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Backdated to may 10th. Enough time for some healing of wounds, but closer to the events of Das Gift.

She’d heard the scream, even if it had seemed somewhat pointless at the time. Everyone in the whole damned building probably had. Whether it was better or worse to have a bleeding-heart General on the battlefield ( oh wait, counting Bischofite’s more literal embodiment there had been two ) was beside her views and aims. Able to walk about again, just mummified with clean bandages and salves under her uncharacteristically worn-soft and old clothes, it seemed necessary to seek out the young artist and check on his well being.

She liked Alex. The Negaverse was not an organization that nurtured, didn’t understand the need of it for soldiers near breaking. Stroud did, inclusive in the value of a soldier that was a general as a working piece of the machine, that losing a friend or lover for a young man just so could be crippling and scarring emotionally and spiritually, and that the prospective nurturing and healing of the soldier would need to be started through the civilian. He was Alexander Evans first, before ever he was Benitoite. Whatever his end is, the beginning and the roots matter to keep the whole alive in a blight.

Looking him up took nothing at all, even if she’d never been to his personal residence before. She rang the bell, and knocked on the door, expecting she might need to just break in if he was too lost to grief to manage to make it to the portal or admit to himself he needed company. Or maybe he already had some. It would all reveal itself soon enough.

He was right about her disregard for whether he felt up to company or not, and she entered once the portal was opened with no hesitance in regard for his state of looks or dress.

As much as it was a pain in the a** to have to travel with baggage, she lifted a tooled leather and wood picnic-looking bag of odd shape. "Easy to transport, easy to 'eat', holds well, and freezes well- the four rules of grieving gifts of the practical variety. You're having some. To take just the edge off. "

She quirked her head, giving the youth a once over that lacked any of the usual predatory airs the patron afforded most of the world. "You look as bad as you feel. You needn't both about clothes on my account, unless its more comfortable. It's your place if you want to skiv around. If you have company, there's enough for eight."

Though offhand Alex didn't seem the sort to drown sorrows of one lover with the tarse of another. If he even kept more than one. "Do you have a parlor, or is there a room you find more comfortable?"

'Let' me, right. Like you've got much else you're able to do, little boy, if you're not in uniform. All the more without clothes. That sort of derision, however, was not currently...efficient. It was counter to her aim, and one strike was not something worth getting flustered over.

The greater 'good'.

" When you say move and 'fill it', you're planning on living somewhere equally large? A whole house for one person? Or are you going to be having flatmates or protege to occupy the swaths? " She set her container down, opening it without flourish to reveal a travel set- two bottles, one of southern comfort, one of a well rated champagne, frozen apricots, glasses, napkins, bottle opener. She pulled out two of the drinkware, putting an apricot in each, measured the drink over them and held out the glass to him.

"Drink, food, and relaxation all in one." She took her own and sat back, waiting for the apricot to flavor and chill the mixture before sipping, "The new ink is interesting. Are you going to show it more than the last, or is also entirely for personal significance ?"

His eyeing the glass as it was offered was amusing. "All things in proper time and moderation, for those who care for that sort of thing. The body, mind, and spirit need safety valves. Just drink the one, use its properties to help you past the initial pain blockers. Actual pain rarely lasts longer than a day....what comes after is always self inflicted. "

She considered the revelations about Alois against the information she had herself. "He had moved in with Quincy, I believe. I imagine that is also done and over with. "

How much Alex knew about the taxidermists pursuits of her stick-in-mud relation, and whatever the watercolourist did or didn't feel for his ex she wasn't sure. Her focus was cued to his throat, his hands and the pupils of his eyes, looking for clues. "Its all raw, I expect. "

"The heartbreak was rather plain. You and Bischofite could strike it up again, you'd just need to convince one of the cats they wanted to put up with that Terrier and block his consistent aura. Bazzite might not have his important parts, but as a half youma Alois should retain at least some functioning physical and emotional parts. You just have to navigate the whole pathological liar and out-for-number-one tendencies. You obviously had been doing some of that to still trust him or feel for him at all and have that reaction."

