Difference between revisions of "Logs:Pep Talk"

Go in there and tell her. Tell her you're doing it because you have to. Because you remember being cold, seeing her-- seeing them all-- huddled close to tiny fires. Because two hundred turns is too long to trust to already faded loyalty. Tell her that you need help, that you can see people's faith withering, their trust dying. You're not getting rich off this, not skimming off the top, lining your own pockets, whatever other cliche they say about you. You're not doing anything wrong, for once in your sorry existence, so just ask for a little fucking help before it all falls down around you.

She won't mock you. She'll understand. "I need help. I need someone to understand. I need a moment when someone isn't hating me, when they'll listen. I need someone-- you, anyone to believe that I want this for us. So we'll never have to steal again, worry again, freeze again. Please. Listen." That's all it takes, all you have to say. Take a breath. The light's on, she's in there, she'll listen. Go. Ask for help.

And don't puss out.

Wyaeth on the ledge, wings rustled, a greeting grated out to his mate, N'thei hopped down just as the bronze hits his thump of a landing. Just in from *between*, smarting with the cold as much from that as from the early chill of the coming winter, the man's slow about pulling off his gloves, shedding his jacket, following the tell-tale spill of light toward the council chambers. "It's late," he informs from across the space of the room, framed by the black shadows of the passage to the ledge, his eyes on the wineskin, not the woman.

Coward.