Who ⚔ Yael & assorted nerds What ⚔ A dungeon run and other things When ⚔ After the party Where ⚔ Errywhere Content Warnings ⚔ Men with their tits out? Alcohol??? No correlation there surprisingly. nsfw i'm sorry mom
[ It's a good thing he doesn't, because Hector would like that, deep down. Ill man.
Instead, he looks to Yael, apologetic. ]
Shit. Permanent damage? I'm...so sorry. I had no idea.
[ Life in battle would do that to you, he guesses. But if he's only ever known a life in battle, then...
After a pause, Hector leans forward in his chair to grab a napkin from behind the bar. He sets his drink aside and starts cleaning up the spill. Sorry, man. ]
[Yael affects calm better than most, but the way he flicks his straw aside to down the remainder of his drink in one pull speaks for itself. He manages to keep the frustration off his face, but only just.]
Shit happens. The longer you stay enlisted, the higher your chances of suffering a career-ending injury. It's just a fact of military life.
[Hector is kind, mopping up that mess he made. Oh so very kind... but his compassion only frustrates Yael more. Like a lit match on an oil spill, Hector sets him ablaze far too effortlessly.]
[ It's true. Hector's relatively lucky he got out mostly scot-free. Unharmed, relatively no PTSD. He's lucky he's not in jail, even. He counts his current circumstances to be the product of small things that lined up in his favor. It could have easily gone one way or the other.
But that—
Hector's head snaps up to Yael, freezing in his movements, expression unreadable. ]
[At least one of them got away from the military relatively unscathed. Considering Hector isn't the one taking the glass he just emptied and hurling it at the liquor shelf, he's doing pretty damn good for himself, isn't he?
Several of the bottles shatter at once, liquor and broken glass tumbling to the floor, the scent of it heavy in the air.]
Ah, bad rack. That should've been a strike. Second time's the charm, right?
[Yael's hand moves to snatch Hector's glass next.]
[ The sudden movement, the loud crash causes Hector to leap from his seat, knocking back the stool. He stares shocked at the sudden mess behind the bar, and his head whips to Yael, mouth hanging agape. ]
—Yael!
[ What is going on? What brought this on?
He quickly claps a hand over the wrist that reaches for his drink, yanking it away as he removes the drink from the bar with his other hand. He holds it with an outstretched arm, away from Yael. ]
[Yael puts up minimal resistance, his balled up fist tensed like a coiled up spring. In sharp contrast to the tension lacing his muscles is the laugh that leaves him, so carefree as to be concerning.]
What are you getting so upset for? It's a game. All if it's fake. You could light this world on fire and there'd be no consequence, no lasting impact. No proof that you were ever here.
[A single shudder ripples through his tensed muscle.]
So don't waste your pity on me. You could put a bullet in between my eyes and no one who ever gave a damn would know it. Wouldn't care, either. Don't waste your sympathy on a ghost.
[ Hector hates the way that laugh echoes in his ears—it's grating. He hates how Gale Yael sounds like he's given up. He hates the assumption that he'd ever go out of his way to hurt him, and it sparks the fire of his temper. He grips harder at his wrist, the frown on his face deepens. ]
You know. That's not true.
[ He pauses, turns to down the rest of his cocktail—a pity, he would've liked to savor that—then slams the glass down on the bar well away from Yael. ]
It doesn't matter that it's a game, that it's a fake. You're real. You might not be here physically, but I hear your voice. I can touch you. We may as well be in the same room.
[ His voice drops as he speaks, but his frustration does just the opposite. Why? Why think like this? ]
You know Fai would care if something happened to you.
[He's hearing every word Hector says. Enduring them, but there's no hiding his discontent. While the rest of his face remains placid, his eyes glint with the sharpness of a razor's edge. A fire burns behind those eyes and Yael narrowly contains it.]
Yeah? You're speaking for Fai?
[It's not that Yael disagrees: Fai is going to find out about this and he's going to have some Words for him, but that isn't the point. Fai isn't the person he's having this conversation with.]
[ A barely-contained temper burns behind Hector's own steely blue eyes. His chest rises with his breaths, and his heart pounds incessantly in his ears. It's the adrenaline, he tells himself. The shattering of glass still echoes in his ears, and it set him on edge. That's all. What else would it be?
Hector purses his lips, staring hard at Yael in return. Yeah, he's talking to him. But if there's one thing Hector hates talking about, it's himself.
And so his response comes after a few long, drawn-out moments of him only staring, debating to himself. ]
...I'd care.
