[Koby listens, quietly, one leg crossed over the other – unlike the last time, where he’d needed to talk and distract and soothe, the only way out of the pain is through. Letting it bleed clean, letting Tim vent until the furious rusty haze of his aura abates, lifts, until he’s worked himself breathless and finished his first glass of wine.
Then, nudging at the furious patchwork of yellow and rust with the calming, comforting warmth of his own aura, Koby stands, interrupts a rambling sentence with his hands on Tim’s shoulders. He looks up, big earnest blue eyes, knowing and grieving and upset on his friend’s behalf.]
He hurt you. I can feel that. I can feel you’re angry, but – you’re hurt too. You’re allowed to be. You opened yourself up and got hurt because of it, and that’s not fair. [Squeezing Tim’s shoulder’s once.] And if anyone says “I told you so”, I’ll give them a piece of my mind. Okay?
[ And vent he does, about anything and everything, in the petty, furious way that freshly hurt people do, turning every small inconvenience or imperfection into a major grievance. Aemond not liking his chest hair was a red flag and he should have stopped the whole thing then, the only reason he’s not monogamous right now is to use this place to figure out who he is and what he wants and who he is is an idiot, apparently – so on, and so forth, past his first glass and deep into his second by the time he stops to take a breath and feels Koby before he feels him, pressing in on him with the love and comfort they’ve long shared.
Tim takes a deep, slow breath, teeth clenched. He doesn’t want to cry, that boy doesn't deserve his tears, but Koby’s right. He is hurt, just like everyone said he would be, after he assured everyone that everything would be just fine. He was hurt, disregarded, taken for granted. It tears at wounds he thought were healing, pops the stitches so his guts can spill all over Koby’s floor once again.
He downs the rest of the glass and sets it down on the table, shaking his head. ]
I’d deserve it.
[ Even if it’s cruel. Maybe he needs that bruise to press on, in case he ever tries something so stupid again. ]
I’m scared I messed up everything.
[ With Alicent. With Aemond maybe, showing too much softness, forcing him to recoil. He could have spent those awful days of grieving with Hawk, or with Koby, who would welcome his presence and take comfort from it. Would have, could have, should have. ]
[Koby makes a quiet, noncommittal sound, setting his own (empty) glass on the table before crossing to the bed, climbing onto it and tucking his legs up under himself, the way they have a thousand times before, gossiping about Hawk or the crew or politics that he doesn’t fully understand. It’s a different room, now, but it feels the same – albeit with a constant, steady, warm pulse of empathy and grief and affection, poured like it’s limitless between the pink of his presence and the buttery yellow of Tim’s.]
Maybe you would. But… [He trails off, eyes dropping, reaching out to toy with the lace trim on one of the many pillows.] But I think believing the best of people is a good thing, not a weakness. It’s not something you should cut out, Tim, like a disease or something. It’s one of the best things about you.
[Still looking downward, mouth twisting in something bittersweet, wry:] If we all start holding each other at arm’s length, this place is going to be even more miserable than it already is. I’d rather let people get close and get hurt by it than keep my heart on ice forever.
[A pause. Then Koby pats the bed, gently, smiling sadly over at Tim.] Come and sit for a little. I won’t tell anyone if you want to cry about it for a while. I might even join you. I’m good at crying.
[ He couldn’t turn it off, even if he tried. Maybe in this one instance, for this one person, Tim can admit that he alone can’t offer him redemption, that no amount of patience and grace is going to save him if he doesn’t want it for himself. You can lead a dragon to water, but you can’t make him drink. He'll see the best in him, locked up with a key he doesn’t have.
These things happen. How weak would he be, to let this taint his relationship with anyone else, to blind him to the good in other people? To let some spoiled prince hold that kind of power over him? Aemond’s already said he doesn’t want it anymore. ]
I know. [ Downing what’s left in his glass, and setting it empty on the bedside table. ] And well put. You’re smart. My favorite nerd in the world.
