( open ) and if i only could make a deal with god

[kovach]

CHARACTERS: takeshi kovacs & you
LOCATION: various locations on the station
DATE: late october
CONTENT: post-mission recovery, eating, sparring, getting high, etc.
WARNINGS: broken arm, nudity, sexual content, and various types of drug use in some prompts

I. PRIDE ( limit to 1 tag-in only, cw: broken arm )   the infirmary

---

[ his fight with cheri had turned out pretty rough, and though his sleeve has its advances with neurachem to make him a little more durable than most, it doesn't negate the rough slam of his body against the wall when she'd thrown him with the rough force of her power, resulting in the broken bone of his arm. when they arrive back at the station, most everybody's not in the best of conditions on account of their shared fights, some left better off than others, and though he's more inclined to just pass out right where he lands, kovacs does eventually make his way to the infirmary, still in the bloody, ripped mess of the clothes he arrived in.

he's not exactly expecting anyone to necessarily help him out here, a bit of stubbornness leading him to search around the room for a sling on his own. of course, while the arm is the only thing that's broken, the rest of his body is still plenty aching from the rest of the fighting and he hisses and grits his teeth in the midst of his search, muttering quiet swears as he looks around.

maybe it'd be helpful for someone to lend him a hand. ]

II. GLUTTONY   the mess hall

---

[ once he's got his sling for his arm, along with a fresh shower and clean clothes on, kovacs tries to get himself resettled at the station, at least enough so for him to get some rest after the big fight. starving, he heads on over the kitchen, fixing himself a fairly simply bowl of cereal before he goes out into the mess hall, seating himself at an empty table and picking up the spoon in his bowl with his currently only working hand.

if someone ends up sitting up at his table, his eyes peer over at the rest of the large room with plenty of empty seating before raising his brow at his new shared company. ] No other seats, huh?

III. ENVY ( cw: drug use )   the sunlight room

---

[ it might be something from that final fight, or maybe it's the way he hasn't had anything to keep himself busy since he's been back, but kovacs finds something pestering in his mind, something about his being here bothering him in more ways than he can really place. it's those times where his mind becomes consumed with old ghosts, visions in his mind that seem more real than they are, and so he chooses to fight them in the only way that's currently accessible to him.

in the bright pink backpack brought over with him from his own world, he carries not only a small collection of weapons but an abundance of drugs as well, some on the little harder side than others.

working like eyedrops, he lets the veuron fall into his eyes, feeling the effects of it work into him fast. in mere moments, he can see the colors of the sunlight room almost completely shift, the trees and the flowers suddenly brightening like a hologram of neon lights, the false stars above turning into lined waves of light circling around as his head sways.

bag still over his shoulder, he spins in place, mouth gaping and eyes wide like he's seeing it all for the first time, bright and mesmerizing. ]

IV. SLOTH ( cw: drug use )   the sunlight room

---

[ the hallucinogens aren't the only thing stored in his bag, and when it all becomes too loud, he finds himself seated against the bottom of a tree in the sunlight room, in the late dark of its nights, dropping the contents of a different drug into his eyes, this one with the effects of slowing everything down, everything falling quiet around him, his heart even slowing slightly.

he doesn't need to be high to see her. no, he can always very well see quell like she's right there in front of him, even when he knows she's gone, either as an aftereffect of still being fairly fresh with the sleeve he's wearing or simply because he can never get rid of her in his head — he'd never want to.

to anyone else who might slip by, he'd be staring at nothing right now, eyes focused with his arms dropped at his sides, bag nestled between his thighs, but for him, he can see every detail, every curve of her face as he remembers it vividly, even the sadness of her gaze. ]

I made a deal to get you back. [ he whispers quietly to her, his own eyes damp as he breathes shakily. ] It goes against everything we fought for. Everything you died for. [ with a swallow, his voice is a quiet rasp. ] But I can't do this without you.