"You weren't General Benitoite there at the end. You were Alexandre Evans."

" Couldn't and won't are very different. There is precisely nothing except yourself preventing you. Same as 'can never be'. What is preventing it? Has he said as much? Have you tried? "

"A youma has very little emotional capability, but Bischofite is still part 'human'; however one defines humanity is an aside. " Stroud's tone had no judgement in it. It was like she was discussing various aspects of a piece at one of the galleries. "Did you both have some sit down where you said to each other you couldn't be an item? Or is the 'can't be' a function of him being very good at ******** and not very good at actual love and relationships? "

"Not to get your hopes up, but traumatic events like this can change people a little. Its this sort of flux that forces consideration of new habits and new ideas. But if you go on saying 'can't' when you mean 'won't'...then its already doomed from the start. Nothing alters that isn't ever attempted. And if you don't attempt, then there's no point feeling the pain from it. "

"Phantom limb pains of something you've already yourself amputated."

There was that never again, and all its sundry other vagaries. Stroud slow blinked at the boy. You are so passive. ******** you would be like ******** a pillow, I swear...

" 'Not ever'...you're so certain of what you will and won't do but you're still not giving any actual reasons. You're saying conclusions, like you're trying to convince me or yourself, or both that it is just impossible. But conclusions require proofs, which you have given ******** all of. Not one 'why' you won't. Why its impossible. Why its never. Fear is an ugly thing to see cripple someone. Fear of what, you're not letting to light. It won't get better until you do. You won't get stronger. You'll get more of what you already showed at that battle- brittle."

"It doesn't have to be here, to me. But it DOES have to be sometime and soon. And to yourself. "

'People don't always' is a dodge and an excuse, not a reason either, sweetpea. But at least saying you don't want to face it is a start. She got up, crossing to stand in front of the smaller, higher ranked but ever so much younger officer. If allowed, she reached forward to take both of his hands in hers.

His state of towel was ignored, it didn't matter to her.
" Hiding it away under a rug doesn't help you heal, luv. What I'm hearing is classic fatalism- inviting and nurturing your suffering in some masochistic wish fulfillment to feed personal insecurities and prove them. Yes, you're brittle."

"Yes it hurts to face things. But wounds covered over just fester and gangrene. You need to face it, tear open the wound and let it bleed. When you stop looking at the closed doors, ignoring all else, you'll find there's a lot of doors still open and just opening. "

"You'll have a scar on your heart, carried like these tattoos, but you'll have wisdom to go along with it. That's better than brittleness under the rug. You're as strong as you'll let yourself be."

"Tears aren't all weakness, Alex. Sometimes they're from being strong too long. You have friends and allies. Talk it out with them. Let them help to dress your wounds. Social is built from 'society'- we are stronger together. "

She listened to the ramble of events, the self-imposed guilt. She listened to the questions. She gently rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles- the hands were full of nerves, a ripe place to have access to in order to encourage endorphins. "You also accept what they did. You're taking everything on yourself- you are not the lone mover in life. Bazzite, Bischofite- they made their choices and mistakes. You are not the sole blame, or even the half blame for their fates. You need to think long about that, and accept it. You need to let all of that go as the past- things unchangeable. You can learn from them, but it isn't action. You can effect the future- where they and you go from here on out."

The question about the meanings of the tattoo pieces was an interesting aside. "That depends on the culture and time period. Symbolism changes, and as an antiquary it is my job to be informed of that. But what matters with tattoos is what they mean to you. The most modern, occidental definitions? Fidelity? Pain Overcome? Sacrifice? Do you parse their meanings only separately or together- fidelity despite pain? Fidelity through pain? The semantics can imply a great deal. "

"It varies in personal meaning as must as the reason for having undergone it. And I doubt there's a single reason. It may have started as reliving the pain, then became drowning it, then wanting it memorialized lest you forget- and a hundred other variations as you've moved through grief. "