She goes abruptly very still, for what would be the space of half a breath if her breath weren't frozen in her throat. Then turns to face him, folding her hands in front of her.
(He's nearly a foot taller than her. It's possibly the least intimidating thing about him, and in these close quarters it's suddenly the one she feels most sharply.)
"I have been thinking over something you said at the game, last month. You called us ingrates." Calm, steady, polite, calm. "I don't know whether you meant it generally or with regard to that specific instance, but ... speaking generally, is our gratitude something you want?"
For a moment she considers leaving it at that, but --
"I think most of us didn't grasp, at the time, what we were meant to be grateful for. And it would be quite understandable if you were in no mood to explain."
She swallows, lifts her head again. "I'm sorry to say, I didn't follow your explanation at the trial. I should like to ask for ... for clarification. If you would prefer not to discuss it, please consider the request withdrawn."
I didn't want to kill him. I could have, quite easily, let him finish the job. I don't often do things I don't want to do.
[raises brow slightly]
And yet, I did. I gave you fools the opportunity to prove that you were worth it. To bind me to the choice I didn't want to make, the one that let you live. And how eager you all were to throw it back in my face. Your death wishes are indistinguishable from your stupidity.
[a pause]
Your lives continue due to the actions of a very select few of you. It's to them that you are ungrateful. Not me.
"I don't. But it seemed only fair to offer, instead of assuming I knew what you would want."
(She's not sure what makes her decide to say fair rather than her first thought, which was polite. Something to do with rules; something to do with games.)
(... And she was so close to ending this conversation with her composure intact.)
Her face goes pale and blank; behind it, her mind races, but it feels like a mouse on a freestanding wheel, spinning uselessly and moving nowhere. She doesn't know him at all is the problem, doesn't know what kind of response would please him, bore him, amuse him, make him angry -- no, she's seen at least some of what makes him angry, hasn't she?
She nods, draws a breath that's slow and only a little unsteady. "Then I see why you'd have no need to ask. I thank you for your time, sir, and I'll take my leave of you."
She stands where she is a moment longer, breathing carefully, and then turns to walk away. Takes a few steps. Turns back.
"I don't know if respect means any more to you than gratitude," she says to the empty air, and her voice in her own ears is barely louder than the thudding of her heart, but this is the truth and she is going to say it aloud. "But for what you did for Skulduggery -- for setting up the game to make you do what had to be done -- you have mine."
And she turns again, cold hands clasping fistfuls of her skirt, and hurries away.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[behind her.]
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(He's nearly a foot taller than her. It's possibly the least intimidating thing about him, and in these close quarters it's suddenly the one she feels most sharply.)
"I have been thinking over something you said at the game, last month. You called us ingrates." Calm, steady, polite, calm. "I don't know whether you meant it generally or with regard to that specific instance, but ... speaking generally, is our gratitude something you want?"
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Her hands are so cold.
"Was it specific to the situation, then?"
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For a moment she considers leaving it at that, but --
"I think most of us didn't grasp, at the time, what we were meant to be grateful for. And it would be quite understandable if you were in no mood to explain."
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I. Did. And none of you listened. As per usual.
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This is not -- and there may never be -- a good time for going into the difference between referring to and explaining, she feels.
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[raises brow slightly]
And yet, I did. I gave you fools the opportunity to prove that you were worth it. To bind me to the choice I didn't want to make, the one that let you live. And how eager you all were to throw it back in my face. Your death wishes are indistinguishable from your stupidity.
[a pause]
Your lives continue due to the actions of a very select few of you. It's to them that you are ungrateful. Not me.
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"I see." Quiet and sober. "Thank you for answering my questions. If there's anything you'd like to ask me in turn, I'll answer as best I can."
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(She's not sure what makes her decide to say fair rather than her first thought, which was polite. Something to do with rules; something to do with games.)
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Her face goes pale and blank; behind it, her mind races, but it feels like a mouse on a freestanding wheel, spinning uselessly and moving nowhere. She doesn't know him at all is the problem, doesn't know what kind of response would please him, bore him, amuse him, make him angry -- no, she's seen at least some of what makes him angry, hasn't she?
She nods, draws a breath that's slow and only a little unsteady. "Then I see why you'd have no need to ask. I thank you for your time, sir, and I'll take my leave of you."
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[y'know, whatever that means. he's just gonna vanish.]
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"I don't know if respect means any more to you than gratitude," she says to the empty air, and her voice in her own ears is barely louder than the thudding of her heart, but this is the truth and she is going to say it aloud. "But for what you did for Skulduggery -- for setting up the game to make you do what had to be done -- you have mine."
And she turns again, cold hands clasping fistfuls of her skirt, and hurries away.