the trails again. Underneath the echo of the boom, they whisper something to themself. Not enormously hard to hear, but hopefully easy enough to ignore. "I wish to not go back," they say, and it's not the way they would say it if this were a conversation or if it were something they wanted to acknowledge, but... it's superstition. And it's hard to break the habit of following it once they've been doing it for long enough.
They unfurl their hand, not having realized they'd curled it up at their side to begin with, and look back at Dirk. "Yeah, let's go," they say, and chase it with the too-honest, "This is how I hoped we'd end the night, but I was so afraid about whether it would actually happen. I'm glad it did."
It would really be nice to have more friends. Friends who aren't being claimed by the Abyss every moment. Friends who know Hope's deal—in more depth than they anticipated—and who are... god, willing to help keep them in line? Maybe? Helping them hold their head above water? It's weird. It feels weird, but it feels warm, and they can figure out the rest of it later. Now that there's a "later" to even consider with Dirk.
no subject
He makes no such wish himself.
He doesn't believe in that kind of thing, and hasn't for many years.
But he likes fireworks.
Sometimes that's enough.
They catch his attention, then--and then catch him by surprise with their revelation. Behind his shades, he blinks; from Hope's perspective, he's once again inexpressive and immobile.
"Seriously?" he asks out loud with his mouth. Like a chump. Then, "Huh."
It almost comes off as casual. Above, more fireworks--green, gold, blue--as he starts to head in the direction of the boardwalk they both know well. He tips Cal's head back, gently, to let his main man get a good look at them. It feels good to do.
"I'm surprised you're telling me that," he says to Hope. That's the kind of thing he'd have kept to himself and probably taken to his grave. Personally speaking.
no subject
"I am too, I think," they admit, feeling their cheeks get a little red as they try to dodge the invisible gaze of their friend. "But maybe being more open about this stuff doesn't just have to be for bad things. I'm happy that I didn't say or do anything to fuck this all up worse than it already was."
While they walk with Dirk towards the fireworks, while they try to act normal and find it less difficult than they expected—and getting a compliment that they're doing well at being normal is also something huge—they start taking in the scenery a little more. Chalra really is a beautiful place. They're glad, despite everything, that they're still here and that they can still experience all of it. (Maybe that feeling won't last forever. Maybe it's lasting long enough for now.)
"And I'm happy I told you about my sisters. I've been meaning to reach out to them all for a while, but I've been so caught up in my own head that I just haven't done it. So I appreciate it." And they crack a smile and look back out in front of them. "But I'll lay off. Call me crazy, but I get the feeling you have problems hearing this kind of thing."
no subject
(If he was less busy being tickled by it, he might remember that he'd believed their reactions to him, their hatred for him and everything he said, were simply inevitable. That the problem was Hope, but that he--Dirk Strider aka Nova Pastos--would always be an antagonistic force, and that he could not help it. He could only accept it and use it for good.)
The corner of his mouth quirks up again, and he huffs a soft breath, barely audible with all the fireworks. A laugh.
He lets them finish, though. They walk, and he listens, and he and Cal watch the bursts of colour and soak in the vibrations--not just the social ones, but literal ones. It's part of what Dirk likes about fireworks. They are explosives, after all. If he's close enough, he can feel them. Each one comes with a shockwave that seems to shift the weight of the air, and he likes that.
He's quiet for a few seconds after Hope's little jibe.
Problems? Him?
Did he say something to make them think he had a problem? With what? Their family?
Why? What problem is he supposed to have? How did they come to that conclusion? Was he acting weird?
He wracks his brain in desperation, but he comes up empty-handed.
"I don't know why you'd think that," he says, finally. Casually. "Is it 'cause of the sibling thing? That's all some people want to talk about, is my Bro--oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense as an assumption, now that I say it. Hmm." Okay. Maybe he answered that question.
A big, multicoloured starburst rains strobing sparks over a volley of gold crosettes.
"Don't worry about it. I'm used to it. I guess it's nice to find someone who wants to talk about their own siblings for once and admit it's for their own sake, instead of co-opting my Bro for it, or trying to pry into my shit out of 'concern.' That's probably an improvement."
A lot of the 'someones' in question here are actually reporters or wanna-be scoopsters, admittedly. His social life isn't really what one would describe as 'robust.' But they don't need to know that.
Then he realises what he's said and turns to look at them--his brow is slightly furrowed with what is meant to be concern, but that's sure as fuck not what it looks like.
"I did give you a free shot, though, so if you wanted to ask about that--"
He immediately trips on a rock.
no subject
And anything they could have been saying gets stalled for a moment. They grab for his upper arm to try to steady him when he trips. "Whoa!" It's a light enough grip, but it should be enough to stop him from toppling, right? "You okay?" they ask, a surprised sort of laugh chasing their words. And, because he's Dirk Strider, they doubt he's going to let tripping over a rock get the better of him, so they decide that they might as well just keep up the conversation.
"If I only get the one free shot, then let me hang on to it until I come up with something I really have to know about. And," they say, letting go of Dirk, "If it goes too deep, then I want you to tell me to back off. Don't spill your guts on my account unless you want to."
no subject
Hope's hand--hands, plural--on his arm, however? He does not know what to do there. Part of him wants to freeze up. Another wants to jump or pull out of their grasp--kind of a dramatic overreaction, but it's better than falling directly on his face about it.
