route666rp | and talking doesn't help [closed]

Entry tags:

and talking doesn't help [closed]

Who: Len & Arcade
What: A Conversation (or, Arcade speedruns his own companion quest because he does not feel safe)
When: Shortly after the new arrivals for March / early morning before the Convoy leaves
Where: Convoy → Arcade's truck
Warnings: tba, but shouldn't be any they're just having a very uncomfortable chat

[ Can we talk? Not the most auspicious opening, but Arcade had enough trouble just getting the words out. He still isn't sure about this, even with his window of opportunity closing rapidly, now. Eventually, they'll have to get on the road - and eventually is a lot closer than it would've been, if he hadn't already waited this long.

While everyone else seems busy with their own things (lingering over breakfast, packing up and preparing, perhaps even last-minute scavenging in the now thoroughly ruined diner and station), Arcade finds Len and pulls him aside. So far, he's managed to avoid the subject of driving - there's been more than enough to fill in, in the meantime - and, more specifically, he's managed to avoid his truck. Since meeting Danse, though, he's been constantly looking over his shoulder, edgy and more overtly anxious than usual. He's been weighing his options, and none of them are particularly good. But there's one, at least, that he has some small measure of faith in.

To his credit, he doesn't drag his feet, only hesitating a moment (to be sure he doesn't see anyone specific still skulking around, staking it out) before approaching the vehicle with the suspect tags on its doors. It should be nothing remarkable, beyond the fact that it actually runs, but Arcade still looks vaguely ill as he steps toward the cab. ]

This is what I wanted to talk about. I'm— There's probably something I should tell you. Before it turns into, uh, a much bigger problem.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ It was an ominous invitation. Not exactly Arcade's norm, and not exactly Len's, either. Since his arrival he's gotten the nickel tour of the convoy, rundowns about what has been encountered by the group thus far, and vague, non-answers from Arcade about the impact that the "transformation" has had on him thus far. Len assumes it'll happen to him, sooner or later. The question is more in how it manifests than whether he'll experience it at all.

Len trails behind him at a deliberately slow clip, watching the intensity of his anxiety increase as he pauses before committing to whatever he wants to show him: an old car, one of the pre-war transport vehicles he sometimes sees in poor shape on the side of the highway. Busted and beat-up but sturdy, with a familiar symbol spray-painted on the driver's side door.

He remembers the same symbol on the package he delivered to Hopeville and Ashton, a package recovered from Navarro by the NCR. Hard to forget something that vaporized a thriving community off the face of the earth in less than five seconds.

Len glances from the cab to Arcade, patiently listening. ]

Okay. Shoot.

Okay.

[ It really isn't fair how easily Len maintains a poker face. His eyes slide from the truck to Arcade and there's no clear hint of recognition, no outrage, no indication of anything amiss at all. Which makes it all the harder to have to be the one to broach the subject, much as he was hoping for something to gauge how steep the hill he's about to slide down might be.

No help for it, though. He's known Len at least long enough, now, to know that there's no waiting him out. Least of all for someone with Arcade's patience (or lack thereof). ]

I know I haven't been the most forthcoming about... my past, or where I'm from. For good reason. Now that I'm stuck here with an inescapable symbol of the worst part of it, though, and at least one other person who seems highly motivated to hunt down and probably not bother interrogating anyone associated with it—

Have you ever heard of a group called the Enclave?

[ Arcade is dancing around an association he has to an organization that people talk about with genuine fear. Len watches him fret over his words, trying to select them carefully but frame a conversation with specific expectations - or hopes - in mind. Who here could pose enough of a threat to his life that he feels the desperate need to disclose something deeply personal about himself? A man perpetually dismissive of probing, avoidant of exchanges with any amount of depth: Like I said, I'm boring.

Sure.

Len has heard of the Enclave. Not extensively, but enough to know that there's a general public consensus that they're another Old World entity with designs on what was once the United States of America. Their technology is advanced, their methods are secretive, and a single, harmless-looking parcel from one of their old alleged strongholds wiped the Divide off the map.

His hands pat down over his own chest for a moment, feeling for his cigarettes with the tacit understanding that he might need one, before retrieving them and slipping one into the corner of his mouth. Taking a moment to light it, Len inhales deeply before snapping the lighter shut with a click. ]

Yep.

