[ pouring quietly, just staring downwards for a long moment, like maybe he's falling asleep with his eyes open? no it's fine. he blinks after a long stretch and sets his hands on the desk. ]
But I took my brand knowing what it would entail. [ offering him a light smile. ] Mostly. As with most things.
[that light smile gets an attempt at one in turn, but. not quite.]
Well... knowing most of what it'd entail isn't the same as having much choice in it.
[it's an unasked question, something he's leaving to io, if he feels like answering or not. gregor is all too familiar with a lack of choice, and if he's the only physician left, there couldn't have been many options in the beginning.]
Most would rather call me ripper... butcher... that's what I do at the end of the day. [ sitting back down and resting the cup against the join of leg and prosthetic with a soft sigh. much better. there's a small bit of relief. ]
I... [ uncertain of how to say anything about this. ] Sometimes I do not feel like one. But I'm sure you understand that. I am just doing what I can.
When there's blood on your hands, forgiving yourself isn't something that comes easily.
I certainly haven't... I can't go and tell you to do the same... but I can tell you that you are a good man. That you're good every day, mistakes and all. Even if you don't believe it... sometimes knowing that others see that in you—
[ a tug at the mouth, a faint smile. ] It's something. A drop in the bucket. You keep moving.
[he'll make an attempt to believe in it, at least.
for a second it looks like he means to say something, or ask something, but-- he pauses, stops himself, and mutters a quiet little nevermind as he picks up the cup to take a sip.]
The Theatre... the Director. [ a painful snarl ] that's where I go when I die. And every time I am told I've played my part wrong.
And every time they remove something from me. The ability to embrace the ones I care about. My ability to discern anything by touch. I am removed piecemeal with every death my body takes on. I have died too many times...
[...his grip on the cup tightens, and he takes a moment to set it aside as he inhales slowly, trying to steady the anger that wells up at the thought of this being done to io. if he doesn't, he might grip it hard enough to break.]
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[geez.
being the only physician they have to save them from the plague, having someone else to save on top of it all--]
It must be heavy.
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It is.
[ pouring quietly, just staring downwards for a long moment, like maybe he's falling asleep with his eyes open? no it's fine. he blinks after a long stretch and sets his hands on the desk. ]
But I took my brand knowing what it would entail. [ offering him a light smile. ] Mostly. As with most things.
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Well... knowing most of what it'd entail isn't the same as having much choice in it.
[it's an unasked question, something he's leaving to io, if he feels like answering or not. gregor is all too familiar with a lack of choice, and if he's the only physician left, there couldn't have been many options in the beginning.]
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[ a choice willed into existence. it needed to be. he finishes up and brings over a hot cup, handing it over with care. a smile. still. ]
What's been willed simply... will be. And I'm okay with that if it means I can save my town.
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[something that had to be, but that-- at least ends up doing some good. ends up with saving people, with being in a position to help.
gregor takes the cup carefully, human hand curling around it to soak up the warmth.]
... you're a good man, you know.
[it's part of what makes gregor so fond of him.]
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I... [ uncertain of how to say anything about this. ] Sometimes I do not feel like one. But I'm sure you understand that. I am just doing what I can.
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[it's always been enough, here.]
I get it, though. Every time someone here tells me I am, I... almost don't wanna hear it.
[because what good has he done here, really. he hasn't done anything somebody else couldn't. his support could be replaced, if he were gone.]
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I certainly haven't... I can't go and tell you to do the same... but I can tell you that you are a good man. That you're good every day, mistakes and all. Even if you don't believe it... sometimes knowing that others see that in you—
[ a tug at the mouth, a faint smile. ] It's something. A drop in the bucket. You keep moving.
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Haah... you say stuff like that in a way I just might believe, you know? Careful with that.
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I'll take that as a compliment...
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[which gets a tiny little smile from him again, at least.]
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[he'll make an attempt to believe in it, at least.
for a second it looks like he means to say something, or ask something, but-- he pauses, stops himself, and mutters a quiet little nevermind as he picks up the cup to take a sip.]
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What is it?
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[ and then deadpan: ] Spill it.
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[look. if he's not bringing it up greg isn't sure he wants to.]
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[ gregor he is tired and half falling asleep with this cup in his hand because he got to sit in a cot. ]
If... you're being some kind of coy about last weekend...
[ dead eyes him like is that it? is that what you're talking about? ]
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[but, uh, yeah, looks like he nailed it there.]
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Well. I suppose. My first thought regarding that was...
[ tilting his head, uncertain. ]
Why?
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[a helpless little shrug, there, another sip of his drink. how do you even explain these things?]
But it wasn't just because of what was going on last week, making us touchier and everything, if that's what you were thinking.
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[ sometimes you just don't trust anything. ]
This isn't self-deprecating, I promise you, I...
[ unhappily shuffles my lore papers. ]
I could never return such things. I am... no longer permitted. It's part of... dying. I've done it too much. A punishment...
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[and what kind of punishment is that, anyway, to deny someone something like--]
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And every time they remove something from me. The ability to embrace the ones I care about. My ability to discern anything by touch. I am removed piecemeal with every death my body takes on. I have died too many times...
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[...his grip on the cup tightens, and he takes a moment to set it aside as he inhales slowly, trying to steady the anger that wells up at the thought of this being done to io. if he doesn't, he might grip it hard enough to break.]
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HELLO DW I POSTED THIS
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