originallutece | (no subject)

[Her first terrible thought is: at least he's come to the right person for it.

After all, Rosalind knows an awful lot about suppressing her feelings, doesn't she? Of course she does. She knows how to stop herself from ever shedding a single tear; she knows how to take the worst kinds of insinuations without batting an eye. Happiness, grief, anger . . . she knows how to keep them all under wraps if she has to.

She's been lucky lately, in that she hasn't had to. But that doesn't mean she doesn't know how.

Still. She'd learned all that out of necessity, and she doesn't see why Prompto ought to.]

Yes. But I wouldn't recommend it.

What is it you want to stop feeling?

[prompto hadn't come to rosalind because he thought she had prior experience to not feeling things--surprise--but because he felt that from a more analytical and logical stand point, she could perhaps understand why feeling so much of everything the way he did would become overwhelming, when all prompto wanted was to stack away things in an organised way.]

[right now, he feels like a million waves rolled up into a messy ball, surging and pulsing without much of a rhythm, causing him nothing but pain]

[he figured, then, that rosalind wouldn't judge him]

i don't know
a lot of everything i guess
i wanna stop feeling so inadequate and so unworthy that someone always has to try and remind me about how i'm not any of those things
i wanna stop feeling scared and stupid
i wish i didn't feel as selfish as i feel and i wanna stop feeling so lonely all the time it's not fair
i have more friends now than i ever dreamed of and still i'm stuck feeling like an idiot all the time
cuz i'm a stupid disappointment when i try not to be

[it's perhaps easy to tell that prompto's heavily frustrated of all these things that just don't seem to help him make any sense, as he himself doesn't understand too well where his frustrations are coming from.]

Edited 2017-07-25 20:43 (UTC)

[Well. That's quite a few thoughts banging about his head, isn't it? More than she knows how to handle, and Rosalind blinks down at her phone, a little overwhelmed for a few seconds. Her first instinct, laughably enough, is to shove all this towards Ardyn: surely he'd know what to say, what to do. He wouldn't mess it up, and god, but she's sure to do that.

But-- well. Prompto had sought her out deliberately. For whatever reason, he'd thought she was the better option than Ardyn. She can't ignore that choice.

So what does she do with all this? Well . . . treat it like an equation, then. That's what she'd done when she was young and feeling overwhelmed; she'd dissected her thoughts and parsed them out, forcing them into something more logical until she could understand and dismiss them.

So. So, what is he, right now? He's lonely. He's scared. He's feeling selfish and like a disappointment. He feels worthless, and once again some small part of her is struct by the fact that they're so, so alike and vastly different.

But she's felt those things. God knows she has. So how had she handled them?]

Something prompted all of this, I assume. What was it?

i don't know if anything did really
it's all been in my head for a while
more than ever now i'm wondering if i should just have kept to myself just like before

[but... giving it some thought, he can pinpoint a couple of things]

noct's gonna find out i'm not really worth the trouble some day
i'm gonna let dante down some day i just know it
i know ardyn expects more of me but i can't bring myself to be 100% honest all the time
i keep making stupid mistakes and not thinking of consequences
in the end i'm just as selfish as my mother would tell me i was this is why i was always alone

As someone who is selfish, Prompto, I can safely say there's nothing wrong with being it.

[That's not what his point is, but she doesn't want to leave him hanging for too long. And she is pausing, because god, she doesn't know what to say.]

You know . . . all of these fears seem to have one thing in common. You seem terrified that those around you are going to find out somehow that you're not truly worth their time. You're making yourself lesser than them, and putting them on a pedestal.

[And boy, isn't she familiar with someone who does that?]

Who's to say they won't let you down?

Edited 2017-07-25 21:19 (UTC)

because... compared to them i'm
nothing special

[nothing, not nobody. boy has some issues]

That's an opinion, Prompto. Not an objective fact. You'd do well not to confuse the two.

What makes them so much better?

[prompto thinks about this, he really does, and the only conclusion that he can boil down to them being any better than him is... is the fact that]

they're everything to me

[and it's terrifying that that's how he feels, because he knows it could all go away in one second. the way his mother was everything to him and she never, never reciprocated those feelings]

[it's probably good this is through text, because prompto is definitely crying]

i'm going to l ose them all somenday

[Again, in a panic, she thinks of calling Ardyn. Or-- or Fawkes. Or someone, someone who's good at this, who knows about emotions, who could look at this situation and know precisely what to say. She's going to ruin this because she's so emotionally distant and she hasn't the faintest idea what one say to all this.

