theleadingman | avalon: inbox

[It's likely a vain hope that he doesn't witness her in those moments. If he has any judgement, she can't tell. He certainly doesn't say so. Instead, he chooses to simply act as whatever support she may need, likely not knowing what's within his realm of possibility to give. There aren't easy answers for situations like theirs and Balthier is so much in the dark that it wouldn't be possible for him to give any without making an error somewhere. Even Aerith's judgement can't be considered completely sound.

As she plays back the recent weeks, the various conversations, what limited information she's gained of her own predicament, slowly and gradually, she draws her touch up along his back. When was the last time she cried? When she was younger, if she's remembering that correctly. A lonely childhood where she had very few to depend on. Her life has been fraught with disappointment and misfortune. She's learned not to cry about it all, but perhaps years of not doing so have led to this moment.

So she waits and lingers, turbulent, but trying to calm proverbially churning waters. For just a moment, one hand lifts to dust aside some of what's fallen. The rest, she suspects she's inadvertently buried against him. She doesn't feel great about that. He's taking it all in stride, but he shouldn't have to shoulder this. Yet she knows that for him, it's not a case of feeling that it's obligation, but simply a desire. It's as simple as that.]

I'm sorry.

[Aerith finally manages to say as her arms tighten about him for just some breaths. Honestly, nothing beats a good hug. She's needed quite a lot of them lately and hasn't bothered to say as much. Where it leaves her, she can't say.]

If I'm being honest, I'd say that I wanted you to stay forever. The thing is, you have your own things to get to. It would be hard, but I could walk away from you, knowing that you finally have someone here who can continue to be here for you. That way, when we are parted—not because I want us to be, but because anything else just isn't possible that I can see—she can help you keep moving forward.

[A pause as she draws in a breath, thinking very carefully, perhaps too carefully, about how to word things.]

I know I keep making decisions on your behalf, even knowing that whether I want them to or not, the things going on in my life impact you. I thought I was trying to protect you, knowing and admitting that I was trying to protect myself. It wasn't all for one or two reasons. I just wanted to be with you, but facing that means putting us both through turmoil we don't need and don't deserve. Weighing days or moments of happiness against a lifetime of what will also likely be regret and guilt, I don't know how I should feel about that. I don't want to feel guilty after you leave tonight.

[If he leaves tonight.]

I don't want to feel guilty tomorrow when I want to see your face or hear your voice, or hold hands with you and have stupid debates about things that don't even matter. So what am I supposed to do. How can I know. I don't feel like I know anything.

[The apology is unnecessary, in his opinion. For all his frustration, he has never thought to demand one from her— only the chance to understand, and the opportunity to be heard. She's giving him that now, and he thinks it's as much for her as it is for him, perhaps even more. She's kept these things inside for so long, unwilling to burden others with her thoughts, the truths she must live with every day, that while it hardly solves anything to speak them aloud, it has to allow some kind of relief. As someone who is also inclined to keep his deepest and most troubling thoughts to himself, play such things close to the chest except in very specific company, he knows there is some sort of catharsis to be found in finally speaking it aloud, even if it changes nothing. It lifts some of the weight, allowing someone else to help shoulder the burden— though that's far easier said than done. His troubles have always been his own. In that vein, he can understand why Aerith has felt that her burdens were hers alone.

When she tightens her return embrace, he does the same, a subtle but firm offer of reassurance that he's sure means very little in the greater scheme of things— but he'll stay just as he is for as long as she needs, an anchor if she'll allow him to be.]

I can't tell you what to do. I haven't the right— but I never want you to feel guilt where I'm concerned. Not for a moment, though I know it's in your nature.

[Because she's uncommonly kind. Because she puts the feelings of others before her own for so many different reasons. It's admirable— but in this, in finding some way to move forward, in whatever direction she may choose, he thinks it only serves to make things that much more difficult.]

I don't care for regrets, certainly not for things I have done. The ones that linger are more often for those I haven't, opportunities I've allowed to slip past. Regardless of what happens, I will not regret a single moment spent with you.

