[ Kids never do see themselves as such. It's different for Wriothesley: past a certain point, boys like Lyney start to look more and more like the children they swear they're not, and he suspects Lyney will see it his way once he gets there. No sense arguing it; he wouldn't hear it at that age either.
There's probably no sense in zeroing in on this, either, but he does. Lyney already mentioned the cruelties of the world. But the wording makes it realer, makes it more tangible in Wriothesley's empty hands. ]
"Another" person, huh. [ Did he ever many any such vow to his siblings? He doesn't recall. ] You've been through a lot.
[ And they'll continue to at the hands of the Fatui, so long as that's where their loyalties lie. But there's a lot there that Wriothesley senses he doesn't see, a safety Lyney must deem adequate in exchange for whatever the organization puts him up to. There's a distant, small tangle of feeling in his chest; Meropide had once been his trade-off, too. His better alternative. ]
[ Shaking his head, it's not about him. He deflects it, aimed precise like an arrow. He lounges back, legs crossed and gaze as confident as ever. Comfortable, his body language read. That was good, if it wasn't an act. ]
They have. [ A beat. ] Wouldn't be a Fontanian without a fair share of trouble brewing like a storm.
[ Even joking, friendly as he was, feels... uncomfortable. Like it was okay to let that mask slip just enough for Lyney to breathe. ]
[ Wriothesley looks him over then, the calm countenance, the seamless maneuver into a light joke. The forfeit of what was undoubtedly his own trauma unto others. Whether it's Lyney really letting go or not, Wriothesley can't help interpreting it as protection. He once had to protect himself too. Not through charm--not wit, not color and wonder--but through a number of other ways. Making himself unassuming. Making himself bigger than he was, if unassuming didn't work.
Fontanians have their troubles, and they have their masks, too. ]
Hah.
[ He could pry. But he won't. Let the magician keep his secrets: he hopes, after all, that they never have another opportunity for letting their masks slip again. ]
...I'm afraid I have an appointment due soon. But I'm glad that we talked, Lyney. [ He feels no shame in saying it. Why should he? He'd rather be on good terms with him, or at least the best they can manage. ] Do stay out of trouble, now.
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no subject
There's probably no sense in zeroing in on this, either, but he does. Lyney already mentioned the cruelties of the world. But the wording makes it realer, makes it more tangible in Wriothesley's empty hands. ]
"Another" person, huh. [ Did he ever many any such vow to his siblings? He doesn't recall. ] You've been through a lot.
[ And they'll continue to at the hands of the Fatui, so long as that's where their loyalties lie. But there's a lot there that Wriothesley senses he doesn't see, a safety Lyney must deem adequate in exchange for whatever the organization puts him up to. There's a distant, small tangle of feeling in his chest; Meropide had once been his trade-off, too. His better alternative. ]
no subject
They have. [ A beat. ] Wouldn't be a Fontanian without a fair share of trouble brewing like a storm.
[ Even joking, friendly as he was, feels... uncomfortable. Like it was okay to let that mask slip just enough for Lyney to breathe. ]
...Tea, in your case.
no subject
Fontanians have their troubles, and they have their masks, too. ]
Hah.
[ He could pry. But he won't. Let the magician keep his secrets: he hopes, after all, that they never have another opportunity for letting their masks slip again. ]
...I'm afraid I have an appointment due soon. But I'm glad that we talked, Lyney. [ He feels no shame in saying it. Why should he? He'd rather be on good terms with him, or at least the best they can manage. ] Do stay out of trouble, now.