It did startle her enough to look up at him, and stay quiet as Arthur continued to speak. Sheehan had been so carefully trying to make sure she would be all right, coming up with methods that were outside of regular therapy as she knew of it. (Or at least, what she read in books).
At least hearing that Saga was being suggested was enough to make her frown and let him talk his reason out.
"She wouldn't act like I was small or disgusting. And Sheehan wouldn't either. He let me save him, when the monsters were all over the ship. Sympathy doesn't feel...right. But Saga and I are friends. She might be...biased."
She would be biased, absolutely. But...she was also a seer. They had worked together. Just...not on Aerith.
"Saga and I were friends too. Still are, in fact. But I do have to admit that Sheehan is..." He gives a soft laugh, bashful and fond. "Well, he's not as unbiased as he wishes he was. And he'd certainly treat you with full professional respect, but he'd also... care. In a way that's a bit too much himself over his profession, if that makes sense."
He's hardly one to talk about adopting his inmate, but still.
Considering how much adopting Aerith did among wardens and inmates alike, she had no leg to stand on when it came to attachments.
"Sheehan is always as gentle as he can be with me. He tries to...not sneak in, but be subtle about his help." She sniffed, and brought up a hand to wipe her face. She still had the garden gloves on, which meant she streaked dirt and crushed up plant matter on her face.
"And John is protective of me. But he needs to keep an eye on Ashton, or anyone else that will want to solve problems with murder or torture."
He nods, and can't help the flicker of a smile, briefly joyful and amused, at the smudge of dirt.
"You need someone who won't soften the reality of your situation, no matter how ugly it might be. Upfront, but not unkind. I'm not saying not to use Sheehan's advice, or to avoid him if you're after his specific brand of kindness. But I think Saga would be good for you."
She didn't know what made him look so happy so briefly, and tilted her head, confused.
"I wouldn't avoid him. Sheehan is...and has been...very kind to me." She sniffled, wiping her cheek again. There was a little more dirt added to her cheek.
"Saga is steady. Always. And is good. I'm still...gosh I don't know what she'll think when she hears of it." She paused. "I don't think she'll shoot Armand."
"I trust her not to hold an unreasonable grudge about Armand," Arthur points out, "for having hurt you specifically. I'm afraid the same couldn't be said of John, he's incredibly biased. And Sheehan very nearly punched Trevor for assaulting Billy- er, sorry, his last inmate, Max, some time ago."
He takes his gardening gloves off so he can pat his pockets briefly, and to his own pleasure succeeds in finding a handkerchief in his back pocket, and he offers it immediately to Aerith. "I'm not any better myself, admittedly, but between the three of us we're not going to fuck over an inmate."
"Billy told me the name change during his announcement."
She told him. For a few moments, she didn't know why he was offering a handkerchief; there was a silent 'oh' before she took her gardening gloves off and took the cloth, wiping at her face, trying to get the smudges off.
"I'm surprised John hasn't exploded a little. Though...I have to admit. I keep thinking Sheehan is a pacifist, but Vincent Smith is one. It just means they don't like violence."
She bit her lip. "I don't think Saga would shoot Armand without good reason."
Saga was often too practical for that. Pragmatic, though not unfeeling.
"John has spent nearly three years learning how to make sure ripping someone's intestines out and shattering their mind is nowhere to be found in the options he can react with," he explains dryly. "But trust me, there's a lot of furious grousing behind closed doors."
He shifts as he keeps talking, interrupting himself with a few soft grunts and unhappy pops of his knees as he shifts onto his ass. "And Sheehan is- he's a war veteran, actually. Part of why he hates guns so much, but- generally speaking he's always hated violence. A pacifist doesn't mean they won't hurt someone, it just means they're more creative since they won't use plain violence."
"Oh. I had no idea. Not the ripping part, the grousing part."
She glanced at the cloth in her hand, made a face, and kept trying to get the dirt off her face. It felt like it was still there. And John, well...he had rescued her from the turned over ship, took over a dream she was hosting, and healed her all at once. Shattering minds and ripping intestines out wouldn't be hard for him, in capability.
"And if Sheehan wanted to, he knows how to hurt someone without violence. He and Sam could be some of the most dangerous people on the Barge, if they let themselves be."
She shook her head, before glancing up to Arthur. "Did I get the dirt off?"
He'll take the hankie back, flicking his wrists idly so he can cup her jaw in one clean bare hand, and gently wipe some of the tear tracks away. She already got the dirt itself, so this is mostly just to make her feel better. It's been a while since he's done it to someone, and he feels his throat tighten at the memory himself.