[ Smiling, even as he sniffles and wipes at his eyes. Small blessings, that he’d left his glasses at Alicent’s when she roughed him up, so they’re not fogging up now. Perhaps he’s starting to feel it now, how quickly he’s taken those drinks to the dome. ]
I don’t want to cry. I want to throw things.
[ He won’t do it in Koby’s room, but. Let the record show. ]
You too. [ reaching for a bottle to fill up Koby’s glass. ] It’s pathetic if I’m drinking alone.
I know. We can do that at the gym later, maybe? I know you want...you know. [A quirk of a smile, looking down at his lap, at his picked-apart cuticles.] To be treated like you can throw things and be angry and strong and powerful. [There's a bit of a sniff and -- maybe Koby wants to cry for himself too, a bit.] But I think you came to me for the drinking, crying, complaining, gossiping kind of comfort. Right?
[So: he sits forward, holding out his glass, looking up with red-rimmed eyes -- he's more sensitive to other's emotions when he's upset, Tim's fury and hurt bleeding over into Koby's own grief and loss.] Fair warning, I'll probably start crying if I drink much more. It's been -- an eventful day.
[Once his wine is topped off, Koby scoots back towards the pillows, flopping back against them with a soft, weary sigh.] I can tell you all about it, if you want the distraction?
[ His lip wobbles as he nods – Koby's right. Tim has all those things in him, and nobody sees it or acknowledges it because he chooses kindness anyway. It’s what drew him to Aemond to begin with, that he saw it and appreciated it, that he didn’t think he had to be just one thing or another – at least at first. As time went on and things got hard, he started underestimating him too, until his regard for him fell so low, and so quickly, that he could be dismissed and taken out with the trash.
Koby’s disregarded in the same way, he thinks. It's good to have that understanding, to feel known in their shared grievances, but it also means he doesn’t seek his affirmation, at least not in this. In the crying, complaining, what Quentin lovingly referred to as fussing hen behavior, yes. Koby is perfect. ]
It has? [ that almost never means anything good. Especially here, no news is good news. Tim looks down into his own glass, embarrassed. He didn’t even ask Koby how his day was, he just started ranting and raving. Selfish. ] What’s going on?
Mmm. [Koby pauses a moment to top off his glass, turning the words around in his head for a moment so he can figure out how to say them calmly, evenly, without immediately crumbling into pieces. He doesn’t know if that exists, but he’s going to try his hardest. Settling onto the bed, stretched out, he looks across the room at the wall instead of at Tim when he speaks.]
Usopp and Luffy are gone. They – were sent home, or wherever it is we go after this. [His voice wavers, a touch more on Luffy’s name, remembering the sudden gutpunch of their presences leaving, snuffed out like candles in the landscape of his mind, there one instant and then: gone. Koby keeps his eyes fixed on the wallpaper, on the subtle line where one sheet touches the next, on the fall of light through the drawn curtains.]
So. The crew’s a little…bit of a mess, as I’m sure you can imagine. [The words tumble out too quick, too trembly, and Koby takes a too-big gulp of wine once they’re out, grimacing at the burn, at the heat it punches into his gut when he swallows.] It’s been – [devastating, heartwrenching, unfair, unjust] – chaotic.
[ Oh. Tim deflates, the anger in his dissipating with that long exhale, and finally stops. He stops the pacing and the ranting, goes quiet and still except to sit down next to Koby and put his arm around his shoulders. ]
I’m so sorry, Koby. [ Quietly, guiltily. On and on about his own self-inflicted wounds, when there’s a higher power in charge of this place, taking people away on a whim with no foreshadowing, nothing anyone could have done to avoid this outcome. The departures have yet to hit him too closely, but there’s an awareness in the back of his mind that it could happen, that he could wake up one day and be without Hawk, without Koby or Quentin or any of the other people that make this place bearable. ] I know what they mean to you.
[ Luffy especially. ]
Are they gonna be okay?