[He's been more honest this day than he's allowed himself in quite some time; he feels it bordering on uncharacteristically saccharine, but it is vital, he thinks, that he make himself perfectly clear. This is not the time for his usual flippancy, adoration hidden behind teasing quips, or offering her an invitation to read between the lines for his true meaning.

If there was ever a time to be blunt, it is now.]

You take moments of happiness where you find them, even if they can't last forever. Nothing does. That's not what makes them worth having.

[She simply listens, nestled against him in whatever makeshift comfort he's seen fit to gracefully extend in her direction. The things he says are things she agrees with. They are things she has told herself in moments that it has felt difficult to press on. She suspects that it is mildly different because whilst she aches at the thought of leaving Tifa and the others behind as well, it's all a part of why she's been quiet about it. She doesn't doubt for a moment it's because she and Balthier aren't just friends. The something more adds a weight that she, frankly, isn't used to.

She wouldn't know any better, considering Zack passed on before anything particularly serious could ever occur between them. But Aerith can hazard a guess that had he been around longer, she might have reacted somewhat similarly. Or she would have done as she had attempted with Balthier to begin with, and expressed that apprehension of any such misadventuring.

It doesn't stop anything he says from being objectively right, though. She should just take every moment she can with him and hold onto it. So why is it so hard to do something that sounds so easy in retrospect?]

You've said that before.

[She remembers. "That's not what makes them worth having." It wasn't word for word, but the message was clearly the same.]

I guess it feels different to me, even if I agree with you. Even if I... normally follow that. It's different with you. It's different when it's you. Would it be so different if we were only friends? Maybe not by much, but how I feel about it is different.

[Aerith looses a sigh, taking just a moment to bury her face into the front of his shoulder before she settles her cheek against it instead.]

You always make me want to say 'yes' to everything. I always want to give in. Not because you're coercing it or forcing it. Because when I look at you and when I'm near you, I know that's what I want. That's why I didn't want to let you see me. Because I knew that if I did, my resolve would weaken. Much the way that it is right this very moment.

[Her reminder that he's said similarly causes him to let out a soft noise that approaches laughter, though not quite— there's no mirth to it, though there is certainly fondness, and perhaps a touch some something else.]

That does sound like me. No doubt I said it as much for my own benefit as for yours.

[Because even with the sky pirate way of life being what it is, even with his insistence on living in the moment, he hasn't always been good to his own word. It's so much harder to do so than even he'd imagined; before he had come here, it had been the past that was always in pursuit. The future was what he ran to.

Now, the future is no safe haven.

His fingers drift downwards, curling gently against the nape of her neck, thumb lightly brushing along its curve as he tips his chin downwards and presses a single chaste kiss against the top of her head, his hold remaining steadfast.]

Sound reasoning, even if I didn't care for the result. You thought it was the best way to let yourself move forward on your own.

[She had thought it was the right thing, and how could he blame her for that? Even at the best of times, the right thing wasn't always easy to discern.]

I don't know that anyone has ever felt that way about me before, but—

[He pauses, his words half-murmured against her hair. Even now, it's difficult for him to say something so real in any succinct sort of way, but she needs to hear it. He owes her that much.]

I feel the same— and I would do anything to keep you from regretting saying yes, if I could.

[It's... so strange, how a mere touch can provoke her arms to prickle with goosebumps. For those moments, she feels very aware. Of every rise and fall of his chest. Of every thump of his heart. Of every breath he draws in and frees. The subtle rumble of his voice as he speaks.

She shuts her eyes as she simply listens.

It's hard to think that he's never had that kind of affection given to him before. But given all he's told her, it seems Balthier isn't normally the sort to create anything lasting with anyone. It is very likely that his position in all of this is not so different from hers. He may never have expected to be so drawn to her. He may have never really wanted to. Somehow when it is least anticipated, it hits so much harder.

That he feels the same, reflects her feelings back at her, seems befuddling. She hasn't done or been anything to deserve that. Feelings hardly ever work on logic, however. Maybe it happened without either of them realising it. She finally lifts her head as carefully as she can manage.]

...I think I got my lip gloss on your vest. Sorry.

