[Both of those statements were the stupidest shit he'd heard since his last conversation with a psychopath. (Take your pick, he had three up until yesterday.) Then again, South was dumb too so maybe it was a Freelancer thing. He ignored it in favor of moving along the conversation.]
Where did the city send Felix?
[He's not stupid. He knew what it meant to leave here. He wasn't asking where so much as what happened. Some things are just easier to say without saying them.]
[ there's so much about this that's incredibly aggravating, but that's wash's lot in life. he's rigged up and ready, has been for a while -- but he's nowhere near the apartment, of course. he hasn't been back there for a few days, and he's hoping locus doesn't know that. wash is quietly hiding out in some older empty building, right now, just outside the residential area, keeping an ear out for updates from sombra.
it's really not that he wants to keep all this from locus. but he really wanted some time to think through how best to approach it -- and to process his own damn loss. but of course locus wouldn't think of it at all, of course he's stuck shoving things aside to have to babysit one man and his goddamn tantrum, and.
it's the right thing to do. he knows it is. and he really is doing what he thinks is best to help, and maybe the choices he's making aren't the greatest, but fuck. he's doing what he can, and wash will be the first to admit he's hardly perfect. ]
Back home, Locus. You knew that.
If you're asking something different, you can use your words.
[ in that empty building, wash is spinning knives to keep his hands busy, hefting a too-familiar weight in his hand, throwing it against the opposite wall. felix's goddamn knife. he really should've asked sombra for a taco. maybe he'll still do that. ]
[He really fucking hates you right now, Washington. But fine, he'll use his goddamn words.]
What the fuck did you do? What the hell happened to Felix to fuck him up so badly? And what the hell happens on Chorus that you deserve to die a million deaths for?
[There. Are you happy? He's ~communicating~. Fuck you, too, Siris, wherever you are hope you're getting chills down your spine for all this.]
[It's certainly not what he wanted to learn. It was not something "easy" to learn, something he could acknowledge, process, and put away for next time he had a use for it. (For the next time he saw Felix, no matter whether it was here in this city were his partner to return, or back in their own galaxy where they all belonged.) It was...not entirely unexpected, however.
Which somehow made it hit harder. All this time...and he knew Felix had been hiding something major from him, that his partner was angry at him for something, but Locus could never pry the damn answer out of him. Felix had always been better at that game than him. (And maybe it said something that they did, in fact, think of it as a game instead of something more meaningful. But- it was easier that way. It was always easier to pretend. To shove all the complicated things down, down deep into the abyss where none of it could get out.)
It was just that learning the truth in all its full bluntness was jarring in a way that Locus was unfamiliar with. (A vague corner of his brain wondered if this was what his enemies felt like when he barreled into them. Like a freight train in all its heavy glory.) It was one simple sentence. It was four little words. It was an entire lifetime of memories, emotions, laughter and screaming and skin touching skin and eyes hidden behind visors--it was so, so much and more. Ended. In one simple sentence.
It was everything to him. And an all encompassing nothingness.
There was a long pause. Quiet. Blessed silence. It filled the void that existed between the two (ex-)soldiers as they stood in opposite sides of the city staring at screens as one, and not as one. It was the same silence that filled Locus's chest and expanded outward into the world, blotting out everything around him, filling his ears with nothing but the rush of non-existent wind that left him deaf in its wake. It felt like an eternity.]
[It was too quiet. And then suddenly it all rushed back in, a cacophony of noise. It filled him with frustration and anger and rage. With nothing to aim it at.
He punched the wall next to him and chipped out a piece of the brick with the force of his armor powered motion. His knuckles were surely white beneath his gloves. His reply was silent--nothing but text--but it spoke loudly as if he yelled to fill the silence that threatened to overwhelm him.]
Impossible. I don't believe you could win.
["I would never let that happen." He heard himself say. A sentiment promised only in dreams and conversations that Felix never heard firsthand. Unfortunately.]
[ there are worse truths here for locus to uncover, and -- there is part of wash that considers keeping it to himself. the more analytical part of wash's mind turns the situation in his mind's eye, considers the fractal possibilities and the inherent unpredictability of one very volatile man being made to face an unpleasant reality he's managed to ignore for most of his life. keeping that one key fragment of information could be useful to him. there might be a good time, a better way to use it. ths one part of the truth is enough for damage control, right now, and everything else.
he knows, deep down, that locus does deserve to know, that it wouldn't be right to keep it from him. it would be best to simply lay it all out for him here and now. the more noble thing to do.
wash won't do that.
the silence before locus' next reply is long. wash just waits, patient. sombra and south are chattering in the background of his comms, and he keeps a careful eye on the information sombra is sending him. focus. he has an objective, to contain the problem, and everything else ( the messy reality of this, how much he'd pushed inside the twisting feeling in his own chest and lungs when he realized the apartment was well and truly empty, the memories that flicker crystal clear in and out of his vision of his fingers pressing bruises into skin ) can and will wait.
finally, locus' response blips up on the screen. wash doesn't hesitate at all in his reply. ]
Doesn't matter what you believe.
