tired of this body

anayadolmen​:

[The belly laugh that explodes out of him is so loud in comparison to the quietness of the chapel ambiance that it makes her flinch, even if her lips are already pulling up in a smile too, knee-jerk reaction before she can even figure out what’s happening.] What? What is it? [She asks, cheeks heating up, although the sentiment is something much warmer than the embarrassment she might be feeling if this were anyone else.

Even if Constantin is laughing at her expense, thinking a fool of her, she’s just happy she made him laugh at all. He looks so different like this, shoulders shaking, laughter lines showing again. He looks more like the Costin she really knows, and less like the gloomy creature that had taken over for the last few days. It’s good to have balance and she loves him either way, of course, but it’s nice to see him happy again.

She waits patiently for the explanation, doesn’t dare cut his laughing fit short. When it finally comes, she gasps, shaking his hand in hers.] Are you fucking kidding me?! [Her voice is high pitched with disbelief.] Oh, my god! In the same– training too?! That’s insane. [It’s impossible not to dissolve into laughter along with him, at the absurdity of this… coincidence, if one could call it that. More just like Quinn’s type being made pretty obvious.] Does he have an astronaut kink? Are we being objectified? Or is he just super horny on every training session and shoots his shot with anyone, you think? 

.

[Oh, this is so stupid, but he’s not laughed like this in ages, and it does feel good. It’s funny for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it’s Quinn. If the gossip is to be believed, he’s something like a boogeyman -- but he’d been ridiculously smooth with Constantin, and apparently not just Constantin.

Maybe they shouldn’t laugh. Quinn had insinuated that it’s lonely being the Chancellor, because everyone has all these preconceived notions about him. And it’s not like Constantin could pretend he hadn’t gotten lonely himself, after years of no real intimate contact. It’s just... well, it’s fucking funny.]

diederick-dmornay​:

I’m not being a dick, [[ — he is — ]] you’re a dick! [[ — he’s not. ]] It was a good fucking line! ‘No virtue in suffering alone.’ Sounds poetic as hell! [[ He’s animated as he says it. ]] See! You don’t even like getting help. Feels fucking shit, doesn’t it? Getting help you don’t want, help you don’t want to need.

Whatever. [[ Ricky throws the butt of his cigarette to the ground, grinds it a tad too aggressively into the dirt. His small tirade has annoyed him to the point he’s decided, quite suddenly, fuck this astronaut. ]]

[For all of five minutes Constantin had been enjoying this conversation. It was a nice distraction from the pain of Koda’s loss. But of course it didn’t last -- this guy insists he’s not being a dick, when he objectively is being a dick, and Constantin really doesn’t have the energy for this argument. He’d just wanted to have a fucking smoke in fucking peace.

He’s not been pissed off like this in a long time; Constantin is pretty slow to get truly angry, even if he can be a little blunt and short tempered on occasion. But Ricky has really rubbed him up the wrong way, managing to land on just about the only thing Constantin gets really defensive about.]

sparksandsmoke​:

[Sometimes Maddie forgets that, unlike her, not everyone is a damn pessimist. And that’s a good thing. If everyone were as stuck in the dark as she was, they probably wouldn’t have made it this far. Constantin especially. She doesn’t know all the details of where he was before or how he got back down, but she knows his D-day ordeal made her own look like a cake-walk; if he can go through all that and stay optimistic, maybe Maddie can at least make an effort.]

[And it’s not a bad point he raises. Infections, in the early days, were one in a million. Now everyone and their mother has crazy superpowers. Who’s to say Maddie isn’t next? Aside from Maddie herself, and everyone with an ounce of sanity, that is. Well, it works for everyone else but Maddie is content being the skeptic. Someone has to be in this day and age.] Sure. Could be. I guess it’s not something people would talk about much, if it were more common. Not exactly a nice topic of conversation.

Honestly, I’m not even sure it can be controlled. I never really…tried. [Aside from shouting at her ghosts, occasionally throwing things that went right through their bodies. She’d never really had the desire to try anything else. It didn’t seem like telekinesis or disappearing; something with tangible results.] How did you do it? Learn to control yours?