[ Okay.

Not the answer he was expecting. Or... complete lack of one.

The calculated pause to search for a cigarette doesn't help, a space of frustrating seconds that only serves to ratchet his anxiety higher. (This was a mistake lighting up like a bright neon sign in his mind.) Len either doesn't care (unlikely) or doesn't actually know a thing and is casually bullshitting him at the worst possible time (somewhat likely, he's not always the picture of tact), and it requires a different kind of special effort of Arcade not to grit the words out between his teeth. ]

What have you heard about them? Exactly.

[ Len exhales smoke to his side, because he isn't fool enough to let it drift between them when Arcade's shoulders have stiffened in barely concealed annoyance. Turns out that doing the polite thing and giving him the space to say what he apparently needs to say isn't sufficient, and this conversation is accompanied by a pop quiz for which he needs to provide answers of his own. Arcade never offers information the easy way. ]

They're a defunct fascist paramilitary organization that killed, tortured, or experimented on anybody that wasn't Enclave.

[ He flicks the ash from the end of his cigarette. ]

Somethin' Old World. Pre-War government. Ain't had much presence for a while, far as I can tell, but people say their tech was...different. Real cutting-edge. They used to be a pain in the ass for the NCR. Whole lot else I've heard is probably ghost stories, the shit you tell the kids at night to scare 'em to sleep. That-

[ Len gestures at the symbol painted on the driver's side door of what he can only assume is Arcade's vehicle. ]

Is their seal. Seen it before on a package I once delivered for the Republic.

[ Weirdly, it's almost a relief to hear Len lay it all out like that, as if he really couldn't care less. A moment ago his nonchalance was unbearable, but now it actually does feel kind of like a favor. At the very least, like he's taking it seriously, despite the apparent lack of interest. Maybe that's just wishful thinking.

Arcade lets out a breath that it feels as though he's been holding for days, now, and nods slightly as he turns to look at the loose gathering of vehicles scattered around them, again. He still looks like he might probably faint, but maybe not quite as soon. ]

My late father was an officer. And from what I know, that's all true - probably even the ghost stories.

I know that what the Enclave did was unforgivable, all of it. But the base where I was born wasn't exactly central command. It was just an outpost. And there were good people there, too. Maybe this—

[ He gestures to the cab door behind him, but doesn't look again. ]

—is somehow a remnant of that place, brought here by whatever twisted logic this place runs on. Either way, if it's going to paint a target on my back, I wanted someone to know the truth.

[ Arcade Gannon, son of an Enclave officer, dedicated researcher for the Followers of the Apocalypse. The irony in that isn't lost on Len, familiar enough with the withered rumors of the organization to know that they haven't historically raised altruistic members. Len watches him explain himself with more palpable interest, sorting through the information as he receives it. An outpost, with good people. The Enclave was shattered so long ago now that he must have been young at the time, must have either left before they were unceremoniously disbanded or because of those events.

There has to be someone here from their world who identified or could identify that symbol, otherwise he wouldn't be telling Len any of this. Wouldn't be standing here asking for help from a man he once derided as an imbecile wearing Legion cast-offs, with no small amount of disgust.

He wants protection, or someone who can vouch for his character. This disclosure is transactional. Quid pro quo.]

Thank you for telling me.

[ Len takes a drag before plucking the cigarette from his own mouth, offering it to Arcade. Regardless of the circumstances, it can't have been easy to say all this in the first place. Not when Arcade plays things so close to the vest. ]

I'm guessin' those origins are why you sprinted to the opposite end of the ideological spectrum.

More or less.

[ Arcade regards him warily, as if still waiting for the other shoe to drop (if not from Len, then simply from somewhere, as any thing one has always been told will happen eventually, under the right, terrible, conditions) - but his hesitation is brief, before he accepts the offered cigarette.

He only allows himself a single, deep drag, before offering it back, but he holds that breath for a long moment before breathing it out in a stuttering streamer of smoke. He still doesn't meet Len's gaze, but a little more of that pallid, sickly quality has leached out of him. ]

Though I like to think I'd have recognized their propaganda for what it was, eventually, sometimes I think the NCR putting an end to that place was a blessing in disguise. At least for some of us.

