[ 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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no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.