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[ Many of the Scions know that he's half-Garlean. He'd even go so far as to call that part common knowledge, but this? Only very few people know the story behind the strokes of paint that cover his face, and fewer still have seen the scars.

In fact, Connor is the only one to have seen him without his warpaint. Even before Connor asks, he knows the answer. He knows that he's strangely okay with this, the initial embarrassment aside. ]

Uncomfortable? No. I... I trust you with this, Connor. I decided I would trust you with it when you asked back on Struxta.

[There's something... satisfying, knowing that Connor holds that much of Arenvald's trust. (Maybe satisfying isn't quite the right word for it, not strong enough, but he doesn't wish to strain his mind to find the right label for it right now.)]

Thank you. I'm glad that you trust me enough to tell me something which probably isn't easy for you to talk about.

[They've both had their turns at it, haven't they?

He pauses, pursing his lips together, before venturing further.]

It must've been difficult, after that. Fending for yourself, by yourself?

[ Of all the people who could have barged in on him, he’s glad it’s Connor. Connor has a quiet sort of understanding, even with his penchant for directness. He appreciates the chance to have this moment, sat down as friends instead of the somewhat hurried explanation he gave to Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light to better explain his desire to seek out the Mad King’s trove.

This is different. It is grim and heavy to be sure, but there is a measure of comfort here as well. ]

No, it was… quite difficult. The best thing I can say about those years was that I survived, but I’m not proud of the things I did to get there, begging and stealing and worse with naught to my name but a dagger and whatever scraps I could lay my hands on.

Then one day something clicked into place. I looked in the mirror and realized I hated the animal I’d become. I fell in with the first group of refugees I could, bound for the border and out of Ala Mhigo. Once we crossed out of Garlean territory, I took up life as an adventurer. I earned an honest living as best I could and ‘twas only some time after that my Echo began to awaken and guided me to the Scions’ door.

[It’s hard to imagine Arenvald — the kind and friendly person that Connor knows him to be — to have once been desperate enough to steal and worse. But he knows just as much that survival is an impossibly strong motivator; instinct ingrained in organic beings, that will to live overriding almost everything else, rendering paths steeped in morality far more difficult to tread.

He’s seen it in deviants too. That stubborn desire to cling to what they thought was life, the way they looked at him, with that vicious, last-gasp defiance they all shared.

Connor swallows thickly, though he has no need to. He’s glad, at least, that his friend was able to pull himself out of that dark period of his life.]

You’re a very strong individual, Arenvald. Most would let experiences like that change their personality and perception of life into something bleak. Something that followed them constantly. But it appears as if the opposite applies, in your case.

[ That is a very flattering assessment, and though it’s not the first time he’s heard such a remark, it still makes him a bit embarrassed. He doesn’t think he did much special, but he’s seen just what can happen when things go the opposite. He sees it in Fordola, a girl his own age, a pureblood Ala Mhigan who threw in with the Empire out of some bitter sort of hatred towards her countrymen and determination to prove that she was good enough in the eyes of their invaders. It eats at her, that anger. By the grace of whatever gods that cared to cast their mercy upon a poor half-breed like him, he was spared that darkness. ]

Someone very important to me once said that I am free to write my own story. I try to live by that as best I can.

[ His eyes flick over, catching Connor’s gaze. ]

There should have been no future for someone like me, some wretched, starving half-breed with a scar on his face and no food in his belly. But somehow… I moved beyond that. I became more than what I was made to be, and I can only hope that I do better every day.

[He meets Arenvald’s gaze, and — I became more than what I was made to be — holds it, for a lingering second. He feels it again, then; that doubt, wheedling uncertainty, that has absolutely nothing to do with the tale he’s just been told. Simply the application of that idea, of becoming something other than what circumstances wrought you to be, runs a strange parallel in his mind that he has no desire to actually bring forth into the conversation.

Connor glances to the side briefly, sets his jaw. But nods, because despite whatever flickers within the ring of his LED, he is truly glad to hear it for his friend.]

I’m sure that you will. [He looks at Arenvald again.] All of us have been doing good since our arrival here. Helping foreign worlds and the people on them. Whatever circumstances that may come to define you in the future, it can only be a positive result.

[ That was somewhat intentional on his part, that statement. He had offered it to Connor as a suggestion in the midst of the Storm, after his friend has said in a small and terrified voice that he was afraid to die.

What if you are simply meant to be more than your program?

It is something he still believes of his friend, that despite his origins in some factory and the fact that is is electricity thrumming beneath his skin instead of a pulse, he is still a person. Connor, too, is free to write his own story. ]

I certainly hope so. I still don't really agree with Astoria more or less conscripting us, but I do feel good about what we've accomplished.

[Arenvald might believe it in an unwavering way, but to Connor, the idea is a bit like foundation shaking under his feet. And he does all he can to step over the fault lines, the cracks snaking across, so that he doesn't stumble and drown in the unknown in-between.

If he knows there's a point that his friend is trying to gently make, read via implication and memory of a conversation they've had once before, Connor willfully does not mention it or bring it to light.

If nothing else, his stubborn streak is indelible.]

