They already are. A friend of mine said that the directors told him we brought our experiences with us like mud on our shoes. The scrunchies are supposed to protect them from us, and us from whatever bad shit we brought with us.
[Oh. He... wasn't aware of that, not at all. He'd already looked upset, but his face falls even more, hearing that.
He lifts a hand thoughtlessly, touching the scrunchie in his hair. Even now, he wants to say something like maybe they didn't mean it that way--but he doesn't trust so thoroughly for nothing. He isn't quite that naive.
It's... possible. [ she says, quieter. she watches him with a sad look. it's like kicking a puppy. ]
They never came off as anything but genuine to me, and I've got a pretty good bullshit detector. I just - I don't want to think it's our fault. It shouldn't be.
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I think that's bullshit.
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He lifts a hand thoughtlessly, touching the scrunchie in his hair. Even now, he wants to say something like maybe they didn't mean it that way--but he doesn't trust so thoroughly for nothing. He isn't quite that naive.
He sighs, letting his hands drop.]
...Is it possible that they're not lying?
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They never came off as anything but genuine to me, and I've got a pretty good bullshit detector. I just - I don't want to think it's our fault. It shouldn't be.
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[He sounds--oddly vehement about this, for some reason, his hands clenching uselessly around the sheath of his sword.]
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No, it doesn't. You're right, it doesn't fucking matter where we were before this.