Chapter Text
Sitting on Izzyyk’s loungeplank with Roslin, everything seems light years away to Deidre. It’s so different from the piles they’ve shared, and she’s hoping to the moons and back that the distance is a good thing.
Roslin sits neatly, looking at Deidre with a forced neutral expression. Roslin’s big, literally shining eyes stare at Deidre sharper than Deidre’s ever seen. The green moon shines clearly through the window, highlighting the purples of Roslin’s appearance.
Deidre tries and fails to not convey her anxiety by running her fingers through the ends of her hair. It’s a bit coarse from a lack of attention and she hadn’t braided it the neatest tonight, so there were a few irritating strands that hung loose.
Once the silence is too much to bare (approximately 10 seconds after Izzyyk had left the room), Deidre decaptchalogues a piece of notebook paper from her sylladex by inputting the constellation code associated with Roslin’s horrorscope. She extends the paper towards Roslin.
“These are my, like, expectations or whatever.” Deidre pushes out an acknowledging click, like it will make things easier.
“Deidre, will you, like…” Her hatchname in place of the familiar nickname stings. “…read mine, like, first?”
Deidre’s curly writing and scribbles mock her. Her olive green gel pen glares from her sylladex. “Let’s just switch at the same time.”
Roslin nods and soon Deidre is palm-to-paper with Roslin’s list. It’s a torn page, the last page of The Troll Hunger Games , if the printed text is to be believed. The ballpoint writing isn’t as bulb-catching as the last line of the book:
“I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.” -Suzann Colins, The Troll Hunger Games .
Deidre’s list:
- No cheating.
- If you cheat or feel like you want to cheat, tell me as soon as you can.
- [A scribbled out bullet point.]
- Talk to me about important things, like getting helmed.
- Don’t avoid me when you feel hurt.
- Help me apologize better.
Roslin’s list:
- you need to tell me things, in a way where i can actually know what you mean…
- you learn sign…
- no cheating…
- tell me when you feel bad, so i can help you feel better…
- we spend more time together in real life…
“Hmph!” Deidre sets the list in her lap carefully and leans back in her seat, eyes shut. “Why does everyone think I’m so hard to understand?”
“What do you mean by that?” Roslin’s tone echoes feelings jams past, freeing the words from Deidre’s lips.
“Xanthe said the same thing a while back, and then even posted on the forums about it.” Deidre turns her head towards Roslin and peels a bulb. “You were the only one who said you could understand me.”
“I, like, do understand you! I just, like…” Roslin states, matter of factly, “…want to make sure. Beclaws I, like, care about you.”
Deidre sighs, sitting upright again. “Your fourth point doesn’t make sense. I’m the conciliator, you know? I take care of you and your emotions. You’re the one who needs a conciliator.”
Roslin tilts her head, confusedly trilling. “But I, like, want to, like, take care of, like, you too.”
If she could, Deidre would choose this moment to turn into an olive. Instead she stays still and pliant as Roslin takes her by the hand and softens her tone. “ Please. Let me, like, take care of you.”
Deidre ducks her head, bashful, and mutters a handful of words neither acquiescing nor rejecting Roslin’s request, but the way she squeezes Roslin’s hand, intertwines their fingers, and shifts closer, speaks enough volumes to fill a library.
Her glance nuggets inevitably make their way back to Roslin’s, which are still trained on her face. Deidre has enough self-respect to not pretend to clear her throat before speaking, but she does swallow her nerves. “I’m not going to say you can’t hang out with TB or whatever, but I’d feel better if you didn’t.”
Roslin tilts her head, with an inquisitive expression. She doesn’t speak for a moment, mulling it over. In an anti-climatic reveal of Roslin’s conclusion, she simply says “Okay.”
Deidre’s shoulders relax and she curls a stray piece of hair behind her hair in relief as Roslin brings Deidre’s list close to her face again. She looks between Deidre and the list a few times. “What did you, like, cross out?”
“It was stupid. And awful.” Hands cover Deidre’s face and shame speaks through her voice. “Are you sure you want to know?”
Roslin nods, even though Deidre can’t see it. Then she speaks. “Yeah.”
“...It said-” Her voice cracks. “Don’t hang out with your ex-moirails or anyone else you’ve been pale with, aside from me.”
“Oh.” Roslin thinks of all of her exes that she doesn’t speak to anymore. Deidre thinks of the ex Roslin is currently dating. “I wouldn’t hang out with, like, most of my exes anyways.”
Deidre’s eyebrows kiss with how hard they’re tensed. Her voice is strained, a quiet whine being held back. “I know.”
Roslin looks down at the paper now resting in her lap. Her arms ache to wrap around Deidre. “I can’t, like, break up with them.”
“I know. ” A whimper breaks through her carefully caged subvocals. Her face is tied tighter than the shoelaces on the empire’s best foot soldiers. From her messy hair to her wrinkled clothes, from her stressed expression to how badly she hides her tonal expressions - She looks pathetic, needy, and, beyond all else, pitiful as hell.