[She actually means her tears, but she's going to absolutely act like she didn't cry at all. It's not necessarily an evasion tactic. Not intentionally so, for once, anyway. Simply that she understands he holds some vanity.]

[Of all the things she might have responded with, for good or ill, he expects that least of all. It suits, he supposes, given that he had never expected her, and yet here she is, a frequent fixture of his thoughts throughout his waking hours, and again when he sleeps, following him as though he were once again a bounty hunter's quarry— except for the fact that she's been so insistent on putting space between them.

He meets her gaze as she looks upwards at him, and stares for just a moment before letting out a brief, incredulous little laugh.

Lip gloss. Of course. Politely, he makes no move to correct her, but he does subtly lift a hand to wipe a tear from under one of her eyes with the pad of his thumb all the same. Beyond that, he'll bring no attention to it.]

It will wash, I'm sure.

[He's had clothing threatened by far worse.]

I invited myself into your home, so we can say that makes us even.

[Her gaze drops when he carefully draws his touch along the under of her eye. Her flush deepens just a touch. At least he has the decency to let her hold onto some of her dignity. Whatever's left of it, anyway.]

If you're staying, I can put it in the wash for you.

[It's a rather off-handed remark for her to make, but it wouldn't be the first time that she's done his laundry for him.]

And technically I let you in. You could have come and I could have turned you away. I wouldn't have. I'm guessing you knew that, though. But... you are a man who seems to like gambling. Maybe you thought the risk was worth it.

[The more she considers it, that was probably exactly it. Pirate, after all.]

You'll do no such thing.

[At least not tonight. Eager as she is to give of herself to others without so much as a second thought, he'll hear none of it tonight. With all she's said and shared, it is, perhaps, more important than even before that he encourage to put herself first in some regard. It would be a small victory, if he keeps his vest out of the wash, but it would be something.

He doesn't miss what comes before that offer, however— "if you're staying." He had already insisted on doing so, but he doesn't think it's only wishful thinking that has him hear her opinion on it softening.

He gives her one of those small, lopsided smiles of his; it's wearier than usual, worn-down, but a glimpse, perhaps, of the Balthier she'd met all those months before.]

I can't say I knew for certain— but I hoped. Given the circumstances, the risk was most certainly worth it.

[Pirates know a little something about risk versus reward. Being able to see her at all had absolutely been worth the risk.

His gaze softens considerably, along with his voice. Teasing aside, he knows that voicing her thoughts aloud may have offered some reprieve, but it is no solution in and of itself.]

Are you alright?

—Oh.

[For just a moment, she feels a sliver of disappointment, but it doesn't take her long to figure out why he's turning her down. He knows she'll keep herself busy however she can. Even if it's with something like his laundry.

Instead, she nods along, listening to his input. The risk was worth it, he says. Maybe the outcome wouldn't have mattered too much. For him, the win may have simply been that she opened her door at all. It seems that he had plans of coming here all the same, no matter what might have happened.

At his question, she hesitates. Aerith doesn't know how to answer that. She isn't sure she feels better about the situation.]

Uhm. I'm... as I ever am. Still here. Still standing. I don't know that I'd say I'm 'alright.' I'd like to ask you something, if you don't mind.

[Normally she would simply do so with or without his input. That she asks at all indicates that it must be important. Just because they aren't arguing or squabbling doesn't mean Aerith's thoughts aren't still turning with the other pieces that have been weighing her down.]

[It's not entirely like her to ask permission for much of anything, which speaks to the weight of whatever it is she would like to ask. He raises a brow briefly in question, his fingers still loosely curled against her neck.]

Of course. Ask me anything you like.

[His free hand comes to rest gently against her shoulder, the embrace between them still largely unbroken— he'll let her decide when and if she chooses to step away. There's so little he feels he can offer her in all of this, and if he were feeling particularly honest, that comfort, however small, isn't for her alone.]

[Aerith leaves her touch gently resting against his chest, though it's not particularly intrusive. She's thinking less about the tension lingering between them and more about where her priorities surely must be. Not all things can be as pleasant as Balthier, after all.

