Sweeney inhales slowly as he considers, then exhales enough to be able to follow it with an immediate puff. "Yer people. Yer pack. None of them got homes ya want ta go to? Or they all stayin' fer work?"
The topic hurts. This is why she's always the one asking questions, really.
"I don't know how long they'll stay. Connor's world sounds like a real hellhole, I hope he gets out. Steve's a superhero, he'll never go anywhere but his world and there's that 'world always ending' problem. And Godric... I can go to his world. But," and she's sure there will be relief for him to know this so she keeps her tone even. "He's not here now. And he might or might not come back. So a girl's gotta look at the worst case scenario and just go with that, right?"
Realization comes and he offers a faint nod. He's not skittish about the topic, as long as it stays on her. Really, everything should be on her.
Well. Maybe not everything.
Sweeney shifts slightly, fully aware that his memories of sensations can still be perfectly effective in making sitting less comfortable. He does his best to dismiss them.
"Hurts ta be left behind, doesn't it?" The words are empathetic, not jabbing at her situation. It's a simple truth he's far too fucking aware of.
She isn't bitter when she asks, "Does it end any other way? Ever?" She's seen no evidence, anywhere, that disproves this belief. "Life's just rebuilding. A lot of rebuilding."
She understands why he's so fucking tired. She may not experience the depth of it, but she's at the point where she sees no point in building anything permanent.
The expression on his face implies the obvious answer. Of course it doesn't.
Something occurs to him, and Sweeney cocks his head to offer an alternative. "Sometimes ya go first." He taps the center of his chest with two fingers, mindful not to burn his clothing.
"Took a spear." That's all the clarification that's really required. For all the talk they've had of her life, he can't recall her mentioning how she got here in the first place. He's pretty sure she started as an inmate, so that doesn't bode well for the tale of her arrival.
"That's the thing, right? I should've gone first. It would've saved a whole lot of people." She exhales smoke through her nose. "I killed myself. After they were all dead. I graduated here, I went home. I just ended up killing myself again."
Sweeney takes a moment to absorb that. It's not that he takes issue with it, it's just something he didn't expect. If he went back, he sure as fuck wouldn't choose to die the same way. Not at the hand of fucking Moon Shadow.
His lips tighten at the thought of the things he'd have done different, and then his eyes darken as he remembers that there's nothing left to do. He struggles to yank himself back out of it before he spirals again.
"Same reason but worse. Because by the time I went home graduated I'd lost even more people I couldn't ever get back." But there was more to it. She blows smoke up toward the ceiling, slow. "I didn't want anyone else to kill me. Everyone else I lost, someone took them away. I wanted to be the one to decide. It was the only thing I've ever done that was about me and no one else."
She glances at him but it's easier to talk about this without seeing him so she looks again at the trees. "And I'm going to do it again. Once I'm done here, once Godric dies. Or if he..." Never comes back at all. "But if I graduate right, then I won't end up back here again. So I'm just going to have as much fun as I can, love as many people as I can, and when my time comes I'll be done."
He mulls her words, putting meaning in what she's given, discarding the details left unsaid. He doesn't need them, really. There's no judgement or pity about her previous choices; Sweeney believes everyone should be able to checkout on their own terms.
That said, he doesn't want to be dead. There has been a lot of shit and pain and punishment in his existence, but he can't remember a time where he wanted to actually die. Which upon reflection, is how he ended up in some of his worst situations, so maybe she has a point.
Sweeney doesn't have any sort of response to the mention of Godric's name. He just takes a slow drag.
She doesn't answer right away. Silence is such an atypical thing for her, especially with the sunny persona she so easily adopts--it's not false, just amplified. Quiet is not a common thing for her in any mood.
"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. How do you help someone if you're just treading water?"
