[Honestly, why would she even ask Pride about any of this, he never knows shit about fuck. Oh yes, because we were banned from talking about Pride's feelings.]
. . . Well, yes. Is it something that started happening after we arrived? Or was it always like this?
[That's not how she operates. He said not to. But it's getting a little ridiculous not to acknowledge it, so she'll just make like she's going to go, so she can just toss it in as one last thing.]
[there's a long pause, and then he brings a hand up to rub at his face. exhaustedly.]
... I wish it hadn't either. I don't understand giving in - I don't understand letting life win, after its spent years spitting in your face and grinding you into the dirt.
[How many times has she wanted to die. She's here for much the same reasons he mentions - a stubbornness, a recognition of the price already paid for her, something that makes her want to cling and hold on - but if all of that gave way one day, would it surprise her?]
Not in some sort of noble sense. There's just never any rhyme nor reason to the thing that's too much.
[She's thinking of her mother and father - carrying their secrets and guilt for ten years with perfect stoicism, until the day she brought it crashing down upon them.]
. . . I wrote myself a letter. Before I lost memories. It contained firm instructions on the matter.
[And though she doesn't know why and I doubt this bitch Pride reads our bios, her firm instructions to ensure she died neither by her own hand nor through carelessness were also for the sake of a person who died wanting her to live.]
I only mean - to react the way he did, it was neither noble nor hateful. Only sad.
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You think he was wrong?
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Nothing important. [he can't just admit he doesn't know?]
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This place leaks it.
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... It's gross. [pride,]
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. . . Well, yes. Is it something that started happening after we arrived? Or was it always like this?
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It's always like this. [just ask him about his feelings, god]
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Very well. That's really all I had to discuss.
[. . .]
I wish that it hadn't hurt you.
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... I wish it hadn't either. I don't understand giving in - I don't understand letting life win, after its spent years spitting in your face and grinding you into the dirt.
[his hand drops.] It doesn't matter.
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[How many times has she wanted to die. She's here for much the same reasons he mentions - a stubbornness, a recognition of the price already paid for her, something that makes her want to cling and hold on - but if all of that gave way one day, would it surprise her?]
Not in some sort of noble sense. There's just never any rhyme nor reason to the thing that's too much.
[She's thinking of her mother and father - carrying their secrets and guilt for ten years with perfect stoicism, until the day she brought it crashing down upon them.]
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When Gwen died, I was ready. But she spent her last words telling me not to. [...] I owe it to her.
I can't let there be something that's too much.
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. . . I wrote myself a letter. Before I lost memories. It contained firm instructions on the matter.
[And though she doesn't know why and I doubt this bitch Pride reads our bios, her firm instructions to ensure she died neither by her own hand nor through carelessness were also for the sake of a person who died wanting her to live.]
I only mean - to react the way he did, it was neither noble nor hateful. Only sad.
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That feeling isn't something I want to share with you. [which is his shitty way of saying he understands, i guess.]
... It is what it is. He's gone now. I won't dwell on it.
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And she thinks Pride seems like something of a dweller, actually, but she won't say so.]
It is what it is. But it's unfortunate. I would rather I had caught someone else.
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The end result would be the same. Someone is gone. [he glances at her. and then, in a sort of stilted way:] Be careful.
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Thank you. I always try to be.