[ His voice is low, like it's all he could squeeze out, like he doesn't want anyone else to hear.
He flicks Yael's arm away and stoops to right his stool, muttering to himself. ]
[There it is: the response he was digging for, the one he's been needling Hector for all along... and yet he wasn't prepared for it. How could he be? Fool that he is, he's never prepared in situations like these.
The heat bleeds from Yael's eyes. His tense shoulders loosen. What remains of his frustrations is exhaled in a sigh, settling back in his seat to stare at the mess he's made of the bar. He'll owe Fai more than an explanation and an apology for this.]
There you go. Being honest with yourself feels good, doesn't it?
[Of course, that isn't what prompted this little stunt. Yael was upset, genuinely upset, but he doesn't want to languish in the spotlight. He doesn't want the attention, uncomfortable as it is.]
To be honest, I wish you didn't. You'd be happier if you didn't.
[ Stool in its place, Hector stands to reach for his glass. He's about to move, but he instead pauses before Yael to stare down at him.
There's an odd...sincerity in his eyes, one he's shown only one, perhaps two people in his entire life. He hates talking about himself. He'd rather sidestep any answers about himself, keep people away and satisfy them with flattery and good deeds, but he doesn't know his eyes speak for him.
Probably, they say. But I think I'd rather care about you than not at all.
He steps past Yael and rounds the back of the bar, stoops to pick up shattered pieces of glass from the floor. ]
Yeah, well, it's too late for that.
[ He keeps muttering. It's amazing that Yael can hear him.
When he stands, pile of broken glass shards in his hand, brow quirked. ]
[...Well, isn't that a fitting sight? Hector cleaning up someone else's mess while ignoring his own. Yael doesn't feel the kneejerk urge to say so now, the fire having gone out, but that doesn't mean he's content to let Hector indulge in his bad habits.
Rising from his stool, Yael's legs are stiff. His back aches. His head aches. He isn't one for displays of emotion, and the exhaustion coursing through him is one of the reasons why. The other is his reluctance to leave behind messes that others have to clean up, and as he rounds the corner to join Hector behind the bar, Yael scoops the broken glass from his palm and onto his own.]
Yeah. What do I care? I'm just a bitter bastard who looks out for no one but myself. You should've thought about that before deciding to care about me.
[He dumps the shards in his palm into the trash before bending to pick up more.]
I'll make my own bad decisions and you'll make yours. Neither of us is responsible for the other. Got it?
[ It's all he does. Ignore his own messes. Content to sweep them under the rug and hope no one notices how awful it feels to walk on. No one's bothered to point it out so far, so he thinks it's probably fine.
But Yael comes over and snatches the glass from him and he only stares flatly at him. He was taking care of that, bitch.
Fine, though. If Yael's taking care of the glass, Hector will clean up the liquor. He snatches a stack of napkins and begins to lay them out, watching as they absorb the liquid. ]
Those are your terms? [ A wry, irritated smile crosses his lips as he lifts his gaze to look at him. ] Dunno if I can agree to them.
[ Because unfortunately for Yael, Hector is going to fuss over him regardless. ]
[Ah, but of course he'll fuss over him. That what old men with no sense of propriety do, don't they? Aggrieved as the sighs that spool off Yael's tongue sound, his words contrast them sharply.]
You're a pain in the ass. Fine then... What do you propose?
[ The napkins aren't thick enough for all this liquid. Hector grabs another stack, notes how low the supply is getting, and scatters another layer on the ground.
He doesn't look at Yael. ]
Let me worry about you. I don't care what you do about or think of me.
[Oh, Hector. He'd slap him silly if he could. Slap everything but his ass, because frankly, he doesn't deserve to be rewarded for putting everyone's needs before his own.
Yael steps away to resist the temptation and grab a few towels from his personal room, dropping them on the wet floor and nudging them around with his foot.]
Nope. Not happening. Whatever you do to me is what I do to you. You're better off ignoring me if you don't want me on your ass.
[ Hector, in Yael's absence, begins his attempts to mop up the pool of alcohol, but the napkins aren't thick enough. They rip easily, and his hand catches on a shard of glass he missed. Ow. He quickly puts it in his mouth to get it to stop bleeding, steps back to wait it out.
He just watches as Yael finishes that up, and a wry grin bursts over his face.
He plants his hand on his hip, knowing it'll probably stain his armor, but who cares. ]
Then I guess we'll just be on each other's asses anyway. ...In the metaphorical sense, of course.