But she can't just pass this off to someone. For better or worse, he chose her.]

Prompto, where are you?

[This will be the start, at least: enough of this texting nonsense.]

in my room why
i'm fine honest

Don't lie, please. And give me your address, I'll be by shortly.

[he does give her his address, after several long minutes of consideration. it's a small apartment building somewhere in viea village, close to the park. it's on the first floor, a hallways of questionable condition with three other doors plus his own on the floor. his is the obvious one: the no photography allowed! sign gives it away easily.]

[prompto has no idea if rosalind intends to come in at all, but prompto's making an effort to clean up his small place, shoving dirty clothes into the laundry basket and shoving plates and glasses into cupboards, opening the kitchen door, and making his bed.]

[too bad he forgets to fix himself; rumpled clothes and and his hair lacking the usual hairstyle, soft and falling all over his face without the hair product to hold it up]

[She does, at least, come into the building, her hair hastily pinned back and her dress a little less severe. There's only thirteen years between them, and that gap seems a bit smaller tonight, when Rosalind isn't trying her best to look as old as possible.

The building is . . . somewhat what she expected, truth be told, given he'd told her he was living on his own, but that doesn't make her feel much better about it. She crosses her arms over herself, a little uncomfortable, and knocks firmly.

She'll take him out, if that's what he's amiable towards, because truth be told, she isn't quite certain of what to do with him now that she's come by. Perhaps they'll simply stay here. Either way, she's worried about him, and her eyes dart about his face as he opens the door.]

Hello, Prompto.

[he opens the door for her and can't even raise his head to look up at her. his eyes are lowered, looking down at their shoes, and he but nods at her greeting]

Hello.

...sorry making y'come all the way here. I don't... have any tea, or anything...

I hardly expect you to entertain me.

[A little pause. She wavers on her decision, but then:]

Come take a walk with me. It's a good night for it.

[he doesn't say anything, just moves to get his keys and put a gray (it's blue, alright) cap over his head, a wolf patch stitched to its front]

[stepping outside, he closes the door behind him, locking it.]

Okay.

[So they go down, side by side, Rosalind's hands clasped behind her. She'd been right: it is a nice night out for a walk. The heat of the day has cooled, and there's a lovely breeze coming from the west. She tips her head back, inhaling deeply as they start down the block. There's her BMW, red and shining, but she walks them past it, choosing to stick to the sidewalk instead.

They walk in silence for a fair bit. It's only once they're at least a block away that she says:]

I went to university when I was . . . I was fifteen, nearly sixteen. Cambridge. I made my first friend there-- I'd never had one before, because I'd never met anyone I could connect with. But there . . . her name was-- is-- Victoria Pendergrass. She was a few years older than me, naturally, and the sort of person who . . . well. She was very social. She made friends so easily, and I rather basked in that bright energy. She swept me up in her wake, and I followed along, and so in that way I grew to have three friends. Not, perhaps, the people I would have chosen for myself, but they were companions nonetheless.

[She remarks all this to the air, not looking over at him.]

I've never felt as though I wasn't worthy of someone's time or attention, because I think very highly of myself. I've always known I was brilliant, and bright, and better than everyone around me, and so each time I was rejected, it was their fault, not mine. My parents wanted a son, but they got a daughter; they wanted a socialite, but they got a scientist. My peers looked at me and saw someone who was different from them, so much so that we were simply on different levels-- and as I'm sure you know, someone different is someone worthy of mockery. But so what? I knew-- I knew, sure as anything-- I was something special, and so I wrote them all off.

But with her . . . I grew lax. I grew used to her companionship, and yet in the same breath I knew in my heart it was a matter of time before we parted, because I was so unlike any of her other friends. And that thought terrified me, because oh, I loved her so very much.

But I was right, of course. Once I graduated, once I moved to America, our friendship . . . it didn't break. But I only speak to her around once a year now.

But. That doesn't mean I haven't made new friends. And that doesn't mean that the time I spent with her or our little gang was any less meaningful for that.

There's not a person in the world who isn't afraid of being alone, Prompto. But part of growing up is . . . is learning to accept that. It's learning that you yourself are worthy, no matter what anyone else thinks.

. . . we were very similar as children. But I think where we diverged was that I turned in on myself, and you seem to have turned outwards. And I don't think either are advisable, frankly, but . . . my way means I've a hard time socializing, and yet know that I can stand alone, because I've done it all my life. And your way means that you've a hard time believing you've any worth if you aren't externally validated.