V. WRATH   training room

---

[ after about a few days to a week, he can feel the changes in his arm, healing a bit faster than the room, bone repairing from a combination of the tech on the ship on his own body's advantages. and after enough time of his own personal boredom and a frustration is being so limited with his limbs, the first thing he wants to do is make sure it's all in working shape.

heading on over to the training room, unicorn bag slung over his shoulder, his decision on practicing with his hands or a weapon is all dependent on who he may end up fighting against. looking to someone else in the room, he gives them a nod. ] Need a partner?

VI. LUST ( cw: nudity )   shared living space with the darkling

---

[ one thing he's definitely taking advantage of with all his current free time is sleeping, at least for as much as he can when he isn't fighting the sleepless nights, sometimes paired with nightmares of his past. sometimes, the exhaustion kicks in where he even forgets he shares a room, going to bed the way he's most comfortable — completely in the nude.

if there's a knock on the door — be it for him or the darkling, who shares the other half of the space — he'll wake with a muttered swear, rubbing his eyes and sleepily dragging his legs off the bed. too tired to even think of covering up, and often not even thinking of it much even if he were more consciously awake, he stands and heads over to the door, opening it with a deep squint of his eyes and body fully naked. ]

What do you want?

VII. GREED   anything and anywhere

---

( feel free to discuss with me alternative options of the above prompts or something different altogether. if you'd like to discuss a closed starter for me to write, just hit me up on plurk at hepburns or send a pm. ♥ )

Comments

[kovach]

[ he's the type to easily get in a sour mood if his sleep is interrupted, mostly for the fact that he gets so very little of it in the first place. it makes it that much easier to not think about what's covering him up, or the lack of clothing all together, not until the door is wide open and alina's on the other side looking him over.

the thing with the sleeve technology he's used to is that there's never much modesty in the way of nudity in the first place, but even if it weren't the case, it's likely that kovacs wouldn't care much about it anyway.

his eyes peer down at himself, taking note of how exposed he is, before he sighs, looking back up at her. ]

It is when they come to wake me up past bed time. [ though, truth be told, he has no idea what time it is, harder to tell when they're on a station with no real sense of passage of time. there's no sense of embarrassment or rush either when he turns back into his room, snagging a pair of elastic shorts to pull up over his hips. ] Come in if you want.

[peasant]

[ if she were a woman of stronger will, she wouldn't sneak a glimpse from the doorway as he struts away. but, well — she's only human. surely saints can be forgiven for their lesser sins. to her credit, she does have the sudden thought to protect his privacy from anyone lingering in the corridor and bound to get an eyeful of kovacs; her hand pulls the door back until there's only a sliver of space to enter left, waiting for him to secure that elastic over his hips before she wanders in.

quietly, the door zips closed behind her. ]

Sorry. Time got away from me.

[ truthfully, she does sound apologetic for having forgotten the time, too used to restlessly pacing the station to keep track of it. then again, with the looming threat of her immortality — she's not so certain she wants to think of a concept like time at all. ]

Leaving now would defeat the purpose of waking you up, and then you would be even testier. [ a little awkwardly, she comes to a standstill in the middle of the room, and hugs her arms over her stomach. it's a better alternative, at least, than plopping down onto kirigan's bed. ] How is it healing?

[ a pointed look at his bicep as she clarifies, clearing her throat, ] Your arm.

[kovach]

[ courteous of her to pull the door for his sake, despite the fact that privacy over his nudity is hardly much of a concern for him. sure, he's not necessarily the type to just drop down his pants in a public space, but if he gets caught with them down somehow, he's not immediately going to be shy abut it. it's not like it's technically his body anyway. not really.

the shorts are about all he's going to bother with though, since she at least doesn't seem flustered about him being bare skinned elsewhere.

despite his comment, he's not actually angry, even if the immediate reaction in answering the door had been to snap. but the truth is, he barely gets any sleep anyway, so he's almost plenty used to the disruptions by now. ]

It's functional. [ he holds up his arm, giving his fingers a light wave before using that same hand to pick up a box of cigarettes from the table beside his bed. ] Feel like the arm's nothing compared to that fall, though. Saw you go through the floor pretty rough. Doing alright?