The quiet doesn't bother Sweeney at all. He's never been one for small talk, when it comes down to it. One should define their want, balance the cost, follow the steps. It means he doesn't shy away from uncomfortable questions (when they're not pointed in his direction), but he also isn't going to prod too hard if she's not prepared to answer. Just letting her think is enough.
He does understanding trying to help someone when he's not in a place to be able to do so. It sucks balls.
"Might not be the best ta answer that one," he admits to a tip of his head. "But I do know plenty of folk don't know what the fuck they're doin'."
He shrugs and taps his ash. "Hard ta start pushin' up others if yer not standin' on anythin'." It's a simple statement, in no way unkind. "Hard ta give them things if ya don't know what you have."
Sweeney takes a drag, following the thought before continuing it out loud. All of this is a little too relatable.
"Depends on what they need, I s'ppose. Seems ya helped me well 'nough." At least from her own assessment. As soon as he starts down the path of the conversation, he's very glad he took the opportunity to shift. He can already feel the echo of her nails digging into his hips.
"Not that I'm sayin' ya can fuck someone inta graduatin'."
His words are soothing, validating in a way no one else's manage to be. People are quick to reassure her, but they do it by arguing against what she says she's feeling, as if everything she says is wrong. But for all that she loves connecting with people, she's never found it easy to talk about herself.
She slides a look at him that says quite plainly she's thinking of the way he'd rocked into her balls-deep with that wild desperation, the way his kiss had been so hard it had sparked something equally wild in her.
"I'd be willing to try," she drawls, tongue just touching her upper lip.
A chuckle catches him and he coughs it out with a roll his eyes, a dimple deep in each cheek.
"Oh, of that I have no doubt." It's cheeky but light. He's not trying to urge her that way by any means. At this point, he's confident something like that will not push him in the most positive of directions. That's not to say part of him doesn't want to yank her up and toss her down in the grass, losing himself deep in the welcoming warmth of her and scent of wildflowers.
A part that's growing more pressing even as he's trying to banish the thought away. Sweeney swallows and takes the last puff of his cigarette before flicking the embers off away from them. He grips the neck of the bottle, but doesn't lift it.
It doesn't take him long to mull the question; it's a principle he understands, but isn't sure it actually matters all that much. The answer comes as he pulls a fresh cigarette.
"I ain't a warden." He shrugs and flicks open his lighter. "So I don't give a fuck." Light, drag, snap shut. An intuitive and well-practiced flow that leaves him renewed in his contentment.
"I just don't like the idea of being treated like I can't make up my own mind," letting the grass run between her fingers. "This place isn't the worst place I've been. But I get treated like an idiot enough without some warden telling me what to do with my body."
"Fuck that shit." What's the fucking point of being a warden if you don't get to make some of your own rules? Especially if it isn't your superior making the ones of issue.
"Admiral ain't made a rule about it, has he?" The smoke slips from his lips as he holds his inhale.
"Nah," she shakes her head and takes a long swig of liquor. "My ex-boyfriend was a warden. We moved in together. People might've bitched about it behind our backs but we didn't get cursed with any Admiral magic shit."
He finally releases his breath and rubs his other hand briskly over the crest of his hair. "If it ain't breakin' a rule with a capital R, why should it matter?"
Sweeney glances back to her, his gaze dipping in brief assessment. "'sides, why do you give a fuck what other people think?" She's always carried herself as a wild card, and those don't tend to give much mind to what else is in the deck.
"Only if they can fuck up my life," she clarifies. "And if I can get around them even trying? I'll fuck 'em over right back on my way out." She's quick to forgive but it doesn't mean there's no savage side to her.
Her gaze lingers on him, and a coy smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth. Oh but she likes the effect she's having on him. "But speaking of capital-R rules... is it breaking one if, instead of fucking, I just suck you off sometimes? Maybe while you're trying to get tired enough to sleep. Maybe to wake you up while you smoke your first cigarette of the day."