♣

[He’s not actually thought about that in a while, how he learned to control his Infection. It’s familiar enough to him now that fine tuning his control is... instinctive more than anything. He can still go too loud sometimes, project to too many people at once, because in space there was no need for subtlety. He learned the uses of his gift while having to project to Anaya trapped quite far from him, so he’d had to be loud.

So he at least knows the ‘muscles’ required, even if it isn’t always easy. Like doing sit ups when your muscles are atrophied: you know what you need to do and how it should feel, even if it’s not easy. But at the start, he’d not known which ‘muscles’ he needed. He hums in thought. This is another one of those conversations that would probably be hard enough without the language barrier.] 

Mm... practice, mostly. [He knows that isn’t a helpful answer, though.] All gifts are different, so vhat help my telepathy maybe is not the same as what can help yours. But for me is like... expanding my mind? If I imagine a... a blanket around my brain, and then imagine it growing out until it can be around someone else’s brain, then I bring them into my thinks-- my thoughts. In early days the thing that help the most is watching Anaya, focus on her to understand her energy, so that I can touch more easily with my mind. Is always easier when you know this person well.

But yours is very different. I don’t know if my experiences can help. Maybe your energy is too big now? The blanket on the brain is maybe weird metaphor, I don’t know, but perhaps your blanket get too big after D-Day, and you let too much in. Maybe there is ways of learning to make small again so that ghosts cannot get under. Or maybe the other way is true. You are trying to ignore and push these ghost away when they want you to see them, so maybe is better to listen.

clove-modius​:

Of course you weren’t. {He can’t quite tell if Constantin is attempting to take the piss or not, but decides against taking an overly offensive route. He doesn’t sense anything particularly malicious about the man, tactlessness aside. Just an inquisitive kind of curiosity without the usual hostility or judgment Clove has become accustomed to. It gives an impression of naive innocence. Like he’s asking questions because he actually wants to understand, not because he’s planning on throwing anything back at Clove.

Then again Clove has been known to be a somewhat poor judge of character in the past. It’s a habit he’s more or less lost since the Wastes but some part of him can never help itself in the face of non-judgmental kindness. It’s mentally tiring constantly having to assume every little comment is an attack.

Ironically, over the recent weeks, no small amount of people have told him he needs to relax more. It’s predominantly well meant advice Clove would very much like to follow even if just for a little while. But when ninety-percent of the time those little comments actually are thinly veiled insults or threats, a vague sense of paranoia becomes second nature.}

My apologies for changing the topic so abruptly. I just can’t help but- {God. He’s starting to sound more and more like his father. Eloquent sentences void of meaning, useful only in covering up the smell of bullshit. He shakes his head a little, taking a moment to regroup his thoughts.} 

I’m tired of discussing this kind of stuff. I know, I know, it’s my own fault for being the way I am and for believing what I believe. But surely you understand what it’s like to some extent? I’ll bet everyone and their mother wants to know what it was like to be up in space even if you don’t necessarily want to talk about it.

{The difference between them there is that Constantin’s stories are ones of wonder and intrigue. He tells tales of things people actually want to hear about because they like him. When Clove gets questioned it’s usually from a place of disdain and mistrust.} I’m sorry. I realise I get very defensive very quickly. I’m working on it.

[Constantin appreciates the thought Clove puts into his answer. It’s clear he’s a defensive person -- very clear -- but it’s a good sign that he’ll take a breath if called out. Constantin is quick to call out bullshit, but he’s never been one to hold a grudge. Particularly in this case, he can’t blame Clove for being on edge. He’s seen and heard for himself just how much bullshit and insults the Reformists put up with. 

He still doesn’t necessarily think Clove’s tendency to immediately clam up is a good response, but it’s an understandable one.]

anayadolmen​:

They are too quiet, but both things can be true. [Anaya quips, her line punctuated by another loopy chuckle to make it clear she has no desire to pursue this argument. There’s no denying that funeral was far too depressing, and that’s coming from an English girl. She’s not sure if her view of death has changed from greeting death in space, or simply from living with Constantin for so long. Maybe both of those can be true, too.]

