station72 | [ closed ] when i say forever, it's the goddamn truth

[ There is nothing wondrous about the ability to lock away certain sets of traits and their resulting emotions, to don one mask while setting aside another, this elusive thing called compartmentalizing. It is just making a checklist of things to do, to focus on the task at hand before moving on to another. It is no magic, only dedication and hard work. It is the mundanity of soaking one's robes in a metal tub to get rid of the blood, the banal way the tips of her fingers grow numb and crinkle after so much time in the water, it is crouching on the ground from weariness yet knowing to push on.

Misato is dressed down to a found shirt and plain underwear, hair bunched up to keep out of the way, but even then she doesn't willingly discard with her airs. Her gaze when she turns to Elena is unrelenting. ]

Were you at the hunt?

[ Misato's appearance is... not at all what Elena had expected to find. Not that she'd been expecting anything in particular, she doesn't know the other woman well enough to be able to guess at things like that, but still. No one would ever assume this. ]

Yes.

[ It's a simple answer for a simple question. Reaching up to tug off the scarves that help to hide her face, she shrugs off the top layer of her robe as well with practiced ease. There's concern in both her expression and voice when she nods to the tub and asks ]

What happened?

[ This? This, even military commanders are human. Woman. Slight even, easily mistaken for harmless. She has set aside her gun on top of its holster upon a nearby surface, away from the water but close enough to reach for. The water in the tub is dark under the reddened suds, and she turns her attention back to scrubbing off stubborn spots. ]

It's not mine. [ The blood, she means. ] I had to carry his body back.

[ Level, without a hitch in her throat, albeit muted. ]

They only gave us one set of robes. I don't want to miss whatever they've got planned for us tomorrow.

[ The smell of blood was faint at the tent's opening, unnoticeable to someone who wasn't sensitive to it, but the closer she moves to Misato... It's strong. If the other woman had to carry back the body...

Kneeling down beside the tub, Elena looks down into that water, studies the spots she can clearly see on the fabric with her enhanced vision. ]

You need clean water. Will you let me help?

[ She's not going to force it on Misato, but if she can help, she wants to. ]

[ At the offer, Misato stands with the drenched robe in hand, rolling it up unceremoniously and wringing the water out of it best as she can. The blood and water get everywhere. The whole place stinks of it, coppery and fishy, and her mind tricks her into thinking it rancid already. The body decays so quickly and so does its parts.

She takes the tub by the handle and offers it to Elena, and with it, looks the elephant in the room in the eye. ]

There's gotta be some advice against doing this, don't you think?

[ It says a great deal about Misato's current (and perhaps always) mindset when she proceeds to handle things in a way that just makes a huge mess. The method is perhaps the exact opposite of how Elena would have gone about it, but everyone deals with stress and grief in different ways. ]

What do you mean?

[ If there is an elephant, Elena's not seeing it, and she's more than a little confused by the question, though she doesn't hesitate to take hold of the tub, easily lifting it despite the heavy water. ]

[ If it so requires spelling out: ]

Handing a bucketful of blood to a vampire.

[ She doesn’t seem at all afraid despite her words, eyes still fixed upon Elena, the dripping robe held close to her chest. Her mind is dulled by fatigue, everything else taking a backseat. The human body has its mercies. ]

[ The look Elena gives Misato at that is one that can't be mistaken - a scrunched up nose, slight frown, and wrinkled brow in combination always equal distaste. ]

I might be a vampire, but that's still gross.

[ She would have to be halfway to desiccation to find anything about the bucket in her hands at all appetizing. A glance down at the dark water has her shaking her head before arranging her scarves again, at least well enough to step back outside the tent to empty and refill the bucket. It doesn't take her long, and when she returns to the tent it's with soap in hand as well. ]

[ Disgust isn't an emotion she freely allows herself when there are few things left she hasn't resorted to. The line keeps getting pushed back. ]

Blood is blood. [ Just as well, meat is meat. Bones are bones.

Misato lets Elena handle the water while wringing her robes some more, something to occupy her hands while waiting. When the girl returns, she has her question ready. ]

Did you ever wonder why it has to be living blood, if maybe it's not about the material but about the life?

[ Setting down the tub and bar of soap, she wipes her hands off on her robes before removing the scarves again, this time adding most of her outer layers to the pile as well. She'd rather not get all of her own clothes wet if she can help it. ]

I'm pretty sure that's it exactly. Vampires, at least the ones where I'm from, were created with magic. The purpose was to gain eternal life, there were just some... unintended side effects.