[ Back home, or in their final, God-given resting place. A question he’s not sure will ever be answered to his satisfaction. ]
[Koby doesn't begrudge it -- Tim's fury, his hurt, his rage have been a welcome distraction from the ache of grief that's nestled itself beneath his ribs since he felt Luffy go. He turns into the embrace, instinctively seeking it out, setting his cheek against Tim's shoulder and exhaling slowly, shakily.]
It's not your fault. It's not -- anyone's fault. It just happens, here. [The words sound hollow, even to his ears, for how often he's repeated them to himself, again and again.] There's nothing we can do to stop it. [When it's Tim, or Hawk, or Nami or Shanks or Quentin, next time. When it's Koby.
The question gets a nod, a bit of a watery laugh before the next sip of wine.] They will. They'll be -- happy and annoying and causing trouble all over the sea. They're on a ship together, all of the crew. They'll see each other again. [A pause, a hard swallow, and Koby closes his eyes again.] And -- I won't. I hope I won't. Because if we meet again, we'll be enemies.
[ every day, two ideas wage war within him, that this is some version of purgatory that none could have predicted, and their actions here will determine where they end up when they mysteriously disappear, or that they will eventually go home, and remember all that happened while they were here. Nothing else makes sense, nothing else is bearable. To go home exactly where he’d left off, fleeing from Hawk to join the military, with no idea how evil this war will get or that things can and will be better, it isn’t something that he can accept. Werewolves and vampires and dragons and witches, sure, the meaninglessness of anything but those two options would gut him worse than any monster. Tim has to be sure, has to have that faith.
He knows that Koby feels differently. ]
You always say that. As if you don’t have a choice. But you always have a choice.
[ He used to say the same thing to a certain prince who doesn't deserve the tears shed over him today. Maybe Koby will actually listen. ]
The Marines can't make you hate good people. I know you, and I don't even think you can.
[Koby wishes he didn’t. He wishes he had Tim’s faith, that it’ll turn out okay – he’ll either find some way to bring everyone he loves with him wherever he goes next, or at least he’ll be able to remember them all, have that to comfort him. Wally’s lighthouse metaphor, a tether, a bond that can’t be broken. But he’s a doubter by nature, burned enough times that hope is always tempered with dread, fear. He wakes up every morning and reaches out – physically, mentally, psychically – to make sure the sparks of those he loves are still there, still with him, and he dreads the day he’ll wake up and find another missing. Left behind, again.
Still, it’s easier to believe in a good outcome with Tim’s arm around his shoulders, radiating warmth, even in the midst of his own grief. Koby sniffs, wipes at his eyes, sloshes wine onto his shoulder in the process.]
I don’t think I could ever hate them – not Luffy, at least. Not the others, if I – remember them. [Another sigh, dropping his head onto Tim’s shoulder again.] But I’m just one person. I can’t stop a war that’s been going on for centuries all by myself. Even if I don’t believe it’s right anymore.
It’s easier to be black and white. [A touch wryly.] That all pirates are bad, that all Marines are good. It’s harder, finding people who are in-between.
It’s like... [ Tim sighs, taking another drink from his glass, noticing the edges of the world start to blur and in no mood to fight it. ] It’s like all those history books we’ve been reading, right? No one person can force change, even the leaders. Abraham Lincoln had help. You’ll find yours and I’ll find mine. People know when things are wrong, they just need someone to give them the hope to do something about it.
[ An optimism he didn’t always have, or couldn’t apply to his own troubles. The inherent goodness of other people has always been clear to him, but his own? He tried and tried, but it took years to see the forces holding him down as something that even could be struggled against, rather than a natural consequence of his own wrongness. He accepted his lot in life of loneliness and perversion, until he met Hawk, and then accepted that as something he would always have to hide. This place has shown him otherwise. Not just in the history books where he can track the changes, but seeing so many people step up and offer help to complete strangers from other worlds when everything around them is difficult, confusing, or dangerous. How can it not give him hope?