She wonders, for several moments, how to put it and ultimately decides that the point they're at, there's no sense in trying to be clever about it. No longer a need for roundabout questioning, considering the matter at hand.]

How long were you paying attention to Sephiroth's conversation with me?

[She's aware Sephiroth said things that... may warrant some curiosity and she's not exactly pleased he did. It doesn't mean much in a place like Camelot, but it still comes with a potential for a lot of explanations that Aerith may not be able to fully provide.

...She has her questions for Sephiroth too, when she thinks about it.]

That is, based on his exchange with you, he's not ashamed about saying whatever he cares to publicly. At least, seemed like he would have been more than happy to tell you all about it.

['It' being that thing they don't actually give voice to.]

[His expression shifts to one of disapproval— yes, Sephiroth certainly did seem as though he were prepared to be quite free with all sorts of information. Knowing just how much importance Aerith placed on her privacy, it had only served to provoke him. She had made it clear early on in their friendship that not everything needed to be said aloud, and being much of the same mind, Balthier had been quick to agree. A certain degree of respect for privacy had become the standard between them almost immediately— the present was more interesting than the past, anyway.]

I'll admit, for awhile, I was a bit caught up in my own conversation with him— if it could be called such.

[The man was a dreadful conversationalist by every measure.]

I did glance back. I was— curious to know what else he might say to you.

[That is, if the man was going to continue stepping decidedly out of bounds. He frowns, though only slightly.]

What little I heard didn't make much sense to me without context. I also quickly decided that it wasn't my business. If it was something you wanted me to know, you would tell me yourself, and I found myself preoccupied with trying to ensure he didn't say anything more than he already had.

[As she takes in his response, she's quiet. Attentive. Relieved a little. Kind of. She can't say for certain. She knows Sephiroth said some strange things. And given some of the stuff that she's said, she's not free of judgement entirely.

She finds herself relaxing just in slight before she manages to find her voice once more.]

Oh, good. Makes two of us. Some of what he said made sense. But there's some other stuff that... I don't really know about.

[Aerith shakes her head.]

This might sound a little strange, but stay with me. To my understanding, not everyone from the same world might come from the same time. For instance, according to Sephiroth, I'm already... You know. But it hasn't happened for me yet. He doesn't know that's the case, I guess, so he keeps inadvertently giving me information that... I'm probably not supposed to have.

[Tilting her head, she eyes him easily.]

There's a possibility some of this information could help Midgar and the Planet. It might even be able to help me with my situation. I know you won't like this, but I would like to get more information out of him. Gradually. If I can.

[Easier said than done. Sephiroth is no fool.]

[He listens quite patiently to begin with, offering a minute nod as she touches on the discrepancy between memories— while he and Fran haven't experienced such a displacement themselves, he knows it to be quite common among others. He has to imagine it makes for all sorts of challenges and a great deal of frustration, but as she continues on, a frown pulls at his lips, his brow furrowing.

She's certainly right about one thing: he doesn't care for that idea in the least.

There is, he realizes, a bigger picture here, and in the interest of doing his part to support the greater good, he chooses to focus on that, rather than the compulsion to insist she do the absolute opposite of what she intends to. It hasn't been an hour since he himself had insisted he couldn't promise to stay away from the man in question, if circumstance dictated it.]

How do you plan to do that?

[An honest question, rather than a challenge. Whatever she's planning, he should hope she'll give it due consideration before putting it into action.]

He does seem willing to speak quite freely about any number of things, but needless to say, no, I'm not thrilled with the idea.

[But he does understand where her interests lie, and the expectant look he gives her along with his response says as much. He's willing to listen, for now.]

That's.

[She releases something of a laugh, the first genuine one she's given him all night. A little sheepish, but it sounds like her. An improvement.]

That's a very good question. I don't have an answer yet. Although I've given it a lot of thought, I'm still thinking. I can't go to him directly. If I do, he'll know something's up. He has to think I already know everything. I'm at a disadvantage here. He knows a lot more than I do. I can speculate, but that's all I can do, and given that I'm...

