shellphones |

Type: Text
Sender ID: tilfrosset (Jill Warrick)
To: Public
Subject: Clive's Departure
Warnings: Possible mentioning spoilers for the end of FF16? Let me know if you want to avoid them.

Good evening, all. This is Jill Warrick.

While I do not enjoy announcing bad news, I am aware he had a fair number of acquaintances who should be notified that Clive Rosfield has left. It seems his last day here was yesterday, perhaps early this morning.

[If this all sounds cold and businesslike, it's on purpose. It's far easier to pretend that she hasn't been crying her eyes out all day through text than any other method of communication.]

With that said, though we did not have plans for a grand event, I must also announce that there will be no wedding. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.

[Inconvenience? Sounding like she's putting others out as if she's not the one who lost her other half. But of course, years of hardening her heart against emotional disruptions sure taught her how to fake it until she makes it. Or at least attempt to, badly. She's experienced loss before, but this? It's different.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Considering what you've told me about your brother, it's understandable.

[She doesn't motion back. Cheers? What's there to toast to? Nothing, in her opinion, at the moment is worth of the expression, so she knocks her drink back too, feeling the burn of the cheap liquor in her throat first, then her chest. Soothing in that distracting from the emotional pain way she's been craving all day, but it's sadly fleeting. Only a few seconds pass before it's gone and the ache in her heart returns.

Jill sighs, not at Darin, but how sorrow seems insistent on residing here.]

When is it?

[Darin motions for the barkeep to bring them two more.]

...Don't go spreading this around. I don't know what the months are called here but it's the tenth day of the sixth month. [So, June 10th]

I'll be 26 this year.

[The look Jill gives Darin is one that's full of self-deprecation, punctuated with a laugh devoid of any humor.]

I don't have anybody to tell.

[The one person she told everything to is gone, after all.]

[Darin doesn't say a word. Not until the next round arrives.]

Would you accept an answer like that from me if our roles were reversed?

Yes.

[No, she wouldn't. But it's far easier to be kind to other people than it is to be kind to herself.

Before he can stay anything to stop her, she knocks back the second shot, grimacing as it goes down.]

You still have Zelda.

[And perhaps she can say she still has Cid and Joshua, but in all honesty, she didn't spend five years traveling the world with them, loving them from afar like she did Clive. What she and Clive have—had—differs.]

[Darin takes his shot thoughtfully.]

I won't forever.

[He states it matter-of-factly. Flatly, while looking maintaining eye contact with her.]

Zelda and I are from different worlds and she has every intention of returning to hers. She's told me as much plainly. And judging by the whims of this place, it could just happen.

Hell, I had to endure a month without her, wondering if she'd ever wake up again. And the entire time I sat with her, I kept wracking my brain, wondering if I'd done something wrong.

[Darin takes his drink and orders two more.]

But I didn't. And you know I didn't. But that doesn't change the fact that you hate the world you're in because they aren't here. And it somehow feels like this is a punishment you've had coming.

[He's right and all, but Jill still shakes her head at his words. It's different to her. When you already have the foundation of having different worlds to call home, the agreement that one of them wants to go home from the beginning, and that if it happens, then at least both parties knew the other's status. There's no mystery, just the awareness of where people lie in their destinies.

That's what Jill's been denied. Why, she doesn't truly know. She wishes someone would take pity on her and just let her know either way so she doesn't spend long nights alone in her bed wondering if Clive returned from the battlefield in one peace. But there's no one to do that. No one who will.]

Maybe I have.

[The words are heavy in her mouth and she looks away from Darin as she says them, feeling too put on the spot by his gaze. Someone—or rather, something—is to blame for this. Why not let it be her?]

Then enlighten me.

What did you do that was so horrible to warrant the world taking Clive from you? What kind of horrible monster is Jill to have her happiness stolen from her like this?

Show me who you are. I'm a pretty good judge of character, I think.

[Gods, he doesn't even realize it but he probably sounds like Cid right now.]

You know what I've done.

[They've had this discussion already. She doesn't want to pull out the long list of her crimes again and lay them out next to the cold chicken wings. All she knows is that perhaps this is the long overdue karmic retribution she had coming to her. She took husbands from their wives, fathers from their children, and now fate has decided it was time to have the one consistently good thing in her life taken away. One must feel the pain they enacted to right the world.]

How dare I expect to live the way I have been when I didn't afford that to others?

[The next rounds show up and Darin swirls his around in his glass.]

[There's a line of questioning here that he knows might pull her from this. But it's a gamble. But Jill's spiraling. And sometimes, a shock to the system is a good way to...recalibrate.]

[Slowly, Darin takes a sip of his drink.]

Is that what Clive would say?

If he was in my position? Yes.

[She knows Clive went through a period of self-loathing. The man had one single mission on his mind, then his entire life got flipped upside down, and the next thing all he wanted was his own death.

Time has passed in the form of years and through hard work and many conversations between them, Clive grew to accept himself, his faults and strengths both, with Jill at his side. Which brings her to her next point:]

But I was there for him. He's not here for me.

[She's not alone; there are others willing to be there for her now, but she feels lonely. How does she describe that feeling in words?]

... ... ...

[At this point, Darin stands and, for a moment, Jill might think that maybe he's had enough and intends to leave. But instead, he takes his chair and drags it very loudly, very pointedly, until he's right next to her.]

[Darin might not know Jill especially well, but they have a remarkable amount in common. As he does with a lot of the Dominants. And gods above has Darin been in similar situations before — feeling like he was all alone in the world. Like his sadness, his pain, were inconsequential in the grand scheme. People with power, they're expected to just endure. Their bodies might bear incredible power, but their hearts are human. They feel pain. And no amount of callouses and scars can ever truly dull that.]

[He takes a heavy seat, then reaches out an arm and drapes it across her shoulders. Darin's never been one for personal space or boundaries and he won't be offended if Jill pushes him away. But Darin remembers a time when all he wanted in the world was to feel the warmth of a kindred spirit. A hand on his shoulder. A hug. A shoulder to lean on. His adopted father gave him that and it was a moment of true realization: that Darin didn't have to be a monster sometimes. That, sometimes, he was allowed to want to be cared about. He was allowed to not want to be alone.]

...I know.

[His words are low and soft. Full of empathy.]

I know he's not here for you. And I know I'm a pretty poor stand-in but...

I won't let you be alone. Even if that's what you say you want, I'll be around. Somewhere.

Because I'm your friend.

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