Hmm, ( Leon muses, because has he? technically, yes. kind of. when he'd been a head in the clouds kid. certain he could change the world. or at least Raccoon City. if he just tried hard enough. drove into his first day despite every indication he should have stayed away. so, yes. the answer is definitely yes.
he was wrong, though. he sees that now. he had made a nominal difference, perhaps more actively detrimental than helpful. sometimes when he picks apart that night, all the things he did or didn't do, the things he should have done better, he's certain that everyone he encountered would have been better off without him there in the first place. Claire had scraped by alone just fine without his intervention. their intersections had never been monumental. yes, technically, he'd been her ride into the city, but if he hadn't been there she'd have gotten there on her own, looking for her brother. and if Claire made it there, she'd make it out, and so would Sherry. he wouldn't have been there to distract Ada, maybe she wouldn't have end up injured in the first place. in hindsight, he should have just rolled over and given himself another hangover. instead of driving straight into the storm, trying to be a big damn hero.
he doesn't know how to relay this reality elegantly. that one person probably can't make enough of a difference that it would matter. that there's no point to sticking around in a place rapidly approaching its own self destruction. it doesn't matter if Silent Hill means something to Maria, that won't stop it from folding in on itself. sooner rather than later, if he had to guess. he frowns and stares somewhere beyond the dusty side table, hand that had been limitedly scrubbing the damp off his skin stalling as he gets lost in his head. chews through his thoughts for what he might be able to convince her with. because there's gotta be something. right? why would she want to stick around and burn with this place?
because some guy is looking for her, maybe, apparently. Leon turns back to Maria again, brow furrowed. ) If you don't want to, then why bother? ( a lot of what she's saying doesn't make any sense, but who is he to judge after saying he got a letter from a dead lady he mostly built up in his imagination, since he was only actively in her presence for a couple of hours. as for Ada; at least that answer is easy. ) Sure she does, but not in the way you're making it sound. If I had to guess she needs something and I'm the perfect sucker for the job. ( what she'll wring out of him, exactly, he doesn't know. it doesn't even really matter. seeing her alive, breathing, that smug little look turning up the corner of her mouth that she has him right where she wants him — it'll be worth the annoyance, the danger in getting there, and being wound right around her finger all over again. he would do anything just to know the truth, so she can't be his shrodinger's cat for the rest of his miserable life. even put up with the shambling melting monstrosities of this creepy little town in Maine. ) If she didn't she'd just have stayed gone.
( why does it sound like he's trying to convince her? maybe because he is. if he can convince her, then maybe he'll feel a little bit less like an idiot. already drug under by the idea of Ada Wong, without so much as a faint hint that it's really here. he'd like to believe he isn't a complete moron, despite all the evidence to the contrary. )
So you didn't love her. It's not that kind of connection.
( it's not something that she says with any amount of animosity; it's hard to muster that up for a perfect pretty boy that she's just met, even if the implication does make her stomach turn. a nice person would help. a nice person wouldn't ask questions, wouldn't keep asking questions, wouldn't turn her chin in against her shoulder and look down at leon's hands like she should really divest him of the rest of his clothing. and maybe she's wrong, anyway, and maybe it is love, a kind of love that she can't understand; then again, she can't understand anyone willingly coming to a place like this unless it's for someone that they love. a person whose only importance is being there to boss another person around and tell them what to do? she wouldn't enjoy that kind of person, but then again, those kinds of people are a dime a dozen.
but she doesn't think that fits, either. it's not an accusation, but she imagines that it will get the wheels turning, will get leon's lips moving, his tongue curving, will get more than just the gentle pussyfooting around that she's doing, like a cat sticking its paw in under the shadow of a door.
it's not like she's any better. she doesn't know much about james, she just knows what she feels about him, what feels correct, what her blurry memories seem to imply. a kindness that is sometimes cold, a gentle, deep voice, the kind of person that would probably lay on the ground and let her literally walk all over him to avoid stepping in a puddle. does that make james the perfect sucker, or does that make her it: staying in a town that's rotting away, with no hope for anything except some abstract idea of rescue?
her chin tucks against her shoulder, gaze pinned on leon's profile; if nothing else, he's much nicer to look at than the wallpaper, so she's grateful. )
Shouldn't we both leave, then? If we're just getting dragged through this place for someone else's bidding.
