He relaxes a little when she doesn't get upset, and then wonders immediately if she's hiding it. For once, though, it's not anxiety over whether or not she's upset with him. It's anxiety over the prospect of her being upset and alone with the feelings.
"Right." He looks down at the file in his hands, frowning at it, then looks at her again. "Where's your cabin?"
"Level eight." She's never been sure if the assignment is random or not. Was it a gesture of trust, putting her on the same level as the engine room, or understanding, or -
"You ever see that tree, in one of the common rooms?" She starts moving before she finishes the question.
"Let's make a pit stop." Look, the thing is fascinating, and she's interested to hear his thoughts on it. It'll certainly tell her more about his perspective.
As complicated as her feelings may be about the file, she doesn't drag her feet; in fact, whenever they reach she elects to float down it rather than walk, hand skimming the railing just in case the power fails her. (She trusts her own control; she does not trust the Barge's, or the Admiral's, or whatever is stifling her.)
Her steps slow only when they enter the common room, entirely for dramatic effect.
He has a few mixed reactions that all express themselves as a soft gasp.
The tree is, first, beautiful in a strangely horrifying way. It's not the same horror as the chaos of the Dark World or things like Edwin himself, but it's there. A sort of unnatural perfection, the riot of growth broken into organization that it can't escape.
He doesn't forget he's with Madelyne, but he wants to see it closer. He's still got her file held close against his chest with one arm as he goes up to the - it feels wrong to call it a plant, but it's not a simple construct either. It's a natural unnatural. The kind of thing that could, he thinks, be a gateway to the Dreamlands in another universe.
Edwin very gently touches the trunk. "Who did this to it? And why did they leave it here and not take it to the greenhouse?"
A smile plays at her lips as she watches, one she assumes is slyly intrigued but, frankly, looks far warmer than that.
"No idea; it was here when I first arrived, so it must be years old at this point." Just how many, she still isn't sure. "Iris probably knows. Lark might." They've been here the longest, she's pretty sure.
He looks over at her, eyes wide, then wonders if he could talk to the tree. He's never tried anything like that. Sure, he's talked to his plants, but never with expectation of an answer. It just felt nice.
So he rests his ear gently against the trunk, more for show than because he needs the ear to hear things in this body. He closes his eyes, lets his grip on linear time slide a little, until each second stretches out like taffy around him and he can hear the soft creak and shift of a plant quietly tending to its own needs. This at least he's done before.
"Can it talk?"
Slow as he's made everything feel to hear the tree's noises properly, his own voice sounds strange in his head.
His eyes are closed, and no one else is here to see; her smile is a yearning and tender thing,
She wasn't there, as Nathan grew into his power, but she remembers it all the same. It's more reflex than resolve, the way she answers.
Probably not like people do, but I'm betting you'll be able to communicate on some level. She couldn't project into an average person's mind, as she is, but Edwin isn't one.
He doesn't think twice about her psychic voice as he answers the same way. He's not looking at her, in part to give her some privacy and in part because he's inspecting the tree more closely.
I don't get a file. I need to learn about you in other ways.
She thought it would make her feel more powerless than it does - more hostile and defensive - and maybe it would, if they'd met differently. But he's already seen so much, and so has she. There's always an instinct to level the playing field, but it simmers instead of raging.
Perhaps, one day, she'll realise that she also wants to act like a friend, sharing something wondrous and strange to enjoy together.
There's an echo of that tenderness left as she arches her eyebrows.
Very few things, or people, are even slightly fair. But she's certainly seen the exceptions try. She's seen them try so damned hard it burned them out.
I'll ask. How much of his answers she believes, how much more she tries to see - well, they'll find that out as they go, won't they.
He smiles when she says she'll ask, strokes the tree in farewell, and looks back at her again. "Are you ready? Was there something else you wanted to do with the tree."
Madelyne stares at the tree a moment longer, expression distant and inscrutable, before shaking her head. "Let's head over."
Her door is impossible to miss; it's the one carved with flaming pentagrams and crowned with bone. Her nostalgic smile would probably unsettle many other people, but she doubts it will bother Edwin.
As she opens it she murmurs, "You know, I've had three of these, and this is the first time he got it right."