[peasant]

That's a high bar you've set.

[ functional. maybe that's the most they can hope for while they're trapped in this purgatory, trying to cleanse their greatest sins and regrets away. her lips twitch to life at their corners but, despite the quip, she does deflate in relief. some of her guilt empties with it, though she can't quite shake it from gnawing at her conscious. ]

Can I — [ she gestures to the end of kovac's bed, but clearly doesn't have the refined manners to wait for an answer, despite a childhood in a duke's orphanage. her legs dangle over the edge, feet sweeping across the floor as they kick back and forth, brows furrowed. then, after a beat: ] No. Not really, anyway.

[ her mouth opens, closes again. kovacs doesn't strike her as the type to coddle her. it makes it easier to free the words she's offered to no one else — simply searching to unpack them, rather than sympathy. ]

That woman Cheri killed — I brought An’alya right to her. I didn't mean for her to die, but intentions don't matter, do they? The outcome was still the same. [ alina's lips twist, grimly pensive. she's seen the others on the network, carrying their guilt for nearly striking cheri down — but alina feels none of that particular sympathy, not for a monster like cheri. ] It wasn't supposed to go that way.

[kovach]

[ she's already moving to his bed before he can even answer but he gestures with an arm anyway as a sort of silent be my guest, because he doesn't really care one way or another where she decides to sit. either way, it's not like he's going to be using the bed for sleep again any time soon. he won't necessarily be a grouch about being woken up either; he's used to getting little rest.

the shift in topic isn't where kovacs expects this to go, but only because no one else has bothered speaking about an'alya. he didn't know her, not before seeing her lying there upon the floor facing cheri's wrath, but it isn't as if he didn't feel for her in that moment.

he brings a cigarette into his mouth, flicking a lighter to burn the end. ]

I saw her right when it happened. Heard them talking through it. [ he inhales, breathing in the smoke that burns through the stick. ] They were in a war long before we got there. An'alya knew what she was in for.

[ it's not to make alina feel better or worse. eyes drifting, kovacs thinks of the woman dying upon that floor, the twists to her body that he was ready to face himself in that moment. ]

Death's at the end of the line for all of us. [ well — ] Most of us.

[peasant]

[ an'alya knew what she was in for. maybe. but it feels no different than shepherding her unit into the fold, trapping them into that darkness; no different than surviving the shower of chaos and monsters that poured down upon them, knowing she had led each of them to their deaths. an'alya hadn't seen the monster coming until it was too late, either. idly, alina's fingers pluck at lint scattered about his bedsheets, mouth twisting with a pensive purse. ]

Not for me.

[ freshly immortal as she is. unwillingly immortal, as though kirigan had forced an eternity beneath her skin, the moment those antlers punctured her collarbone. they ache with the reminder, fingertips smoothing over her sweater where they still lurk beneath, like touch alone could soothe that mangled, scarred skin. softly spoken as her correction is, there's no mistaking the bitterness — the voice of a woman who views that long stretch ahead of her as a curse, rather than the gift kirigan presented it as, wrapped neatly in a grisly package of gore and betrayal. ]

Not for you, either, if you're talking like that. Right? [ she squints, eyeing the smoke trailing from the beige stick in his mouth, like studying a puzzle for the first time. parsing it out, seeing where this piece fits in the greater picture. ] I guess it doesn't really matter when we both came close enough to death in Braccia. Weren't you afraid? You saw what she did to An'alya.

