Same. [ She's not even tossing a glance over her shoulder to check that the rest whether the group is within hearing range, because she knows they aren't. Gwenaëlle would have just sat here, sniffing miserably and choking on her bitter rage all on her own, she's set up her tent and belongings that far from the others.
But Ea's here. They can just have this conversation among themselves. ]
I am loathe to believe that anyone who forces that tadpole onto an ally truly is looking out for the ally. Explore all our options is all fine and dandy, but that was -
[ Wrong. Non-consensual. Horrible and invasive, and she's incandescent with her anger at the squid.
But she softens for a moment, glancing at the mirror and then at Gwenaëlle. She reaches out, her knuckles brushing under the woman's chin, tipping her face up. There is no flinching away from the sight of the veins, of the semi-transformation. Ea's gaze is serious and solemn and honest. ]
more than the way she has to fight her own wet eyes and wobbling mouth not to crumple again, a mess of just too many feelings for so little a body as is expected to contain them,
it's that she doesn't instantly protest gwenaëlle over the short-form that underlines just how badly she might have needed to hear everything else ea has just said to her. that she doesn't withdraw from the mortifying ordeal of being seen. she doesn't feel beautiful — exquisite, it had said, and she hates the way it had mattered to her, that it had made her reflection feel that much worse. she doesn't feel powerful, or certain of her direction and choices.
they had relied so much on that thing in the artefact. they still rely on it. it feels like quicksand beneath them, and she wishes she cared less about this part of finding that out. that she were braver or better or could laugh it off, I don't care about that,
but for all of her life, she's always had her fucking face. every part of her that hasn't felt like enough, the way she wasn't enough for her mother or her sisters, not enough to hold her father up, not enough for anyone to fill the bottomless hole of her heart full of whimpering love,
at least she's been pretty. at least if she couldn't hold onto anyone she could make them want her, for a while. at least if she can't hold their attention then she can turn their heads. at least she could have a while. at least— )
It shouldn't matter, ( she wails, burying her (awful) face suddenly in ea's shoulder, and she means: I should be more than beautiful, and she's the only fucking person who thinks she isn't. )
[ Maybe it shouldn't, what the fuck would Ea know about beauty? She's been chased out of towns for being a tiefling, been called anything from strange to befouled (thanks, Aradin, you fuck) -
(Some thirty-odd years ago, tiny Ea sitting in her tiefling father's lap, with her human dad counting her fingers and toes and making up rhymes. Being called lovely, being loved, being called precious and sweet.)
- it's not all there is to her life, but. She can understand the pain, and the conflict. And most importantly, when a beautiful woman wails and throws herself at her, to cry on her (kind of bony) shoulder, she understands that what might be needed is touch.
So she tuts softly, and brings one hand up to cup Gwenaëlle's shoulder, drawing her in for a hug. ]
Who says? If it matters to you, it matters. [ She turns her head slightly, enough to whisper in Gwenaëlle's ear, ] You can stay there and cry it out.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2024-07-11 08:57 am (UTC)But Ea's here. They can just have this conversation among themselves. ]
I am loathe to believe that anyone who forces that tadpole onto an ally truly is looking out for the ally. Explore all our options is all fine and dandy, but that was -
[ Wrong. Non-consensual. Horrible and invasive, and she's incandescent with her anger at the squid.
But she softens for a moment, glancing at the mirror and then at Gwenaëlle. She reaches out, her knuckles brushing under the woman's chin, tipping her face up. There is no flinching away from the sight of the veins, of the semi-transformation. Ea's gaze is serious and solemn and honest. ]
You remain beautiful, Gwen.
no subject
Date: 2024-07-12 01:52 am (UTC)more than the way she has to fight her own wet eyes and wobbling mouth not to crumple again, a mess of just too many feelings for so little a body as is expected to contain them,
it's that she doesn't instantly protest gwenaëlle over the short-form that underlines just how badly she might have needed to hear everything else ea has just said to her. that she doesn't withdraw from the mortifying ordeal of being seen. she doesn't feel beautiful — exquisite, it had said, and she hates the way it had mattered to her, that it had made her reflection feel that much worse. she doesn't feel powerful, or certain of her direction and choices.
they had relied so much on that thing in the artefact. they still rely on it. it feels like quicksand beneath them, and she wishes she cared less about this part of finding that out. that she were braver or better or could laugh it off, I don't care about that,
but for all of her life, she's always had her fucking face. every part of her that hasn't felt like enough, the way she wasn't enough for her mother or her sisters, not enough to hold her father up, not enough for anyone to fill the bottomless hole of her heart full of whimpering love,
at least she's been pretty. at least if she couldn't hold onto anyone she could make them want her, for a while. at least if she can't hold their attention then she can turn their heads. at least she could have a while. at least— )
It shouldn't matter, ( she wails, burying her (awful) face suddenly in ea's shoulder, and she means: I should be more than beautiful, and she's the only fucking person who thinks she isn't. )
no subject
Date: 2024-07-12 01:38 pm (UTC)(Some thirty-odd years ago, tiny Ea sitting in her tiefling father's lap, with her human dad counting her fingers and toes and making up rhymes. Being called lovely, being loved, being called precious and sweet.)
- it's not all there is to her life, but. She can understand the pain, and the conflict. And most importantly, when a beautiful woman wails and throws herself at her, to cry on her (kind of bony) shoulder, she understands that what might be needed is touch.
So she tuts softly, and brings one hand up to cup Gwenaëlle's shoulder, drawing her in for a hug. ]
Who says? If it matters to you, it matters. [ She turns her head slightly, enough to whisper in Gwenaëlle's ear, ] You can stay there and cry it out.