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That's a little ominous. Norton not meaning anything to be taken poorly doesn't say anything about how it was taken.

"Good to know he likes me," he says, a little wryly, "we've been together for, fuck, four and a half years, or so." The longest relationship he's had.

"He mentioned you offered your room when he first got in. That was kind of you." And that part doesn't bother him. It was a nice thing to do even with the promise of sex.

"That is about as long as I was active duty. It certainly is an accomplishment."

"I knew what it was like to not want to be in the cabin the Admiral provided." He'd trashed his and slept in the greenhouse until a warden had requested a change. "And I was just across the hall."

"I just changed my own cabin recently." He huffs a soft laugh and looks over at Rawne, "he's been making fun of my old bedroom since we met so I figured it was due for a change."

"Why'd he do that?" he asks, "he teased me about the room I got when I got back here. All I had was a cot for a bed."

"It was small, single bed with just enough room for my computer and my drafting table. I told him it was an upgrade from my Stateroom, but he didn't come over often regardless." A soldiers bunk, he called it.

"I don't think he appreciated the minimalism."

"He likes his comforts." Rawne smiles a little. "Whatever the opposite of minimalism is, that's his thing."

"Not that I blame him for it, but one look at his pillow collection and everyone would know he's a maximalist." He has to fight the smile as he says it, reaching over to grab his bookmark and slot it into the textbook, snapping it shut.

"But, we probably shouldn't be spending our time teasing him when he can't even pout or defend himself. Was there something I can help you with, Rawne? Or just looking for a chat?"

"Just a chat. I've seen you around and I know Norton works with you, so..." he shrugs. He's not the greatest at social stuff, still. "I figured we might as well get to know each other."

I don't know, I...

[Shrug.]

I don't wanna dump everything on somebody until I have it sorted out in my head a bit better.

I understand you don't see therapy as an option on board because of your options, but maybe you could write it down? That might help your sorting.

I was keeping a journal for a long while before you came on board. I wrote out one sided conversations because it did help, at least a little.

I could ask the Admiral for a notebook only you can read? Fitz got me one for christmas... you could give that a try?

He almost laughs at the phrasing. Ah, yes. Working with Norton. That's one way to put it.

"Speaking of, don't ever try and tail a murderer with him if you want the element of surprise. I think he forgets that not everyone can teleport or become intangible. but that's the last thing I'm saying, I swear."

Edited 2025-03-05 01:32 (UTC)

That sounds like a story worth hearing. "I'll keep that in mind. If I ever have cause to tail someone with him."

Abel leans in with a coy smile and whispers quietly to Rawne as if sharing a secret, "It's because he can't stop talking. If I hadn't felt like I was going to die, it would have been incredibly enduring." Seems that was the last thing as he leans out of the other man's space, setting his book aside and crossing a leg over the other, turning to face him in his chair better.

"Now, you'll have to tell me about yourself, I honestly don't know much and you look like an interesting sort of man." The tattoo obviously stands out as a feature, hopefully not as painful or uncomfortable a story as Abel's own distinguishing feature, the scar across his lip.

"About myself? I'm no one special, really," he says, "I was in the Imperial Guard, died, came here, graduated, went home, came back, started wardening. I don't intend to go home again, I'll probably join Shaw in her world."

[Thrawn has no clothing except what has been issued to him; has no real concept of fashion, anyway, and thus arrives in his standard military work-out gear himself. He walks with purpose, but there's an air to him that speaks of distraction, malaise, and sadness.

His pupils are visible, which is rare; ordinarily his eyes are glowing, blazing red in darkness. Here he appears weary, like the years have suddenly caught up with him.

He stands at attention near Abel, at parade rest, silent and watchful in a detached sort of curiosity]

[Abel looks over the screen at Thrawn and tries not to make a face. There is definitely a feeling that is lingering with the thought that offering to spend time with someone because you are trying to apologize and be helpful is returned with the person looking like they'd rather be somewhere else. He glances back down at the pad and pauses, finger hovering over an option.]