[ Like not being able to go out in the sun without catching on fire. That's not one she's ever to be able to conquer now, thanks to being pulled away before she'd been able to get a daylight ring from Bonnie. It's something she's tried not to think about too much, but she's fairly certain that not all missions will involve costumes that cover them so completely. She'll just have to deal with that problem when it comes. ]

[ Ah, but of course. She betrays a frown at the mention of eternal life. Humans have been seeking immortality ever since their consciousness understood the possibility of oblivion. It was her father's trade. It was her trade. But at what cost?

She dunks her robe back into the tub, her lack of grace bordering on irreverence, a rebellion against a certain set of expectations rather than an inability to comply. ]

Is it what you want? Immortality?

It's the last thing I want.

[ Even now with a possible future with Damon stretching before her, the only thing making that unnaturally long life seem bearable is being with him. If something happens and they don't spend that life together... She'll still have to watch her loved ones grow old and die without her. Without someone to help her through that pain, she's not sure she'd even survive it.

Kneeling down beside the other woman, Elena picks up the soap and reaches into the bucket to grab an end of the fabric, locating the nearest stain and setting to scrubbing. ]

[ It is one thing to take another at their word, because it reveals what they want to believe about themselves. But it may not be so different to doubt the girl's words. She opts for the latter. Absolute statements are too often a lie, to oneself or to others, and one can be lied to (by oneself or by another) only when one wants to.

She keeps at her scrubbing, vigorous and diligent, and doesn't lift her eyes from the cloth when she speaks. ]

Then why are you living against your nature?

Because I'm eighteen years old and not ready to die yet.

[ She had been. In Matt's truck at the bottom of the lake, she'd accepted her fate and been ready. She'd wanted to die, to just have everything be over, all the pain and constant fighting for her life. But then she'd woken up and... When the choice was presented to her, to fight and live or just let herself die again, she'd chosen this.

Whether she would make that same choice, knowing what she does now, is a question she's not ready to ask herself. ]

[ Tragedy cares not for age. Death comes for all. Eighteen or fourteen, or a hundred years old, none of it matters.

Belying her line of questioning, Misato would choose the same as her. Life, always, at whatever cost. She had made that choice at fourteen, adrift in a dead sea at the end of the world, when the possibility of a slow and miserable death was the only thing looming on the horizon, and she would choose it again. Always, or so she tells herself. ]

What does that mean? That you'll count to 70 or 80 then give it up?

[ Elena's hands pause in their scrubbing, though her gaze remains fixed on the wet fabric and the pink-tinged water. What does it mean? In that moment, she's glad that Damon isn't here, because she knows he'd hate the answer she gives. ]

It means I'll live for however long I have a reason to.

[ It's not the first time she's thought of ending her own life; she very much doubts it will be the last. ]

[ Misato follows suit, stopping the work at hand to grant the girl the attention her answer deserves. Kindness has never suited her, softness has never served her, but severity does. And the truth hurts as well as liberates. ]

That's not enough.

[ Her voice is certainty itself, without room for doubt or cruelty, for that matter. ]

Choose your reason. Make it count. Anything less won't measure up to the lot you've got in life.

[ Elena looks at Misato for a long moment, taking those words in and knowing they're true. That truth is terrifying, though.

Choose her reason. She's been telling herself that her reason is Jeremy, getting back to him so he's not completely alone, but... What if he doesn't want her in his life anymore? I need my sister, not another one of them. His words have haunted her for weeks, filtering through her dreams and turning them all the nightmares. Of all the people in her life, she couldn't take it if he hated her too. ]

I know.

[ And then she goes back to scrubbing, moving on to another part of the costume, her ministrations thorough. ]

[ The words on the tip of her tongue. Water pressing against a dam. She wants to ask: So what? Will you keep cleaning after other people's mess -- make that a life's purpose? Greater men have done so for lesser men, of course, but would it be enough? And most of all she wants to say: He needs you to need him more than you actually need him. The difference there is fundamental, reality-altering, a nudge at the start of a series of dominoes, but she also finds she doesn't sympathize enough to dig her fingers through that bit of yarn.

Instead she stands most abruptly and drags her sopping wet robe out of the bucket so she can wring it again. Instead she says: ]

Don't worry about it. I'll finish the rest tomorrow.

[ closed ] when i say forever, it's the goddamn truth

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