[god, what do you even say to something like this? something that gets across how sorry you are without sounding condescending or awful or insincere? or even just like - how horrifying it is, to have to deal with something like this, to have lived it.
karlach comes a little closer - slow. telegraphed. trying to be smaller than she is. and very carefully crouches down next to her and takes that hand that's scratching. holds it, fingers twined.]
[Hand in hand now, Karlach folds herself into a peaceable size for her. Too considerate, too kind. Camille's shoulders hitch but she meets her eye. Squeezes her hand back, even if she wants to sink into the swamp just to escape attention.]
Had her incarcerated. [What else was there to do. Camille's mouth becomes a thin line, neither smile nor grimace.] I visited her once. I don't know when I'll go back.
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karlach comes a little closer - slow. telegraphed. trying to be smaller than she is. and very carefully crouches down next to her and takes that hand that's scratching. holds it, fingers twined.]
... Gods.
[she says, finally.]
What... what did you do with her?
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Had her incarcerated. [What else was there to do. Camille's mouth becomes a thin line, neither smile nor grimace.] I visited her once. I don't know when I'll go back.
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I don't blame you, that's a heavy fucking thing to handle. [...]
I haven't got good enough words to say, I think. Nothing will fix it. But that sounds like a weight on your shoulders, and I'm sorry about it.
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You don't need words. It's not — there's no easy replies for anyone's bullshit. So don't worry about it.
...Just don't spread it around.
[The media had feasted on it for ages. She's tired of being a spectacle.]
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[a beat.]
Thanks. For trusting me with that.
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Thanks. Same to you.