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Someone clever.

[For all she despises Tani, she can't deny it was a good move. She half-wishes she thought of it herself, but she was too arrogant from the start. She hasn't the personality to achieve that oily, semi-sensual affect he can get when he's trying to get something he wants.]

He saved himself from a week of torture. I can't fault him for that.

[She can fault him for the bruises around her neck, though, and her hand rises to brush against them again.]

You should.

[ Spoken sharply, and quickly. It takes a lot to stoke the flames of Prompto's anger, and nine times out of ten, he would rather lighten the mood than outright disagree with someone like this, especially someone who has just been through what Rosalind has. He should...step back. Who is he to tell her who made the right choice? He wasn't taken this time.

But he has been before.

His jaw tightens, and his hands shake a little in his lap, but he does his best to remain calm, even if his voice betrays him. ]

It's never worth saving yourself if it means hurting someone else.

[She stares at him for a few seconds too long.]

You don't think so? Even if it means saving yourself from death? For all he knew, he was. It wasn't even directly at our expense-- not at first, anyway.

He still buddied up with people who wanted to kidnap him just because they thought he might know something.

[ No. For him, there is no room for a moral grey in a situation like this. There was a right and wrong side, and nowhere in between that could be justified. ]

Now...now he has to live with that choice for the rest of his life.

[ And if she hears a note of pity in his voice, that's because there is one. ]

I don't think he'll mind, Prompto. In fact, I know he won't.

[There's a few seconds of silence, and then:]

He's the one who gave me this, you know.

[She lifts her left arm, showing off the scar there.]

He doesn't regret that either, I know that. He enjoys bringing it up. Half the time I don't know if--

[She cuts herself off, then shakes her head.]

In any case. It was a sensible choice, if nothing else. He escaped with far fewer scars than I did. If I'd had any sense, I would have done the same damned thing.

[ She calls it the sensible thing, and yet he doesn't understand it. Cannot understand it. It is, of course, on this point that they differ greatly, and Prompto knows that. He doesn't expect to change that, either. But neither can he let that claim go unchallenged. For one who is normally so non-confrontational, this has him fired up, his heart beating fast, the color rising in his cheeks.

He has to speak his mind. No, not his mind - his heart. ]

How can you say that?

[ His voice rises. He still isn't shouting, but there is untempered passion behind his words. ]

You think it's sensible? To hurt someone, just to save yourself? You've got your infinite cosmic knowledge, and you still don't get it.

[Her eyes go a little chillier. She'd looked younger before, huddled in her sickbed; now she looks older, something far beyond her years.]

You think I don't understand.

[She says it carefully, quietly.]

After a week of torture. After being murdered. After losing my beloved . . . after nearly being raped by a gang of men and burned to death on a pyre, tell me, Prompto, what is it that you think I don't understand?

You think the world is a story. You think that in the end, the bad guys will lose and the good guys will win. You think that justice must prevail, because it's only right. Because in the end, good will triumph over evil. How can anything else be true?

But the world doesn't work that way, Prompto. Evil things, terrible things, petty things happen all the time. People get away with all sorts of crimes, and-- and stars don't care what you wish, and there's no magic in the world, and the only way you'll ever get ahead is if you think about yourself first! People who are good, who are kind, get trampled on every day.

[She glances down, glaring at her hands, dried out and thin. At her arm, with that thick white scar an ugly reminder of all that's happened to her here.]

Do you know why I didn't die there?

[She glances up.]

Because I'm entertaining to Tani. Because I challenge him over and over, and he likes seeing just how far he can take it. He protected me, and all so he could turn around and strangle me himself-- but not for long, no, just long enough to see me beg him to spare me.

And if I hadn't mewled out a plea, I would have died again. And no one would have stopped him.

But at least I had a chance there. Do you know how I died the first time? Stupidly. I did everything I was supposed to. For twenty years I gave my patron everything he asked for, and yet in the end what I got was an explosion and Robert's body beneath mine.

There are no heroes. There is no happy ending. There is logic, and there is sensibility, and if you don't look out for you and yours, there will be nothing but grief in your future. That is what my life has taught me. That is the truth of the world, all the worlds.

[Is she angry or despairing? Who knows. Both, maybe.]

[ There's no avoiding it. The force of her words, the effect of them hits him like a powerful wave, and shake him to his very core. He sucks in a deep, rattling breath, his eyes never leaving her until the end, deepening horror etched into his features. To say it's difficult to hear would be a tremendous understatement, and it's a wonder an apology doesn't tear right tight out of him as soon as he has the breath to make one. He had been stupid, callous, unfair to call her out as he did, and by the time she finishes, he buries his face in his hands, tears stinging his eyes.