"It's actually sort of healthy, you know?" he says instead, pulling back when she's cleaned up. "Getting some of the anger out of your system before it starts to rot. It doesn't fix the problem, of course, but when you get the chance to pitch a fit about it somewhere safe, knowing you're just letting off steam and that no-one's judging you for having an- an impure thought," he teases, bopping her nose with the hankie, "or something, then it makes solving the problem a lot less daunting."
She felt her nose scrunch up, in that familiar, tender way that she used to when her mother used to clean up her face, from one adventure or another. And-it made her think of Arthur Wayne, cleaning her up from scrapes of one kind or another.
It gave her such a strong longing for a home that no longer existed- in her world or the breach.
It was enough to make her take a deep breath-though she smiled, a little, at the nose boop.
"I mean...I've been taking Alexei to what we call a rage room to break things, and all. But um...I mean, I'm sure John feels angry about a lot of things. And- I do too. Sometimes. It does take...awhile...for it to come up. And slower to calm down, sometimes."
"Patience is always an admirable trait," he says gently, resting his hands in his lap. "And on the Barge, certainly a vital one. But if you're just being patient, and letting everyone trample all over your good will without letting that frustration out somehow, then your patience wears thin all the faster, and your temper, when it's inevitably unleashed, all the more dangerous."
"Sometimes it turns into hatred of yourself. For not acting better, for having that resentment in the first place. We all act in response to our emotions, but when we bury that frustration, we lose track of it. So we don't know when it will cause us to do something... awful. To the people we care about - but especially to ourselves."
"Yeah. That's the other thing with anger." He leans in to put a hand on hers, giving her a gentle squeeze. "It always burns out quickly. But it's always hiding something deeper as well, and that's the part some people struggle with acknowledging."
He blinks, and then- "O-of course, that's-" -he's clambering back to his feet, grunts pushed through in his haste. "Sheehan said that's normal as well, after a hard talk, er- let's get you back to your room?"
As he leans to offer a hand down to help her to her feet.
Arthur wasn't exactly a heavyweight himself, but he's finally lost the gaunt edge haunting him so severely after his return from Addison, but he never lost those wiry life-or-death-induced muscles, and pulls Aerith up easily enough.
"I'll be alright," he hums warmly, and he takes a step aside to grab his jacket and holster before he offers his arm for Aerith to lean on. "I'm sure Sheehan will just be relieved you're ready to open up. At whatever pace you feel comfortable with, of course, but. The first step is always the hardest."
She nearly popped up , and it made her smile a little. But she took his arm, after grabbing the bucket and trowel. She would taken it with her and bring it back later, so no one could steal it later.
"He may just be surprised." She closed her eyes for a few moments, tired. "If John is worried or anything, could you tell him I've found more music videos for us to watch? We can cuddle and enjoy it later."
"Is there anything you'd like me to tell them about this, or just that you're feeling up to company again?" he asks. It's easy to hold himself prim and proper, let her lean on his shoulder as he leads them out of the greenhouse and towards the elevator.
"You can tell them what you'd like." Her voice was sleepy, a little tired. She didn't mind just leaning against him, and thought of calling Vincent to let him know she was coming over to sleep.
"John will find out as it is, just be...gentle if you can, if he's this upset about it."
"However John reacts with me, I want you to remember that he will never try and make it your problem," he reminds her with a soft squeeze. "Or whoever it is you might be having problems with."
He presses the elevator call button, and glances back down at her. "Ah- which floor would you like to go to? I don't actually know where your room is."
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Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
At least hearing that Saga was being suggested was enough to make her frown and let him talk his reason out.
"She wouldn't act like I was small or disgusting. And Sheehan wouldn't either. He let me save him, when the monsters were all over the ship. Sympathy doesn't feel...right. But Saga and I are friends. She might be...biased."
She would be biased, absolutely. But...she was also a seer. They had worked together. Just...not on Aerith.
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
He's hardly one to talk about adopting his inmate, but still.
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
"Sheehan is always as gentle as he can be with me. He tries to...not sneak in, but be subtle about his help." She sniffed, and brought up a hand to wipe her face. She still had the garden gloves on, which meant she streaked dirt and crushed up plant matter on her face.
"And John is protective of me. But he needs to keep an eye on Ashton, or anyone else that will want to solve problems with murder or torture."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
"You need someone who won't soften the reality of your situation, no matter how ugly it might be. Upfront, but not unkind. I'm not saying not to use Sheehan's advice, or to avoid him if you're after his specific brand of kindness. But I think Saga would be good for you."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
"I wouldn't avoid him. Sheehan is...and has been...very kind to me." She sniffled, wiping her cheek again. There was a little more dirt added to her cheek.