[ and yet — he sounds oddly casual, the way one might shrug their shoulders and say the sky is blue. ]

[kovach]

[ he knows the guilt in feeling like you've gotten someone killed, but he also knows there's respecting choice, in allowing someone to make the decision of what to fight for, of what's worth dying for. he's an envoy, the only living amongst those all dead that died for a cause they knew they wouldn't survive. he'd been ready to die back then too. the real guilt might be less about the dead and more in that he lived.

not for me, she says, which he might not be able to interpret without more to go on. not everyone here lives the way his world does, like there's more rules out here than he ever knew existed. not for me could mean plenty of things. ]

No. [ he answers bluntly, low with the rasp of his natural gravel, like it matches the subtle crisps of burning paper on his cigarette. but he knows it isn't because he doesn't want to be afraid.

the danger of living too many times — you forget to fear death.

leaning his back to the wall, his eyes look to her, no nerves or uncertainty in his eyes. ] There was every chance she'd do the same thing to me. But that's the risk we're taking here, right? Gambling on some bullshit chance to change the past? Miracle like that doesn't come for free. And if it's all lies, then we're probably all fucked already. [ ever the optimist. he sighs, smoke exhaled from his lungs. ] 'Sides — lived too long anyway.

[peasant]

[ no, he scratches out, and alina's desperation can only ask how? how does she keep fear from poisoning her heart when she dreads martyrdom as much as the long path ahead of her. one she imagines kovacs treading, if that confession is any indication — doomed to a life where every face withers around you like spring melting into winter, life lost in the bleakness of a world that takes and takes and takes, once you've been given and given and given power you've never asked for.

lived too long anyway. she wonders if this won't be her, one day, the way kirigan had warned her: jaded, cynical. she looks away from the glaring light of his cigarette, burning bright amber, to fix the wall with a faraway look. ]

Gamblers still know when to walk away from a bad bet. [ isn't that the point? weighing the risks and the rewards. isn't that why they're here? weighing what's worth sacrificing, and what lines they won't cross. those boundaries, alina's found, feel more and more frighteningly muddled as the missions wear on. a shake of her head as she continues, pointed, ] You can't undo any regret if you're dead. If that doesn't scare you, I don't know what will.

[ it might not be death that claims him, but failure will. the failure she fears, when there are so many lives dangling in the balance, hinging on wiping away her naive, foolish mistake. after a beat, her eyes cautiously stray back to him as she tentatively asks, ] How long is "too long"?

[kovach]

So what if I lose the chance? What right do we have anyway to change the past? We're not gods.

[ he's been battling that question since he's first come here. for all that he's made his deal, there's still the itch that isn't convinced he's in the right, that by being here at all with the expectation to change what happened to the envoys is a betrayal in itself to their memory, to what they died for in the first place.

envoys existed to fight against immortality. and he came to see it for himself what a long life can do to humanity, how it twists and sickens the mind to where they deem themselves entitled and unstoppable, caring nothing for anything but their own elongated lives. he himself has come to live longer than he wanted. and now he's taking advantage of an offered power to revive the dead — a fucking hypocrite.

he's not angry in his voice, just tired. ] Lost count. Some three hundred years? Slept through most of it. But I should have been gone a long time ago. They shouldn't have woken me up.

[ it's not that he doesn't fear death. not some cocky confidence that he can withstand anything. people should fear death. it's human. but it's that he knows he should be dead. that he shouldn't manipulate the cycle of life and death. that's the difference. ] I fought a long time ago ... to keep people from having the kind of control, the kind of power, we're trying to gain.

[peasant]

[ speak for yourself, she might have said, good-humored, if doubt and gloom didn't cling to the air in her lungs. i'm a living saint. alina draws no amusement from that joke, now, like a thousand shards of glass stinging her throat as she chokes it down. only monsters believe they hold the power to shape the world by their whims and their whims alone, to tip the scales of fate and fortune in their favor, doling out mercy only to snatch it back.

she is not divine, no. but ravka has asked her to be the holy answer to their prayers, anyway. the means to undo the past that has ravaged her country for so long. despite all of the questions she has for him, leaping to her tongue, maybe there's a greater question to be asked: if they're as monstrous for taking this deal as kovacs makes them sound. ]

And now you think you've become what you've fought against for so long. [ quieter, ] What you've hated.

