video; un: deathweaver

[respired]

[ Koltira's sitting on a flat rock, long legs stretched out, a bottle of something dark and high proof in one hand--a souvenir from the remains of the saloon. He's surrounded by cacti and tall, spiky yucca plants; the silhouette of Perdition's Rest is not far behind him, due west. He's close enough to reach by a quick walk, but not so close that he's in the middle of everyone and their campfires and their singing and their camaraderie and so on. A thin dusting of snow coats everything, though close inspection reveals a mirror-like sheet of ice slowly crackling its way into being over the rock, as though animated of its own accord.

A few people have seen him since that terrible week, but not many. He's cleaned up since then. No more chains. Back in his fine, planet-appropriate clothes--long, black coat, stylish hat, boots with sharp spurs. He has new, red tattoos on one hand, and his pale hair is done up in a thick braid that falls over his shoulder.

He leans forward, pulling his right leg up and draping his arm over his knee. He looks miserable. And a little drunk. ]

No one regrets what transpired more than me. I was not in control of myself, though it's no excuse. An apology feels weak and inadequate, but you have it from me, a hundred times, a thousand times.

[ He takes a drink from the bottle. A long drink. ]

I will do what I can to atone, within reason. If you wish me never to look your way again, I will not. If you wish to strike me, you may, though I will defend myself against a lethal blow. If you have something else in mind, tell me.

I will work with Sieglinde, for whatever fruit that bears. It may bear nothing, but I'll endure the attempt.

[ The guilt in his expression, pulling at his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows, hardens. He clenches his jaw. ]

Yet, understand this. I will never be a slave again. Not to any of you, nor to anyone else. I will not beg, and I will not scrape. I will not kneel. And you do not have the right to decide my destiny. None of you do. That's my decision, and mine alone.

[ He sets the bottle down. Shuts his eyes. Last time this happened, he had given a lengthy explanation. He had laid bare the facts of himself: what he was, how he came to be that way. But not this time. He will not open a vein for nothing; he will not suffer dismissal on top of scorn. Not over his past.

Besides, as guilty as he is, as deeply and truly remorseful, he's still angry, too. ]

I have nothing more to say.

Comments

[respired]

[ Koltira hands over the bottle, assuming Meallan wants a sip. It's whiskey, strong and bitter, liable to set an unsuspecting man's tongue on fire.

At the mention of the wound, he shrugs. ]

You were but one encounter that week. That day, even. I endured worse.

[ It doesn't directly answer the question, but honestly, things quickly reached a point where Koltira no longer kept track of his injuries. By the end of things, he could barely walk--and that, of course, was one of the only reasons he stopped. ]

You do not need to overthink this, Meallan.

[ He frowns a little, because it's difficult to articulate--difficult to claim it as something he even deserves. He mutters, finally. ]

Simply treat me as you would anyone else, if that's possible.

[strikingtwice]

[He accepts the bottle and takes a swig without hesitation, trusting that if Koltira had any concerns, he wouldn't have offered it. It's bitter in the brief moment it hits his tongue before the burning hits and Meallan swallows the mouthful before coughing into his other arm, reminded quite vividly of whatever concoction Iron Bull had given him the first time they'd gone drinking together. He offers the bottle back and clears his throat a couple of times to find his voice again.]

I'll treat you as a friend then, if that's alright, Koltira. [He smiles and reaches out with a small flicker of flame in one hand to melt the ice on part of the rock, enough for him to lean against it.]

But that means I'm going to worry about you as much as I do anyone else. I care about you.

[respired]

[ He sighs--an expression of weariness--even as he unconsciously leans towards that small flame, that little burst of heat and life. ]

I care for you, also. That is why I did not want to see you out there with me. To see you hurt.

[ He shakes his head. It's the past now, and there's no help for it. But the guilt will persist. ]

[strikingtwice]

[Noticing the way Koltira seems to lean a little closer, Meallan takes that as an invitation and immediately pulls himself up to perch on the stone as well, pressing warmly against Koltira's side without a bit of hesitation.]

I'm not going to say it wasn't a terrible choice on my part and that I shouldn't have listened, Koltira, but I will say that while I'm in no hurry to repeat the experience and I intend to listen to you from now on... I also won't promise that it will never happen again. For one thing, I think we both know in this place there's no way we can promise that.

I just wish I could offer you more than that or give you something more useful.

[respired]

[ Though Koltira's body cannot retain warmth, he can feel it well enough, so long as a strong enough source is near to him. He craves such things, constantly, painfully, but it's nothing he'd ever think to ask for. Nothing he'd expect. Instead, he takes what he can, where he can. If Meallan is not repulsed to lean against him, Koltira won't shove him away. ]

I would not want you to make a promise you cannot keep. I ask only that you try.

[ He looks at Meallan directly, his long eyebrows furrowing. ]

I don't know what you mean. Your kindness alone is rare enough.