She kind of hadn't thought through the result of the tower falling over.
When he explains more about the King, about the difference between it and humanity, there's a part of Willa that wants to ask from genuine curiosity why he thinks John is John but the King can't be anything else. Arthur throws a pair of socks at her and she grins, batting them onto the table and out of her face.
"Everyone has these... big things they're asking for. Things to change their whole worlds."
The unfinished thought is mine seems stupidly small in comparison.
He can hear the silent corollary, how she obviously doesn’t consider herself part of everyone, and he hums gently.
"People come here when they need something fixed. That they have no means of doing otherwise - or that being here makes significantly easier," he says evenly. "The larger the stakes, the more likely someone is to come, because what other options are there? It's... I believe the term is selection bias."
He finds some of the socks and starts picking up them up to put aside. "But there's no wrong size for a deal. As long as it's something that makes your situation better for having gotten it, and something you're willing to put in the work for."
Willa mirrors him silently for a moment, gathering the socks in proper order this time.
"What if being here is already giving you most of what you want?" As soon as she says it, she wishes she hadn't, and as soon as she wishes she hadn't, she's glad that she did.
"You wouldn't be the first," he replies, easy and warm. "John and I can't separate back home, you know? I might not be able to see, still, an-and John does mean the world to me, but. It's... I missed having the ability to be alone in my own head. I'm glad I get the opportunity, here."
It does make her feel a little better, hearing that. That she's not the only one who likes being on board, who wants their deal a little less urgently.
"My dad came to protect me," she says, quietly. "His deal I mean, it's to keep me safe. Which I kind of screwed up coming here, but--"
She drags in a deep breath and sighs, retrieving another bag full of clothes from one of the smaller thrift-like stores. "I came for him. I mean yeah my deal is for him, but-- when the messages from the Barge popped up on my phone a few weeks ago, I got to talk to him and Tim Gutterson who's his work friend and someone else he knew when he was a kid, and..."
She shrugs even though he can't see it, drawing a shirt out to fold. "I forgot it happened, until the Admiral asked me if I'd come. I came because I knew he was here."
It's a little easier admitting it the second time around.
"Make no mistake, Willa, you are still safer here than anywhere back home," he reassures fondly. "There might be poisonous egos and terrible violence, sure - but we also come back from the dead, which is something a lot of people here take for granted."
He slides the folded pants aside for Willa to put on their trolley, and pulls up a shirt. "Though your father is going to lose his fucking mind if it ever happens, you know," he adds, but there's a dry edge to it, like he's teasing a secret. "You ought to let your inmate know you've been grounded."
She still hasn't wrapped her head around that part entirely, the coming back from the dead, but she also hasn't had to deal with it happening yet. At least not that she knows of, to anybody she's met.
Willa grimaces at the prospect of her dad's reaction, but ends it with an eye roll and a snort at the statement that she'll have to tell her inmate she's grounded.
For a second she doesn't say anything else, putting the pants and a couple of other things that are ready to go on the trolley. "I think..."
She stops. "Okay, first, promise you're not going to... be weird or treat me differently like I'm going to break or something if I tell you why he might also be freaking out a little."
That gets a curious frown, but the twist of his mouth is more amused than annoyed.
"Well, that's certainly not the way to make it sound reassuring," he comments, eyebrows flicking with the wry amusement. "But- yeah, very well. I promise I wil try and be normal about it for you."
"Well. I had a heart murmur when I was a baby, and it was okay until I was six-ish and started getting worse so when I was seven I had surgery to get the valve replaced. I was in the hospital for a while. I kind of made a joke about it when I got here because I forgot he didn't know."
She shakes out a fresh pair of pants to fold. "Anyway I have to take blood thinners because of something to do with the fake valve, and at some point I have to have another surgery to replace the one I've got because it won't be big enough forever. So... My dad back home is at least like, used to that? Here not so much."
Okay well there's a lot to focus on there, but the most baffling one for Arthur personally is extremely simple.
"I-- s-so, er, just so you're aware- surgery for the heart like that really isn't- well, it doesn't exist, in my time, not in a-a successful capacity."
"Oh." Oops. She hadn't thought about that. It's so much a fact of her life that it never even occurred to her to wonder when it started being possible.
That startles a huff of laughter out of Arthur, despite himself.
"Alright then. So, because you've had this no doubt insanely complex and life-saving surgery, your father thinks you ought to be kept in an ivory tower for the rest of your days. Meanwhile you've already turned the curtains into an escape rope."
She feels like she should say something in her dad's defense, but instead she's biting her lip to keep from outright grinning.
It still shows in her voice. "Basically. My mom handles it by making sure I never eat anything that tastes good."
...Which given what he just said about heart surgery -- "Uh, after heart surgery you're not supposed to eat certain kinds of foods because they can..."
Look she's fifteen she doesn't care yet. "They're not healthy for you. Even less than for other people."
She clears her throat delicately and goes on like an announcer calling out the starting line-up of a baseball team. "No foods with added sugars, no red or processed meat or poultry with skin, no processed foods contain high amounts of fat, no full fat dairy products, nothing with a lot of salt, no sugary drinks or sodas, nothing with a lot of caffeine. I'm fifteen and my caffeine tolerance is for shit."
Which is clearly the fault of not being able to have caffeine and not the fact that she's fifteen and shouldn't have a caffeine tolerance yet.
She shrugs, a habit of expression more than a gesture meant for Arthur. "I listen to about half of those three-fourths of the time."