[ her brows furrow as she slots those pieces together. for a moment, there's only pensive silence that follows, drowned in her own thoughts before: ]

I know I'm not a god. But I can't walk away from stopping someone who believes he has the right to conquer and destroy like one, either. Even if it means I have to change the past to do it.

[ her arms cross over her chest, unable to stop the flow of bitterness bleeding into her voice. ]

We've all made sacrifices to be here. Haven't we? Gods — they don't give. They only know how to take, and take, and take.

[kovach]

[ what i hate, what she didn't want us to become. the thought constantly consumes his mind of what quell herself might say about any of this, about what she'd think of him trying to revive her after she'd been the one to teach him why it was so dangerous for humankind to keep living forever in the first place. and he'd seen it too, how immortality has made the more powerful ignorant of its toxicity, how the grip of control only consumes and poisons those clutching onto it.

is he no better? is he just as much of a selfish, angry creature as the rest?

he doesn't answer her immediately, listening to her words and taking it in. she's young, he could tell; it's not even about the body she's in, since skin doesn't mean anything to him in telling a story of age, but it's in her speech, in her concerns. she's still hopeful, even for what's likely the impossible. ]

Saving the world, huh? [ he's neutral in his tone, not quite as judgmental as he could be. he almost gets it; he'd wanted to make a difference too. ] Then you know that we're only gonna have to keep giving. More people are probably gonna die, more than just An'alya, maybe even some of us. And we're gonna have to do things that probably get our hands dirty, things we probably once said we'd never do, things we hate, things that might make other people hate us. Changing the past — there's gonna be a price, and chances are, you're not gonna like most of it. [ as he knows.

he takes a long inhale off his cigarette, burning past half the stick. ] Better to learn that now than cry about it later.

[peasant]

Something like that. [ it's what the selfless martyr would say, isn't it? what the ravkan saint would preach, while the weight of her country crushes her spine to dust. but there's more, lurking within her intentions; that selfish want to be free of the chains that drag her down, shackle her powers to the hands of others. ] I'm not sure I ever had much of say or a choice.

[ it isn't strictly true, despite the self-deprecating light she casts over herself. she could have tucked tail and run, as baghra had wanted — as she should have, perhaps, to spare the stag from kirigan's influence. played the coward biding her time, rather than believing for even a moment she could be the hero of her story.

but she hadn't turned — and she isn't turning away now. there's always a choice to be made, and alina is nothing if not accustomed to treading those difficult paths. ]

I know how cruel the world can be. I've lived in it.

[ some of her edges seem to prickle, defensive despite kovac's lack of open judgment — the mark of a woman used to being judged, expecting it even when it isn't offered. better to learn that now than cry about it later. as though kirigan's betrayal hadn't etched lessons into her, left her with this distrust and self-doubt; as though she isn't used to hiding those wounds scarred into her, anyway, in a world that had never been kind to her. ]

You need to have lines you're not willing to cross. [ the greater question, though, are what those lines are — but she knows to fear what she'll become, if she steps over the boundaries she's drawn in the sand. ] Otherwise we really are no better than the monsters.

[kovach]

[ kovacs knows a little about never having a choice. the life he was born into under his father's abuses, joining ctac as the only means of keeping his sister safe, waking up from a centuries long sleep to a world he didn't belong to, having no human rights and being a property to someone he'd once tried to prevent from existing at all. his time with the envoys was the only time he ever chose something for himself, where he chose to fight, and even that had been stripped away from him.

despite her age, one that's telling in more than just the physical body she's in, he can see the truth she says about the cruelty of her world. it's easy to believe, especially when he knows how often a kid might learn that by the time they can barely walk.

but his emphatic understanding curves a bit when she speaks of monsters, his lip curling a bit. it isn't in being offended by her, but it almost stands as a reminder. ]

That's where you need to be careful. Some of us are the monsters. [ not spoken like a threat, but a quiet graveness in his voice, his eyes dark where they hide behind the mask of exhaled smoke that leaves his lips after another inhale from his cigarette.

