debriefing ♔ in the emptiness there's a solution | just look within yourself for absolution

[nepotism]

♬ locking up the sun- poets of the fall

WHO || Wynn, Buffy, Myri, Finnick, Spike, Gar, Archer, Des, Vi, Rafael, Fred Jr., Dumage, Mark, Rocket, open! [Closed]
WHAT || Andres Mission Debrief & Aftermath
WHERE || Knights HQ, lobby etc.
WHEN || September 18th [forward dated*]
HOW || Actionspam. Single thread, don't worry about maintaining tagging order.

There are plenty of missions that return to the castle a success - most of them, even. The defeated air of the solemn group that returns from their diplomatic mission to Andres Isle to hear the demands of dictator Dimitris Sarandis makes it quite clear that this wasn't one of those.

Starting with Sarandis' actual demands - for all Knights to withdraw from Andres under penalty of death, or for Wynn to offer his own head in return for Thomas' safe return - and ending with the unexpected, disturbing confession from Kat that she intended to stay behind on the island because she had "fallen in love with" the dictator, the events of the island made it very clear that Sarandis was cannily playing his hand to get the Knights where he wanted them.

Fred Jr. shoves open the doors with his unnatural strength, stalking in ahead of the group into the lobby. Whoever's on desk duty isn't going to have to roll a high wisdom check to see that these people are pissed... and distraught... and a myriad of other emotions on the bad end of the scale.

*I am changing the date of the briefing log and Andres log/live session to have taken place in September, to avoid us being in backdated hell forever, and to allow for a September squiring ceremony before apps are closed. Carry on... in the future!

Comments

[slay]

Maybe.

[ She reaches out, touching his arm, officially done staring at the back of his head. ]

And maybe the only reason I have the luxury of thinking that way is because I haven’t had to make the choices you have. When the law is the one you need to protect people from, it’s not always as easy as washing your hands of it. The things you’ve seen, and fought—it’s always been people who’ve done it. People like Sarandis.

[ Her stomach sinks. It should be him going with them, even if they do need someone at NOVA, even if he can’t risk the exposure. She shuts her eyes, self-flagellating for even thinking that she needs him there. It’s not fair to him, or herself. ]

It's not exactly one-size-fits-all.

[romanticidal]

[ he does turn to look at her, seeming to find some sort of small twisted comfort in her words at least ] ... You are probably right, in this. As much as we have talked about some of those we've fought as monsters, they are not the literal kind that you are so good at stopping.

[slay]

[ She gives a slight shrug. ]

We’ve all got our niches. This … really isn’t mine.

[ Which she’s pretty comfortable admitting, all things considered, even if she’s beginning to wonder if her niche is anything that special when Faith has cropped up. She offers a weary smile. ]

Might be easier if it were. Just swoop in, kick butt, and bail.

[romanticidal]

It is never so as easy as walking away from something like this, after the dust settles.

[slay]

I'm just saying that if Sarandis were literally a big snake monster instead of a metaphorical one? It'd totally be that easy.

[romanticidal]

[ he chuckles at that ] I suppose this is true, yes. Perhaps you will get lucky then, and he will have been hiding it well all along.

[slay]

[ Right. Kitchen. Focusing. So she actually grabs some junk food out of the cupboards, distracting herself now that things are less heavy. ]

Now that's the kind of optimism we need.

[ She grins a little, shutting the cupboard and tossing a bag of chips to him. ]

But the real question here is if starting Breaking Bad would be considered cocky at this point.

[ What else is on Netflix these days. ]

[romanticidal]

I did not know bad was something you could break. [ oh and he easily catches the chips with his ninja reflexes ]

[slay]

Yeah, I'm not really sure how it works either. More reason to find out, I guess.

[ leading the way out of the kitchen now. ]

[romanticidal]

I could not argue with that. [ doo doo doo, idk if you want to... fast forward through watching shit SO WE CAN ACTUALLY PLAY THEIR GOODBYE TOO ]

[slay]

[ Sounds about right. After a night of severe cuddling and shows about meth, Buffy's getting changed behind her closet door while they get ready to go. ]

Burt knows you're coming back today, right?

[romanticidal]

Bella asked, and I imagine she's passed him the message by now.

