[He nods, then limps over to the nearest couch and, rather than lie down as he usually does, sits down far back enough to straighten his splinted leg over the edge of the couch.]
The chickens were unexpected, but everyone left in high spirits.
It would, but it's the only way it can operate. We're a secret organization to begin with, in my world, I'm sure we'd be in some trouble if we lost more than just myself.
...yours will be safe with me, if I can count on the same from you.
[earlier on, she probably wouldn't have considered it. but especially after their last conversation-- if he's willing to put in the effort and help, if he's willing to help try to keep them safe, then she's willing to try to build more trust there. as long as he ends up actually upholding that, at least.]
People's regrets aren't to be treated lightly. Others have no business knowing them, unless you harm someone and it becomes relevant. Then I won't protect you, and I'll expect the same in return.
[Things are seldom so simple, after all.]
If you agree to these terms, I'll tell you my deepest regret.
[Despite his cold words just a second ago, he smiles at her answer.
But that expression quickly falls as he looks away to heave a heavy sigh.]
Guess I'll go first, then.
[It takes a moment of quietly breathing in, then out, then in before he leans over to Lucretia as far as his injured leg will allow, where he hesitates at her ear one last time. Shame is part of it, but the regret attached to the admission is like a chokehold. Finally, he whispers lowly:]
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The chickens were unexpected, but everyone left in high spirits.
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[she takes a seat next to him with a sigh, one leg crossed over the other.]
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Did you have fun?
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[bureau affairs are generally smaller, and-- well, she just hasn't had the time.]
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[she just. sinks a little more into the couch, it's been a long night.]
I've told you a little bit about the kind of work we do before, haven't I?
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About removing unknown dangers within the world?
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[the touch is nice, honestly. maybe that's just because of the week being the way it is, but it's a little reassuring.]
You saw the rule that was added earlier, didn't you?
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Do you think there'll be some sort of punishment if we refuse?
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Do you intend to refuse and find out?
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Does that mean you're offering?
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[earlier on, she probably wouldn't have considered it. but especially after their last conversation-- if he's willing to put in the effort and help, if he's willing to help try to keep them safe, then she's willing to try to build more trust there. as long as he ends up actually upholding that, at least.]
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[Things are seldom so simple, after all.]
If you agree to these terms, I'll tell you my deepest regret.
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I'm going to hope that you never do, or we're going to have larger problems than whether or not to share these with anyone else. But I'll accept that.
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But that expression quickly falls as he looks away to heave a heavy sigh.]
Guess I'll go first, then.
[It takes a moment of quietly breathing in, then out, then in before he leans over to Lucretia as far as his injured leg will allow, where he hesitates at her ear one last time. Shame is part of it, but the regret attached to the admission is like a chokehold. Finally, he whispers lowly:]
I . . . regret causing my brothers' deaths.
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