How can you not remember Spice Girls? I’ve sung this to you before. You know? If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends? [she sings the lines from the song in rhythm, blinking at him expectantly, ready to be outraged if he doesn’t remember it. Not that singing was a common occurrence, she doesn’t think her voice is anything special, but he had to endure a lot of humming and singing from her when they worked together. It was a shame she didn’t have music in her ears at all times anymore, she had to make up for it by singing it herself.] They’re the ultimate vintage pop band. We’ve been friends for years, of course I’ve educated you on the Spice Girls, come on. 

[You can stand in for this, he says, as if he’s not off-handedly talking about a wife. Anaya stutters, feels her tongue tie a knot around itself in her mouth, before she laughs her own clumsiness off and pretends she doesn’t feel her stomach doing a weird thing.] Right. Of course. I can. [It’s funny that they’re always tiptoeing around their own paradox. She can’t tell if joking about this kind of thing means they might blur the lines between friend and lover someday, or if they are so far into each other’s friendzones that they can joke about it more easily. She thinks she has an answer on what she wants it to be, and that terrifies her. So she grips onto his hand a little tighter and laughs again, letting the alcohol take the nervous edge off the sound.] I do look good in black. Easy peasy. Any other requests?

.

Oh, that song! [He remembers it now that Ana sings it; it’s catchy, and that lyric seemed so distinctly weird to him.] Pretty fucked up, if you ask me. If I like girl, I am not going to fuck all her friends to prove it. Who write this shit?

[She goes a bit weird when he jokes about her being a stand-in for his wife. Constantin notices. Of course he does; alcohol doesn’t numb the connection they’ve had for years. He doesn’t really think on it, though; he assumes it’s an English thing. They do get weird and awkward about strange things. To Constantin, it seems natural enough to joke about her standing in for his wife; what are they if not life partners? It doesn’t mean he thinks of her like a wife. It just means they know each other far, far too well. After countless poor-taste jokes about having to repopulate the Earth, it all sort of bounces off him.

Obviously he’s thought about it before. You get lonely, when you go through what they’ve been through. You crave touch in ways more intimate than they ever ventured. It just seemed like such a patently bad idea, because once that line is crossed there is no coming back. It simply isn’t in the cards.

He gives her hand a squeeze, hoping to convey that he’s realised it’s a difficult topic for her and he’ll try and avoid making jokes like that again.] 

Hm, I think I have to make list. Maybe-- [He’s about to start planning his own funeral in greater detail -- it is funny, if you’re them -- when an errant rock catches him off balance. It’s so fucking small that nobody else would have a problem with it, but these days a small obstacle is all it takes. Constantin’s ankle turns, and there’s no hope of him regaining his balance. He’s pretty used to falling at this point, though the heart-clenching rush of panic just before he hits the ground never gets easier. And unfortunately, this time he’d been holding Anaya’s hand, dragging them both down.] 

Ah, my dick. [Constantin grumbles, glaring up at the bright blue sky.] Is the gravity, not the alcohol.

anayadolmen​:

[She knows it’s a crude way to put it, but she’s glad it has the desired effect, making him laugh. She just wants to see him cheer up a little bit. Time and Constantin himself can only be the true healers of this heartbreak, but in the meantime, she can double as a shoulder to cry on and a maker of stupid jokes.] That’s a sound I like to hear, [she murmurs in response to his laughter, and gently bumps their shoulders together.] 

[He asks for a name and she hums, giving him a coy lift of her shoulders, her gaze drifting away as she considers if she should really give him an answer or not. It feels silly, in the first place, to assume that anyone is flirting with her. She notices the glances in some conversations, the tones, but it’s rare that she would ever expose these out loud. She wouldn’t be able to handle the utter embarrassment of being wrong, if she read too much into someone just being kind. 

But Costin is her best friend, and maybe he could use the distraction from his own woes, so he is owed a better answer.] Well, I’ll give you one. Quinn. [That one’s pretty obvious, or at least, she assumes. The man went out of his way to stand behind her and help her hold a gun, there’s no other way to interpret that.] He made a move on me on training. Which– is pretty brave, considering how I look there. Frizzy hair and red as a tomato and all that.