[Anything she says will inevitably leave Balthier more befuddled. She pauses for several long moments and then gently patting him on the chest, she pats the chair where she sat before, implying he ought to take it.]

I'm going to go back to making our tea while we talk about this.

[One more encouraging pat before she weaves her way around the island and she turns the burner he was using back on. Then as she waits, she leans onto her arms as she eyes him.]

It occurs to me that I can't give you the details without really explaining everything. Or, at least the things you need to know to have a better understanding of the situation. It will probably sound a little confusing and strange and as long as you don't go running back into the cold because you can't stand to be around me, I'll consider than a win.

[He opens his mouth to offer an objection, once again prepared to cite his not wanting to be waited on, but stops himself as he concedes that his own efforts to make their tea had resulted in a pair of empty cups, given that he'd interrupted himself midway. His shoulders drop as if accompanying a sigh, and he drops a hand to briefly take hold of her own when she pats his chest before she pulls away and directs him to take a seat.]

Of course.

[He watches her make her way back to the stove as he slides into the offered chair with ease, clasping his hands together atop the island as he considers the implications of her potential plan. Should Sephiroth catch on that she doesn't know as much as he's assumed, would that make him yet more dangerous? It's safe to assume that would be the case, he thinks, but for now he keeps his focus on Aerith. Whatever she's willing to tell him now, it's because this is incredibly important to her.]

I'll gladly listen to whatever you feel to be worth sharing. I should think you would know me to be reasonably open-minded by now.

[Though he hasn't shared many of his own experiences or reasons for that, he's accepted much of what she's already told him in the past without pause. He doubts that will change now.

Still, he offers a faint, crooked smile.]

Nor do you have to worry about that last bit in the least— I don't care to run, if I can help it.

[A bit of levity can only help the situation, yes?]

You say that now. You might change your mind the more you learn. And, if you would, keep what you can between us. You know how I feel about that kind of stuff.

[That is, Aerith likes her secrets and she likes people not knowing very much about her, which by this point, is likely far better explained considering her situation.

For a breath or two, she frowns thoughtfully, realising that in spite of using him to stall for some additional moments of time, she still has no idea how to really explain anything.]

Uhm... Let's see. I don't even know where to begin, but...

[Through some mild gesturing, Aerith takes a moment to explain the planet entity known as the Lifestream, what she knows about it, anyway. That it serves as the life force of the planet and is responsible for the growth of plants and other natural wonders of the world. That those who pass on return to the Lifestream, which is where life begins.

As for the Cetra...

Her explanation there is a bit more sparse and disjointed, unsure of how to better convey that. The Cetra, the Ancient progenitors of humanity, are capable of communicating with the Lifestream and those who have returned to it, perhaps even of channelling it, and thus possess a special kind of bond with the concept of life.

It's all very convoluted, she realises. Knowledge of the Cetra having existed is not an unknown in Midgar, but according to most people, Cetra are beings of legend. It's complicated even back home. She suspects to someone foreign to Gaia, they're even more so.

She assesses Balthier with a knitting of the brow—]

You still with me, or is that too much?

[For some moments in between, Balthier deeply regrets not being equipped to take notes as Aerith offers him her explanations. Fortunately, he's always been a very quick study, and he makes connections and comparisons where he can. The Lifestream shares some qualities with Mist, though certainly not all, and talk of ancient civilizations is hardly new for him— it was precisely the sort of thing that would have captured his father's interest before his focus became so dangerously narrow, and easily would have piqued Balthier's own as a boy, digging through the largest and dustiest tomes he could find in the akademy's library.

When Aerith addresses him directly, his own brow is knit to mirror hers, his experience bordering on just a bit hapless. It's a great deal of information, but she has his full attention. His first thought regarding the Cetra had been to liken them to the Occuria, but it quickly becomes clear that they're far more human than not— caretakers, rather than distant overseers.]

Following along, yes, though if there's a test at the end, I may fall a touch short of perfection.

[Perish the thought.]

Please— continue.