He's onboard until she makes that sharp turn, and his attention darts to her with an arched eyebrow. Sweeney's never actually considered their arrangement a rule, much less one with a capital R. He completely understands the risk he has of failing, perhaps not so occasionally, and as such wouldn't bind himself to that level of commitment to it.
He swallows, watching her for a moment while he takes takes a casual drag. His gaze doesn't leave her.
"Do ya think that's a good idea?" There's no right answer, he just wants to know her opinion.
"For me? Yeah." And she means it. "I'm following your lead here, though. We could have some fun. Have a break from all..." A glance up, around. The Barge. Their minds. "This."
"It would be for me," she chuckles. "When you fucked me, I cut my own lip trying to keep myself quiet," because she'd heard Archer hesitate at the door. "And I'm not a real noisy person. So me going down on you some quiet morning, then taking all my pent up wanting for you to the shower where I can think of all the things you could have done to me... I don't know, that just sounds like a real good time to me. How often do you get head from a girl who wants you enough she'd jump on you right now if you said 'go'?"
A shrug, another sly smile. "But like I said, it's up to what you're comfortable with. If it comes down to just me, alone and thinking about you sometimes, it's worked okay so far."
Sweeney's lips tighten along with his trousers. He sucks his tongue roughly as his focus is forced from her face, but it does very little to distract him from her words. He swallows and takes a drag.
Realistically, when a woman's mouth's on him, it doesn't stay there. The idea of just being passive the whole time is so strange. He does know one thing.
Another drag as he takes the time to find the words for it.
"I think...fuckin' yer throat's just gonna drive me ta have ta have the rest of you." There are worse thing to have to admit. His lashes flutter, and he looks to his cigarette before he takes another drag. "An' if it comes ta havin' you in the shower, I rather ya have the cold tile on yer back." He takes a slow breath to steady his resolve.
"I won't be able ta stop if I have you so often." It's a simple truth, but also implies his answer.
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"I don't know how long they'll stay. Connor's world sounds like a real hellhole, I hope he gets out. Steve's a superhero, he'll never go anywhere but his world and there's that 'world always ending' problem. And Godric... I can go to his world. But," and she's sure there will be relief for him to know this so she keeps her tone even. "He's not here now. And he might or might not come back. So a girl's gotta look at the worst case scenario and just go with that, right?"
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Realization comes and he offers a faint nod. He's not skittish about the topic, as long as it stays on her. Really, everything should be on her.
Well. Maybe not everything.
Sweeney shifts slightly, fully aware that his memories of sensations can still be perfectly effective in making sitting less comfortable. He does his best to dismiss them.
"Hurts ta be left behind, doesn't it?" The words are empathetic, not jabbing at her situation. It's a simple truth he's far too fucking aware of.
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She understands why he's so fucking tired. She may not experience the depth of it, but she's at the point where she sees no point in building anything permanent.
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Something occurs to him, and Sweeney cocks his head to offer an alternative. "Sometimes ya go first." He taps the center of his chest with two fingers, mindful not to burn his clothing.
"Took a spear." That's all the clarification that's really required. For all the talk they've had of her life, he can't recall her mentioning how she got here in the first place. He's pretty sure she started as an inmate, so that doesn't bode well for the tale of her arrival.
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His lips tighten at the thought of the things he'd have done different, and then his eyes darken as he remembers that there's nothing left to do. He struggles to yank himself back out of it before he spirals again.
"Same reason?"
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She glances at him but it's easier to talk about this without seeing him so she looks again at the trees. "And I'm going to do it again. Once I'm done here, once Godric dies. Or if he..." Never comes back at all. "But if I graduate right, then I won't end up back here again. So I'm just going to have as much fun as I can, love as many people as I can, and when my time comes I'll be done."
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That said, he doesn't want to be dead. There has been a lot of shit and pain and punishment in his existence, but he can't remember a time where he wanted to actually die. Which upon reflection, is how he ended up in some of his worst situations, so maybe she has a point.