[’That’s a sound I like to hear’ she says, and even as the laughter quietens, Constantin finds a soft smile on his face. Anaya’s presence is such a comfort to him, more than she will ever know. Or, maybe she does know, because he is probably the same thing to her. It doesn’t matter how many new people they meet, how many new relationships they embark on, they will always be the most important part of one another’s lives.

Constantin is perfectly aware that it will make relationships difficult, and he doesn’t care. He needs her, and anyone that took issue with their intimacy wasn’t someone he’d want a relationship with anyway.

He laughs again when she tells him that Quinn flirted with her -- a proper belly laugh now, the hardest he’s laughed in weeks. The fact that he made a move on her in training is unbelievable.] 

No! You are lying? He fucking... [He has to pause, try and formulate his words. He can’t focus when he’s laughing like this -- fuck it feels good to laugh, like the endorphins are a soothing balm working in real time.] He ask me on a date, during training, vhen I am barely able to stand. Oh, he have very certain type.

{pre-ruina rex} Monday, April 3rd, 4:34pm

felix-tee​:

[Costin replies like he’s all in with his opinion. He barely knows anything about the situation, doesn’t know who Felix is talking about or much of the details, but his reaction is passionate and sure. And Felix doesn’t know if Costin is just saying all this because he’s Fee’s friend and he knows Fee needs to hear it… or if he actually feels that way. 

But either way, it is what Fee needs to hear. The certainty with which Costin iterates and reiterates that it’s Alois’ loss, that he’s the ‘stupid dick’ and the ‘idiot’… it makes Felix want to burst into tears again. Not because it makes him feel worse, but because it feels like permission to hurt. It feels like permission from someone older and wiser than him to be angry. To let himself feel this pain.

It’s hard for Felix, because he spends so much of his time, weak and vulnerable as he may be, fighting being fragile. He’d grown up in a world where appearances were everything, and impressions were invaluable, and he just couldn’t afford to appear weak or breakable or hard done by. Whether he felt that way or not. He had to be accomplished, he had to be confident—he couldn’t let anyone see him flinch. Because what would people think? It was a shitty, mean, judgemental world, and you had to fake it hard until you made it look easy. 

His hands find his face as the tears swell at his lashes and he tries in vain to rub them away. His fingertips come away damp. Taking a shaky inhale, he tips his head onto Costin’s shoulder again. When he swallows, it feels like a new rock has formed there, at the core of his throat.] 

It’s just… I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t fucking care if he were like, hooking up with other people if he—if he didn’t make this whole bloody thing about wanting to make it special and… like, I feel like I’ve been tricked. If I’d known he was just another playboy I could have… treated it like that from the beginning. But he… he acted so… so interested and sweet and I thought… I just… 

[He falters. He doesn’t know how to explain this. This is decidedly the most vulnerable he’s been since coming here. With the exception, of course with the conversation with Alois where all this went down. But even then, he’d had a wall up. He’d put on a brave and pretty face, more or less.] There aren’t a lot of people here who get me, you know? And he… I thought he did. We have a lot in common. And he told me he wanted… to take me a “proper date” and not rush into anything because he wanted to… do it right, or whatever. 

But then out of nowhere he just… just suddenly said we should take a step back. And that there was someone else. And I know… I just know he’s not saying the same thing to whoever they are. He was just… he was just bullshitting me the whole time and it’s so fucked up because I’m Felix Fucking Turner! I’m better than that and he… [Felix doesn’t quite have the confidence in his own name, at the moment, to get behind the pride and dignity of that argument, as much as he’d like to. As much as he normally would. He feels broken. Like he’s been lied to, and now he’s stuck lying to himself, as well. If he hadn’t been already.] 

He’s an asshole, [Felix lets out finally, in a weary, tired gulp. It sounds almost like a plea. Something between that and a shuddering breath.]  

[Constantin listens. Listens, and nods, and lets Fee rant. He knows by now just how appearance-oriented the young man is, and how difficult it probably is for him to let loose like this. Well, or maybe it’s cathartic to get it out.

