his arms wind just a tiny bit tighter in response to those words - she really wouldnβt know precisely how much it means to him for that to be what she chooses to say at a time like this. sheβs back to herself... drawn out of that creatureβs influence, or maybe put it back where all the things it represents are buried inside her. sheβs back, and he couldnβt be more relieved.
but indulging his weakness and standing here clinging to her like a child, is... h-he really is incorrigible. sheβs probably exhausted, probably more than ready to leave this hellhole and here he is clutching at her and trapping her in it.
it takes a concerted effort to detach himself from her, still feeling more than slightly out of sorts as he does despite his best efforts to clear his head. yet, looking down at her and seeing the clarity in her eyes... seeing Monts back to Monts is reassuringly comforting in a way he cannot quite put to words.
his voice is a little hoarse, a little soft when he finally manages to speak past the lump in his throat. ]
Are you sure youβre okay?
[ his smile is a bit watery, but sincere. sheβs been through enough, today. maybe itβs time they get the hell out of here... ]
[ When he lets go of her she looks up at him. She's not tired physically, but mentally for certain. ]
... Don't cry okay?
[ Abuela would get mad at me for making a priest cry, is what she wants to say to lighten the mood, to show him that she's fine. But Monts can't find it in herself to joke like that, not when he shows her that expression. ]
I'm standing right here aren't I? You know I'm fine.
Being in one piece [ ...literally, ] and... being okay are different things, right...?
[ though his smile remains at his lips, it's hard to ignore the fact the earnest concern in blue eyes hasn't dampened in the least. and he has the distinct and nagging feeling that 'okay' really isn't a good word to describe her right now. ]
...And, I-- I'm not going to cry, it's just-- my allergies are terrible this time of year, so...
[ shut up he's not crying she's crying, he's swiping a hand hastily to rub beneath his glasses. stop!!! no one is crying!!!!!! ]
[ Monts sighs and suddenly leans forward so that her forehead rests against his chest. Partly to comfort him, partly because of all the mental energy spent, and lastly, so that he wouldn't have to see her melancholic expression. ]
You're so bad at being truthful.... You really are the worst priest.
[ And she stays there for a bit. Although she mumbles her words next because she's so close, Abel should be able to hear her. ]
he blinks quizzically as her head comes to rest into him, a little surprised by the vulnerability behind the gesture. but he thinks in some way, maybe... this is something she might need on some level, too.
he lightly rests his hand atop her head when she lingers, that expression at his face softening to something a little more sincere at those muffled words. ]
I suppose there are worse things to be than the worst priest, so... I'll take it.
[ ...it'll be alright. maybe she isn't alright now - but she will be. ]
[ Her mark is finally silent and still and has returned to the back of her neck as if it had never moved at all. Monts draws herself back and looks at the priest with a nod a small smile. ]
Yeah. I think that's enough carnival for us.
[ Something about how he addresses her hurt without talking about his just somehow pains her even more. But they've both had enough. It's time to go home. ]
[ he's nodding back at her in return; the carnival has long outlived its novelty, and Abel for one can't say he is going to miss this place in the least. the uncomfortable feeling stirred up by reawakened ghosts and seeing Monts' dissolution into a creature that barely resembled her definitely isn't one of his favorite life experiences, he has to say.
but life goes on; it always does. just like so many other things, this would be one more unpleasant memory to tuck away with the rest. and... if he has to think on it at all, he will try and be grateful for the chance to see into the troubled heart of his friend to a depths he doubts she would've exposed, otherwise. how many people know about the horrors she's endured...? he can tell she's struggled to deal with it, haunted by the memories even still.
...he eyes her a little as they leave the house of mirrors behind them. Abel isn't just finding the urge to leave the carnival behind; he is quite sick of Fogtown in whole, to be frank. maybe it's time to get the hell out of dodge. ]
[ She only goes to Fogtown voluntarily whenever there's some sort of pull or if she has the urge to see her friends again. Being able to encounter Father Abel was just happenstance, to be honest.