[ Your worst childhood memory possibly also being one of the best things that could've happened to you is a complicated feeling, at best. But the Enclave wasn't something one could simply leave, and not just for the risk of someone outside finding out. Even if he had known what they were doing was wrong (even at Navarro, even years after central command was taken down), he'd still have been trapped. ]

[ More or less is good enough for him, even lacking any nuance Arcade might be able to lend to it with further details. Why does anyone change their personal philosophy, shift their mindset, dedicate themselves to a specific goal? Sheer force of will coupled with personal experience, and half a conscience, at least. Though he imagines Arcade has more than that.

His gaze lingers on the smoke that Arcade exhales, the haze around his mouth. To grow up in the Enclave must not be too dissimilar from growing up in the Brotherhood, in a vault. Indoctrination is a hell of a drug. He thinks of Veronica, her unwavering devotion to the cause, strong enough to challenge her own Elders just to save their sect. ]

How old were you when you left? [ A beat, and his clarifies: ] I'm assuming you did, seeing as you're here and the Enclave ain't.

[ This time, Arcade does look at him, a sarcastic slant in the tilt of his head and the brief, bitter sliver of a smile. ]

Five. And I didn't leave so much as narrowly escape with my life.

[ And even that he didn't really do. He had his mother, watching the whole world burn in bombs and gunfire from over her shoulder as they fled. And Daisy, smart enough to get the few of them quick enough to escape to one of the last vertibirds not yet on fire or in pieces. He remembers the blood on Johnson's face and the thunder in Moreno's expression like it was yesterday. Henry could've been on any routine flight, and Judah looked the same as always. Stoic, calmer than he had any right to be.

Thirty years of carrying that weight around, uninterrupted. ]

Some war criminal I must've been, huh? Then again, I was always hearing how advanced I was for my age.

[ Even without the details, it's a scenario that isn't all that difficult for Len to imagine. He wasn't as young as Arcade was but has memories all the same of fire, improvised explosives going off, panicked screaming. They were outside Algodones, east of the river. Just about anyone from the wastes has a similar story of a chaotic, half-orchestrated attack by raiders, but Arcade's world was torn apart by a trained military. Little wonder he displays regularly low tolerance for the bullshit perpetrated by NCR troopers wandering through Freeside. ]

I'm sorry.

[ It's sincere and firm. As tenuous as his connection must be to any of the propaganda the Enclave shoveled into their people's skulls, Arcade has every reason to fear an entity Hell-bent on wiping those associated - however remotely - off the board. He was a child. He claims about as much affiliation to them as Len would claim to contemporary caravanners.

The more worrisome aspect of this is the presence of someone who clearly rattled Arcade enough to come to Len in the first place. ]

Who was it that got you more nervous than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs?

[ Arcade doesn't hesitate, shrugging off Len's apology. ]

It was a long time ago.

[ And he isn't telling Len all this in a bid for sympathy, real or pretend. (He won't let himself interrogate the sincerity, the weight, in that commiseration.) He also isn't telling him in the hopes that Len will do something drastic or violent or instigate further fighting, either, and that feels more important to stress even than his lack of love for the Enclave. ]

You have to promise me you aren't going to do anything rash.

[ He'll tell the truth, with his back to the wall, but he still won't do so recklessly. His brow furrows, drawn down in the same frown with his mouth. ]

I didn't tell you any of this to inspire you to jump in and start swinging on my behalf. I mean, I'd appreciate the character reference, if it comes up— But I'm not asking you to do anything you wouldn't have done, already.

Mostly I just wanted you to... To be able to make an educated decision on whether or not you still find associating with me worth the trouble.

[ Plenty of shit happened a long time ago, it doesn't mean either of them aren't still paying their emotional dues for it. He doesn't press that avenue further, though - it was volunteered with what feel like caveats, and Len isn't keen to alienate a man by probing. He wouldn't exactly be keen on it either, were he in that position.

You have to promise me you aren't going to do anything rash makes him laugh, though. One could argue that he is historically even-keeled, but Arcade has also seen him run a raider to ground for less than a threat. So. Fair.