There’s two sides to every story and Constantin is sure this guy they’re talking about would have his own perception of events, but there’s a time and a place for that. Heartbreak isn’t a reasonable thing, so there’s no point approaching it with reason. He rubs Fee’s back in gentle circles -- everything he does these days is gentle, and clumsy. There’s a small smile at ‘I’m Felix fucking Turner!’ because it says a lot about him. It’s not an unkind expression at all. It’s just... sweet, and a little naïve, that Felix thinks his fame means he’s immune to being second choice.]

He is an asshole. [Constantin agrees, sighing and casting his gaze towards the pale, cloudy horizon.] Is sad thing, but there is no reason in people’s hearts. Even if you are the logic choice, his feelings don’t follow logic. It is sound like he still deal with it so badly, but you cannot make someone love you. I am sorry.

diederick-dmornay​:

Do you ask for help? I’ve seen you in training. I know you don’t. [[ Ricky shakes his head, knows that if he wasn’t pathetic before he is now, picking on a man who’s clearly seen better days. ]] Easy to say you want help.

[[ ‘There is no virtue in to suffer alone.’ ]] You said that wrong. [[ He lacks tact, he understood what the man said, it doesn’t matter. ]] ‘There is no virtue in suffering alone’, that sounds better.

[Constantin isn’t usually oversensitive, but the one thing that’s liable to piss him off is off-colour comments about his speech. As if he isn’t fucking self conscious enough about it. He could shrug off the comments about how he doesn’t ask for hep in training -- because it’s true -- but he’s not going to stand here and get criticised for fucking up when he’s speaking in his third language. He’s not against being corrected, and in fact he wishes people would do it more so that he could learn, but Ricky’s tone just rubs him up the wrong way.] 

Oh, fuck you. You have to be a dick? If I want your advice on speaking this pigshit of a language then I ask you for it. I really don’t give fucks if it sound ‘good’.

sparksandsmoke​:

[Maddie can’t help snorting a little at his admission. Not because it’s wrong or embarrassing, but because it’s so profoundly right.] Nah, I think that makes you exactly the right person. See, me, I was raised a good Catholic girl. Went to church every Sunday, until I was too big for my mum to force me. So I get the whole ‘faith’ thing. Don’t know how much of it I follow these days, but I get where you’re coming from. You can’t always see something to believe in it, and vice versa.

The thing for me, though, is this. Say that you’re right, and what I see is real. That…the idea of that…scares the hell out of me. Even if I don’t put much stock into it anymore, the idea of a nice cozy heaven waiting for us is comforting. But the alternative– that all my friends, my family, people I don’t even know– are just stuck here in some kind of purgatory… well, that’s not much of a comfort at all. So believe me, I’m happy to be wrong. Granted, it’s no fun, but it’s better than the alternative.

[She sighs, slumping back in her chair.] Besides, what makes me so different from any of the other Deluded? As far as I’m aware, seeing dead people isn’t any other kind of documented Infection. You know, your lot, you have a dozen people all able to do the same thing. It’s repeatable. But for me– for all us nutjobs– all we have is ourselves, you know? I see dead people, some other poor lass thinks she’s a machine, a man wakes up convinced he’s the next bloody Messiah. If my Delusion is real, why aren’t theirs?

♣

[He nods, slowly, as Madison explains further. He’d probably not want to believe it either, if he saw his friends and family around him, dead and suffering. Constantin believes in seeing his loved ones in the afterlife, not necessarily in some fluffy white Heaven but in some way -- but he certainly wouldn’t want to experience it the way Madison does.] 

Hm... you cannot really know if you are only one though. For years I don’t know if anyone else can do vhat I do -- well, I don’t even know if anyone is alive. Maybe other people have your Infection, is just more rare. Is not easy to talk across globe now so these things can go not noticed. [He shrugs.] 

anayadolmen​:

[It’s funny, to be comforted by the vague idea of her own funeral. It’s a distant idea now, more distant than it had been when they were up there, making gruesome promises to shove the body of whoever died first out into space so the other could see firsthand what happened. Back then, it had been comforting because it was making light of a horrible situation, facing their own mortality head on and embracing it. Now, knowing that she actually gets to have a ceremony if she goes – it’s surprisingly nice to think about. She’ll give Earth that point. 