The resulting circumstances were... Not pleasant. Parts were fun, but then what followed was inner pain set free and they saw sides of each other that weren't meant to be set on the table.
But here they are now. Still standing, still alive, and always troubled.
Monts pats Abel on the shoulder. ]
Let's see if you can visit me next time. The Midnight Grind is much better than this place.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
his arms wind just a tiny bit tighter in response to those words - she really wouldnβt know precisely how much it means to him for that to be what she chooses to say at a time like this. sheβs back to herself... drawn out of that creatureβs influence, or maybe put it back where all the things it represents are buried inside her. sheβs back, and he couldnβt be more relieved.
but indulging his weakness and standing here clinging to her like a child, is... h-he really is incorrigible. sheβs probably exhausted, probably more than ready to leave this hellhole and here he is clutching at her and trapping her in it.
it takes a concerted effort to detach himself from her, still feeling more than slightly out of sorts as he does despite his best efforts to clear his head. yet, looking down at her and seeing the clarity in her eyes... seeing Monts back to Monts is reassuringly comforting in a way he cannot quite put to words.
his voice is a little hoarse, a little soft when he finally manages to speak past the lump in his throat. ]
Are you sure youβre okay?
[ his smile is a bit watery, but sincere. sheβs been through enough, today. maybe itβs time they get the hell out of here... ]
no subject
... Don't cry okay?
[ Abuela would get mad at me for making a priest cry, is what she wants to say to lighten the mood, to show him that she's fine. But Monts can't find it in herself to joke like that, not when he shows her that expression. ]
I'm standing right here aren't I? You know I'm fine.
no subject
[ though his smile remains at his lips, it's hard to ignore the fact the earnest concern in blue eyes hasn't dampened in the least. and he has the distinct and nagging feeling that 'okay' really isn't a good word to describe her right now. ]
...And, I-- I'm not going to cry, it's just-- my allergies are terrible this time of year, so...
[ shut up he's not crying she's crying, he's swiping a hand hastily to rub beneath his glasses. stop!!! no one is crying!!!!!! ]
no subject
You're so bad at being truthful.... You really are the worst priest.
[ And she stays there for a bit. Although she mumbles her words next because she's so close, Abel should be able to hear her. ]
But you were there for me anyway... So thanks.
no subject
he blinks quizzically as her head comes to rest into him, a little surprised by the vulnerability behind the gesture. but he thinks in some way, maybe... this is something she might need on some level, too.
he lightly rests his hand atop her head when she lingers, that expression at his face softening to something a little more sincere at those muffled words. ]
I suppose there are worse things to be than the worst priest, so... I'll take it.
[ ...it'll be alright. maybe she isn't alright now - but she will be. ]
...Let me get you out of here, alright?
no subject
Yeah. I think that's enough carnival for us.
[ Something about how he addresses her hurt without talking about his just somehow pains her even more. But they've both had enough. It's time to go home. ]
no subject
but life goes on; it always does. just like so many other things, this would be one more unpleasant memory to tuck away with the rest. and... if he has to think on it at all, he will try and be grateful for the chance to see into the troubled heart of his friend to a depths he doubts she would've exposed, otherwise. how many people know about the horrors she's endured...? he can tell she's struggled to deal with it, haunted by the memories even still.
...he eyes her a little as they leave the house of mirrors behind them. Abel isn't just finding the urge to leave the carnival behind; he is quite sick of Fogtown in whole, to be frank. maybe it's time to get the hell out of dodge. ]
Will you go home, Miss Monts...?
no subject
[ She only goes to Fogtown voluntarily whenever there's some sort of pull or if she has the urge to see her friends again. Being able to encounter Father Abel was just happenstance, to be honest.
The resulting circumstances were... Not pleasant. Parts were fun, but then what followed was inner pain set free and they saw sides of each other that weren't meant to be set on the table.
But here they are now. Still standing, still alive, and always troubled.
Monts pats Abel on the shoulder. ]
Let's see if you can visit me next time. The Midnight Grind is much better than this place.