[ They're his brownies, he can do with them what he likes really.
She watches him hesitate, and she has a sinking feeling he's... trying to play down what happened. Luna wrings her hands in reply, brow furrowing. ]
It bothers me if we don't talk about it. [ Because there is... very much a lot they need to talk about, in her eyes. ] I know it was the town, but that shouldn't be a reason that I'm excused from my actions.
[The boy gives her a nervous look like he's absolutely trying to play down what had happened. With a little sigh, he reaches out carefully, though he hesitates a bit, worried that she'll rip herself away from his immediate area — he doesn't want to make her feel uncomfortable.]
It happens all the time, Luna. I've gotten very good at letting it go and moving on.
[ It's not alright that things like this happen all the time, that they're simply forgotten about. Luna wrings her hands for a moment, her lips pursing. Her voice grows quiet as she watches him reach for her. She's... hesitant, she wants to say her piece. ]
I hurt you. I could have killed you. And I know I fortunately didn't. [ She feels that's what he'd try to assure her with: you could have, but you didn't. ] Things like that shouldn't be just... swept beneath the rug so easily because we're afforded with luxuries that death isn't permanent here, that we're made to hurt the people we care about. You know?
A lot of things here aren't 'right', necessarily...
[He trails off, though he seems to mean it as a way to let her off the hook — an abortive gesture, and he sighs after her words. Seeing her even a little upset on his behalf... it bothers him, terribly.
His hand fidgets with the cross and amulet on the chain around his neck, for a moment.]
Can it not be swept under the rug if I am the one sweeping it?
[It's a half-hearted joke, but...]
... I imagine anything I could say won't make you feel much better about it.
[ Luna's more upset at herself than because of him, really. She's the one who's hurt him, after all. It's not his fault. ]
I'm afraid it doesn't work like that.
[ There's a smile at her lips, but there's little humour in it. Nice try though, Diarmuid. ]
No. Not really. [ It's maybe something she can learn to feel better about in time, but she certainly isn't looking for some kind of absolution from him. ] But I do know I need to make it up to you, somehow. I feel that forgiveness shouldn't be given so easily, you know?
[His hand twitches, nearly reaches up to the pink scar that had formed under his bangs. He doesn't, though. He reaches out instead for her hand and gives it a small squeeze.]
Then so it must be. I shall — let you tell me when forgiveness is earned.
When things are put evenly once again.
[... He looks at the brownies, looking a bit hungry.]
[ She's... wondering just how bad she'd hurt him. She does remember the blood on his face, and a pang of guilt hits her. But there's a small smile when he reaches to squeeze her hand, she nods quietly and squeezes his back in reply. ]
I'd appreciate that. I... have a feeling you might be a little too lenient.
[ Diarmuid is too good for this world in general. But she suspects he'd probably been far too easy on her with them being good friends. It's because they're good friends that she feels that forgiveness should be earned. ]
Oh, please. [ She gestures with a nod. ] Don't wait on my behalf.
[ There's a short pause. ]
... were you alright? After you woke up? Did someone find you?
[ She tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Her head dips slightly, brow furrowing. It's more of a... her being glad he's healing well. That she didn't gravely injure him, that it was something to come back from.
Not that it makes it any better — she still hurt him, didn't she?
With a soft inhale, she looks back up to him — eyes flicking towards his forehead. She does remember approaching him after; she'd touched his head. She'd felt regretful, but more bitter than anything. Anger had quickly set in, and she'd dismissed him. ]
I remember blood, though. [ Durable, of course. But still fragile like paper. ] Can I see?
[He does not want to deny her. He knows if he were her, he would want to see the harm he'd caused, regardless of the circumstance. But he bites his lip and — with equally soft words, he adds:]
But you — don't have to.
[Punish herself, that is.
Redemption does not mean you have to punish yourself.]
[ Maybe, if it's bad, she can offer something for the healing. Or try to. She's not really sure what she can do, even with her potion-making. But it could be something to make up for it, something to think on.
