retroductions | reverie overflow.

I don't know, Herlock. What do you think about it?

[ he's started to fall for her, then? or he wishes to court her?

she still hasn't made a goddamned choice ]

I had thought, before all of this string nonsense, it would have been a pleasant idea to ask to spend time together. Just for a portion of the day — a dip in the ocean, maybe, since it had been so wretchedly hot.

[Sholmes is often unabashed, but he also doesn't know how to define one thing over the other. Romance is not his forte — he is unorthodox, approaches without planning, and careens about wherever the wind takes him.

Is this courting? His string would suggest something more than that, twined with so many other colors, after all. He only knows that he likes her very much; empirically, that she makes his heart uptick more often than not. He looks as though he’s actually thinking about this.]

I suppose some would label that as a “date”. But after what you had told me, and now with these mismatched strings, I only wish to know how I should proceed.

[Help him out here, Sprezzatura.]

[ bbbbbrings one hand up to her temple. she feels that familiar twinge of baleful acceptance: he has realized her feelings do not live up to his own. the relationships always fell apart fast after that. I wish you would talk to me. Am I always going to come second to your books? Why don't you ever come to visit? We live in the same wing, for Mystra's sake. I can't do this anymore. and she'd snub them, write them off, oh no, too sad, what a shame. she couldn't see the strings, back then, but she always grabbed the scissors.

no answer. no answer. no answer.

she doesn't want to cut the thread anymore. ]

Herlock, I... [ ... ] There's someone else.

[He's quiet as he waits for her reply. A detective knows when pry, when to dig; just as he knows when to ply patience when the moment is critical. This feels... quite like one of those times.

And when she finally speaks, his eyes take in every microexpression on her features, turning this information over in his mind. He looks like a man taking puzzle pieces apart and putting them carefully, carefully back together, something churning behind his gaze. He certainly does not look upset, if she was expecting that at all.]

You did mention sleeping with someone else when we last spoke, yes. But- [His head tilts slightly.] -that is not who you refer to, is it?

[ she feels naked, pinned to the page, open-book and raw, vulnerable, everything bleeding out of her, and it's not nice to feel that way. ]

It... is. But...

[Urges her gently:]

But? You may speak freely, my dear.

[ like, four different threads surge with purple afresh, including the one which connects to Sholmes ]

Someone kissed me. I didn't think he felt that.

[Oh, we are complicating things in real-time, and he doesn't even know who she's referring to.]

Hm? So is this another "someone else", or merely an added complication on your end?

Mammon, no, he's not. We are not.

[ complication. ]

[Complication.]

So then where does the issue lie? Are you afraid of disappointing him? Me?

[Any regard possibly running lopsided.]

You, of course you!

Sprezzatura…

[Are they still clutching onto her mug? He’s going to at least to try to bring it down to the counter, unfurl her fingers from it.]

Why do you think you’ll disappoint me? We have not set expectations. We have not defined anything. I only wish to understand what you want and feel.

[ he can do so; she forcibly flexes her own fingers to straighten out from their clutching.

nearly more breath than voice, ] ...I don't want what happened with Theo to happen again.

[And so their hands rest upon the counter, Sholmes' own touch never quite leaving the curve of her fingers.

Theo? She has not mentioned the name to him before, but he is a rather nosy detective. He has gone through that blasted book harboring the names and pictures of those they have lost to solitary, and he pulls it up from the dredges of memory again, filing through the list. He is fairly the name "Theo" was present.

The rest is an easy deduction.]

...You are afraid of losing someone dear to you, and hurting all over again.

Oh, my god. I told you this... [ other hand pinching the bridge of her nose, voice soft, self-mocking ] I told you this... during that Doki Doki Bingo.

You did, but you did not mention a name. Which suggests, at least, an origin point to the pain, one more harrowing than the rest; and one that I am sorry you had to experience. Truly.

[There is not much he can do to heal that wound. He would not presume to try.]

...I cannot tell you what will happen in the future, whether I or anyone else will be swept away without warning. No one here can. But would you regret, someday, not trying to seek happiness, and choosing to abstain out of fear, instead?

[ no, she thinks. I wish I had never opened my heart! ]

I do not need love to be happy. It has done me no favours!

And surely you cannot admit that it has made you less happy when you've had it.

How can I know?! I only had it for weeks!

Weeks that must have had some impact, else you’d not be so upset right now. It would not be so hard for you to talk about.

It is hard because of what he went through! Herlock, he running from cultists of his god. And if he never wakes, then it means he has been overtaken by angel inside him.

[ no matter the ending, the outcome is the same: God still got its chosen one. ]

[Sholmes does not think this invalidates his claim. Only that it adds to it.]

…Sprezzatura. Because he is in Solitary does not mean that he is lost to you forever. Only that we have not found a way to awaken those gone to sleep, not just yet.

[ shudders. and if he comes back, that's right--what then, once she's let herself fall in love with someone else?

she wraps an arm around her middle and leans forward. oog. stomach hurts ]

What do I do...

[Considerations, considerations. He can only unearth more, being who he is. This poor woman, though. So harried with indecision, inability to know which path to take.

He thinks for a moment.]

Do you believe your heart can only be given out to one person, and one only?

[ little pieces of her heart live in the pockets of no small number ]

I think I am too selfish to abide not being sole recipient of someone else's.

[ which makes her a hypocrite. ]

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