It's hard to complain about a successful mission, even if none of us are here on our own accord. I hope it's the beginning of a trend.

So do I.

[ It feels good to succeed, regardless of why or how they're here. ]

By the way, let me know if there's anything I can do to help you out. With Hank, I mean, but in general, too.

I appreciate it. And the same applies to you, from me.

[He does have one final curiosity, though.]

Did you speak with Hank for very long?

Not overlong, I suppose.

[ He frowns, unsure if he wants to explain to Connor that Hank somehow got an express ticket onto his bad side. Surely he doesn't need to worry about that on top of everything else. ]

His dog ran off, so I helped him find it. After that we chatted a bit and I tried my level best to explain what was going on, but he wasn't really having it. We split up not long after that.

[But as always, and perhaps not surprisingly, Connor thrives off of details. Especially when it comes to his friends.]

What did you think of him?

[And in a very Connor-like fashion, he asks bluntly.]

[ Connor sure likes to cut right to the quick, doesn't he? ]

Well, I uh... I suppose he didn't strike me as someone I'd want to spend a lot of time with.

[ That's putting it nicely, right? ]

[He does, when he sees no reason not to.

But just as efficiently, he reads between the lines of Arenvald’s reply, noting the minute hesitation between words, the carefully crafted response that acts as a coating around a harsher truth.

It isn’t surprising.]

I’m sorry it wasn’t a better first impression. He was like that the day I met him, too. Quick to push those who disagree with him away, quicker to judge when he’s already made up his mind about someone.

But... he’s a good man, Arenvald. Despite whatever he might have said to you.

[ All at once he feels bad for letting Hank get under his skin like he had. He doesn't believe Connor to be the type to make that assessment lightly, especially given his proclivity for blunt-force honesty. ]

You know I trust you, so if you say he's a good man, I'll believe it.

Can't imagine he much likes me considering the way I sort of left in the middle of our conversation, though.

[Not that Connor expects to change Arenvald's mind with a single declaration, for he knows that these kind of impressions are the ones that linger the longest. He only hopes with time, the next few meetings won't be so unflattering.]

Was it that bad? Getting under your skin really takes some effort.

Well, I'm glad you think so highly of my temperament.

[ Said with a laugh, as he rubs the back of his neck. True, he's probably more even-keeled than a lot of people he knows, but he's not infallible. ]

It... ah, it was starting to needle at me, the things he was saying. I thought it best to leave before I made it worse.

[Despite everything, the next question should hardly be that surprising, even after directly appraising his friend’s demeanor. ]

What did he say to you, specifically?

[ He had a small sliver of hope that they might avoid the particulars, but Connor quickly proves him wrong, as bluntly as ever. ]

When he asked me not to tell you he was here, I told him he ought to give you more of a chance, especially since up until now you've been the only one here from your world.

He didn't much appreciate that, and accused me of trying to guilt him into doing something he didn't want to do. I left after that.

[His features tighten a small amount, Connor seeming to hang off of every word of this explanation. But to his credit, he doesn't look as hurt as one might expect; blame it mostly on the fact that still none of this comes as a true surprise. It fits what he knows about Hank, even if none of it is preferable to hear.]

I see. Thank you for clarifying.

[His LED spins once, twice.]

The transition to another world is jarring to most people. And I don't think Hank is the sort of man who processes sudden change very well, much less hearing suggestions that he wasn't ready to entertain.

[It sounds like Connor is making a lot of excuses for the man. Maybe he is. He backtracks a little, but doesn't correct himself.]

But I appreciate you trying to convince him, anyway. And that you became irritated on my account.

[ He does pick up on that, the excuses, but Arenvald reads it more as someone who just really wants their friends to get along, despite a rocky start. Honestly, he’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if he didn’t give Hank a fair shake after insisting he do the same for Connor. He’ll do his best. ]

By your reckoning, how long did you two know each other before you came here?

[He knows exactly how long, down to the very hour-]

Four days.

[-not that it’s very hard to count.

It’s quality, not quantity, that matters.]

Edited 2018-09-06 20:39 (UTC)

[ That surprises him a bit, evident in the slight arching of his brows. To his credit, he doesn’t just blurt out “that’s it?” since he knows well how quickly bonds can form on the battlefield. If their partnership, forced as it was, was put into place during a trying time, then four days is enough. More than enough. ]

No wonder he seemed confused when I told him I’d known you for months.

[He nods. Arenvald’s raising brows are noted, Connor always tracing changes of expression in his mind, even unintentionally — but the swift creation of his and Hank's friendship isn’t questioned, and he assumes that his companion understands.]

I want to say that’s probably the case. My experiences back home are admittedly very short compared to everyone else’s here. Speaking in terms of months in relation to myself would confuse anyone who knows me from Detroit.

[Well. Not that Hank would know when he was issued, but that didn’t change it being the truth.]

And here I’m used to being one of the youngest.

[ He grins as he says it, nudging Connor playfully. He gave Connor grief about his age before, so there’s a bit of a precedent. ]

Mayhap it’ll take months this time instead of days, but Hank will come around. I know he will.

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