"Saga is steady. Always. And is good. I'm still...gosh I don't know what she'll think when she hears of it." She paused. "I don't think she'll shoot Armand."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
He takes his gardening gloves off so he can pat his pockets briefly, and to his own pleasure succeeds in finding a handkerchief in his back pocket, and he offers it immediately to Aerith. "I'm not any better myself, admittedly, but between the three of us we're not going to fuck over an inmate."
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She told him. For a few moments, she didn't know why he was offering a handkerchief; there was a silent 'oh' before she took her gardening gloves off and took the cloth, wiping at her face, trying to get the smudges off.
"I'm surprised John hasn't exploded a little. Though...I have to admit. I keep thinking Sheehan is a pacifist, but Vincent Smith is one. It just means they don't like violence."
She bit her lip. "I don't think Saga would shoot Armand without good reason."
Saga was often too practical for that. Pragmatic, though not unfeeling.
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He shifts as he keeps talking, interrupting himself with a few soft grunts and unhappy pops of his knees as he shifts onto his ass. "And Sheehan is- he's a war veteran, actually. Part of why he hates guns so much, but- generally speaking he's always hated violence. A pacifist doesn't mean they won't hurt someone, it just means they're more creative since they won't use plain violence."
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She glanced at the cloth in her hand, made a face, and kept trying to get the dirt off her face. It felt like it was still there. And John, well...he had rescued her from the turned over ship, took over a dream she was hosting, and healed her all at once. Shattering minds and ripping intestines out wouldn't be hard for him, in capability.
"And if Sheehan wanted to, he knows how to hurt someone without violence. He and Sam could be some of the most dangerous people on the Barge, if they let themselves be."
She shook her head, before glancing up to Arthur. "Did I get the dirt off?"
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He'll take the hankie back, flicking his wrists idly so he can cup her jaw in one clean bare hand, and gently wipe some of the tear tracks away. She already got the dirt itself, so this is mostly just to make her feel better. It's been a while since he's done it to someone, and he feels his throat tighten at the memory himself.
"It's actually sort of healthy, you know?" he says instead, pulling back when she's cleaned up. "Getting some of the anger out of your system before it starts to rot. It doesn't fix the problem, of course, but when you get the chance to pitch a fit about it somewhere safe, knowing you're just letting off steam and that no-one's judging you for having an- an impure thought," he teases, bopping her nose with the hankie, "or something, then it makes solving the problem a lot less daunting."
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She felt her nose scrunch up, in that familiar, tender way that she used to when her mother used to clean up her face, from one adventure or another. And-it made her think of Arthur Wayne, cleaning her up from scrapes of one kind or another.
It gave her such a strong longing for a home that no longer existed- in her world or the breach.
It was enough to make her take a deep breath-though she smiled, a little, at the nose boop.
"I mean...I've been taking Alexei to what we call a rage room to break things, and all. But um...I mean, I'm sure John feels angry about a lot of things. And- I do too. Sometimes. It does take...awhile...for it to come up. And slower to calm down, sometimes."
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"You get kinda brittle in a way right? I...well. It's not always an outward explosion. Sometimes it's inside."
She pressed a hand to her chest.
"And you break your own heart."
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"Sometimes it turns into hatred of yourself. For not acting better, for having that resentment in the first place. We all act in response to our emotions, but when we bury that frustration, we lose track of it. So we don't know when it will cause us to do something... awful. To the people we care about - but especially to ourselves."
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"That makes sense." She was subdued. Maybe from her breakdown, maybe just from thinking of something so exhausting like anger.
"I don't feel...angry anymore. Just tired and sad."
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She rubbed her face. "I'm sorry Arthur. I think, maybe...I should lie down."
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As he leans to offer a hand down to help her to her feet.
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She moved to grasp his hand and pill herself onto her feet. It wouldn't be hard, as she was small and light. Maybe too light but she didn't know.
"Thanks Arthur. I know- this has pretty hard for you."
With the breach, and grief, and daughter figures.
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"I'll be alright," he hums warmly, and he takes a step aside to grab his jacket and holster before he offers his arm for Aerith to lean on. "I'm sure Sheehan will just be relieved you're ready to open up. At whatever pace you feel comfortable with, of course, but. The first step is always the hardest."
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"He may just be surprised." She closed her eyes for a few moments, tired. "If John is worried or anything, could you tell him I've found more music videos for us to watch? We can cuddle and enjoy it later."
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"John will find out as it is, just be...gentle if you can, if he's this upset about it."
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He presses the elevator call button, and glances back down at her. "Ah- which floor would you like to go to? I don't actually know where your room is."
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When he realized how badly off she was.
Since Vincent hadn't told Arthur of their arrangement, she simply said:
"I'm on the fourth floor. Guess you'll have a reason to visit it more often huh?"