[She'll admit that there was something satisfying about taking away his ability to talk back, and she might have enjoyed that more if when she'd accepted his proposition that he hadn't for a flicker of a second seemed almost take aback by it. But she wasn't angry, wasn't bitter when she did things like that. It was honestly one of safest ways she could be in relation to another person.
But she likes bruises too, to be honest. No matter whose skin they're on. They don't linger long on her- at least, they didn't before she came here- but she's always had that penchant for idly slotting fingers against sensitive skin, brushing against that sensation of not-quite-discomfort. She'd been colored in blood and bruises since she was young, and those things infected her, twisted in her heart. It's reassuring, somehow alluring to hear that agreement that Wash would have too, even if she'd surmised as much. But it colors her smile, embers in her eyes.
She shivers a little as his fingers drag against the back of her wrist, and there's a moment there where she almost wants to reaches for him, because god but there's a breath where she just wants to kiss him. Those words and the way he looks at her. But he looks away and she can only shake her head and sigh and slip back into something vaguely professional as he brings up that he'll use it. Wash isn't wrong, and she knows it.]
I know, I know. I saw him and I just- I would have punched him in the middle of a hallway. [She frowns as she says it with a touch of distaste that Wash can probably puzzle out. Not just the fact that he knew exactly how much she cared, but because it means that in some sense she owes Byerly. Even if she's not the sort of person where it carries real weight, she still hates it. Because, while she might not have liked the way that he walked her out of the base, he'd likely saved her cover. Which was just one more thing for him to use against her.
There's a flicker of tension in her shoulders at the mention of Byerly using him, because of course he will. She'd given him that weakness, tied it up with a fucking ribbon because it had seemed not as bad as giving him the way that who she was intersected with the masks she wore. She's still not sure she made the right call, but she's not sure it was wrong, either.]
I'll see how I can play it. [Don't let him. She wouldn't give him an inch if she could help it, but, well. To say that things with Byerly had not gone as she'd planned was a gross understatement. But she laughs with him, a curl of her lips and a shake of her head, that shifts into a sigh at the reminder that she needs to play nice with him. But she nods in quiet affirmation that she understands. She twines her fingers together for a moment, but she's sure she can manage it. One way or another. No matter how uncomfortable it may or may not be.]
And I can play nice. I'll make it work. I'll even try not to punch him. [There's a pause, and she considers.] I know them both, but mostly in passing. Kurt- he's from your world, right? Is he one of your friends?
[He'd clearly caught her attention just on that basis alone.]
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But she likes bruises too, to be honest. No matter whose skin they're on. They don't linger long on her- at least, they didn't before she came here- but she's always had that penchant for idly slotting fingers against sensitive skin, brushing against that sensation of not-quite-discomfort. She'd been colored in blood and bruises since she was young, and those things infected her, twisted in her heart. It's reassuring, somehow alluring to hear that agreement that Wash would have too, even if she'd surmised as much. But it colors her smile, embers in her eyes.
She shivers a little as his fingers drag against the back of her wrist, and there's a moment there where she almost wants to reaches for him, because god but there's a breath where she just wants to kiss him. Those words and the way he looks at her. But he looks away and she can only shake her head and sigh and slip back into something vaguely professional as he brings up that he'll use it. Wash isn't wrong, and she knows it.]
I know, I know. I saw him and I just- I would have punched him in the middle of a hallway. [She frowns as she says it with a touch of distaste that Wash can probably puzzle out. Not just the fact that he knew exactly how much she cared, but because it means that in some sense she owes Byerly. Even if she's not the sort of person where it carries real weight, she still hates it. Because, while she might not have liked the way that he walked her out of the base, he'd likely saved her cover. Which was just one more thing for him to use against her.
There's a flicker of tension in her shoulders at the mention of Byerly using him, because of course he will. She'd given him that weakness, tied it up with a fucking ribbon because it had seemed not as bad as giving him the way that who she was intersected with the masks she wore. She's still not sure she made the right call, but she's not sure it was wrong, either.]
I'll see how I can play it. [Don't let him. She wouldn't give him an inch if she could help it, but, well. To say that things with Byerly had not gone as she'd planned was a gross understatement. But she laughs with him, a curl of her lips and a shake of her head, that shifts into a sigh at the reminder that she needs to play nice with him. But she nods in quiet affirmation that she understands. She twines her fingers together for a moment, but she's sure she can manage it. One way or another. No matter how uncomfortable it may or may not be.]
And I can play nice. I'll make it work. I'll even try not to punch him. [There's a pause, and she considers.] I know them both, but mostly in passing. Kurt- he's from your world, right? Is he one of your friends?
[He'd clearly caught her attention just on that basis alone.]