The summary follow-up is funnier still, only because it comes across as so comically out of touch. He taps his ash out over the ground before turning his cigarette, offering it to Arcade. ]

Sweetheart, don't take this the wrong way, but I've seen you cut a man in half with your Ripper. If anything was gonna scare me off, it was probably gonna be that.

Edited 2025-04-17 13:57 (UTC)

That's different. [ Arcade insists, although he is still suppressing a surprised and not-quite-irritated smile for that charming term of endearment, ever so briefly thrown-off (flustered) as he accepts the offered cigarette again. ]

I recognize that reckless, absurd risk-taking is an average part of your daily life, Len. But I have at least enough respect for you to believe that you deserve to have all the information before you decide which of those absurd risks to take.

[ Most of the information, anyway. But if there are details Arcade is holding back, they aren't his details to give away so freely. And unless the convoy starts to deliberately acquire old retirees from around the Mojave, as well, nor are they any additional risk to factor in, here. ]

[ There he goes again, couching his language deliberately, careful not to add any more weight to Len's load. Like they haven't worked together long enough now to know that it doesn't matter when it's someone who's had his back in the middle of a firefight. He'd do the same for Cass, for Raúl. For any of them. ]

I appreciate the transparency. I do. And that you know I get saddled with plenty of people's problems.

[ He wonders, sometimes, if this is Arcade's way of trying to get out of knowing a person, for either their own safety or his. Association breeds familiarity, and familiarity breeds the potential for vulnerability. It would be hypocritical of him to not acknowledge that he does the same thing, simply to avoid the inevitable disappointment someone will feel when he doesn't live up to their expectations.

It would be an effective out for him, too. Keep this version of himself, the one that Arcade holds in his mind and turns over in his hands with needle and thread, intact. Save him the pain of learning that Len Darin is not as good a man as he thinks.

He takes a slow, patient breath, nodding his understanding of the sentiment as he rubs the side of his jaw with his fingers. ]

But it ain't about the risk, as comfortable as I am with it. You're not some stranger wandered up from the wastes askin' for help. You're my friend. That ain't reckless.

Edited 2025-04-17 17:18 (UTC)

[ Arcade can't help tensing, a little, again, when Len winds up with that casual acknowledgement. Most of the time, Arcade has found, the other end of that kind of easy platitude is a flippant barb that makes having tried to speak his mind feel like a foolish overreach, a stupid misstep. Len doesn't mean it that way (at least Arcade doesn't think he does), but it never feels particularly good to have something he considers of some significant importance brushed aside like so much pointless melodrama. Like he's being childish when he worries about things, simply because Len never does.

So when that's not what happens - when Len responds with a patient understanding that Arcade finds as reassuring as he does disarming - Arcade hesitates to say anything, for a moment. The cigarette's burning down between his fingers, so he focuses on that, instead, taking a last, careful drag before tossing the smoldering end into the dirt before it can singe him. ]

Thanks. [ He offers, awkwardly clearing his throat. Though he sounds genuinely pleased, despite it. When was the last time he was someone's friend, and not just an acquaintance, a coworker, a familiar enough stranger? He honestly can't recall. ] That means a lot.

[ All unexpectedly warm fuzzy feelings aside, however, he hasn't forgotten the question that precipitated this minor tangent. And he doubts if Len is going to let him worm his way out of it, either, whether or not he's having a particularly generous morning. ]

I'm not sure if you've met, but I doubt you've missed him. Danse? He's ex-Brotherhood, though I'm not sure how ex, exactly. But it explains why he even recognizes that. [ With a short, pointed glance toward the truck again. ]

...Well, that, and apparently the Enclave is still unfortunately alive and well, in the East.

[ Arcade is correct; regardless of the tenor of the conversation, he fully intends to circle back to the identity of the person who brought these feelings on, and he's grateful that he doesn't have to ask a second time. The information is volunteered freely, but it's information that makes his eyebrows lift damn near up to his hairline. Perhaps he shouldn't be too surprised - the clipped cadence of his delivery, the stiff posture, the neatly coiffed hair. It screamed military, but neither did Danse immediately strike him as someone who would make open threats.