"It's beautiful." No, he's not joking. He touches the wood next to one of the carvings as he goes by, not wanting to chance the decorations being something actually magical. "I only ever stayed in one place before the barge, an old inn, so that's the room that mine was at first. It's a greenhouse now--that was Hunter's idea, when he saw how much I liked plants."
That startles a genuine smile out of her, earnest in a way that makes her look young. The Embassy has become a refuge, but she can tell how few people are comfortable there. (Alex tries his best, bless him, but he's as much a fish out of water as he ever was.)
Their limited tastes are hardly her problem, but having someone appreciate it is still refreshing.
His own warmth at the topic of Hunter Tepes is obvious. "Yeah! Yeah, he was. He... He was the best. He is the best."
Edwin smiles at the floor. "He never forced me into things, even when he could have. Even when some wardens might say he should have. He always made sure we were working together, that I knew I had choices and that they'd make a difference, even when I'd fucked up something big. He-- There was a lot that scared me, a lot, and he never got impatient about anything, always let me have time to think, worked hard to help me calm down when I was upset so we could talk about it. And at the end of it-- at the end of it, he got me and my brother, the John in my timeline, bodies that we could actually use, that were ours, and could hold everything we are. He used his deal for that."
She's listening with cautious optimism, brow furrowed as she considers what that could be like, how much it could have changed - could still change, if she just -
Then Edwin casually drops a bombshell, and she stares at him like he's just told her two plus two equals five, actually.
"He did. I didn't even ask him, he offered. My brother was going to use his to get me a body, if he needed to, if he got it before I got one, but Hunter just... wanted to give his to me."
That's about when he realizes there's a precedent there that he was not primed to follow.
He looks up finally, to see the expression on Madelyne's face.
"There are some people I... hurt, killed, whose lives I want to save. But that doesn't have to be this deal. If there's something you need, something the Admiral could help with... I'll give you the deal from our pairing too. I was lucky. I don't want to be the only one who is."
Her expression is, to put it lightly, viscerally stunned. That's not how it works, that's not how it ever works. Even when Jean shared her memories - well, she said it herself, giving them to Madelyne didn't mean taking them away from her. Illyana chose her to rule Limbo out of understanding, out of camaraderie, but she wanted to give it up.
Hunter gave Edwin his life back, and in exchange took nothing at all; in exchange he gave him an easier way to live it. And now Edwin wants to -
She's already shaking her head by time he finishes.
"I don't - look, contracts are something I can accept." Of course she doesn't realise, as she verbalises this, how many of her fundamental issues are bound up in it: that toxic, simmering blend of pride and despair. "I'll get them back myself. With a deal of my own, maybe, or some other way."
Madelyne opens her mouth for an obvious answer, because it feels so obvious. Then she shuts it, looks vaguely baffled, and stalls a bit by taking a seat at her desk and resting her chin in her hand. (It's the obvious choice for the file, and has the largest chairs. At the moment they're cushioned in light green, with high backs that flare into bat wings.)
"An exchange...makes sense. Blood for blood, power for power, I can trust that." She gestures at the wall behind her, which showcases both painted vistas of Limbo (and one, in a far corner, of Alaska) along with a few mounted horns and claws. "That's how Limbo functions - no matter who you are, you're bound by your word."
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"I think...I'd rather rip the bandaid off all at once." She hops from the rail onto the deck, landing as light as a feather. "Let's go to my cabin."
It's not really the Embassy, not any true seat of power, but she still feels more like a queen there. Besides, the door locks.
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"Right." He looks down at the file in his hands, frowning at it, then looks at her again. "Where's your cabin?"
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"You ever see that tree, in one of the common rooms?" She starts moving before she finishes the question.
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"Which one?"
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"Let's make a pit stop." Look, the thing is fascinating, and she's interested to hear his thoughts on it. It'll certainly tell her more about his perspective.
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He's curious, and he'll never say no to something plant related.
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Her steps slow only when they enter the common room, entirely for dramatic effect.
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The tree is, first, beautiful in a strangely horrifying way. It's not the same horror as the chaos of the Dark World or things like Edwin himself, but it's there. A sort of unnatural perfection, the riot of growth broken into organization that it can't escape.
He doesn't forget he's with Madelyne, but he wants to see it closer. He's still got her file held close against his chest with one arm as he goes up to the - it feels wrong to call it a plant, but it's not a simple construct either. It's a natural unnatural. The kind of thing that could, he thinks, be a gateway to the Dreamlands in another universe.