[slay]

[ She leans out from behind the closet door—just a peek, at first—then follows with her whole body, stepping out fully dressed and pulling a brush through messy blonde hair. ]

Just checkin'.

[ She slides the brush onto her vanity, glancing into the mirror to sneak a lingering look at him. Saying goodbye has never been easy, and today? It feels harder. Every time, she reasons, they run the risk of never seeing each other again—this time, that chance feels a lot higher, and she feels it more acutely. ]

So I guess I'll call you. [ Turning around, she faces him more fully, looking slightly meek. ] If we—[ No, wait. ] When it's over.

[romanticidal]

[ he's sitting on the edge of the bed when she emerges, his holsters in his lap, one of the weapons drawn out as he methodically checks it over, and works on packing it into a case beside him. he looks up at her half finished sentence, concern etching itself onto his brow. ]

... After this, Buffy, do you know what Wynn intends to do?

[slay]

Pick up on the trail of Chad and his Big Bad Girlfriend, probably. I haven’t put a lot of thought into past, uh, today.

[ For obvious reasons that she doesn’t really want to give into. Now that she’s admitting as much out loud, though, her heart races lightly. If this were the last time she watched Rafael pack to leave, she would be thrilled. The fact that it might be the last time she watches him back to leave because she might not be here to see it anymore? Less thrilling. ]

[romanticidal]

I just wondered... when it will be that we will see each other again. [ he sounds uneasy at the question, frowning to himself as he finishing packing the gun away. ]

[slay]

I guess … I don’t know.

[ Her mouth twitches as if she’s trying to drum up a smile but can’t quite get there. Dropping her chin, she looks down at her hands and fidgets with them, picking at her nails. One eyebrow arches as she continues. ]

Soon. I hope.

[ But what she hopes doesn’t precisely match what she thinks, in this case. Truthfully, she can’t say for sure that they will. At all. Looking back up at him, she shakes her head, pushing away from the dresser and pacing closer. Her eyes search his, lips pressed firmly together, holding back a wealth of fear, uncertainty, and something else.

Everything she’s wanted to tell him lingers on the tip of her tongue, thinking this is her last chance to say it—but what is there to say that he doesn’t already know? She’s never been the one holding back. ]

[romanticidal]

[ he looks up, pressing the case aside as she draws closer, studying her features with a thoughtful expression marred by the crease in his forehead. ] I know you will come out of this safely, carina. I have watched you walk through danger many times. You are like the tempesta - there is not anything that can stop you.

You know this, si?

[slay]

[ She hesitates a bit before drawing a smile over her expression deliberately, ducking her head. The smile, at least, is genuinely drawn, even if her own uncertainty would usually squash it. ]

Of course I do.

[ Reaching out, she smooths his shirt, studying her handiwork rather than looking him in the eye (bluff 23). ]

It’s just … you know. War. [ Her eyes widen briefly on the word. It’s a big word. ] It’s not spooky demons in alleyways anymore. I’ve never done anything like this.

[ Finally, her eyes lift to his. ] At least, not that I can remember.

[ She should tell him. Really, she should. This could be her last chance. But if she comes back, then it means she worried him for nothing. If she doesn’t, then it won’t matter in the end, anyway, if she’d told him or not. It’s happened before that she didn’t come back. Who knows what circumstances that was under. ]

[romanticidal]

[ his sense motive is only a 14 ok :( so he assumes she's more upset about ~going off to war~ itself, than about... anything unspoken. he reaches a hand out to grasp gently at her arm, meeting her gaze. ]

It is not experience that wins battles. It is heart.

And you have that.

[slay]

But I won’t have it there.

[ Her hand settles over where his heart rests in his chest. Her own pulse hammers in her ears, an incessant drumming. ]

It’ll be with you.