Admittedly, Len's perspective on the Brotherhood is wildly colored by Veronica's frustrations, and by the fact that after they stepped into the compound at Hidden Valley, they admitted they might have shot him full of lead without the scribe in his presence. It's not an abundantly generous impression. ]

Human embodiment of a concrete wall? Yeah, I've met him. Ex-Brotherhood explains why he stands like he's got a rod up his ass.

[ Like every military or paramilitary organization out here, there's a pretty good chance that indoctrination is a contributing factor to their zealotry. Those sort of habits are hard to break. ]

Gotta be ex for a reason, though. They don't just chuck Knights out when they need all the firepower they can get. [ Len gestures vaguely with one hand. ] Assumin' he's a Knight, given the size of him.

I don't know. I thought he was pretty charming, right up until he threatened to put a laser through my skull.

[ Not that he knew it was Arcade specifically that he was threatening, at the time. But Arcade's still going to count it, sarcastically or not.

He sobers again just as quickly, though, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat as he slouches against the truck's side. ]

Whatever the reason, I somehow get the feeling it wasn't an ideological difference on his part. Which means trying to convince him I'm not actually some holier-than-thou genocidal maniac is going to be significantly more of an uphill battle. If I even get the chance.

[ Danse is charming, in that aggressively muscular, openly sincere kind of way. It seems fairly easy to tell where one stands just by the look on his face. Soldier boy, through and through. Without the Brotherhood to back him up, either here or at home, Len has to wonder where he'd place his allegiances, or how much of the old ways he might renounce. Some habits are hard to break.

Leaning into the truck, Len bumps shoulders with him companionably. ]

I'm not trying to diminish your concerns here, but you don't exactly come off as a genocidal maniac.

[ Holier-than-thou, well...sometimes. He thinks Arcade might even admit to that. ]

We got all the time in the world here even with the finite nature of the road trip. And not to be realistically grim, but coming for you ain't gonna do anything but poke a hole in our already-sparse resources. If he's a Knight, he knows better than to lose a medic. I'm making the assumption you've already advertised that service extensively.

[ It's what Len would do, were he in the same position, had he arrived here knowing no one and finding the terrain unfamiliar and foreign. It's a safety measure: let people know you can help up-front, not just because you're the kind of person who would, but because it makes you infinitely more valuable. People can't afford to lose a doctor with supplies so strapped. ]

I haven't exactly been keeping it a secret.

[ Because people are prone to doing stupid things and getting hurt, and while he'd prefer they did neither, that's just too much to hope for. Besides, there's that whole annoying moral code that demands he not stand idly by while people are hurt, regardless of how they got there.

The idea of being useful enough to keep alive doesn't exactly reassure him, though. That's more just Len's presence, steady and easy and confident in what he's saying. ]

But you're probably right. ...At least until we find another of those way stations and it's full of medical personnel.

[ He's kidding. Sort of. ]

Then you have to fight them all for supremacy.

[ Len quips seamlessly, comforted at least to see that the conversation has veered away from pure, unadulterated panic and into something a little more manageable. There are plenty of reasons to be worried out here, but a few folks from back home sort of feel like less of a threat in light of the monsters, and the vehicles, and the existential dread.

The stakes are high, but there's no other option except to accept things as they are. Everything else moves around that, like a stone in a desert wash during the rainy season. ]

You'll be all right. Wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it.

[ It's a stupid remark and it shouldn't make him laugh, but it does, anyway, even if only under his breath. ]

In that case, I'll probably just give up.

[ He appreciates the effort, though. Maybe there's a real possibility this all resolves itself without more unnecessary fighting. Maybe that's just wishful thinking - but it holds, for now, at least. ]

Thanks. [ And then, a little quieter: ] You're the only person I've ever talked to about this who wasn't a family member, you know.

Then I'm honored. To be in such rarified company.

[ Regardless of the impetus that led them here, he knows how difficult it was to share. Arcade is a master of deflection, much of which Len has encountered firsthand in the past, so it feels like being offered something precious in exchange for very little, on his part. It does suggest that there's still extant family out there, but Len has no intention of pressing any further today than he has to. It isn't as though they'll have a deficit of time in which to learn further things about each other, for better or worse.