But is she right? He doesn't know. But he does know deep within himself, at the very root of who he is, he can never agree with what she has just said. It would be a complete betrayal of everything he had fought for back on Eos, of every promise he made, of every truth he believes in. It would be a betrayal of everything he still fights for here, to forge a new life from the ashes of his old one, to press on, even when it is so, so very difficult to lose hope.

A long moment passes before he speaks again, and when he does, his voice is uneven and raw, but so full of heart and passion as to leave no room to think he doesn't absolutely believe what he says. ]

...I'm sorry. I...I shouldn't have said it like that. And...I know I'm not gonna change your mind. You've been through things I can't even imagine, and...I'm so sorry you did.

[ Killed, along with the love of her life. Gods, to even think it... ]

...And...I know I probably sound naive. I'm just a kid, right? I've had good people around me to believe in, who believe in me. That...makes it easier. All I know is...

[ His eyes flutter shut to stop the swell of unbidden tears beneath them, but still, he continues to speak as a sob rubs against his words. ]

I was one of millions, all created for the same, singular purpose. I was made...to lose myself, to die for a cause I never chose. I should have been just like them. I should never have had my own life. If the world was the way you say it is, I wouldn't have. I wouldn't be here, tell you this. Every choice I've made, everything good and bad that's ever happened to me to shape me never would have happened. I'd be...hah. Scrap metal.

[ His eyes flicker open again, and in them, he carries an unwavering light. ]

...But I'm not, because someone made a choice, to do something good, something right, even though it wasn't logical or sensible. They stole me right out of the heart of their enemy's operations and gave me the chance to live my own life. And he wasn't the only one. No one ever had to give me a chance. No one had to be my hero. But they were, and they are, and so yeah, I believe everything you said. The good guys will win in the end, because it's what's right. If I die believing that - if I die because I believe that - then I will have no regrets. I'd...I'd rather die with hope, than live without it.

[ And to say as much is no small thing, for him. ]

Edited 2018-04-08 05:33 (UTC)

[He cries, his voice trembling and his eyes bright, and Rosalind bites her at bottom lip. Teeth dig in so hard that she's sure she'll break skin soon, and she's right; within a minute she can taste copper. But that doesn't matter. All that matters is that her eyes are dry and her mouth doesn't tremble. She refuses to give in to that emotion, no matter how raw she feels. It doesn't matter. Fresh off a week of torture, of torment, of sleepless nights and days, of being burned and cut and clawed, no, it doesn't matter. She won't cry.

But oh, god, he reminds her so much of Robert in this moment. Of their last fight, and how he'd looked at her, how he'd sounded, grief intermingling with a belief so powerful that nothing, not even her, would shake it. God, he'd broken her heart with it; he'd believed in it so strongly that he'd blackmailed her over it, threatening to leave her unless they did the right thing.

And when she'd stared at him in stunned silence, he'd gone softer, but his voice hadn't lost any of its passion. He'd talked about how many things he'd seen that were right, and good, and just, though there was no reason for it. He'd taken her hands and he'd talked about all the things he'd seen, all the little acts of courage or kindness that had no route in logic. That were purely unselfish, done only because they were the right thing.

It comes down to moments like this, he'd said. To choices like this, Rosie.

(And then he'd died for it, her heart wails, he'd died and what was the point, why should Booker have gotten a second chance at Robert's cost, but she won't think of that, she won't think of his broken body, his blank eyes, bruises and burns mutilating him, no, she won't think of it). ]

For god's sake, Prompto--

[She says it softly, and though the words are scolding, the tone isn't. She glances away for a long moment, her breath shaky, her fingers clenching and unclenching til there’s nailmarks on her palms.

She will never believe that. Never, ever, no matter how many lifetimes she lives through. The world is so cold, so cruel, and in her experience, it's easier to prepare for the worst than hope for the best. But at least she's come far enough to hear that kind of thing without spitefully laughing or denying it.]

You really are like him.

[She says it softly.]

You're both so optimistic. So eager to do the right thing, even if costs you everything. And I still don't believe in it. I never will.

[There's a pause, and she reaches for him, cupping his cheek for a few seconds.]

But I'm glad someone does.

Edited 2018-04-08 07:57 (UTC)

[ The touch of her hand to his cheek splits him right to his heart, so tender a gesture from someone who does not give out such things lightly. He knows it, and while she may not believe him, she at least accepts that he won't believe her either, and that's okay. They can have this tremendous difference between them and still care about each other, still want the best for the other.

And so carefully - carefully - with his breath tight in his chest, Prompto scoots closer to her and winds his arms around her in a gentle hug. It doesn't ask much, and he doesn't let it linger for her sake. He still couldn't let the moment pass without this sign of solidarity, of support, that says more than his words ever could. ]

Don't worry. I can do all the believin' for the both of us.

[ If there's anything in this world he is good at, it's this. ]

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