[The funny thing about drinking with someone is that the blurriness -- the softening of edges brought on by too-sweet wine, by the warmth of someone's company -- begins to bleed out, emanate, transfer between them. Tim's presence (yellow, bright, sunshiney) goes sweet, golden, thick and flowing like honey, when he's drunk. Koby doesn't try to resist or withstand the feel of it, swirling around his own thoughts and feelings. Rather, he leans it, gulps instead of sips, tips his chin up, into Tim's hand through his hair.]
You're good at that. Giving people hope. [A soft laugh, looking upwards, over the tops of his glasses, soft teary eyes.] You couldn't be more different in most other ways, but you and Luffy have that in common. You believe so hard that it's impossible to argue. Like arguing with the sun.
[Koby sniffs, plucks his fogged-up, tearspotted glasses off his nose and reaches across Tim to set them on the bedside table.] Maybe I'm one of his people, at home. He doesn't want anyone innocent put in danger by the conflict, just like me. Maybe we'll end up working together, in the end. [Settling back into his spot, swirling the last of his wine:] There's a lot of work to do at home, for both of us. You and me, I mean. I just can't leave without making sure the people I love are going to be safe.
[Grumbling:] I think some people were always evil. Alvida. Quentin's Regent. McCarthy.
[ Though it almost sounds like a testament to his stubbornness, it sounds nice. Heartening, that to some people (good people, who are capable of love and reliable enough to lean on) would see him not like the dirt under their shoe, but like the sun. Ever-present, nearly inconceivable in the size of his warmth, a comfort to stretch out under after the cold. It’s how he wants to be, the sort of presence that he’s honored to offer.
To be the sun, one must believe in life. Why dedicate oneself to sustaining it, otherwise? ]
I don’t think so. They were all kids once. They were all innocent until they chose not to be. They could choose again, if they wanted.
[ Will they? Unlikely, even he’s not so optimistic as to believe that Alvida will wake up tomorrow morning and decide to live a clean, honest life. But she could. Come to God with pure contrition, and He will offer his redemption. ]
[There’s a quiet, thoughtful pause, a soft hiccup, heady with wine, with tears, with the weight of this conversation, these memories.] That’s probably a better view of justice, isn’t it. I mean – Luffy didn’t do anything to hurt her, not – until she tried to hurt me in front of him. That’s how he is, though. He’ll forgive and forgive until you hurt someone innocent. Then he has zero mercy.
[Koby sighs softly, sets his empty glass on the bedside table, then snuggles up under Tim’s arm, basking in the golden glow of his tipsy aura.] I want to be that kind of fair to everyone. I want to give everyone the chance to change, no matter what, but it’s...difficult when it’s someone who’s done so much awful. Especially to someone I care about.
[Is he talking about Alvida or Aemond or the Regent or just the vague, amorphous concept of cruelty? Who knows.]
[ Tim is quiet, thoughtful for a moment, before he presses a kiss to the pink crown of Koby’s head and untangles himself just enough to reach again for the bottle. He tops them both off, and puts it back down on the table with a thud, louder than he means it to be in his tipsy clumsiness. ]
I think... [ He thinks. Drinks. ] God always forgives, if you’re really sorry. But I’m not God. And you’re not God. We’re just men. I don’t have to forgive Aemond.
[ A figure closer to his heart and mind nowadays than McCarthy, and in some ways, less redeemable. His goals were noble, once. He'd done dark things to get there, and started weaponizing and jeopardizing the mission for his own gain, but there was something worthwhile in it, when he began. What is Aemond doing, besides jerking around anyone willing to throw him a rope? ]
And you don’t have to forgive Alvida. Doesn’t mean you’re not a good guy.
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You're good at that. Giving people hope. [A soft laugh, looking upwards, over the tops of his glasses, soft teary eyes.] You couldn't be more different in most other ways, but you and Luffy have that in common. You believe so hard that it's impossible to argue. Like arguing with the sun.
[Koby sniffs, plucks his fogged-up, tearspotted glasses off his nose and reaches across Tim to set them on the bedside table.] Maybe I'm one of his people, at home. He doesn't want anyone innocent put in danger by the conflict, just like me. Maybe we'll end up working together, in the end. [Settling back into his spot, swirling the last of his wine:] There's a lot of work to do at home, for both of us. You and me, I mean. I just can't leave without making sure the people I love are going to be safe.
[Grumbling:] I think some people were always evil. Alvida. Quentin's Regent. McCarthy.
no subject
[ Though it almost sounds like a testament to his stubbornness, it sounds nice. Heartening, that to some people (good people, who are capable of love and reliable enough to lean on) would see him not like the dirt under their shoe, but like the sun. Ever-present, nearly inconceivable in the size of his warmth, a comfort to stretch out under after the cold. It’s how he wants to be, the sort of presence that he’s honored to offer.
To be the sun, one must believe in life. Why dedicate oneself to sustaining it, otherwise? ]
I don’t think so. They were all kids once. They were all innocent until they chose not to be. They could choose again, if they wanted.
[ Will they? Unlikely, even he’s not so optimistic as to believe that Alvida will wake up tomorrow morning and decide to live a clean, honest life. But she could. Come to God with pure contrition, and He will offer his redemption. ]
no subject
[Koby sighs softly, sets his empty glass on the bedside table, then snuggles up under Tim’s arm, basking in the golden glow of his tipsy aura.] I want to be that kind of fair to everyone. I want to give everyone the chance to change, no matter what, but it’s...difficult when it’s someone who’s done so much awful. Especially to someone I care about.
[Is he talking about Alvida or Aemond or the Regent or just the vague, amorphous concept of cruelty? Who knows.]
no subject
I think... [ He thinks. Drinks. ] God always forgives, if you’re really sorry. But I’m not God. And you’re not God. We’re just men. I don’t have to forgive Aemond.
[ A figure closer to his heart and mind nowadays than McCarthy, and in some ways, less redeemable. His goals were noble, once. He'd done dark things to get there, and started weaponizing and jeopardizing the mission for his own gain, but there was something worthwhile in it, when he began. What is Aemond doing, besides jerking around anyone willing to throw him a rope? ]
And you don’t have to forgive Alvida. Doesn’t mean you’re not a good guy.