Edwin very gently touches the trunk. "Who did this to it? And why did they leave it here and not take it to the greenhouse?"
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"No idea; it was here when I first arrived, so it must be years old at this point." Just how many, she still isn't sure. "Iris probably knows. Lark might." They've been here the longest, she's pretty sure.
"And maybe it prefers to say where it was born."
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So he rests his ear gently against the trunk, more for show than because he needs the ear to hear things in this body. He closes his eyes, lets his grip on linear time slide a little, until each second stretches out like taffy around him and he can hear the soft creak and shift of a plant quietly tending to its own needs. This at least he's done before.
"Can it talk?"
Slow as he's made everything feel to hear the tree's noises properly, his own voice sounds strange in his head.
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She wasn't there, as Nathan grew into his power, but she remembers it all the same. It's more reflex than resolve, the way she answers.
Probably not like people do, but I'm betting you'll be able to communicate on some level. She couldn't project into an average person's mind, as she is, but Edwin isn't one.
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Why did you want to come here first?
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She thought it would make her feel more powerless than it does - more hostile and defensive - and maybe it would, if they'd met differently. But he's already seen so much, and so has she. There's always an instinct to level the playing field, but it simmers instead of raging.
Perhaps, one day, she'll realise that she also wants to act like a friend, sharing something wondrous and strange to enjoy together.
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Anything you want to know about me, you can ask. That only seems fair.
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Very few things, or people, are even slightly fair. But she's certainly seen the exceptions try. She's seen them try so damned hard it burned them out.
I'll ask. How much of his answers she believes, how much more she tries to see - well, they'll find that out as they go, won't they.
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He smiles when she says she'll ask, strokes the tree in farewell, and looks back at her again. "Are you ready? Was there something else you wanted to do with the tree."
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Madelyne stares at the tree a moment longer, expression distant and inscrutable, before shaking her head. "Let's head over."
Her door is impossible to miss; it's the one carved with flaming pentagrams and crowned with bone. Her nostalgic smile would probably unsettle many other people, but she doubts it will bother Edwin.
As she opens it she murmurs, "You know, I've had three of these, and this is the first time he got it right."
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Their limited tastes are hardly her problem, but having someone appreciate it is still refreshing.
"Hunter - that was your warden, right?"
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Edwin smiles at the floor. "He never forced me into things, even when he could have. Even when some wardens might say he should have. He always made sure we were working together, that I knew I had choices and that they'd make a difference, even when I'd fucked up something big. He-- There was a lot that scared me, a lot, and he never got impatient about anything, always let me have time to think, worked hard to help me calm down when I was upset so we could talk about it. And at the end of it-- at the end of it, he got me and my brother, the John in my timeline, bodies that we could actually use, that were ours, and could hold everything we are. He used his deal for that."
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Then Edwin casually drops a bombshell, and she stares at him like he's just told her two plus two equals five, actually.
"He just - gave you his deal?"
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"He did. I didn't even ask him, he offered. My brother was going to use his to get me a body, if he needed to, if he got it before I got one, but Hunter just... wanted to give his to me."
That's about when he realizes there's a precedent there that he was not primed to follow.
He looks up finally, to see the expression on Madelyne's face.
"There are some people I... hurt, killed, whose lives I want to save. But that doesn't have to be this deal. If there's something you need, something the Admiral could help with... I'll give you the deal from our pairing too. I was lucky. I don't want to be the only one who is."
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Hunter gave Edwin his life back, and in exchange took nothing at all; in exchange he gave him an easier way to live it. And now Edwin wants to -
She's already shaking her head by time he finishes.
"I don't - look, contracts are something I can accept." Of course she doesn't realise, as she verbalises this, how many of her fundamental issues are bound up in it: that toxic, simmering blend of pride and despair. "I'll get them back myself. With a deal of my own, maybe, or some other way."
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"Why?"
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"An exchange...makes sense. Blood for blood, power for power, I can trust that." She gestures at the wall behind her, which showcases both painted vistas of Limbo (and one, in a far corner, of Alaska) along with a few mounted horns and claws. "That's how Limbo functions - no matter who you are, you're bound by your word."
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