Did you see the Anti-matter cannons they had on board the Narrenschiff?

[Perhaps a shift of gear is in order.]

They were the smallest I'd ever seen in my life, but still had the capacity for great harm. [His smile is small, but hopeful.] Would you like to see a proper one?

"Ah, another military man. I was a Navigator in the Alliance, a pilot essentially." He says with a smile, "I'm a little jealous. Shaw did ask me once if I was interested, and I did consider it myself, but...I have a mess to clean up back home." One that he still isn't sure he wants to stick around for, but he's not about to look at that fully in it's face and probably won't until Fitz graduates or he has something forcibly make him look at it.

"The messes where I'm from are too big for one person to clean up." And they'd involve drastically reshaping reality, at this point. "My first deal was to bring my commanding officer back, that's the most I could do."

[unknowing - as usual - about how he comes off to others, simply acknowledging that he will always run astray due to unknown perceptions, Thrawn gives a brief nod. All business; this is easier than allowing his vulnerabilities to show. When he has a task to do he will fulfill it, but evidently this ship and its people despise his ideas as much as his own did.

Never mind. He will graduate, and leave, and not become emotionally attached. It was an error to trust, to hope. He knows divesting of feelings once sown is difficult - Abel is likable, Thrawn enjoys his company - but it will not prevent Abel from zigzagging when Thrawn steps out of line. He will follow the line as best he can, and until then, be the obedient inmate who, conversely, will be told to prefer absolute freedom and chaos over lifesaving tools.

This is fine.

His thoughts drift - contradictory, swirling, a maelstrom where once was order and a calm sea - and it is reflected in a contradictory way of distance, rigidity, and an absence of thought or feeling. This too, he knows is dangerous, but it is less dangerous because doing so will not bring Florian's ire like his more ambitious goals will.

This is Abel's project. Abel is asking for assistance. He will serve with all his skills and none of his heart.]

I have seen anti-matter used as bombs, as fuel, and as hyperdrive rings. Not as cannons. But I agree that they have the capacity for great harm.

If it is necessary in order to fix one, then yes.

You could easily argue that the one that Abel is aiming for is also too big for one person to clean up, and it is, but that doesn't stop Abel from believing it's his duty to try. "I can understand that... I've spent most of my time here trying to figure out how to end our war ethically. It's...quite the problem. If I asked for the eradication of our enemies, I would be no different than they are, and I cannot justify asking for genocide to spare humanity from their own eradication."

Though, he understands that's a rather serious topic for the gym, clearing his throat, he attempts to steer somewhere else, "Probably not the best topic for the gym though. What was your commanding officer like? Mine unfortunately revealed himself to be less than what anyone could think of him, it'd be nice to hear about a man deserving of his position."

That was getting awkwardly close to Rawne's mess, so he's glad for a change of topic. "Gaunt is... almost too perfect, sometimes. I used to think he was a stuck-up jackass but he holds himself accountable as much as anyone else. More, even. He's also the luckiest son of a bitch I've ever met."

[He scrunches his nose a little, unsure if he can entirely trust that.]

Only I can read it?

[At least he isn't dismissing the idea outright?]

I can show you mine, if you'd like? [He could even demonstrate writing a line if Alexei didn't trust it so he could prove that it worked.]

It makes me feel better, knowing that it's for my eyes only.

[If Abel were a psychic he'd probably smack the other man with a newspaper and remind him that while they both make overthinking look like a sport, it isn't one.

Seeing how he is now, and thankfully so, he shrugs and enters in the program for Central command, the Anti-matter cannon segment. He'd designed it separately as the whole damn thing took up such a large portion of the base that it had become rather tedious doing it all at once. The white halls of Central command start to materialize at the base of the stairs and Abel nods towards them.]

I am actually curious to hear what you think of the design. It's the last defense of the Alliance and the largest cannon ever made, at least where I come from.

[He can't say that statement would hole up across the multi-verse.]

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