But she notes his pause and she shakes her head; it's not a terrible injury. He's up and walking — she didn't take it too far, like with Clarisse. That's... something, at least. ]
[He nods after a moment, releasing a soft breath of surrender. As much as he hates the look she'll give him — the look she's practically giving him now — he knows there's little reason to deny her such a request. More than that... it would be something he, too, would wish for. If he had harmed someone else, he would have liked to know. See what sin he'd committed against them.
So he nods and gently pushes back the curling locks to reveal the pink, settled scar there.
His smile is small, apologetic. He knows he has nothing to be sorry for, but he is all the same.]
[ She's still other than the sharp but soft inhale of breath when he moves his hair away. Shame is the first thing she feels, lips forming a thin straight line; of course she's ashamed. And upset, at herself and for him. It's... quite a sizable scar, after all. But she... realises how she's looking at him, and it's not fair Diarmuid.
Slowly, and very carefully, she reaches up towards his head. Her lips purse breifly, a hard swallow, as she gently rests her palm against it — an act of tenderness in contrast to the violence she'd initially dealt him. She's sorry, she really is. ]
... I suppose it would make quite the fearsome story, of going up against a witch. [ There's a weak smile at that, voice cracking a little. Yes, she's trying to find... some kind of positive in all of this. Trying. ]
[Diarmuid does not pull away or shrink at her touch. Of course not. Why would he, when he knows that she would take it all back in an instant if she could? Instead he gently presses a hand over hers and offers a little smile in return.]
Would it not be a better story, for you to say you'd thought I was a pond to skip rocks across?
[... He winces.]
I'm sorry, Luna, that was a dark joke.
I swear, the town is doing terrible things to my sense of humor.
I think mine sounds more courageous on your part. [ Luna can... she the humour in that, but— she winces too, a little. It is a dark joke, but sometimes dark jokes are all that can be said, sometimes.
She... oddly appreciates it, in a way. That jokes can be made about it, despite how awful it was — how awful she'd been. There's a shaky inhale and she manages a sound of amusement, before moving to hug him gently. ]
[He smiles sympathetically, and moves to return the hug without hesitation; this is his friend, and he shall always be there for her, no matter what has happened. He only hopes she knows that, truly.]
[ It's a strange thing to hear, but not a terrible one. The love of friendship is something she's felt, but not heard aloud — certainly not at home. Her friends have never told her that they loved her. And not here either, not in words. Until now. She loves her friends, something freely but silently expressed; hearing it reciprocated is... A Lot.
Luna inhales shakily, tears prickling in her eyes until they fill too full and splash quietly down her cheeks. She's smiling though, and she hugs the boy a little tighter. It's perhaps one of the most wonderful things she's ever heard, and Diarmuid is so very dear to her. ]
I love you, too. [ She is... glad to be herself again. Not causing more hurt. ] Very much so.
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[ They're his brownies, he can do with them what he likes really.
She watches him hesitate, and she has a sinking feeling he's... trying to play down what happened. Luna wrings her hands in reply, brow furrowing. ]
It bothers me if we don't talk about it. [ Because there is... very much a lot they need to talk about, in her eyes. ] I know it was the town, but that shouldn't be a reason that I'm excused from my actions.
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[The boy gives her a nervous look like he's absolutely trying to play down what had happened. With a little sigh, he reaches out carefully, though he hesitates a bit, worried that she'll rip herself away from his immediate area — he doesn't want to make her feel uncomfortable.]
It happens all the time, Luna. I've gotten very good at letting it go and moving on.
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[ It's not alright that things like this happen all the time, that they're simply forgotten about. Luna wrings her hands for a moment, her lips pursing. Her voice grows quiet as she watches him reach for her. She's... hesitant, she wants to say her piece. ]
I hurt you. I could have killed you. And I know I fortunately didn't. [ She feels that's what he'd try to assure her with: you could have, but you didn't. ] Things like that shouldn't be just... swept beneath the rug so easily because we're afforded with luxuries that death isn't permanent here, that we're made to hurt the people we care about. You know?
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[He trails off, though he seems to mean it as a way to let her off the hook — an abortive gesture, and he sighs after her words. Seeing her even a little upset on his behalf... it bothers him, terribly.