even through the haze in front of his eyes, he can see quell standing at the other side of the room, a mere ghost in his own mind, looking directly towards him. her lips move, but her voice sounds out as if directly beside his ear: you're only pretending to be one of the monsters.

he blinks away the brief vision, quell disappearing as his eyes focus back on alina. ] We might all be here for the same reason — this deal we're making. But we're not friends. Plenty of us will be acting in our own self-interests and at the end of the day, you need to remember that.

cw for mild body horror i guess oops

[peasant]

[ some of us are the monsters. her eyes look past the wispy smoke coiling in the air, peers through that hazy fog kovacs hides within, and wonders are you one of them? a monster never reveals itself to be a monster behind its mask, does it? that paranoid beast living in her chest, gnawing away at her trust day by day, rears its head — this thing kirigan has awoken inside of her, always looking over her shoulder for the next blade of betrayal in her back.

the truth is as simple as it is terrifying: she no longer knows what monsters look like, can't discern if kovacs is among them, if any of the allies she's made here will turn on her just as quickly as they had turned toward her. she lives with that lesson embedded in her skin, a punishment for that naivety.

quickly, alina's fingers yank down on the cream-colored turtleneck she wears, unfurling the material down to her collarbone. it's a gory sight: jagged bits of white bone that protrude from scars sliced into her collarbone, the pointed tips of those antlers bursting through her shoulders, like a grotesque collar to keep her leashed to kirigan. a secret well-hidden beneath her clothing, one she doesn't suspect kovacs will feel the need to share, and one she doesn't expect to receive his pity for. ]

You think I haven't learned that? [ indignant at the injustice of wearing that permanent reminder in her flesh, the words grind out behind her teeth. he's right to remind if she's forgotten, even for a moment, the consequences of trusting too easily. ] I've met monsters already. Your warning is a bit too late.

[kovach]

[ he prefers it if this gives alina more reason to be cautious of him, if he's seen more as threat than console, because he knows that he carries danger where he goes, that good intentions always lead to someone getting hurt. it's for the best for everyone here to be on their guard, because it's not some welcoming family, not when everyone is here for something they want, something they've already made a point in proving they'd do anything to get once they made that deal.

this isn't the envoys, this isn't a family — (and even if it were, if he let himself get close, he knows the broken person he can become if he loses them, never again —)

but he doesn't anticipate the sudden yank of her collar, the way she drags the fabric down to reveal the trapped bone within, almost as if surgically implanted somehow. by her words, however they were placed there, it clearly hadn't been by choice, and for a moment, he's caught silent without words, eyes peering across the scarred map of her collar.

his hand drops lower, the smoke wisping away from his face, hardened look softening against his own will. he swallows subtly, trying to retain it back, this appearance of selfish interest, to curse away any innate inkling for concern. ] Then you don't need me telling you what you already know.

[peasant]

[ that bunched fabric snaps back to the base of her throat, once her fingers have loosened — satisfied that she's made her point, and unexpectedly unnerved by kovac's lingering gaze. most would turn away from the gory necklace it creates, permanently decorating her skin, but he doesn't so much as flinch. doesn't so much as dart his gaze away, sickened by the sight of it, uncomfortable with the evidence of what monsters can truly do once they've sunk their claws into you.

what's more curious, what feels more precarious, is the softness there once the cloudy smoke around him clears, eroding the hard angles of his stoic expression. it's alina, in the end, who breaks eye contact first, uncomfortable at the idea of being anyone's target for pity. why should she deserve that sympathy, anyway, when she's done this to herself? it would be easier if he poured salt into that wound, called her foolish like she'd expected, to reaffirm the terrible guilt churning in her stomach.

a shadow of hurt crosses over her mouth, wilting, before she presses her lips together and tamps it down, skittish and guarded. it's as mal had always said: save your emotional breakdowns for private. ]

No, [ she says quieter, some of the fierceness drained from her bones. like just the act of showing him such an intimate thing has sapped her. ] I really don't.