Tim lays his free hand on Koby's head, stroking his fingers through pink hair, the shell of his ear. ]
Maybe it’s the opposite. We all sin, it doesn’t make us evil. Good people aren’t perfect and bad people weren’t always that way.
[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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Then, nudging at the furious patchwork of yellow and rust with the calming, comforting warmth of his own aura, Koby stands, interrupts a rambling sentence with his hands on Tim’s shoulders. He looks up, big earnest blue eyes, knowing and grieving and upset on his friend’s behalf.]
He hurt you. I can feel that. I can feel you’re angry, but – you’re hurt too. You’re allowed to be. You opened yourself up and got hurt because of it, and that’s not fair. [Squeezing Tim’s shoulder’s once.] And if anyone says “I told you so”, I’ll give them a piece of my mind. Okay?
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Tim takes a deep, slow breath, teeth clenched. He doesn’t want to cry, that boy doesn't deserve his tears, but Koby’s right. He is hurt, just like everyone said he would be, after he assured everyone that everything would be just fine. He was hurt, disregarded, taken for granted. It tears at wounds he thought were healing, pops the stitches so his guts can spill all over Koby’s floor once again.
He downs the rest of the glass and sets it down on the table, shaking his head. ]
I’d deserve it.
[ Even if it’s cruel. Maybe he needs that bruise to press on, in case he ever tries something so stupid again. ]
I’m scared I messed up everything.
[ With Alicent. With Aemond maybe, showing too much softness, forcing him to recoil. He could have spent those awful days of grieving with Hawk, or with Koby, who would welcome his presence and take comfort from it. Would have, could have, should have. ]
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Maybe you would. But… [He trails off, eyes dropping, reaching out to toy with the lace trim on one of the many pillows.] But I think believing the best of people is a good thing, not a weakness. It’s not something you should cut out, Tim, like a disease or something. It’s one of the best things about you.
[Still looking downward, mouth twisting in something bittersweet, wry:] If we all start holding each other at arm’s length, this place is going to be even more miserable than it already is. I’d rather let people get close and get hurt by it than keep my heart on ice forever.
[A pause. Then Koby pats the bed, gently, smiling sadly over at Tim.] Come and sit for a little. I won’t tell anyone if you want to cry about it for a while. I might even join you. I’m good at crying.
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These things happen. How weak would he be, to let this taint his relationship with anyone else, to blind him to the good in other people? To let some spoiled prince hold that kind of power over him? Aemond’s already said he doesn’t want it anymore. ]
I know. [ Downing what’s left in his glass, and setting it empty on the bedside table. ] And well put. You’re smart. My favorite nerd in the world.
[ Smiling, even as he sniffles and wipes at his eyes. Small blessings, that he’d left his glasses at Alicent’s when she roughed him up, so they’re not fogging up now. Perhaps he’s starting to feel it now, how quickly he’s taken those drinks to the dome. ]
I don’t want to cry. I want to throw things.
[ He won’t do it in Koby’s room, but. Let the record show. ]
You too. [ reaching for a bottle to fill up Koby’s glass. ] It’s pathetic if I’m drinking alone.
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[So: he sits forward, holding out his glass, looking up with red-rimmed eyes -- he's more sensitive to other's emotions when he's upset, Tim's fury and hurt bleeding over into Koby's own grief and loss.] Fair warning, I'll probably start crying if I drink much more. It's been -- an eventful day.
[Once his wine is topped off, Koby scoots back towards the pillows, flopping back against them with a soft, weary sigh.] I can tell you all about it, if you want the distraction?
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Koby’s disregarded in the same way, he thinks. It's good to have that understanding, to feel known in their shared grievances, but it also means he doesn’t seek his affirmation, at least not in this. In the crying, complaining, what Quentin lovingly referred to as fussing hen behavior, yes. Koby is perfect. ]
It has? [ that almost never means anything good. Especially here, no news is good news. Tim looks down into his own glass, embarrassed. He didn’t even ask Koby how his day was, he just started ranting and raving. Selfish. ] What’s going on?
