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[Guzma scowls at that. He doesn't...like the idea that he didn't have control. Even if it's true. Even if...he wouldn't have done what he had to all of them otherwise. It didn't sit right with him, any way he looked at this. Either he did shit that he wasn't alright with doing, or he lost control and was made into some helpless victim. It twisted his stomach in knots the more he mulled it over, and he hated every second of it.

Ultimately, he's just not sure how to even cope with what happened, so he's trying to approach it like he does anytime he does something bad or wrong in the eyes of others: own it and act aloof about it. Like it didn't matter, it happened, and so what? Life sucks, it's cruel, and so he's cruel in turn!

But there's something more here, something...deeper that's getting to him. His guilt, because while Nihilego latched onto him and did what it did, it still was running off of his desires. Things that he actively wants to do...that anger, that violence. Sure, they were extremes, but they were still part of him. Had the Nihilego grabbed onto someone like Lucina, he hasn't a doubt in his mind it wouldn't have gotten so ugly.]

How can you just say that—after what I done to you?

[He basically bursts it out without thinking, but he can't right now. Not when this is making him feel...like this. Whatever this is. He's not even sure.

Angry? Vulnerable? Humiliated?]

I ain't denying that thing had a hand in what happened, but...I ain't innocent in this.

[she sits up a little at that, her face getting warm, partly out of alarm, and partly out of a natural indignation at being balked at. holding her tongue for a moment, her fingers curl tightly in her lap.

what he'd done to her...

he remembers? or just...assumes? how lucid was he? was it really that similar to being controlled by the scarab, then? watching herself move without any regard to her own wishes...

she shifts so that she sits facing him a bit more directly, her eyes sharpening as she searches his expression for more than what his words offer up. it's way too easy to imagine those black lines running down his face, and...she doesn't like that. not at all.

nor the way he seems so keen to wear the burden of blame.]

...What do you mean by that? [does he know what he means by that?]

[His expression is hard as he stares at her, his jaw clenched. He doesn't even notice that he's gripping the back of the couch as hard as he is, his body tense as he mulls over how to even answer her. While he may have had foggy and disjointed memories at first, as time went on, and he started to regain himself...so too did the memories start to fall into place. They became more clear, and the images far more vivid.

What he said. What he did. What it felt like.

For all there was fear that grasped him far harder than any fear previously felt, there too was...excitement. Enjoyment. Pleasure. All of it felt so incredible and freeing. Everything he felt was so much more intense. All of his emotions were cranked to 11, but he didn't feel anything like guilt. Nothing mattered but his survival and his deepest desires, which seemed so much more attainable.

It was less like he was watching himself do these awful things against his own wishes, and more like he was convinced that these things were his wishes. He was made to enjoy them. Even now, as he recalls what happened, there's a part of him that still remembers how incredible it all felt. Even if he knows it's not what he wanted (at least in as much as hurting those who were trying to save him), and it isn't what he would have done otherwise...there's still the fact he knows he found pleasure in it all, and maybe that's what has him so conflicted and guilty.

Finally, he breaks eye contact with her, his gaze falling to the coffee table, before he closes them with a grimace.]

...It ain't like that thing implanted those desires into me, y'know. I—Don't get me wrong, I didn't wanna...I didn't wanna beat you down like I did, or my team, but...

[That part. That was something he didn't enjoy. There was no pleasure in that.]

Wantin' to destroy everything? Wantin' to crush anyone in my way?

[He looks to her, his expression...conflicted.]

That's all me—that thing just freed me.

[If by freed he means robbed him of a crucial part of himself so that the other part of him ran free, then sure.]

Edited 2019-10-22 03:37 (UTC)

That... [again, the impulse to cut in without a full answer, and again, she stops short, her expression pinched.

she shakes her head a little.]

Even what you just said doesn't add up, Guzma... The things you want and...don't want.

[without thinking, she reaches over and puts a hand on his knee, leaning so she can peer up at him and keep any downcast looks from straying too far from her.]

Whatever it pulled from you? Isn't...all of you. Do you understand? You aren't so simple. No one is...

[Guzma's face sours when she calls him out on his contradictions. Of course what he meant was that he wanted to crush almost anyone in his way. He didn't want to crush her or his team, hell...almost anyone who came to help, but...