By some miracle, the two impulses cancel out, and he does basically nothing, except to stand back up very quickly, with no real assistance needed. Emphasis on stand.
He stops walking and waits for them to let go. They're still talking, somehow? His brain makes a valiant attempt to catch up, and despite everything, succeeds. And he realises, in that exact moment, that he is going to play this off like a fucking professional.
The infusion of added of confidence that comes with this is so powerful that they could have said anything to him right now and he'd have embraced it just for the continued rush. For a moment, Dirk Strider has pulled it off. He is who he's meant to be--the guy he's being, right now. Calm. Competent. Cool And most of all: in control.
"....sure, if that's what you want," he says. Having been jostled from his fireworks-focused vantage, Lil Cal's head falls to the side, staring at Hope almost directly in their face. "Just you leave my guts and the question of how far I'm gonna let you dig into them to me."
The words of another Pandora, in another place, reside not far from this conversation. He can practically hear the condescension and faux-concern--but he can't. Not literally, anyway. Because it's as opposite of the living person ("Hope") that's supposedly in front of him as it's possible to be. But still--it's there.
You'd be considered a modern miracle outside these walls, you know.
He breathes in through his nose, filling his lungs with late summer air--and tips his head, almost like he's levying a challenge.
"Unless you don't trust me?"
no subject
"I trust you to know what your boundaries are," they say carefully, but it is honest. How much they can trust him with most other things remains to be seen; they're friends now, sure, but Chalra wasn't built in a day. Either way, they're pretty sure he knows where to cut himself off.
"It's hard, though." Back to being somewhat casual about it. They sink their hands into their pockets and look vaguely ahead of themself, eyes glancing towards the sky when they can manage it safely. "I don't know a lot about probing questions. I think when I want to know something about someone, the first thing my brain decides it should do is overshare about something close to what I wanna know. And then maybe the other person will do it too, and then if they don't, well, I never technically asked, so it's fine." They grin at themself and glance over at Dirk with just their eyes. "You know, like what I did there. It probably isn't the best habit to be in, but being aware of it is better than nothing, right?"
They could really stand to be a little less honest sometimes.
no subject
Originally he assumed this a feature of the protracted mental breakdowns they were having every time he spoke to them, but no. This is business as usual for them.
At least they're trying. What are you doing?
Not fucking that, he thinks. And maybe it's the residual high from his smooth recovery a second ago, but he gets a little satisfaction from it. Unfortunately, his awareness of the context bites him as soon as he thinks it; he can't avoid his own brain.
The thing is that they actually cop to their problems. You've rewritten your own problems to make you someone who never has to admit to them.
Sure, maybe if he had normal fucking problems like Hope did.
...
Nah, that's a lie and even he knows it. He gets no relief from sharing; even trying feels like pulling solid concrete through a sieve. He really would rather fucking not. And if it's between that and holding onto his pride, he'll choose his pride every time. He knows this. He knows this because knows himself. Maybe too well. Maybe in a way that humans aren't meant to. But there's so much that human beings aren't meant to do and be and experience that he's already been and done and survived; he's an exceptional case, and it's up to him to bear that gracefully. Or at least responsibly. That's the word. Responsibility. It all comes back to responsibility in the end.
Hope's problems aren't entirely normal. He can see that. I don't know a lot about probing questions is not a normal problem. It's a weird fucking non-problem they've made up and gotten stuck on somehow. But a tiny, bitter seed of his own thoughts can't help but note that if he had the kind of petty and bizarre problems Hope is constantly levelling with him about, then it wouldn't matter what he was doing about them. These are not problems that are going to get anyone killed--not like his. Like him.
He knew, long before now, that he had the capacity. It was an intuitive knowledge, one he'd explored in the confines of his own head, endlessly--testing himself, asking reapeatedly despite his answers always coming back the same.
He knew that killing would not move him, would not bring him to a halt.
But he didn't just kill their doppelganger with cold efficiency. He killed with feeling.
He finds himself holding the sensory memory of their severed head in his hands. Maybe it's the scent of their hair, reminding him of the scent of blood, and the rest just follows. His hands, his brain, the rest of his body--it all occupies a moment in time that he's not in. Scent is a powerful driver of memory, and Dirk is a very physical, tactile man. Or maybe it's where his head is in other ways. By the time he realises he's raised his hands to hold a kind of phantom object, the sheer contrast between his problems and Hope's makes the absurdity of the whole thing something that he has to talk himself down from. He lets the percussive booms of the fireworks overhead jar his brain and pass through his body.
It's actually helpful. At least something is.
He looks at his hands, and he can't come up with a way to make that gesture 'normal' so he doesn't try. He runs their explanation of their own behaviour back through his brain.
"Does that... work?" he asks after a beat, feeling oddly disconnected from his internal processes. Hope doesn't need to know what he's thinking about, and he really does wonder if this strategy is actually successful. If he was a very different kind of person, maybe he could use that. Maybe he still can, somehow. At the very least, he can be vigilant for this tactic in the future.
He waits for an answer.
(no subject)
I've worked this tag over so many times, I don't know if it makes sense any more or not!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
CW hints towards some disordered eating? With a side of control issues? It's fine,
(no subject)