i_speak_softly | Sixty-Ninth Theory [Voice]

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Sixty-Ninth Theory [Voice]

[Yesterday the village grew quiet, as many villagers were called on a draft, and many others began the anxious wait to see if their friends and loved ones would return to the village safely.]

[Also yesterday, a breath of warm weather arrived in Luceti. Don has been out enjoying it, trying not to dwell on those who are fighting on a flying island right now. He has enough other things on his mind, and around midday he does something about one of them.]

Filtered to Beast || Unhackable

Beast... I haven't thanked you properly for what you did for Robert and me. For everything you've done for us.

End Filter

[Later, he leaves a brief, unfiltered message:]

Would anyone be interested in learning how to program computers and fix cars?

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I still think it's important for us to be honest with each other.

[Translation: I still think you're not honest with me.]

[Translation in Robert's head: I'm obviously miswording myself still.]

... Do I perhaps... need to c-clarify myself better...?

[Robert wonders exactly what Don wants him to be honest about. Out of any of his traits, most people could hardly fault him for honesty when he's so damn blunt about everything...]

[Don considers his response to this carefully. He's realizing that he's not being blunt enough himself right now, and that's something he always needs to be aware of for his partner.]

I don't always understand you when you tell me things... but the more important problem is that sometimes you don't speak up at all.

[This is actually enough to make Robert hesitate a moment. When he next speaks, the man's voice is quiet.]

I suppose I am... a-anxious of what you might think, s-sometimes...

Even when it's important?

Even when it is... i-important.

[...]

Perhaps... e-especially when it is important...

[This pains Donatello to hear.]

Is it because of something about me?

[Again with hesitation, although not as long this time.]

... B-Before I met you, I... did not usually need to... a-associate with individuals to any great extent, and though Luceti has... d-done much to change that, and to enable me to have friendships which have sh-shaped me so extensively, I... still remember when I was a-alone much of the time...

... a-and I remember how easily I was able to... e-end acquaintanceships, solely by saying the wrong thing...

... Y-You are very important to me. I do not wish to... d-do or say something that would... cause you to regret being with me, even if the chance is... quite low...

... And sometimes even that worry feels... l-like something I should not mention, because of the seeming absurdity of it...

[He trails off, then, and his fingers noticeably shake as he picks through Don's wing in silence.]

[Don pulls his wings away, folding them tightly and propping himself up on his elbows.]

Robert...

[The man allows the wing to leave his grasp, but rather than take his attention away he just continues to stare at Don's shell.

Even now he is worrying that his candid statement was in poor taste. Is it stupid to always be so worried about what you say to a person? Especially when you know that what you say is often poorly-worded, or strange, or just downright eccentric?]

[Don really isn't sure yet what he wants to say, but he feels his way through it as best he can.]

Robert... I don't understand what that part of your life was like, and I probably never will. I didn't have acquaintances before Luceti. But if that's your frame of reference, and you still don't see us as being different from that, then... I feel like a failure.

[An edge of anxiety creeps into Robert's voice, making it slightly shrill even though he doesn't quite look up.]

I understand this is d-different... or, by all rights, ought to be different - but I worry, perhaps e-entirely irrationally...

... [Softer, now:] It... is n-not you. Or, at least, I... am not certain wh-why it would be you... I have just never been p-particularly good at phrasing myself in such circumstances, and... the m-more troublesome the topic, the... more my poor phraseology is l-likely to... make the situation difficult to resolve...

[He's already done it even in conversations they've already had before. Even if they've managed to negotiate them...]

[Don stares at the grass for a long minute before replying, carefully:]

I don't mind if we have secrets from each other. But it's very important to me that when we want to share something, we feel safe, and that we're patient with each other in making sure we understand before we overreact.

... A-Are there ever things you... do not wish to sh-share with me...?

[Because Robert is worried that maybe Don doesn't share things for a similar reason. Or perhaps a completely different one.]

Well, sure...

[Hesitantly. Does this bother you?]

[Minorly, admittedly.]

... Is it because you w-worry as well? Or... is it something else...? ["Something else" meaning "something bad", probably.]

Not worry, exactly. But a lot of things from my past would be hard for you to hear, so I don't see the point of telling you.

... I... s-suppose that is your prerogative... [And Robert's voice suggests he's not sure himself how he might respond. After all, the pieces he's heard so far have generally been saddening - though nothing that's completely traumatized him, yet.] But it is... d-different, then...? Nothing that would be... i-important, necessarily...? [Or at least, nothing that would be terrible for him not to know?]

If it was important, I would tell you.

[The man makes a soft, affirming noise to himself.]

... A-And... you would obviously wish for me to... d-do the same...?

... Generally speaking, you know anything that... w-would be of importance about me, now. M-More than... anyone else, except p-perhaps my parents. Even that is d-debatable, in all honesty.

[But even so, there are things that are so hard to say. (Did you ever see his worrying about marriage or something, Don?)]

Of course.

[He resists the urge to look at Robert and read his expression: at moments like this, it feels unfair to do that to his thought-blind partner.]

[His expression might not actually be too especially-telling at the moment, though Don could probably glean something from it anyway.]

What remains... are often w-worries and... th-thoughts... worries I have about us, or about others here in Luceti. S-Some are, as I said, most likely irrational...

... Some perhaps... l-less so.

... I just... [He falters, and for a second seems to choke up, but regathers whatever courage he had and continues -] ... Can I be c-certain that we will... l-listen, rather than... than be driven apart by such things, if they are v-voiced?

[Even if Don and Benjamin are as different as night and day, he's afraid it could happen again.]

[Oh, Robert. Don can't ignore that obvious distress. He sits up on his knees, brushes the dirt from his plastron in a perfunctory way, and reaches to embrace his partner.]

I'll always listen. And... don't forget that people can be driven apart by secrets, too.

[He doesn't have to wait long for Robert's embrace, which comes shortly after Don turns around. The man doesn't really say anything for a few seconds; merely holds himself against Don in a way that suggests he is trying to communicate his emotions solely by the contact.]

... Yes... I s-suppose so...

[He's clearly weighing the odds internally, but at least he sounds a little better now.]

[Robert's obvious efforts to express himself non-verbally make Don not feel bad about reading every one of his partner's familiar signals. He listens, and he rocks the man gently, telling him it's all right.]

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