She nods along with him, booze making the world spin and her feet stumble at the harsh movement of her head, and Anaya giggles again as she holds onto his arm.] Much more alcohol. You can get pissed, [she promises.

The sheer loudness of his voice makes her flinch, but more giggles are quickly dripping from her tongue and being muffled by the back of a hand, in an attempt to keep quiet. If anyone asks, she’ll tell them the song is a heartfelt homage to the man being put in the ground, something sober and sad.] Shush, you’re too loud! And I can’t understand a single word you’re saying. [Her grin is wide, despite the embarrassing admission of her drunken brain failing to compute any of what she assumes is Romanian (her second language, by now).] But I accept it. What do you want at your funeral, then? I can give you a beautiful rendition of some old Spice Girls song, maybe.

.

[When Anaya stumbles, it’s only by mercy of her lightness that Constantin holds them both upright. By most standards he is still frail, but compared to Ana he’s a lot stronger. She’d starved far worse than he had, and it seems like it’s taking her longer to regain that weight even now. He can feel each bone of her arm as he holds her upright; he sways but doesn’t stumble.

She promises he can get pissed at her funeral, and that’ll be an easy enough task. It really doesn’t take much, these days. As a student he’d have killed to be this much of a lightweight; it’d make nights out so much cheaper.] 

I am not loud. They too quiet. [He disagrees, refusing to be cowed. Funerals should have singing, and if not old drinking songs, then there should be... Spice Girls. Whatever that is.] 

I don’t know vhat a Spice Girls is, but you sing? Then is good for my funeral. And you must cook koliva to put by my head. Oh, and everyone is get candle. I am serious. If there is no fire hazard, I do not want.

[Constantin’s got a lot of thoughts on funerals. He wants people to have fun at his, but he also wants it to fit with his faith.] Oh, and my wife must mourn for a year, wear only black. Since I have no wife, you can stand in for this, no? Black is good colour for you, it can be easy.

diederick-dmornay​:

I know plenty of bad people that never faced consequences before. [[ The last drag of his cigarette is desperate. He feels sick at the thought: the taste of blood in his mouth. Thick like it’s coating everything. When he took the hammer to his cheekbone he’d sobbed. Ricky couldn’t get the metallic taste out of the back of his throat. ]] They’d started getting picked off. In-fighting. Other groups. Sickness.

I ran away. Pretty pathetic end to it all.  [[ He flicks the cigarette onto the ground, crosses his arms. Pouts. There’s the impulse to add more details, over explain. That’s how liars always get caught out, isn’t it? ]] I ran the fuck away, found a Colony and they felt fuckin’ sorry enough to let me in.

[Ricky describes his behaviour as pathetic; Constantin’s pretty sure that’s just his age talking. Ricky can’t be much more than mid twenties; it’s a prideful time, when you think the best thing you can be is independent. When you’re isolated for long enough you realise the beauty of being able to lean on people sometimes.] 

Why ‘pathetic’? Is not bad to ask for help sometimes. If I could have call for help from space I vould do -- there is no virtue in to suffer alone.

quinn-dervilia​:

[[ There’s a pause, Quinn about to turn anyway when the man finally finds his words. He was right! And what a rare treat he gets to be Constantin’s first date with a man and to be proven right all at once. Perhaps it should add a level of pressure to it, but why would it matter? It’s a date, in an office, after the world was destroyed by asteroids. If he finds some decent wine or whiskey it’s already better than anyone could expect. ]]

You’ve probably got more dating experience in general than me. [[ Quinn accentuates his point with a look flicking up and down Constantin. Yeah, he knows as an astronaut he’d have definitely been more physically fit before—but he likes this look. He smiles, a mute but genuine one as he grows a little more serious. ]] It’s different with every person you date, not gender. At least in my experience. 

[[ He tips his head to the side, considers teasing more, flirting more, but he’s gotten more out of this than he expected. He should probably cut him some slack. ]] I’ll see you round, then. Keep an eye out. [[ Quinn wiggles his wrist with the PDD attached, then turns back to his shooting, smiling to himself. ]]

clove-modius​:

What people think of my actions is unimportant. {A sharpness arises in Clove’s tone. A warning. ‘Back off’. It’s refreshing to have such casual conversation instead of tense disagreement for once, but there’s still a line between them that is not to be crossed, and Constantin is teetering a little too close to the edge for Clove’s taste. Naturally he doesn’t think what the NWRF are doing is bad, otherwise he wouldn’t have a part in any of it. That the mandates are unpopular also goes without saying but it’s just as he explained; other people’s opinions don’t matter.