Part of him knows that what is appropriate - what is generally expected, in polite society - is to share something in return. They didn't start all this by being transactional, though, and he's certainly not going to make this conversation about himself. ]

Sorry it took a threat on your life to learn it. [ He sucks a quick break in between his teeth. ] Which, ah, reminds me.

[ It would be a nice moment. Cathartic, reassuring. And maybe Arcade is about to offer something more, but.

Which, ah, reminds me.

Yeah, no, casual threats on his life shouldn't remind Len of anything. (What is he thinking? Of course they would.) That almost-smile melts out of his expression, his eyes narrowing as he studies Len. ]

Of what?

Benny Gecko is here.

[ There's no use pretending to segue gracefully into new information of this caliber, particularly when he'd been keeping it at the back of his mind for the last little while. It's possible Arcade is already aware of his presence, but then, Len likes to think that if he'd seen Benny in the wild, Arcade would have come to him immediately.

Len wasn't especially tight-lipped with his traveling companions about his reason for wanting access to the Strip, nor did he refrain from telling any of them about what happened to him. The short and sweet version, anyway. ]

Showed up in the garage not long after I did.

[ Well. ]

That's... unlucky.

[ For whom? Not important. Arcade suddenly wishes he had another cigarette, but always dwindling supplies of non-fruit-flavored tobacco are too much a commodity for him to insist. (At least all the alcohol he's salvaged has, more or less, tasted like alcohol.) ]

Should I be worried about providing you with an alibi, in the near future?

[ Because if we're revisiting the whole vengeance-crazed drifter thing, well, Arcade can't exactly stop him. But forewarned is forearmed. (With plausible deniability.) ]

No, I ain't done anything I wouldn't disclose, if somebody asked.

[ He appreciates the offer, as much as he thinks he may not actually need it. Having someone willing to cover for him is invaluable. ]

I emptied the bullets from his gun. Left him with one.

[ Thought he was being merciful, even, to give him that much of a gift. It would save Len the headache of knowing he was out there and armed with a full clip, and it would give Benny one slug to put himself out of his misery with, if things got that dire. Len sucks his lip between his teeth, worrying it for a moment. ]

Asked him about the chip he took off me, and instead of answerin', he said- [ Here Len actually laughs, even if the tone is sour. ] -it'll just be a waste of my time and yours, 'cause you don't have a lot of it left. And then he tried to shoot me again.

You realize there's not much that leaves out, right?

[ Len is not a particularly bashful sort, when it comes to tallying up all of his misdeeds (or adding more to the list). It's not Arcade's favorite thing about him, but he can't exactly fault him for the ones that have every possible justification lined up for them.

Like disarming a man who should, by all rights, be responsible for Len's untimely murder. The fact that it's Benny's here and not Benny's corpse is here is a real testament to a kind of self-restraint Arcade is not sure he'd have attributed to Len, prior. (Or possessed, himself, in the same situation.)

Though apparently it was a wasted generosity. ]

And I thought you had to be smart to run one of House's casinos.

Ha ha.

[ Comes the wry response, with no intonation whatsoever. Arcade isn't wrong to assume that Len is perhaps aggressively straightforward when it comes to his own actions and-or shortcomings. Life is just too goddamn short to beat around the bush when he's not doing so to deliberately mislead a person. ]

Their standards are slippin'. He must've thought I was simple-minded, reaching for his piece like that.

[ Len's easy, conversational candor sobers as he recalls the triumphant, smug smirk on that little fucker's face. It isn't every day that somebody telegraphs a move so blatantly they might as well be wearing a neon sign over their head that reads Certified Dumbass. It's probably easier to pull a gun on a captive audience with a handful of lackeys at your back, quick on the draw to cover you if you're busy monologuing.

He does hesitate for an instant, engaging in a brief internal debate as to how much detail he should disclose. Arcade isn't squeamish - be a poor doctor, if he was - but neither does Len know how much might be too much for him to hear. Whether some of that exchange should be left in the little garage where it transpired. He settles for: ]

I cut off his trigger finger. [ A beat. ] He deserved worse.

You cut off his finger.

[ His disbelief is - mild, honestly. And he isn't even sure how much of it is for the actual facts of the matter and how much is simply because the admission wasn't something worse.

Which he also couldn't have argued was uncalled for. ]

I'm not disagreeing. But... You don't think that's just going to create more problems, down the line?