[She utters out a laugh before she can stop it, though she seems a bit relieved that he can insert some of his very Balthier Brand of Humour into the situation. She appreciates levity the most in tense moments, which is very much why she inserted no shortage of it in their Exchange She Doesn't Speak Of, But Definitely Happened. At his encouragement, she finds herself contemplating yet again how she ought to continue.

Still leaning onto her arms, she worries at her bottom lip before she continues. It probably won't make much sense at all, honestly, but maybe if she says it, that's just what it is.]

I know I've spoken a little about Midgar. What it's like. That I can't... really remember travelling out of it. Not well. I don't think I'm from Midgar, but... [The snow. The smell of evergreen trees. Where was that?] I guess that doesn't really matter. Midgar is run by a group of people who've discovered they can condense the Lifestream into—

[Her posture shifts and she raises her hands up into her hair to carefully seek the pink ribbon that's holding her ponytail and beneath it, the materia she's stashed away. As she settles back against the counter, she holds it in the palm of her hand to show him.]

—this. It's materia. It's what allows us to cast magic back home. But I think that group wants to use the energy of the Lifestream for everything. For the sake of luxury and convenience. I don't think they believe or understand what that's doing to the planet. Or... they don't care. But I do. Because I'm a Cetra. I'm connected to it.

[It's difficult not to allow himself to be distracted when she offers him a visual aid— it's vital, he knows, that he pay close attention to what more she has to say, but for just a moment, he feels his breath catch, an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

It looks like nethicite. Even the explanation of how it's made is uncomfortably close to the stones he's more familiar with, but he forces the feeling of uneasiness that threatens to surface to subside, if only for now. If she's been carrying it with her all this time, and she's clearly of sound mind— no, it's not even worth continuing down that line of thought.

Though their worlds may appear to have some similarities, he will not talk himself into believing that to be one of them, not without significant evidence.

Instead, he fixes his gaze on her intently, and when she pauses, he echoes her.]

You're a Cetra.

[His tone is mild, thoughtful rather than surprised. Given the bits and pieces she's told him until now, and given what little he had overheard, it does have the potential to explain a few things.]

I'm guessing that makes you not only incredibly unique in your day and age, but also a target.

[Especially given that she's connected to the force that others seem bent on using as an expendable resource.]

[There is something in him in those moments that she speaks of materia. She isn't sure what, exactly, but something. Instead of lingering on it for too long, she files it away for later thought and questioning.

Closing her hands around the materia she's holding, she remains like so, contemplating all she's told him and his own takeaway from it. A 'target' is almost a kind way of putting it. She's spent the majority of her life being watched and pursued. She's spent her younger years under the hands of a scientist with no interest in ethics. And she suspects when she goes back to Gaia, there's a very high likelihood that it may happen all over again due to her surrender.

For a breath or two, Aerith hums something nonsensical.]

Something like that. I'm sure there's more to it when I start getting into the details, but I don't think it'd interest you much. The important part is what I am and what comes with that. Being bound to the Lifestream, I can hear those who have passed on. Sometimes I can see them. That's where the dreams come from.

[The whistle of the kettle catches her attention and she leaves her materia in favour of tending to their water, carefully pouring them each a cup.]

I don't think there are any other Cetra. I think I'm the only one. Shinra has been watching me for years, insisting they'll protect me, but I know that's not what they plan on doing.

Edited (Mobile tagging) 2021-11-21 16:16 (UTC)

[His first impulse is to correct her by saying that anything that's of consequence to her is of interest to him— but he opts to keep such remarks to himself for the time being, deciding this is neither the time nor place. She'll tell him what she feels is important, and at the moment, that happens to be a great deal.

As she steps away to tend to the water, he finds his gaze drawn to the materia she's left behind, studying it from a distance. Its shape and color aren't so different from deifacted nethicite, though it does not radiate the same pulse of power he had become used to in the presence of such stones. He imagines that given what it's made of, it must give off something, but being from a different world entirely, such things simply may not be his to know.

Even as his gaze remains fixed, he listens and takes note of what she shares, his gaze flickering in her direction, a frown tugging at his lips once more.]

Then they consider you a resource, as well.