[ he'll wait. he has a clear direction right now: stall and keep him in place and figuratively disarmed enough for natasha to be able to do the rest. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Where did the city send Felix?
[He's not stupid. He knew what it meant to leave here. He wasn't asking where so much as what happened. Some things are just easier to say without saying them.]
no subject
it's really not that he wants to keep all this from locus. but he really wanted some time to think through how best to approach it -- and to process his own damn loss. but of course locus wouldn't think of it at all, of course he's stuck shoving things aside to have to babysit one man and his goddamn tantrum, and.
it's the right thing to do. he knows it is. and he really is doing what he thinks is best to help, and maybe the choices he's making aren't the greatest, but fuck. he's doing what he can, and wash will be the first to admit he's hardly perfect. ]
Back home, Locus. You knew that.
If you're asking something different, you can use your words.
[ in that empty building, wash is spinning knives to keep his hands busy, hefting a too-familiar weight in his hand, throwing it against the opposite wall. felix's goddamn knife. he really should've asked sombra for a taco. maybe he'll still do that. ]
no subject
What the fuck did you do? What the hell happened to Felix to fuck him up so badly? And what the hell happens on Chorus that you deserve to die a million deaths for?
[There. Are you happy? He's ~communicating~.
Fuck you, too, Siris, wherever you are hope you're getting chills down your spine for all this.]no subject
[ it's not really a lie. it's honestly more true than locus -- and felix -- would both like to admit to themselves. ]
Chorus was a war. One that you were ultimately orchestrating, but a war nonetheless. Felix died on Chorus.
1/2
Which somehow made it hit harder. All this time...and he knew Felix had been hiding something major from him, that his partner was angry at him for something, but Locus could never pry the damn answer out of him. Felix had always been better at that game than him. (And maybe it said something that they did, in fact, think of it as a game instead of something more meaningful. But- it was easier that way. It was always easier to pretend. To shove all the complicated things down, down deep into the abyss where none of it could get out.)
It was just that learning the truth in all its full bluntness was jarring in a way that Locus was unfamiliar with. (A vague corner of his brain wondered if this was what his enemies felt like when he barreled into them. Like a freight train in all its heavy glory.) It was one simple sentence. It was four little words. It was an entire lifetime of memories, emotions, laughter and screaming and skin touching skin and eyes hidden behind visors--it was so, so much and more. Ended. In one simple sentence.
It was everything to him. And an all encompassing nothingness.
There was a long pause. Quiet. Blessed silence. It filled the void that existed between the two (ex-)soldiers as they stood in opposite sides of the city staring at screens as one, and not as one. It was the same silence that filled Locus's chest and expanded outward into the world, blotting out everything around him, filling his ears with nothing but the rush of non-existent wind that left him deaf in its wake. It felt like an eternity.]
2/2
He punched the wall next to him and chipped out a piece of the brick with the force of his armor powered motion. His knuckles were surely white beneath his gloves. His reply was silent--nothing but text--but it spoke loudly as if he yelled to fill the silence that threatened to overwhelm him.]
Impossible. I don't believe you could win.
["I would never let that happen." He heard himself say. A sentiment promised only in dreams and conversations that Felix never heard firsthand. Unfortunately.]
no subject
he knows, deep down, that locus does deserve to know, that it wouldn't be right to keep it from him. it would be best to simply lay it all out for him here and now. the more noble thing to do.
wash won't do that.
the silence before locus' next reply is long. wash just waits, patient. sombra and south are chattering in the background of his comms, and he keeps a careful eye on the information sombra is sending him. focus. he has an objective, to contain the problem, and everything else ( the messy reality of this, how much he'd pushed inside the twisting feeling in his own chest and lungs when he realized the apartment was well and truly empty, the memories that flicker crystal clear in and out of his vision of his fingers pressing bruises into skin ) can and will wait.
finally, locus' response blips up on the screen. wash doesn't hesitate at all in his reply. ]
Doesn't matter what you believe.
[ he'll wait. he has a clear direction right now: stall and keep him in place and figuratively disarmed enough for natasha to be able to do the rest. ]