( her eyes soften, a twitch of her mouth into a smile. ) No, you're too good of a man for that. What will it take? Another few days, or a few weeks, here? If you don't find her? Maybe we make a pact.
( a bet she wants to say instead, but that's a little crude. ) Look, and if we don't find it here, then we leave. Do you think you can leave?
( he's slow to answer. hell, his jaw knits and his teeth grind and he considers not answering at all. because even all these years later, he can't quite turn off the part of him that Ada managed to twist around her fingers. love is a strong word, isn't it, because how pathetic would it be to love a woman he knew for a few hours at most. it was the idea of her, the situation, he was so stupid and desperate and the world was falling apart around them and that's what made it feel the way it did. that's why. it wasn't real, in hindsight.
even if it was real, it was only real for him. so how can it be real now, when he knows it was all a rouse to get him to do what she wanted. )
No, ( he says, even though the fact he's here, dripping into musty motel carpet with shambling monstrosities just outside the barricaded door, is sort of giving him away. love or not, he's so obsessed with the idea of Ada Wong he will walk right into a nightmare on a chance. that's not exactly a good sign as to the ambivalence of his feelings. still, even if he's not ambivalent about Ada, he sure as shit hasn't forgiven her, either. if he loves her, he hates her too. it doesn't really matter to him what the name on the feeling is — if she's here, he will find her. and he's too fixed on the objective to really contemplate the aftermath just yet.
so Maria is right. he won't leave. does it make him good? stubborn and stupid feels more apt. whatever she'd like to call it, the result is the same. he hasn't looked nearly enough to give up on what brought him here. if it isn't Ada, it's somebody who knows more than he'd like them to, which is plenty of reason to keep looking. no, he's not ready to leave, even if it'd be the smarter, practical thing. )
I don't know. ( what it'll take, that is. an answer? closure? why the hell would that be in Maine. still, he needs more than nothing, and that letter was the only lead he's had in years. Leon is nothing if not determined. he will find it or he will die trying. simply giving up does not occur to him as an option. and after that... )
Deal. ( Leon turns to face Maria, losing the slight advantage of distance to hide his expression. since he's considering the Ada conversation closed with their decision to team up for a scheduled departure, he has less to hide. not that it hasn't rattled him — if anything, it is like he has something to prove. that Ada hasn't been haunting him since Raccoon City, that he isn't in love with the idea of a woman he knows isn't real. which is especially stupid, all things considered. ) Getting naked helped the wet problem. Not so much the cold problem.
( sorry, Maria. Leon flirts back but he turns it off and on with little to no warning. )
( obsession is a dangerous thing, but beautiful, in its own right. it takes strong men, beautiful men, and tears them down to their insincerity; leon says he doesn't know, but he does know, doesn't he? leon says that it's a deal, but she knows that if they agreed to leave together, that if they don't find this ada, that they'll stand on the precipice of the town line and leon will likely say but like there's some stone they didn't overturn at least three times, and they'll circle around again. an endless cycle of endless torture, all to come up with no answers: that's what she's expecting, despite the guidance that james is, supposedly, actually here. and maybe when they turn to leave, she won't be able to leave at all; that's a real possibility.
but it's a deal, anyway, which she answers with a smile, instead of agreement--a shallow lie, maybe, but it means that it could truthfully go either way.
and what does leon see, looking back at her, saying things like that? she writes him off and he comes back again with an addendum; she can't seem to find the right way to color in the lines, but then she's never been good at that to begin with. it's obvious, given the way that she's still seated next to him, given the way that she hasn't offered to find some other room in this hellhole to sleep in, or stay in, or get cleaned up in. the weather likely isn't going to let up for hours; there's no point in getting drenched in blood and rainwater when they can wait for the foggy, early hours of a grey morning.
so she considers it, as she tilts her head the other way, looking at the rest of the bed--and then tilts again, to look at him, smiling. )
Think the sheets are clean? I've heard getting beneath them really gets the blood pumping.