[ Even if he already knows, even if she’s already told him, she feels the need to make it clear, now more than ever. Backing off doesn’t mean moving on. She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, worrying at it and physically restraining herself with clenched muscles from leaning in right then. ]

[romanticidal]

[ ♬ more than this - the cure

holding his eyes the way that she is, it's impossible to miss the tiny shift of recognition there, something clicking into place with the words and gesture.

she's told him point blank that she loves him before, and he's said the words back with simple confidence, but the fine razor edge between one kind of love and another has always obscured the meaning of that particular confession, and also his understanding of it. it's hard to say which was more or less painful - if he'd meant he knew she loved him romantically, and felt the same, but still wouldn't press things forward for one reason or another, or if he honestly saw their friendship as strong enough to toss the phrase around without having romance even figure into it. or maybe it wasn't either - maybe he didn't feel the same, or maybe --

well, with them, there was never any shortage of maybes.

for a moment now, however, the maybes seem to disappear. there's very little room for ambiguity in her statement, even from the rafael giovanni school of wisdom checks. his mouth opens very slightly as if words are looking to pour out, but vanish the second they hit his lips. there's a softness to his gaze, but also a small degree of sympathy, of doubt, fear even. but none of those things completely dilute the fondness either, the understanding of what she's saying and an acknowledgement of the pain lying at the heart of her dramatic confession.

he seems to get it. on a profound shared level, he gets why this is killing both of them right now. but getting it doesn't change the reality of what this is, either. what circumstances have brought them to.

a good-bye. ]

Carina... [ the word seems a little breathless, and also, quite simply, miserable. there's a weight of impossibility in the air, a sense that this moment serves as a representation of all they have to look forward to if their hearts stay on this track - duty or destiny pushing them in opposite directions. his fingers curve against her arm, as if gripping it a little more tightly could possibly change that, could give him the time he might actually need to ground himself here.

but that's it. that's all he can say. that's all you get. ]

[slay]

[ Even if that hasn’t always been the case, by now, Rafael is an open book for her. Watching the pieces finally click into place causes her heart to skip, jump, tighten in her chest painfully, wondering what his expression will finally settle onto. Now that the words lie between them for judgment, for reaction, she can’t hide under any easy misinterpretation.

Now, everything could change.

Except that it won’t, and it can’t. This changes—them. Being together, being able to touch and confide and—For the foreseeable future, that ends. Buffy can’t see beyond the dark shadow of Andres on the horizon. They only have this moment.

For the first time, seeing his surprise, watching him recognize what she really means, it hits her. He never knew because he could never imagine knowing. All of his gratitude, his warmth, his awe at her care and affection, even believing her to be his friend felt like too much, like more than he deserved.

The small moments come back in a rush. It never occurred to him to look for more, to believe that it could be more, because he could hardly believe himself deserving of her friendship. How could he think that she might love him, having seen what he is? Every dark and dirty part of him—that she would even choose his friendship had stunned him, that she might choose to love him not in spite of those things, but in part because of them must have been—

The single word draws her attention down, and for a moment, her gaze lingers on his lips. When she leans forward, the movement only happens above her shoulders, and she stops herself after mere millimeters, drawing in a sharp, fluttering breath and blinking rapidly. Her gaze leaps back to meet his, searching his eyes as if she hopes to find some reassurance in them. Instead, the cool sting of his doubt and fear hold her back. ]

I’m not asking you for anything.

[ She reads into that fear, that doubt, and draws her own conclusions about how he plans to meet her admission. Rather than suffer any discouragement, she preempts the very same. Raising one hand to cover his, she squeezes it, raises his palm to cup her face, taking the comfort that she needs from it. Slowly, she shakes her head, gaze dropping for only a moment before it returns to his face. ]

That wouldn’t be fair.

[ None of this, though, has been fair to either of them. Tongue darting out to wet her lips, she seems to hesitate on whatever more she might mean to say. There can be no follow-up if they have no future, and Buffy makes no guarantees of that. Instead, she begins to turn from him, releasing his hand: his flight won't wait for them to stare into each other's eyes. Won't wait for them to give last words and final yearning looks. ]

[romanticidal]

[ his hand presses against her cheek when she draws it there, a tenderness in the way his thumb brushes against her skin, but he looks so momentarily stunned still, thoughts skidding around trying to find purchase, that he doesn't really have time to react before she's turning away, before the moment passes.

he looks down as she turns from him, eyes seeming to search the floor as his forehead creases deeply. ] ... None of this is fair.

[slay]

You say that like it's new for us.

[ Life hasn't made a point of being fair to either of them. And yet. She offers a slight shrug, grabbing her jacket off the chair and pulling it on. Taking a breath, steeling herself, she glances back at him, expression plain. ]

All packed?