[ Because he won't not worry about Yael. Unfortunately, Hector will now willingly die for him. ]
Don't say that when I'm bent over in front of you.
[Unfortunately, bending down to sop up what remains of the mess requires doing just that. His poor, unguarded ass...]
Then we have an agreement.
[Straightening up, Yael just... puts the alcohol-soaked rags into his inventory. He'll throw them out later, supposing he remembers to.]
I don't know about you, but I need to log out and drink some real alcohol. I'll talk to you later. [...] Can I trust you not to do anything stupid on your own?
Nah. That thought doesn't even cross his mind. He snorts when Yael brings it up. Have some faith in him.
Things are mostly clean. It's a shame about the shelves though. And the bottles. Hector makes a mental note to pick up...however many got broken. ]
What, you think I'm gonna break more bottles or something? [ He quirks a brow. All that sincerity is quickly buried and covered up, his regular bravado coming back. ] I'll be fine. Go have your drink.
[It's a shame and Fai is most certainly going to ream him for this later... but that's supposing Hector doesn't overextend himself by taking on another issue and making it his own. If Fai isn't angry, Yael will know a certain Hector went on ahead and claimed responsibility for his little blowup. Your days of peace are numbered, old man.]
I think you're just as bad as me.
[Wringing the kinks from his neck, Yael ushers Hector away with a few flicks of his wrist. He can't claim drinking offline will help him feel better, but it'll muddle his memory enough to make up the difference.]
...Thanks.
[Blunt and unceremonious as ever, Yael utters his appreciation quietly before logging off for the night.]
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no subject
Instead, he looks to Yael, apologetic. ]
Shit. Permanent damage? I'm...so sorry. I had no idea.
[ Life in battle would do that to you, he guesses. But if he's only ever known a life in battle, then...
After a pause, Hector leans forward in his chair to grab a napkin from behind the bar. He sets his drink aside and starts cleaning up the spill. Sorry, man. ]
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Shit happens. The longer you stay enlisted, the higher your chances of suffering a career-ending injury. It's just a fact of military life.
[Hector is kind, mopping up that mess he made. Oh so very kind... but his compassion only frustrates Yael more. Like a lit match on an oil spill, Hector sets him ablaze far too effortlessly.]
You sorry about that mess? Lick it clean.
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But that—
Hector's head snaps up to Yael, freezing in his movements, expression unreadable. ]
—I'm sorry?
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Several of the bottles shatter at once, liquor and broken glass tumbling to the floor, the scent of it heavy in the air.]
Ah, bad rack. That should've been a strike. Second time's the charm, right?
[Yael's hand moves to snatch Hector's glass next.]
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—Yael!
[ What is going on? What brought this on?
He quickly claps a hand over the wrist that reaches for his drink, yanking it away as he removes the drink from the bar with his other hand. He holds it with an outstretched arm, away from Yael. ]
What the hell?! What are you doing?
no subject
What are you getting so upset for? It's a game. All if it's fake. You could light this world on fire and there'd be no consequence, no lasting impact. No proof that you were ever here.
[A single shudder ripples through his tensed muscle.]
So don't waste your pity on me. You could put a bullet in between my eyes and no one who ever gave a damn would know it. Wouldn't care, either. Don't waste your sympathy on a ghost.
no subject
[ Hector hates the way that laugh echoes in his ears—it's grating. He hates how
GaleYael sounds like he's given up. He hates the assumption that he'd ever go out of his way to hurt him, and it sparks the fire of his temper. He grips harder at his wrist, the frown on his face deepens. ]You know. That's not true.
[ He pauses, turns to down the rest of his cocktail—a pity, he would've liked to savor that—then slams the glass down on the bar well away from Yael. ]
It doesn't matter that it's a game, that it's a fake. You're real. You might not be here physically, but I hear your voice. I can touch you. We may as well be in the same room.
[ His voice drops as he speaks, but his frustration does just the opposite. Why? Why think like this? ]
You know Fai would care if something happened to you.
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Yeah? You're speaking for Fai?
[It's not that Yael disagrees: Fai is going to find out about this and he's going to have some Words for him, but that isn't the point. Fai isn't the person he's having this conversation with.]
Speak for yourself, Hector. I'm talking to you.
no subject
Hector purses his lips, staring hard at Yael in return. Yeah, he's talking to him. But if there's one thing Hector hates talking about, it's himself.
And so his response comes after a few long, drawn-out moments of him only staring, debating to himself. ]
...I'd care.