His eyes fall to the hand on his knee, and it takes some restraint to not put his hand on hers, instead just letting it stay there undisturbed. His gaze flicks back to her, particularly when she leans in to peer at him.]

...I know I ain't so simple.

[Which is something he's said before, huh? That his ambitious, his beliefs, what he's fighting for, it's all not so simple. So then, why is it he's trying to make himself seem so simple? Seem worse than he is?

The answer being that he's scared, and running away is what he does best. Pushing people away and running the moment he's out of their grasp. His expression twists with conflicted emotions as he tries to sort his thoughts, but as usual they're so jumbled and everywhere, it's...taxing to try.]

But! It don't change the facts. Even if there's more to me than that, it don't really matter, do it? Not when it felt so...good.

[His eyes quickly dart away from her as he says it, hints of shame in his tone that he's hates letting through.]

Ain't that damning enough? What sorta victim enjoys what happened to 'em?

[Sure doesn't seem like he's enjoying it much.]

[it sure doesn’t. Lucina may not be the keenest or most insightful person when it comes to empathy, but Guzma is wearing a lot of tells that contradict what he says, that’s plain to see. whether that’s plain truth, though? that’s where it gets murky.

when his eyes leave her, her fingers gently squeeze his knee, a quiet ask to come back.]

Why are you so ready to condemn yourself? Did you walk up and ask for that? Guzma— [she hesitates with a pained sound, trying to keep from getting ahead of her thoughts as they come.]

I don’t think feeling one way or the other is the key to guilt here... And if it were, you’re still absolved for how it torments you now. Right?

[she hesitates again, frowning deeply. her heart aches, wanting to be able to impress clarity so easily, but... she’s never been good at words like that. analysis, hypothesis... no, the best she can do is speak to what she sees. what she feels and believes...and hope it can be understood.

You were done wrong, no matter way you look at it.

[The squeeze is seemingly ignored at first. Like he's stubbornly resisting the request, but after a moment of her speaking, he looks at her again.

"Why are you so ready to condemn yourself?"

What a loaded question. He could answer her, but it'd be a production to do so, wouldn't it? Even some of it he isn't fully aware of, but sometimes it's just easier to be hated. Easier to take the fall.

There's one thing that twists his features again, making him scowl with irritation.]

Since when has being tormented ever absolved anything? Last I checked, that's just a part of life, yo. It don't free ya from nothin'.

[After all, wasn't it because of his torment that he lost everything? It certainly didn't help anything, it definitely didn't absolve him of anything then, so why should it now?]

I mean, you're right—I didn't ask for this—but...

[He stops short, trying to find the words, trying to find some sense in his logic in this. Which there isn't any; logic nor sense. Something that is becoming more and more apparent in how Lucina's talking him down and refuting his self-hatred fueled condemnation.

His eyes are scanning nothing in particularly, oscillating as he pries at his brain trying to find some sort of retort. Something—anything that can back his stance, but he's finding not a whole lot.

In fact, he's finding nothing. So, he's just stuck there looking lost.]

[watching him struggle like that is heartbreaking, and Lucina finds that one of the aches in her chest is from having held her breath in waiting for the reply that comes only in that quiet.

what does she do? something like this...has more to it than the surface suffering. more than she knows. and would prying and clawing for more...only do more harm?

it really does trouble her — that notion he’s itching to lay the blame on himself. to find reasons to justify being in the wrong, even when being wronged...

before the quiet can get too suffocating, she gets to her feet so that she can lean forward and put her arms around his shoulders. braced for a rebuke or rejection, her hold is careful, and only steadies and becomes more secure if she’s given cue to.]

...I’m sorry...that this happened to you.

[It's not until her arms are around him that he even fully realizes that she moved. So lost in his hellscape of a mind, that he couldn't notice. When he does, he jolts, almost like the touch has stricken him, but then he eases into it, and allows her.

He's awkward in this, not entirely sure what to make of the comfort. Or that he's finding it soothing. It doesn't make any of this more clear, it doesn't even answer any of those questions, but it feels right. And so, he indulges.

The whole situation also kicks up dirt towards his ambitions back home, and with what Nanu had imparted him with back at the hospital...there's just a lot he needs to think about. He's never been too good at that.

Still, he cannot find words, but he leans into her hold, his arms coming down from the back of the couch to rest on his thighs as he leans into her, but soon they leave their resting spot. Lifting to snake around her waist, his hands grasping at her shirt.]