( as if sleeping is a foreign concept. as if she can't really recall it happening at all. as if some muddied memory of a bed and pain and torture are the only things she can dredge up. )
I might be willing to keep a guy warm, but only if he keeps me entertained.
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he was wrong, though. he sees that now. he had made a nominal difference, perhaps more actively detrimental than helpful. sometimes when he picks apart that night, all the things he did or didn't do, the things he should have done better, he's certain that everyone he encountered would have been better off without him there in the first place. Claire had scraped by alone just fine without his intervention. their intersections had never been monumental. yes, technically, he'd been her ride into the city, but if he hadn't been there she'd have gotten there on her own, looking for her brother. and if Claire made it there, she'd make it out, and so would Sherry. he wouldn't have been there to distract Ada, maybe she wouldn't have end up injured in the first place. in hindsight, he should have just rolled over and given himself another hangover. instead of driving straight into the storm, trying to be a big damn hero.
he doesn't know how to relay this reality elegantly. that one person probably can't make enough of a difference that it would matter. that there's no point to sticking around in a place rapidly approaching its own self destruction. it doesn't matter if Silent Hill means something to Maria, that won't stop it from folding in on itself. sooner rather than later, if he had to guess. he frowns and stares somewhere beyond the dusty side table, hand that had been limitedly scrubbing the damp off his skin stalling as he gets lost in his head. chews through his thoughts for what he might be able to convince her with. because there's gotta be something. right? why would she want to stick around and burn with this place?
because some guy is looking for her, maybe, apparently. Leon turns back to Maria again, brow furrowed. ) If you don't want to, then why bother? ( a lot of what she's saying doesn't make any sense, but who is he to judge after saying he got a letter from a dead lady he mostly built up in his imagination, since he was only actively in her presence for a couple of hours. as for Ada; at least that answer is easy. ) Sure she does, but not in the way you're making it sound. If I had to guess she needs something and I'm the perfect sucker for the job. ( what she'll wring out of him, exactly, he doesn't know. it doesn't even really matter. seeing her alive, breathing, that smug little look turning up the corner of her mouth that she has him right where she wants him — it'll be worth the annoyance, the danger in getting there, and being wound right around her finger all over again. he would do anything just to know the truth, so she can't be his shrodinger's cat for the rest of his miserable life. even put up with the shambling melting monstrosities of this creepy little town in Maine. ) If she didn't she'd just have stayed gone.
( why does it sound like he's trying to convince her? maybe because he is. if he can convince her, then maybe he'll feel a little bit less like an idiot. already drug under by the idea of Ada Wong, without so much as a faint hint that it's really here. he'd like to believe he isn't a complete moron, despite all the evidence to the contrary. )
no subject
( it's not something that she says with any amount of animosity; it's hard to muster that up for a perfect pretty boy that she's just met, even if the implication does make her stomach turn. a nice person would help. a nice person wouldn't ask questions, wouldn't keep asking questions, wouldn't turn her chin in against her shoulder and look down at leon's hands like she should really divest him of the rest of his clothing. and maybe she's wrong, anyway, and maybe it is love, a kind of love that she can't understand; then again, she can't understand anyone willingly coming to a place like this unless it's for someone that they love. a person whose only importance is being there to boss another person around and tell them what to do? she wouldn't enjoy that kind of person, but then again, those kinds of people are a dime a dozen.
but she doesn't think that fits, either. it's not an accusation, but she imagines that it will get the wheels turning, will get leon's lips moving, his tongue curving, will get more than just the gentle pussyfooting around that she's doing, like a cat sticking its paw in under the shadow of a door.