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Usopp and Luffy are gone. They – were sent home, or wherever it is we go after this. [His voice wavers, a touch more on Luffy’s name, remembering the sudden gutpunch of their presences leaving, snuffed out like candles in the landscape of his mind, there one instant and then: gone. Koby keeps his eyes fixed on the wallpaper, on the subtle line where one sheet touches the next, on the fall of light through the drawn curtains.]
So. The crew’s a little…bit of a mess, as I’m sure you can imagine. [The words tumble out too quick, too trembly, and Koby takes a too-big gulp of wine once they’re out, grimacing at the burn, at the heat it punches into his gut when he swallows.] It’s been – [devastating, heartwrenching, unfair, unjust] – chaotic.
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[ Oh. Tim deflates, the anger in his dissipating with that long exhale, and finally stops. He stops the pacing and the ranting, goes quiet and still except to sit down next to Koby and put his arm around his shoulders. ]
I’m so sorry, Koby. [ Quietly, guiltily. On and on about his own self-inflicted wounds, when there’s a higher power in charge of this place, taking people away on a whim with no foreshadowing, nothing anyone could have done to avoid this outcome. The departures have yet to hit him too closely, but there’s an awareness in the back of his mind that it could happen, that he could wake up one day and be without Hawk, without Koby or Quentin or any of the other people that make this place bearable. ] I know what they mean to you.
[ Luffy especially. ]
Are they gonna be okay?
[ Back home, or in their final, God-given resting place. A question he’s not sure will ever be answered to his satisfaction. ]
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It's not your fault. It's not -- anyone's fault. It just happens, here. [The words sound hollow, even to his ears, for how often he's repeated them to himself, again and again.] There's nothing we can do to stop it. [When it's Tim, or Hawk, or Nami or Shanks or Quentin, next time. When it's Koby.
The question gets a nod, a bit of a watery laugh before the next sip of wine.] They will. They'll be -- happy and annoying and causing trouble all over the sea. They're on a ship together, all of the crew. They'll see each other again. [A pause, a hard swallow, and Koby closes his eyes again.] And -- I won't. I hope I won't. Because if we meet again, we'll be enemies.
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He knows that Koby feels differently. ]
You always say that. As if you don’t have a choice. But you always have a choice.
[ He used to say the same thing to a certain prince who doesn't deserve the tears shed over him today. Maybe Koby will actually listen. ]
The Marines can't make you hate good people. I know you, and I don't even think you can.
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Still, it’s easier to believe in a good outcome with Tim’s arm around his shoulders, radiating warmth, even in the midst of his own grief. Koby sniffs, wipes at his eyes, sloshes wine onto his shoulder in the process.]
I don’t think I could ever hate them – not Luffy, at least. Not the others, if I – remember them. [Another sigh, dropping his head onto Tim’s shoulder again.] But I’m just one person. I can’t stop a war that’s been going on for centuries all by myself. Even if I don’t believe it’s right anymore.
It’s easier to be black and white. [A touch wryly.] That all pirates are bad, that all Marines are good. It’s harder, finding people who are in-between.
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[ An optimism he didn’t always have, or couldn’t apply to his own troubles. The inherent goodness of other people has always been clear to him, but his own? He tried and tried, but it took years to see the forces holding him down as something that even could be struggled against, rather than a natural consequence of his own wrongness. He accepted his lot in life of loneliness and perversion, until he met Hawk, and then accepted that as something he would always have to hide. This place has shown him otherwise. Not just in the history books where he can track the changes, but seeing so many people step up and offer help to complete strangers from other worlds when everything around them is difficult, confusing, or dangerous. How can it not give him hope?
Tim lays his free hand on Koby's head, stroking his fingers through pink hair, the shell of his ear. ]
Maybe it’s the opposite. We all sin, it doesn’t make us evil. Good people aren’t perfect and bad people weren’t always that way.
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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.
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[ 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. ]
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[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.]
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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.