[at this grasping, Lucina moves to accommodate by slipping forward and gingerly settling on his lap. it’s a little awkward, trying to keep hold and not wobble and topple over, but before she has to put much effort of thought into it, she remembers that she could just...float a little...and that way, not be too much a weight to wear.

though it grates her to not have a better answer or means to quell his frustrations, she sees it right to be there as long as he stands it. were it her, she’d want the same...

no matter what lens it’s seen through, it had been dreadful. and she’d only seen from the outside, felt from the outside. all she can do is imagine frustration and confusion like that with the scarab, but even then...enjoyment was not high up there. that reminds her more of the alterations people’s moods had exposed to some of those odd kryptonite shards, but...far, far more invasive and visceral.]

Now, at least... that dreadful business may be over.

[gods, she hopes so. for his sake. for everyone’s. a little grilling in front of the press won’t feel like much heat at all in comparison.]

But..dreadful it remains.

[because awful things leave all kinds of bruises and scars.]

[As she draws into his lap, a relieved breath leaves him. Her weight is noticeably less than he'd expect, but he doesn't seem to care to ask about it. Perhaps he put the pieces together himself already, or maybe he just doesn't care. His muscles are thankful for it, tired things they are. The press of her only provokes a dull ache, instead of something more intense.

It pales in comparison to the comfort her proximity affords him, anyway. When he speaks, his voice is low, and it's a little forced.]

—Yeah. It fuckin' sucks.

[For too many reasons, and not many of which he wants to talk about. Not many of which he even knows how to talk about. He's gotten himself into such a convoluted mess, and he doesn't know what to believe, nor what to even think about it all.

His hold tightens, but it's a fraction of his actual strength, a testament to how his body's fairing in its recovery.]

...You're a true one, Lu. Don't ever lose that.

Edited 2019-10-22 20:59 (UTC)

[where he may lack, Lucina still has strength to spare, and as his effort permits it, she too holds more tightly, pressing against him and thinking little of his bare state now. conveying some semblance of security or consolation matters more than getting fussed up about states of dress or undress -- she can reflect on that later.

rather, the warmth she gets is from his weary words. it...doesn't seem right to be praised while someone is hurting, especially when she can do little to ease it; she very often underestimates the value of her efforts or presence in that way. it'd make more sense to her if she'd done something more, even if an embrace is a comfort she herself can't deny...

what does she say to that?

loosening her hold so she can set her head on his shoulder, her forehead against his neck, her voice even conveys some of that uncertainty.]

I'll...try not to, of course. You can hold me to that, then. Make sure...

[It's an odd thing about Guzma, that while he's quick to put people down, he also can give praise somewhat readily. Especially to those he values, and Lucina has certainly become one.

Guzma is certainly unbothered by her closeness and his bareness, even when she settles in against him, forehead against his neck, her breath on his collarbone. If anything, feeling her against his bare skin is its own comfort, the warmth of her easing his scattered mind, and soothing him.

Keeping his hold, he tilts his head against the top of hers, nestling his nose against her dark blue locks. He lets out an amused little huff at what she says, even if it lacks the usual amount of humor it might have had under different circumstances.]

That's assumin' you don't get sick of my ass before then, huh?

[Before she might protest with his little self-deprecating joke, he adds:]

But don't worry, your boy's gotcha.

R, right...

[your boy, he says. again, she quietly wonders if there's more to that, or if she's thinking too hard on it. ya boy, your boy...

either way, overthought or not, it does make her feel nice, and in that passing time just being present with each other, Lucina gradually settles from the float she'd done at first.

it'd be nice if something like this would last for a while, she thinks. which is...odd for her, considering how antsy she gets when she's left idle. but this really isn't...idleness, is it? this sort of quite company...there's an engagement going on that isn't straight-up movement or intention, that's all. she doesn't get a lot of that -- doesn't let herself, really. but if it means being able to ensure someone important is safe...

that's certainly what he is, isn't he? she'd been waffling on it for weeks now, trying to reconcile the paradoxes of their personalities and how little sense it makes to who she is -- who she thinks she is -- by comparison. it really shouldn't take someone nearly getting killed to come to those kinds of conclusions, should it? maybe she just is that thick in the head...or scared.

at some point, one arm withdrew to stay tucked between them, while the other lingered at his neck. it's comfier that way; her arm was liable to fall asleep clinging while twisted to sit that way. she's going to have to get keener about this sort of positioning, she figures...it's not like she'd know right away!

no, this really isn't idle at all, is it. not with that heart rate...]