In an attempt not to ruin the comfortable chat they’ve been enjoying, he offers Constantin a tired smile. It’s always been one of Clove’s greatest flaws; his sensitivity. Even before D-Day it hadn’t taken very much to make him angry or to displease him. It’s something he knows he’d inherited from his mother, her temperament and consequently her temper as fickle as flame and as easily disturbed as sand. It’s something Clove had been working hard on before everything; meditation, yoga, goals for a more mindful and grounded way of life.

The Infections and the fear he has of them had ruined most of the progress he’d made, but he’s still very much aware of it when something or someone riles him up. It’s not a flattering quality to have.}

Did you pray often in space? I can’t even begin to imagine how incredible it must have been up there, but I know for certain that I would have prayed at least twice a day. It’s a lovely concept, floating amongst the stars, but the thought of being trapped in a chunk of metal with nothing tethering you to the ground? I don’t think I would have made a very good astronaut. Three hours in I would have been begging to return to earth.

[Clove’s tone turns sharp, and cutting, and Constantin’s eyebrows raise. It’s clear Clove doesn’t want to get into the ethics of his actions or how people perceive them. He’s torn on whether or not to call him out for that. On the one hand, Constantin has always had a healthy respect for authority, and in spite of his age Clove is technically Constantin’s superior. But on the other hand, he doesn’t take bullshit lightly.] 

It takes a certain type of person, definitely. [It’s why the training is so rigorous. Not everyone is cut out for space.] I did pray a lot, even before the asteroids came. You feel very close to God up there. Not that I believe he’s some entity beyond the sky, but you do get a very different perspective on all of creation when you see our little planet from so far away.

sparksandsmoke​:

[Although she didn’t really expect it to go wrong, Maddie still can’t help but feel relieved when Constantin doesn’t recoil or react in any way other than thoughtful contemplation. She’s seen how other Infected are treated, and in her opinion Deluded tend to get the brunt of it; either treated as insane and dangerous or infantilised or both. The only thing worse is the way they’re treated by the doctors, as some anomaly to be poked and prodded. Constantin, if he does think any of that, doesn’t show it. That’s what she’s liked about him, from the first moment they met. He’s got a hell of a poker face.]

Oh yeah. Won’t bloody leave me alone. [It’s not always bad, but they are always there. Sometimes so thick she can’t see the real, living people through the crowd; other days, like today, it’s just one lone figure. Maybe Kaiser’s scared all the others off. Wouldn’t that be a laugh– a bully even in the fake afterlife.] But you’ve got to remember, they’re not real. It just feels like it. All this, and I didn’t even get the fun part of being Infected. [She leans in close.] Here’s a fun thought experiment. How do you tell whether or not something is real? How do you know that you’re not delusional right now, tricking yourself into thinking you’ve got all these powers? Better yet, how do you know that I’m even here? Not easy to tell the difference, not when your brain’s hell-bent on tricking you.

♣

[She’s very determined that the ghosts aren’t real; he can’t help but wonder if that’s her honest belief, or if it’s just a defensive response to everyone else telling her she’s Deluded. Neither of them seem like terribly happy options, and they both seem ultimately quite helpless. His mouth quirks up at Maddie’s thought experiment, because:] 

I am Christian, so maybe wrong person to ask about believing in things he cannot see. The point of faith, for me, is believing because I feel in my heart, not because I see proof. I don’t know you are here, but I choose to believe it. And in the end, there is big difference? Even if you are not here, I am still sit to talk and enjoy conversation anyway.

I don’t mean to be devil advocate. If you say your ghosts are not real, they are not real. I do not understand Delusions so good that I can really speak. But we all are experience life in different ways, no? People may see different colours, hear music different, I don’t know... is not for me to tell anyone their reality is wrong.