[ her hands curl tight around her knees, that distant stare finally honing in on the unoccupied bed in the room. ]

It's not me that needs to be careful when they're consorting with monsters. But I suppose I shouldn't be telling you what you already know, should I?

[kovach]

[ all it is is a physical manifestation of what he already know, of what he's seen happen again and again, the way the world is filled with poison, how it shapes and disfigures, how it taints the very soul, until anything pure is blackened to ash. he's seen it and he's faced it, having lost any sense of innocence when he was young, not even sure if he ever had much of it to begin with.

but he looks at alina and he remembers a young sister he'd hoped he could shield away from the taint of darkness, how he'd burned a hole through his father's stack just for the chance to preserve it, only for her to be sold away and turned into a killer just the same as him. the bones protruding from alina's collar is a reminder that nothing can be salvaged, even in those who want to do good. ]

Yeah. [ he answers quietly, bringing the cigarette back to his lips, as if remembering the shield he seeks, the wisp of smoke that can falsely veil the swirl of thoughts in eyes that don't belong to him, in eyes he still hasn't learned to know if they give too much of him away. ] I know all about monsters.

[ with the cigarette nearing its end, he straightens up, pressing the burning stick down into the nearest ashtray. ]

I'm going in for a shower. I'd offer you to join, but that'd ruin today's lesson, so — [ about consorting with monsters. his pursed lips and shrug is a signal that he's returned back to his witting sarcasm. ] You should probably get going.

[peasant]

[ — just like that, alina returns to herself from whatever dark labyrinth her faraway mind had traversed. she isn't a naive to kovacs' tactics, if only because she created that strategy, shielding her vulnerable parts behind humor. smoothing over the wrinkles that no one should see.

but being wise to those tactics has never stopped them from working; against her will, her mouth twitches. it's the start of such a smile smile, but it still seems to shine among the despondency of her mood, and the hopelessness that stifles the air, makes it harder for her to drag in a breath. she finds his eyes again, quirking a daring brow. ]

Maybe next time. [ it almost rings like a threat. challenge accepted. alina starkov has never been known for backing down, after all. without a protest, she slides off of the edge of his bed, getting to her feet. unintimidated, she bridges the chasm of distance between them, neck straining back to take in the full sight of his face above her. ]

Because I know things about monsters, too. [ a deceptively quiet statement, beneath all of that stubbornness. kovacs looms above her, small as she is, but alina's presence is just as large, willful and powerful in its own right. ] Real monsters never give you a warning about what they really are. They only see themselves as the righteous ones. That's today's lesson.

[ they don't care to see themselves as monsters, don't care to peer in the mirror and see themselves as anything less than justified. a savior, in kirigan's case, as though she should thank him for what he had done. with one last, fleeting look, she moves to brush by him and through the door. ]

[kovach]

[ it's not so much of an actual invitation as much as it is a way to swerve away from the heftiness of their conversation, knowing it's already steered to corners that both of them likely hardly anticipated when she first walked in here. not that he isn't amused by her vocal retort in matching up to the banter's challenge (though considering the recent turn in he and clara's relationship after their seemingly harmless flirtation, he should really start getting careful how he jokes with all these women willing to step up to him).

but when alina approaches him, there's something different in her eyes, a daringness that's tied more to the weight of their previous conversation and he watches her hold that confidence, nothing shaken when she peers up to his towering height and doesn't relent.

so much for warnings. his face nearly sinks when she seems to ignore his empty threats, wondering if she's really as smart as she seems to suggest by her experiences, or if her willingness to take a chance on interpreting what kind of man he is just happens to be naive stupidity she's still clinging to despite what's been etched in her skin.

maybe a bit of both.

he doesn't give her a reply; she could have the last word here for now, even if he hopes her trust doesn't come back to bite her eventually. it usually does when he's involved, even if he isn't eager to carry the hurt; it just has a habit of following him.

watching her leave, he remains still until she's out the door before he finally sighs, hand reaching for the carton to pull out another cigarette. ]