Just...just in case I fail to make it clear some other time, I, ah... [a hesitation.] I may not...be very articulate. Or...versed in...things. But. I decided that I...don't regret what I...or, ah. We've done. So far. Pursuing...whatever this is, I mean.

Even when it's...not easy. Like, now, I suppose...I just mean that I think-- I think there's still value. I value it. You.

[somehow...it sounds lame aloud. she brings her free hand to her face, muttering something into her palm in embarrassment.]

[Lucina really isn't overthinking it, there's definitely a specific connotation in how he says "your boy" to her, versus the more casual "ya boy" he says to others. However, he's not about to come out and explain that one, so she might be left in her purgatory over it.

Perhaps Guzma would likewise be lost in such a conflicted state of mental reflection over this, but his tired mind seems to find difficulty in focusing on much more than how it feels to be holder her like this. It's too painful to really reflect on it all, or dissect what's happened, or how in such a short time he's grown so attached to her...but that's what happens, isn't it?

When he lets someone in, when he lets down the walls...he grows too attached too quickly. He gets sucked in and invested to a worrying degree. Particularly if they appeal to his skewed understanding of the world, his fucked up social darwinistic view. Whether Lucina meant to or not doesn't matter, because she does, and that's enough for him.

What jumbled thoughts he may or may not have had do not matter in the slightest in the wake of that...confession? Is that what that was? Either way, it leaves him charmed and warmed, both. The fact she can act so confident and powerful in the heat of battle, when staring death in the face, yet she has such trouble saying she values him...

She...values him.

After a quiet moment, there's a snort from Guzma that turns into a soft chuckle. While he had no issue adjusting so that she could get more comfortable, she's still tightly within his hold.]

Yeah...I don't regret it either. It ain't much like what I'm used to, but that ain't a bad thing.

[He punctuated that with a kiss to her head. He keeps himself nestled there as he continues:]

So, we ever gonna put a name to this, or is it gonna stay ambiguously amorous, huh?

[the kiss mollifies her a bit, fills her with a warmth that spreads throughout and to her toes. are things like that...supposed to tickle her that much? she doesn't have a reference point to compare it to. getting caught up in wondering about things like that...maybe it's just better to trust instinct for now, and now is comfortable. strangely safe, even?

not so safe from labels, though. Lucina's fingers curl against her chin as she listens, and her heart gives a loud thump at ambiguously amorous.

after a beat and a quiet gulp:] Well, I...I guess I don't know. What...name is good for...this?

[paramours, she thinks, and she flushes anew, because isn't that a bit too dramatic? yet the whole...boyfriend-girlfriend labels this world is keen on seem like...things not meant for her. and the sort of thing that draws in...lots of attention. why, look at Darin and Allura, after all!]

I dunno.

[He says pretty casually. He's not so pained by the prospect of what they're to be called, or even if they don't name it at all. Maybe he's just curious of her thoughts on the matter, if she wanted to commit to a label, or if maybe having something so...set in stone with someone like him, regardless of his value to her, was an unsightly ordeal.

He wouldn't be surprised if it were the latter. Not because of self-pity, but because he's well aware of how it would look for someone like her to be definitively involved with someone like him.

Besides, isn't he at this point used to being the target of his affection's dirty secret?]

We don't gotta, if that ain't what you're feelin'. I get it.

[she grimaces, because even though he shows no resentment, she can't help but feel as though she ought to have a better answer. maybe if a romantic relationship were more like a duel or a spar...]

I think that...well. Ambiguous doesn't much apply anymore...right?

How about...

[uhhh.

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

how would Inigo put this??

...wait, no. she doesn't want to put it how Inigo puts things.

what would Severa say? or...Brady?

she blinks.

point-blank:] ..."Going steady"-?

[That gets a laugh out of Guzma, though it's a little hoarse. It's not malicious or anything, just greatly amused.]

Makes us sound like a couple of kids.

[But he gives her an affectionate squeeze.]

I'm feelin' it, though.

[kids?? what -- really? Lucina is barely able to puff out a surprised, indignant sound before she's squeezed, and that quells her for the moment.

for the moment.

embarrassed, she mutters against his skin:] Y...you weren't suggesting anything better, so...!