[ His voice is low, like it's all he could squeeze out, like he doesn't want anyone else to hear.
He flicks Yael's arm away and stoops to right his stool, muttering to himself. ]
I don't want you to hurt yourself.
no subject
The heat bleeds from Yael's eyes. His tense shoulders loosen. What remains of his frustrations is exhaled in a sigh, settling back in his seat to stare at the mess he's made of the bar. He'll owe Fai more than an explanation and an apology for this.]
There you go. Being honest with yourself feels good, doesn't it?
[Of course, that isn't what prompted this little stunt. Yael was upset, genuinely upset, but he doesn't want to languish in the spotlight. He doesn't want the attention, uncomfortable as it is.]
To be honest, I wish you didn't. You'd be happier if you didn't.
no subject
There's an odd...sincerity in his eyes, one he's shown only one, perhaps two people in his entire life. He hates talking about himself. He'd rather sidestep any answers about himself, keep people away and satisfy them with flattery and good deeds, but he doesn't know his eyes speak for him.
Probably, they say. But I think I'd rather care about you than not at all.
He steps past Yael and rounds the back of the bar, stoops to pick up shattered pieces of glass from the floor. ]
Yeah, well, it's too late for that.
[ He keeps muttering. It's amazing that Yael can hear him.
When he stands, pile of broken glass shards in his hand, brow quirked. ]
What do you care about my happiness anyway?
[ Leave him to his own bad decisions, geezer. ]
no subject
Rising from his stool, Yael's legs are stiff. His back aches. His head aches. He isn't one for displays of emotion, and the exhaustion coursing through him is one of the reasons why. The other is his reluctance to leave behind messes that others have to clean up, and as he rounds the corner to join Hector behind the bar, Yael scoops the broken glass from his palm and onto his own.]
Yeah. What do I care? I'm just a bitter bastard who looks out for no one but myself. You should've thought about that before deciding to care about me.
[He dumps the shards in his palm into the trash before bending to pick up more.]
I'll make my own bad decisions and you'll make yours. Neither of us is responsible for the other. Got it?
no subject
But Yael comes over and snatches the glass from him and he only stares flatly at him. He was taking care of that, bitch.
Fine, though. If Yael's taking care of the glass, Hector will clean up the liquor. He snatches a stack of napkins and begins to lay them out, watching as they absorb the liquid. ]
Those are your terms? [ A wry, irritated smile crosses his lips as he lifts his gaze to look at him. ] Dunno if I can agree to them.
[ Because unfortunately for Yael, Hector is going to fuss over him regardless. ]
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You're a pain in the ass. Fine then... What do you propose?
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He doesn't look at Yael. ]
Let me worry about you. I don't care what you do about or think of me.
[ More shards. He picks those up. ]
That's all.
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Yael steps away to resist the temptation and grab a few towels from his personal room, dropping them on the wet floor and nudging them around with his foot.]
Nope. Not happening. Whatever you do to me is what I do to you. You're better off ignoring me if you don't want me on your ass.
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He just watches as Yael finishes that up, and a wry grin bursts over his face.
He plants his hand on his hip, knowing it'll probably stain his armor, but who cares. ]
Then I guess we'll just be on each other's asses anyway. ...In the metaphorical sense, of course.
[ Because he won't not worry about Yael. Unfortunately, Hector will now willingly die for him. ]
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[Unfortunately, bending down to sop up what remains of the mess requires doing just that. His poor, unguarded ass...]
Then we have an agreement.
[Straightening up, Yael just... puts the alcohol-soaked rags into his inventory. He'll throw them out later, supposing he remembers to.]
I don't know about you, but I need to log out and drink some real alcohol. I'll talk to you later. [...] Can I trust you not to do anything stupid on your own?
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Nah. That thought doesn't even cross his mind. He snorts when Yael brings it up. Have some faith in him.
Things are mostly clean. It's a shame about the shelves though. And the bottles. Hector makes a mental note to pick up...however many got broken. ]
What, you think I'm gonna break more bottles or something? [ He quirks a brow. All that sincerity is quickly buried and covered up, his regular bravado coming back. ] I'll be fine. Go have your drink.
no subject
I think you're just as bad as me.
[Wringing the kinks from his neck, Yael ushers Hector away with a few flicks of his wrist. He can't claim drinking offline will help him feel better, but it'll muddle his memory enough to make up the difference.]
...Thanks.
[Blunt and unceremonious as ever, Yael utters his appreciation quietly before logging off for the night.]