it's not like she's any better. she doesn't know much about james, she just knows what she feels about him, what feels correct, what her blurry memories seem to imply. a kindness that is sometimes cold, a gentle, deep voice, the kind of person that would probably lay on the ground and let her literally walk all over him to avoid stepping in a puddle. does that make james the perfect sucker, or does that make her it: staying in a town that's rotting away, with no hope for anything except some abstract idea of rescue?
her chin tucks against her shoulder, gaze pinned on leon's profile; if nothing else, he's much nicer to look at than the wallpaper, so she's grateful. )
Shouldn't we both leave, then? If we're just getting dragged through this place for someone else's bidding.
( her eyes soften, a twitch of her mouth into a smile. ) No, you're too good of a man for that. What will it take? Another few days, or a few weeks, here? If you don't find her? Maybe we make a pact.
( a bet she wants to say instead, but that's a little crude. ) Look, and if we don't find it here, then we leave. Do you think you can leave?
no subject
even if it was real, it was only real for him. so how can it be real now, when he knows it was all a rouse to get him to do what she wanted. )
No, ( he says, even though the fact he's here, dripping into musty motel carpet with shambling monstrosities just outside the barricaded door, is sort of giving him away. love or not, he's so obsessed with the idea of Ada Wong he will walk right into a nightmare on a chance. that's not exactly a good sign as to the ambivalence of his feelings. still, even if he's not ambivalent about Ada, he sure as shit hasn't forgiven her, either. if he loves her, he hates her too. it doesn't really matter to him what the name on the feeling is — if she's here, he will find her. and he's too fixed on the objective to really contemplate the aftermath just yet.
so Maria is right. he won't leave. does it make him good? stubborn and stupid feels more apt. whatever she'd like to call it, the result is the same. he hasn't looked nearly enough to give up on what brought him here. if it isn't Ada, it's somebody who knows more than he'd like them to, which is plenty of reason to keep looking. no, he's not ready to leave, even if it'd be the smarter, practical thing. )
I don't know. ( what it'll take, that is. an answer? closure? why the hell would that be in Maine. still, he needs more than nothing, and that letter was the only lead he's had in years. Leon is nothing if not determined. he will find it or he will die trying. simply giving up does not occur to him as an option. and after that... )
Deal. ( Leon turns to face Maria, losing the slight advantage of distance to hide his expression. since he's considering the Ada conversation closed with their decision to team up for a scheduled departure, he has less to hide. not that it hasn't rattled him — if anything, it is like he has something to prove. that Ada hasn't been haunting him since Raccoon City, that he isn't in love with the idea of a woman he knows isn't real. which is especially stupid, all things considered. ) Getting naked helped the wet problem. Not so much the cold problem.
( sorry, Maria. Leon flirts back but he turns it off and on with little to no warning. )
no subject
but it's a deal, anyway, which she answers with a smile, instead of agreement--a shallow lie, maybe, but it means that it could truthfully go either way.
and what does leon see, looking back at her, saying things like that? she writes him off and he comes back again with an addendum; she can't seem to find the right way to color in the lines, but then she's never been good at that to begin with. it's obvious, given the way that she's still seated next to him, given the way that she hasn't offered to find some other room in this hellhole to sleep in, or stay in, or get cleaned up in. the weather likely isn't going to let up for hours; there's no point in getting drenched in blood and rainwater when they can wait for the foggy, early hours of a grey morning.
so she considers it, as she tilts her head the other way, looking at the rest of the bed--and then tilts again, to look at him, smiling. )
Think the sheets are clean? I've heard getting beneath them really gets the blood pumping.
( as if sleeping is a foreign concept. as if she can't really recall it happening at all. as if some muddied memory of a bed and pain and torture are the only things she can dredge up. )
I might be willing to keep a guy warm, but only if he keeps me entertained.