[There's a distinct note of disapproval in his voice, bordering very closely on disgust. It seems a fair assumption to make, given what she's said so far.]

They want to use your connection for their own ends.

[When she sets the kettle back down, she turns off the burner and her attention exchanges between their two cups, evidently keeping an eye on how it steeps and when she ought to offer Balthier his. No amount of her watchful eye, however, leaves her ignorant to his assessment of her situation. It's a pretty easy conclusion to come to and not really inaccurate either.]

You're astute.

[Aerith replies to him with a nod.]

Yeah. They've been looking for what is called the Promised Land. In Cetra legend, it's supposed to be a place with an overabundance of the energy source they want. Only a Cetra knows where it's at. When I was little they had my mom and me in their custody. I'd draw pictures on the walls and tell them it was the Promised Land because that's... what it was. They'd take my mom out every day, probably to question her on where it was. When she wouldn't tell them, they decided... why use Cetra who won't cooperate? Why not make their own?

[She doubts she needs to spell it out beyond that.]

So it was like that until we were able to escape. My mom took us to Sector 7 of Midgar and that's that.

[That's not exactly that, but the rest of what follows isn't something Aerith immediately relinquishes.]

Didn't get to be first in my class on good looks alone, I'm afraid.

[His remark falls short of offering levity this time around; his tone is sharper, the edge of it honed by the serious nature of the truth she's offered him. For everything she says, there must be a handful of things she doesn't, and he's well-practiced when it comes to reading between the lines.

So much of what she shares reminds him of his father at his worst. What would Dr. Cid have done, given an opportunity to have someone like Aerith in his possession? Perhaps what was more concerning was that after a certain point, what wouldn't he have done?

It makes it a simple affair, filling in the blanks, imagining what sort of life she must have lead in Shinra's custody. All of the things she doesn't care to say, and he won't ask her to revisit. The very thought of it makes him livid— captivity since childhood, so early that she doesn't remember a home before Midgar, but is fairly certain she's not from there to begin with.

One of his hands has curled itself into a tight fist atop the island, dangerously close to white-knuckled, the angle of his jaw especially sharp as he sets it to keep his anger in check.]

You've been free since then?

[He doesn't believe 'that's that' for a moment, but the implications of what came before it are monstrous enough that he's not even certain he would be able to process what came next, even if she said.]

That men of science would use their knowledge in such a way—

[He cuts himself off, scoffing sharply as he shakes his head, scowling.]

An all too common tale, I am beginning to think, and no less horrific for it.

[But it's quite clear that she's been through more than words can say. Even all of this is only scratching the surface, and his frown remains even as he reaches across the island to extend a hand to her.]

You're incredibly resilient. I hope you realize that.

'Free' is a nice way of putting it.

[It's not how she'd say it. 'Free' is not what she thinks when Shinra and the Turks are watching her every move. She can just imagine the field day they'd have if she ever got it into her head to leave Midgar. And to be fair... she can't do that to Elmyra. Mom, in other words. Mom of a sort. As much a mom as Mom was.

She shakes her head. Seems like every time a scientist gets brought up, her reaction is something the same. She thinks back to her afternoon out with Claire, what she learned about Sherry's parents. How science inevitably comes down to a concept of what can be done, rather than what should be done. In a man like Hojo, has he ever possessed ethic and morality of some kind? She doubts it. Probably always been twisted with no one to stop him from getting to that point.

...How does a person reach that?

The greater question is what kind of run-ins Balthier has had with scientists. He obviously is quite familiar. Aerith eyes him for several long moments, curious in her own right. Not willing to pry. Rather, as unwilling to pry into him as he has been into her. Inquisitive, but never pressing.

He offers her his hand and she knows exactly what that is. Comfort, in one fashion or another. At his assessment of her person, she shakes her head modestly. There are others who have it worse. She can't be spending so much time thinking about herself. She offers him his tea in place of her hand.

Clever.]

I'm just me, Balthier. That's all I can ever be.

[Even now, she's still saying the same thing. It's what makes Aerith the very epitome of 'Aerith.']

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