You're so scared of them leaving. But if they do, you will still be you. And you, a boy who loves photography and is good at physics and takes law, who has struggled and survived despite being left by his parents, is worth a great deal.

[prompto appreciates the walk, he really does. he always feels very small in his room, with its literal four walls. this is why he's usually outside, jogging or socialising or taking pictures. it feels separate from reality in some strange way, like he's actually moving forward.]

[and there, rosalind's words, they strike a chord of sentimentality in him that has him hunching his shoulders--in a pained, stressed out way--his cap doing him favors in covering his face in shadows. because her story sounds similar but so different.]

[the fact that she's sharing this much with him upsets him. who is he to deserve this kind of recognition, to safeguard rosalind lutece's inner workings and memories?]

My mother...

[he starts, small and quiet, coming to a stop; his voice is thick with emotion]

I was never g-good enough.

Everything I did wasn't... good.

[here he is, reaffirming her words; yes, he needs that external validation. he's been struggling for so long]

My father left because of me. She was... always unhappy, because of me. She told me, everyday.

[and his father never keeping in touch answered all the what ifs that prompto ever had]

Edited 2017-07-25 22:51 (UTC)

She was unhappy because she made the wrong choice, and as a result, had you. There was nothing you could have done that would have pleased her, Prompto.

[All those little words, those sighs and pointed glances and talks about how proud they'd be, if only she was a boy . . .]

You can't hold yourself responsible for the deeds of others. And frankly, Prompto . . . adults make their own decisions. Simply because your mother is defensive enough not to want to hold herself accountable doesn't make her wild accusations true.

[A beat, and she sighs.]

But I appreciate that simply saying so isn't automatically going to convince you.

[he pushes lower the bill of his cap even as rosalind tells him her honest, unbiased opinion on the matter. she knows prompto, yes, but he figures that she isn't much of a bleeding heart as to try to say the nicest of things to him all the time. he feels frustrated--with ardyn, with togusa--because they're always saying things nicely around him, or at least that's what it feels like, at this point.]

[he can trust that rosalind is objective.]

I... I guess so... but, yeah, it's still hard.

[he knows she's right, and by the gods has she tried to be stronger about this and tell himself he doesn't need these kind of thoughts in his head.]

[...but then there's a laugh, deprecating as it may sound]

I'd love to stop feeling like people are better off without me. I know it isn't true, but with every stupid mistake I make, I just...

[a floundering shrug of his shoulders]

Mistakes like what?

[They turn the corner. There's a vendor there, selling . . . some kind of miscellaneous street food, and she adds:]

Do you want something?

[he shakes his head. he doesn't want her to feel obligated to get him anything, although those kebabs smell good...]

I guess, being myself, in general.

Saying things out of line, doing things without thinking...

Ah. You think if you could attain perfection, and not annoy anyone ever, it would be all right?

[She pauses, glancing over at him, and then makes her way to the vendor, buying two water bottles.]

You know, Ardyn and I had a bit of a fight back when I first got this app.

[She passes him a bottle.]

I wanted to conduct a dangerous experiment. It would have put my life in danger, and indeed might even kill me, but nonetheless I wanted to do so. He protested. He called me reckless, and he wasn't wrong, but . . .

[Well, anyway. Rosalind waves a hand, dismissing the point.]

My point is, simply because we fought doesn't mean either of us were-- were unworthy. You say Ardyn expects more of you? Perhaps. But if you supposedly let him down by being yourself, he isn't going to leave. Nor is he going to be inherently disappointed in you.

. . . you'll end up destroying yourself if you keep trying to change for everyone. You can't be perfect for everyone-- not only because everyone has a different standard, but because it's unfair to both them and you.

[he takes the bottle with a soft thank you, even if he never wanted her to spend her money on him. supposes... that's just how nice people are. so, he opens it and drinks up, having water in his system apparently refreshing him enough that he's now keeping eye level with her.]

That sounds like him.

[trying to be the voice of reason, he means. he smiles softly at that, because he really is fond of ardyn, as the father figure he never had, but the thought itself makes him sad, because he's let ardyn down... and said things to ardyn; mean things.]

[her words make sense, and a part of him wants to protest, but he knows that's just him being petulant.]

...I guess I thought that hardest part was something I already left behind. I didn't expect it to continue haunting me like this.

Mm. Another secret of adulthood: the traumas of childhood don't simply vanish, no matter how far you thought you've left them behind.

[She glances over at him. Standing up straight, he's a bit taller than her, but honestly, who isn't?]

. . . is it easier, though? In any capacity? Even if you don't feel it right now . . . surely having people around you must be better than being alone.