Sweeney doesn't have any sort of response to the mention of Godric's name. He just takes a slow drag.
"No more Warden shift fer you then?"
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"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. How do you help someone if you're just treading water?"
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He does understanding trying to help someone when he's not in a place to be able to do so. It sucks balls.
"Might not be the best ta answer that one," he admits to a tip of his head. "But I do know plenty of folk don't know what the fuck they're doin'."
He shrugs and taps his ash. "Hard ta start pushin' up others if yer not standin' on anythin'." It's a simple statement, in no way unkind. "Hard ta give them things if ya don't know what you have."
Sweeney takes a drag, following the thought before continuing it out loud. All of this is a little too relatable.
"Depends on what they need, I s'ppose. Seems ya helped me well 'nough." At least from her own assessment. As soon as he starts down the path of the conversation, he's very glad he took the opportunity to shift. He can already feel the echo of her nails digging into his hips.
"Not that I'm sayin' ya can fuck someone inta graduatin'."
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She slides a look at him that says quite plainly she's thinking of the way he'd rocked into her balls-deep with that wild desperation, the way his kiss had been so hard it had sparked something equally wild in her.
"I'd be willing to try," she drawls, tongue just touching her upper lip.
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"Oh, of that I have no doubt." It's cheeky but light. He's not trying to urge her that way by any means. At this point, he's confident something like that will not push him in the most positive of directions. That's not to say part of him doesn't want to yank her up and toss her down in the grass, losing himself deep in the welcoming warmth of her and scent of wildflowers.
A part that's growing more pressing even as he's trying to banish the thought away. Sweeney swallows and takes the last puff of his cigarette before flicking the embers off away from them. He grips the neck of the bottle, but doesn't lift it.
"Yer inmate best keep hydrated."
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She sure as hell doesn't.
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"I ain't a warden." He shrugs and flicks open his lighter. "So I don't give a fuck." Light, drag, snap shut. An intuitive and well-practiced flow that leaves him renewed in his contentment.
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"Admiral ain't made a rule about it, has he?" The smoke slips from his lips as he holds his inhale.
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He finally releases his breath and rubs his other hand briskly over the crest of his hair. "If it ain't breakin' a rule with a capital R, why should it matter?"
Sweeney glances back to her, his gaze dipping in brief assessment. "'sides, why do you give a fuck what other people think?" She's always carried herself as a wild card, and those don't tend to give much mind to what else is in the deck.
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Her gaze lingers on him, and a coy smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth. Oh but she likes the effect she's having on him. "But speaking of capital-R rules... is it breaking one if, instead of fucking, I just suck you off sometimes? Maybe while you're trying to get tired enough to sleep. Maybe to wake you up while you smoke your first cigarette of the day."
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He swallows, watching her for a moment while he takes takes a casual drag. His gaze doesn't leave her.
"Do ya think that's a good idea?" There's no right answer, he just wants to know her opinion.
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"You think it's different 'nough from me just fuckin' ya?" Again, honest curiosity.
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A shrug, another sly smile. "But like I said, it's up to what you're comfortable with. If it comes down to just me, alone and thinking about you sometimes, it's worked okay so far."
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Sweeney's lips tighten along with his trousers. He sucks his tongue roughly as his focus is forced from her face, but it does very little to distract him from her words. He swallows and takes a drag.
Realistically, when a woman's mouth's on him, it doesn't stay there. The idea of just being passive the whole time is so strange. He does know one thing.
Another drag as he takes the time to find the words for it.
"I think...fuckin' yer throat's just gonna drive me ta have ta have the rest of you." There are worse thing to have to admit. His lashes flutter, and he looks to his cigarette before he takes another drag. "An' if it comes ta havin' you in the shower, I rather ya have the cold tile on yer back." He takes a slow breath to steady his resolve.
"I won't be able ta stop if I have you so often." It's a simple truth, but also implies his answer.
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