Look, I ain't blamin' ya none, you ain't from this era after all. Just, "going steady" is the type of shit young teens would say.

[Which...brings up the question of her age, and for a second Guzma pauses thinking about that. It's too awkward to ask, but he's pretty sure she's...not a young teen. Yeah, he's just gonna assume the best in this situation.]

But I guess "girlfriend and boyfriend" are equally as lame soundin', huh? Never really cared for that, anyway.

Like I said, it don't matter what we name it, though "seeing each other" is a bit better for our ages. It's all the same.

[He gives a light, one-shoulder shrug (He doesn't need to accidentally check her head with his shoulder, now does he?)]

You're my girl, and I'm your boy.

[seeing...isn't that ambiguous, she thinks? gods, people see things and people and places all the time! why add a layer of...of such intimate depth to such a common verb?! at least steady has more clarity than...just...seeing...

ugh.

she'd make her complaint known, but he had to go and say something like...like that, and...

well, the best she can do is quietly glow, her skin prickling and her chest tightening. it still seems...improper, somehow? something not for her. especially with a mission like hers, what business does she have even pretending.

but...if things really are heading toward a hellish road...wasn't that just more reason to be true not just to her cause, but her heart as well? wouldn't Owain say as much? wouldn't her father, her mother?

she swallows, then lets out a quiet little breath.]

...Yes. Lame or...or childish or otherwise...the conclusion ought to still be clear.

[she moves so she can tilt her head up and peer at him -- a peculiar angle, mostly jaw and nose. but he's still up there, so--]

We're in agreement, you and I. So there'll be no mysteries...should something worse happen, gods forbid.

[Look, Guzma didn't choose the terms, they are what they are. Language evolves, and its often stupid, you just roll with it.

It's still weird even for him. Dating is one thing, but something so vulnerable as this? It's new and a little frightening. After all, he hurts so easily...even if he does everything to convince people otherwise. He also tries to keep people away from him with all his verbose and ridiculous intimidation tactics, yet here he let her in. Here he was drawn to her...

When she moves to peer at him, he likewise glances down at her, eyebrow raised. Though, it lowers when she says her piece, but a small smile finds itself on his lips.]

How grim.

[But he gets it.]

But I agree. No point in leaving mysteries that can't be solved. With how things're goin' down the shitter, better to be honest about these things, huh?

[He says, while still withholding information, but whatever. No one ever said he wasn't a hypocrite.]

[her mouth quirks as she squints at him. that's...a crude way to put it, but it's probably not entirely wrong.]

Even if things weren't...honest is better. [after all, people port out regardless of the circumstances, don't they? she'd already made the mistake of holding her tongue about her feelings once before, and whatever future that might have led to seems to be quite gone.

yes, honest is better. and while Guzma may be many things: brash, unapologetic, stubborn, rude...Lucina has not yet known him to be a liar. so more's the value in his words, and the better they are at keeping her creeping doubts at bay. grim though she might be in many ways, but Lucina has always been trusting and keen to cling to hope, no matter what the form it may take.

so, before he can get away with saying more things that catch her off-guard and leave her feeling like a twitterpated schoolchild, Lucina's hand moves up his neck and to the back of his head to guide him down so she may gently kiss him -- a soft but sincere touch that she means to only further impress on the merit of their words; a stamp? seal of approval?

gods, words are terrible.]

[That squint only seems to tickle him, because he kinda enjoys her reactions to his crudeness. She doesn't seem to entirely oppose it, but she's definitely not used to it. It makes for cute little reactions, even some are more subtle than others.

It's true that Guzma's not much of a liar. He might front one way or the other in an effort to defend or protect himself, but that's a bit different than outright deception. Typically, he will withhold information before spinning some bullshit. Not that he can't, or that he won't should he find it necessary, just most the time he doesn't.

Lucina is indeed successful in keeping his mouth shut, because how the hell can he say anything when she catches him off guard by kissing him? That hand on the back of his head, fingers against the shaved part of his hair, sends a warm tingling through him. It pales considerably to the kiss, but together they warm him thoroughly and he returns the gesture readily.

It's such a soft and gentle gesture, entirely different to what he is accustom, that it almost feels alien. Like he's the inexperienced one here, and not her. What good is his experience, when it's not applicable in this relationship?

In their relationship. Yeah, that feels good to think about.]

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