Edited (ok i'm done i blame the research rabbit hole) 2023-09-21 14:55 (UTC)
Arthur and Willa's standards for processed foods are, he is rapidly discovering, wildly different. Which he already knew, to an extent, but to actually hear it out loud was something else. He can understand the words, but their context is completely bizarre.
"You know, I'm not sure you're supposed to have coffee at your age," he comments dryly. "But, uh. Yeah, gruel and water, by the sounds of it. Completely appetising."
He picks up the shirt he was working on and shakes it out to start over. "The stuff that's good for you rarely tastes good. And I doubt you ever had to have castor oil."
Which is the obvious answer, so Arthur is grinning a bit cheekily as he says it. "It was a bit of a- a cure-all, when I was a boy, er. Pretty much any sickness was supposed to be helped by it, though- mostly it just gave you the runs."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
She kind of hadn't thought through the result of the tower falling over.
When he explains more about the King, about the difference between it and humanity, there's a part of Willa that wants to ask from genuine curiosity why he thinks John is John but the King can't be anything else. Arthur throws a pair of socks at her and she grins, batting them onto the table and out of her face.
"Everyone has these... big things they're asking for. Things to change their whole worlds."
The unfinished thought is mine seems stupidly small in comparison.
no subject
"People come here when they need something fixed. That they have no means of doing otherwise - or that being here makes significantly easier," he says evenly. "The larger the stakes, the more likely someone is to come, because what other options are there? It's... I believe the term is selection bias."
He finds some of the socks and starts picking up them up to put aside. "But there's no wrong size for a deal. As long as it's something that makes your situation better for having gotten it, and something you're willing to put in the work for."
no subject
"What if being here is already giving you most of what you want?" As soon as she says it, she wishes she hadn't, and as soon as she wishes she hadn't, she's glad that she did.
no subject
no subject
"My dad came to protect me," she says, quietly. "His deal I mean, it's to keep me safe. Which I kind of screwed up coming here, but--"
She drags in a deep breath and sighs, retrieving another bag full of clothes from one of the smaller thrift-like stores. "I came for him. I mean yeah my deal is for him, but-- when the messages from the Barge popped up on my phone a few weeks ago, I got to talk to him and Tim Gutterson who's his work friend and someone else he knew when he was a kid, and..."
She shrugs even though he can't see it, drawing a shirt out to fold. "I forgot it happened, until the Admiral asked me if I'd come. I came because I knew he was here."
It's a little easier admitting it the second time around.
no subject
He slides the folded pants aside for Willa to put on their trolley, and pulls up a shirt. "Though your father is going to lose his fucking mind if it ever happens, you know," he adds, but there's a dry edge to it, like he's teasing a secret. "You ought to let your inmate know you've been grounded."
no subject
Willa grimaces at the prospect of her dad's reaction, but ends it with an eye roll and a snort at the statement that she'll have to tell her inmate she's grounded.
For a second she doesn't say anything else, putting the pants and a couple of other things that are ready to go on the trolley. "I think..."
She stops. "Okay, first, promise you're not going to... be weird or treat me differently like I'm going to break or something if I tell you why he might also be freaking out a little."
no subject
"Well, that's certainly not the way to make it sound reassuring," he comments, eyebrows flicking with the wry amusement. "But- yeah, very well. I promise I wil try and be normal about it for you."
cw chronic illness of a child
She shakes out a fresh pair of pants to fold. "Anyway I have to take blood thinners because of something to do with the fake valve, and at some point I have to have another surgery to replace the one I've got because it won't be big enough forever. So... My dad back home is at least like, used to that? Here not so much."
no subject
Okay well there's a lot to focus on there, but the most baffling one for Arthur personally is extremely simple.
"I-- s-so, er, just so you're aware- surgery for the heart like that really isn't- well, it doesn't exist, in my time, not in a-a successful capacity."
And won't for another twenty years, maybe.
no subject
"Uh, surprise?"
no subject
"Alright then. So, because you've had this no doubt insanely complex and life-saving surgery, your father thinks you ought to be kept in an ivory tower for the rest of your days. Meanwhile you've already turned the curtains into an escape rope."
no subject
It still shows in her voice. "Basically. My mom handles it by making sure I never eat anything that tastes good."
...Which given what he just said about heart surgery -- "Uh, after heart surgery you're not supposed to eat certain kinds of foods because they can..."
Look she's fifteen she doesn't care yet. "They're not healthy for you. Even less than for other people."
She clears her throat delicately and goes on like an announcer calling out the starting line-up of a baseball team. "No foods with added sugars, no red or processed meat or poultry with skin, no processed foods contain high amounts of fat, no full fat dairy products, nothing with a lot of salt, no sugary drinks or sodas, nothing with a lot of caffeine. I'm fifteen and my caffeine tolerance is for shit."
Which is clearly the fault of not being able to have caffeine and not the fact that she's fifteen and shouldn't have a caffeine tolerance yet.
She shrugs, a habit of expression more than a gesture meant for Arthur. "I listen to about half of those three-fourths of the time."
no subject
"You know, I'm not sure you're supposed to have coffee at your age," he comments dryly. "But, uh. Yeah, gruel and water, by the sounds of it. Completely appetising."
He picks up the shirt he was working on and shakes it out to start over. "The stuff that's good for you rarely tastes good. And I doubt you ever had to have castor oil."
no subject
...But also-- "What's castor oil?"
no subject
Which is the obvious answer, so Arthur is grinning a bit cheekily as he says it. "It was a bit of a- a cure-all, when I was a boy, er. Pretty much any sickness was supposed to be helped by it, though- mostly it just gave you the runs."
no subject
"All right, different question. Favorite foods. Go."