Probably.

[ It isn't a concession so much as full-throated agreement. Benny will do what he's good at - sleazily charming his way into good graces - and probably already has, looking as pathetic as he did after Len left him to put himself back together. Wet eyes and a scuffed suit and a red stump where his finger once attached. Engender some trust into an unwitting stranger lulled into a false sense of security, find himself a couple of well-armed allies, reconfigure his strategy.

Not for the first time since he put distance between himself and the garage does Len entertain regrets of what he could have done, should have done. That slimeball wouldn't have looked amiss sprawled out on the floor, a blackened bullet hole where his kneecap used to be. Benny might try to kill Len again. They might kill each other.

He folds his arms over his chest; one of the few tells of discomfort he's willing to be open about. ]

I wanted to- I wanted to hurt him. And I wanted answers, and I couldn't just let him walk away.

[ Arcade is not a comforting presence, even when he actually tries. He knows that, anyone who's known him for very long at all knows that. But it doesn't stop him from making an effort, anyway, when Len adopts that tense, closed-off posture. He lays a hand briefly on one of Len's crossed arms, a light, passing reassurance. ]

I know. I don't know how I'd feel, in your place. I'm not passing judgement.

[ He's just worried that a ceasefire isn't liable to hold. On either end. ]

[ Arcade is not a calming presence, which is makes it all the stranger when he reaches out. Len can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Arcade display anything remotely resembling warm bedside manner. He's suspected for some time that if the man could simply do medicine and research in a vacuum, without the requisite human interaction, it might suit him more comfortably.

It's kind of him, nonetheless.

He glances at Arcade out of the corner of his eye, following the length of his arm up to his face. The expression there is tired but sincere, and Len doesn't have to be a half-decent read of the man to know what kind of worst case scenarios he's conjuring in his head. Eye for an eye, endless cycle of violence. They're square for now, as far as Len is concerned. As it turns out, revenge is rendered relatively futile when they're nowhere close to home. ]

You don't have to cover for me, if anyone asks. [ He adds gingerly, wary of putting an expectation on Arcade without clearing it first. ] But I appreciate you not assuming that I've gone and lost it.

If anything, I think this reflects fairly well on you. ...As a historical trend, anyway.

[ His smile is small and brief but not entirely sarcastic. Len has come a long way, even in the short span of time they've known each other, if he's capable of walking away from that particularly confrontation without leaving a corpse behind. It's a considerable improvement in self-control, at the very least.

Not that any of that is going to prevent Arcade from gladly obstructing any attempt at pinning the unfortunate incident in question on Len, no matter how earnestly Len lets him off the hook for it. It's the least he can do not to obviously implicate him, anyway. ]

[ It reflects fairly well on you sounds like a compliment, and he knows it is one, but that doesn't make him feel any less uncomfortable about receiving it - or about the way that a compliment from someone whose opinion actually matters to him makes him feel.

He grimaces either way, a bit of play-acting in the expression, with an audible groan. ]

Don't say that. Makes it sound like I'm goin' soft.

[ Arcade shakes his head, huffing out a quiet laugh. Soft is not at all what he thinks of Len as being, in really any context. But - a little kinder than he was, when they first met? Well. ]

Would it be so bad, if you were?

[ It's a sentimental ask, one that invites polite vulnerability with the benefits of plausible deniability. They could joke around it, easily. Easily. And yet- ]

Yes.

[ He says with startling quickness, the word out of his mouth before he even has to think about it. An instinctual kind of response that probably raises more questions than it actually answers. ]

I don't have that luxury.

[ Well, that's sobering. Arcade draws back, walls up again. ]

Right. Of course.

[ Even in jest, Len won't allow the mere suggestion that he isn't some kind of terrible. ]

[ What he doesn't want is for Arcade - for anyone - to have the mistaken impression that he's a good person. If he were, he wouldn't have felt a satisfying vindication blossoming in his chest after divesting Benny of the finger that put two bullets in his skull. He wouldn't have done all the things he's ever done.

People don't change. Certainly not him. ]

...look, I just want you to have the same clear perspective you're givin' me. [ A beat. ] That's all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

and talking doesn't help [closed]

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