It weighs heavily on him, has weighed on him since the interrogation, since he'd that drug-induced bliss wash over her, since he'd watched her talk unbidden about everything and anything in her life. The day after he'd thrown himself into his training even more than usual, kept his body busy while he tried to focus his thoughts on a plan, on escape, on a way out, tracing patrol routes he's memorized in his head, trying to remember the way here through the snow from the day they were picked up. But god, he knows too much, he already always knew too much -- in some ways, he was glad he had agreed to observe the interrogation, and in others he regrets being there at all.
There's nothing for it, now. He knows what he knows. Everyone who was in that room. He sees her at the party -- she hadn't given herself over to the ghem women to be dressed, a decision that Wash might envy, given his facepaint and his current state of dress -- sitting alone on a bench, silent, unmoving. He has half a mind to leave her be, but eventually he makes his way over to her. She'd chosen somewhere relatively quiet to settle down, a spot of relative calm in the bustle of the extravagantly dressed men and women milling all around them, and Wash is a little grateful for that. ]
-- Lakshmi. [ That's what he tries first, a little uncertain, hesitant. She doesn't even seem to hear him, and he waits there for a while, considering if he should leave her be before he tries, ] Rani.
[ That gets her attention, though he feels -- guilty, for knowing that, for knowing more about her than she herself has given him permission to know. She blinks up at him, and he's suddenly conscious of the thick paint on his face again, and well. She could probably do with something to laugh at, right about now, right?
He gives her a moment to send him away if she wants to, but when she just continues to look at him in silence Wash moves to sit on the bench beside her, noticeably unfamiliar with how to move or really sit in robes like these, but he -- manages. Barely. And looking at her, his tone completely serious; ]
super fun party time
It weighs heavily on him, has weighed on him since the interrogation, since he'd that drug-induced bliss wash over her, since he'd watched her talk unbidden about everything and anything in her life. The day after he'd thrown himself into his training even more than usual, kept his body busy while he tried to focus his thoughts on a plan, on escape, on a way out, tracing patrol routes he's memorized in his head, trying to remember the way here through the snow from the day they were picked up. But god, he knows too much, he already always knew too much -- in some ways, he was glad he had agreed to observe the interrogation, and in others he regrets being there at all.
There's nothing for it, now. He knows what he knows. Everyone who was in that room. He sees her at the party -- she hadn't given herself over to the ghem women to be dressed, a decision that Wash might envy, given his facepaint and his current state of dress -- sitting alone on a bench, silent, unmoving. He has half a mind to leave her be, but eventually he makes his way over to her. She'd chosen somewhere relatively quiet to settle down, a spot of relative calm in the bustle of the extravagantly dressed men and women milling all around them, and Wash is a little grateful for that. ]
-- Lakshmi. [ That's what he tries first, a little uncertain, hesitant. She doesn't even seem to hear him, and he waits there for a while, considering if he should leave her be before he tries, ] Rani.
[ That gets her attention, though he feels -- guilty, for knowing that, for knowing more about her than she herself has given him permission to know. She blinks up at him, and he's suddenly conscious of the thick paint on his face again, and well. She could probably do with something to laugh at, right about now, right?
He gives her a moment to send him away if she wants to, but when she just continues to look at him in silence Wash moves to sit on the bench beside her, noticeably unfamiliar with how to move or really sit in robes like these, but he -- manages. Barely. And looking at her, his tone completely serious; ]
How do I look?