His hand fidgets with the cross and amulet on the chain around his neck, for a moment.]
Can it not be swept under the rug if I am the one sweeping it?
[It's a half-hearted joke, but...]
... I imagine anything I could say won't make you feel much better about it.
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I'm afraid it doesn't work like that.
[ There's a smile at her lips, but there's little humour in it. Nice try though, Diarmuid. ]
No. Not really. [ It's maybe something she can learn to feel better about in time, but she certainly isn't looking for some kind of absolution from him. ] But I do know I need to make it up to you, somehow. I feel that forgiveness shouldn't be given so easily, you know?
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Then so it must be. I shall — let you tell me when forgiveness is earned.
When things are put evenly once again.
[... He looks at the brownies, looking a bit hungry.]
And these tip the scale already, of course.
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I'd appreciate that. I... have a feeling you might be a little too lenient.
[ Diarmuid is too good for this world in general. But she suspects he'd probably been far too easy on her with them being good friends. It's because they're good friends that she feels that forgiveness should be earned. ]
Oh, please. [ She gestures with a nod. ] Don't wait on my behalf.
[ There's a short pause. ]
... were you alright? After you woke up? Did someone find you?
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He has never been very good at lying, and the feeling that follows it is a nightmare to endure.]
No, but I was only unconscious for a short time. I was able to make my way back home and all; trust in me when I say I am more durable than I look.
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[ She tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Her head dips slightly, brow furrowing. It's more of a... her being glad he's healing well. That she didn't gravely injure him, that it was something to come back from.
Not that it makes it any better — she still hurt him, didn't she?
With a soft inhale, she looks back up to him — eyes flicking towards his forehead. She does remember approaching him after; she'd touched his head. She'd felt regretful, but more bitter than anything. Anger had quickly set in, and she'd dismissed him. ]
I remember blood, though. [ Durable, of course. But still fragile like paper. ] Can I see?
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... If you wish to see.
[He does not want to deny her. He knows if he were her, he would want to see the harm he'd caused, regardless of the circumstance. But he bites his lip and — with equally soft words, he adds:]
But you — don't have to.
[Punish herself, that is.
Redemption does not mean you have to punish yourself.]
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[ Maybe, if it's bad, she can offer something for the healing. Or try to. She's not really sure what she can do, even with her potion-making. But it could be something to make up for it, something to think on.
But she notes his pause and she shakes her head; it's not a terrible injury. He's up and walking — she didn't take it too far, like with Clarisse. That's... something, at least. ]
It's— I'm alright. Really.
[ She thinks. ]
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So he nods and gently pushes back the curling locks to reveal the pink, settled scar there.
His smile is small, apologetic. He knows he has nothing to be sorry for, but he is all the same.]
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Slowly, and very carefully, she reaches up towards his head. Her lips purse breifly, a hard swallow, as she gently rests her palm against it — an act of tenderness in contrast to the violence she'd initially dealt him. She's sorry, she really is. ]
... I suppose it would make quite the fearsome story, of going up against a witch. [ There's a weak smile at that, voice cracking a little. Yes, she's trying to find... some kind of positive in all of this. Trying. ]
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Would it not be a better story, for you to say you'd thought I was a pond to skip rocks across?
[... He winces.]
I'm sorry, Luna, that was a dark joke.
I swear, the town is doing terrible things to my sense of humor.
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She... oddly appreciates it, in a way. That jokes can be made about it, despite how awful it was — how awful she'd been. There's a shaky inhale and she manages a sound of amusement, before moving to hug him gently. ]
Better to still have one at all, than not.
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I love you, Luna.
I'm happy to have you back, as you should be.
this could be a good place to wrap?
Luna inhales shakily, tears prickling in her eyes until they fill too full and splash quietly down her cheeks. She's smiling though, and she hugs the boy a little tighter. It's perhaps one of the most wonderful things she's ever heard, and Diarmuid is so very dear to her. ]
I love you, too. [ She is... glad to be herself again. Not causing more hurt. ] Very much so.