Well, now I have to ask what you're so afraid of being inside. ( since Will is being so ominous about it. )
If mine is personalized to me, then I'm not sure what the association is. I probably just haven't put two and two together.
( something personal? he can think of five-letter words to fit him, or concepts that are important to him: angel, demon, virgo, study, bless, sigil, third. but six letters — is trickier. purify — doesn't work.
spirit — nope.
none of those feel personal, though, only familiar. he has to look up from his seat at the table and look around his abode — not his home, because that isn't what this is. this is a dwelling, one that suits him, but isn't his.
what is his, then? what did he add to the space that made it more of his own? the herbs which he bundles or steeps, hangs over doorways or burns as incense. books which he organizes, builds structure in his space, padding his house with knowledge like a bird adds something soft to the weaving of its nest. his skincare items, the smallest and simplest practice that Ben clings to dearly: his self-care, a facet of his health, a routine that grounds him.
routine. grounding.
Ben aligns the dials on the pointed indicators, almost scared to discover if the words that comes to mind is accurate.
[ Will's palm is sweating. He notices only when it causes him to almost drop his phone. ]
you got into yours. was your password an insult too?
[ Will realizes, too late, that... ] it can't have been. or you would have brought that up before the ominous halloween invitation.
[ Will's head ends up cradled in his hands, his entire body thrumming with anxious energy. He suddenly doesn't feel safe, in this house that he'd been considering a home with a dogged determination.
Toast whines and noses at his calf. Will pulls in a deep breath and stares at his cryptex, feeling the pointed urge to break it. ]
Considering the quality of insults in the past, I'm sure it wasn't.
What kind of insult would someone have set yours to? Something generic, or...personal?
I'm not asking you to tell me what it is exactly, obviously that isn't any of my business. ( it's a product of concern, because Ben's was nothing of the sort. he mulls his own password over again, scrutinizing it further in his mind. it feels associated to Ben, but it doesn't feel that personal.
personal. [ Will reads Ben's last reply over. Again.
He's not demanding the exact word, and maybe that's what causes Will to want to share it. He teeters on the edge of doing so anyway, to be contrary, to be brave about this, but what he ends up settling on is a curious if cowardly: ] at what point does being polite become turning people away?
( personal. Ben might level a heartfelt 'oof' if he were a lesser man, but he sentiment is there in spirit.
Ben moves along to add on to the conversation, some theories he has about the incense, the location of the country club, letting logic guide his focus. )
( but when Ben receives that second message...the indicator disappears, followed by a few beats of idle nothing.
it takes some time for Ben to reel about the question, double-triple questioning how much of that remark is really meant for him, directly. )
Hopefully not before the point where one finds themselves concerned about another's vulnerability, but doesn't know if they have the right to ask someone to put something personal on display.
So, perhaps the point where the phrase "that isn't any of my business" was used. ( he can see that now, now that he's dissecting the scene that played out a moment ago. )
I'm sorry. I've had to handle quite a lot of explaining-myself-from-scratch in life and it's never been pleasant. I don't want someone else thinking they owe me an explanation for something personal. It's tricky, wanting to know more about someone else, and knowing most of what to navigate is uncomfortable. I don't mean to turn you away.
I can rescind my remark about it not being my business, considering I would be happy to make it my business. If it isn't too late to make an edit to the conversation.
[ There's an impulsive edge to being rude that never quite anticipates a considerate response. The more texts that roll in, kindly addressing what Will sniped a complaint about just a few minutes before, the more he feels his stomach knot up with an awkward, self-aware apology that he doesn't want to have to voice.
Will's reply, even though he indirectly requested this, is several moments in the making. ]
i'd offer up a suggestion for later, but i don't think i'm a good person to ask about my own personal boundaries. if we negotiated it ahead of time, i'd probably warn you away from me in general.
it's only in the moment that i surprise myself with wanting to tell you things. or wanting to find out if you WANT me to tell you things.
it was an insult that was used to...frame me as fragile, and to turn me against someone else. and then later it ended up as part of a metaphor about impossible, broken things fixing themselves. me, fixing myself. so it was less an insult and more a [ he hesitates to use this word here, but ] grooming tool.
'teacup'. sounds harmless. and it's obvious based on what my puzzle looks like. but there's no chance that word wasn't picked on purpose.
yours doesn't seem as obvious, not unless it was 'copper'.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wontgraham) wrote2019-04-10 08:46 pm
no subject
If mine is personalized to me, then I'm not sure what the association is. I probably just haven't put two and two together.
( something personal? he can think of five-letter words to fit him, or concepts that are important to him: angel, demon, virgo, study, bless, sigil, third. but six letters — is trickier. purify — doesn't work.
spirit — nope.
none of those feel personal, though, only familiar. he has to look up from his seat at the table and look around his abode — not his home, because that isn't what this is. this is a dwelling, one that suits him, but isn't his.
what is his, then? what did he add to the space that made it more of his own? the herbs which he bundles or steeps, hangs over doorways or burns as incense. books which he organizes, builds structure in his space, padding his house with knowledge like a bird adds something soft to the weaving of its nest. his skincare items, the smallest and simplest practice that Ben clings to dearly: his self-care, a facet of his health, a routine that grounds him.
routine. grounding.
Ben aligns the dials on the pointed indicators, almost scared to discover if the words that comes to mind is accurate.
and then: )
All that for a damned party invitation?
no subject
you got into yours. was your password an insult too?
[ Will realizes, too late, that... ] it can't have been. or you would have brought that up before the ominous halloween invitation.
[ Will's head ends up cradled in his hands, his entire body thrumming with anxious energy. He suddenly doesn't feel safe, in this house that he'd been considering a home with a dogged determination.
Toast whines and noses at his calf. Will pulls in a deep breath and stares at his cryptex, feeling the pointed urge to break it. ]
no subject
What kind of insult would someone have set yours to? Something generic, or...personal?
I'm not asking you to tell me what it is exactly, obviously that isn't any of my business. ( it's a product of concern, because Ben's was nothing of the sort. he mulls his own password over again, scrutinizing it further in his mind. it feels associated to Ben, but it doesn't feel that personal.
it almost feels like...a message of some sort. )
no subject
He's not demanding the exact word, and maybe that's what causes Will to want to share it. He teeters on the edge of doing so anyway, to be contrary, to be brave about this, but what he ends up settling on is a curious if cowardly: ] at what point does being polite become turning people away?
no subject
Ben moves along to add on to the conversation, some theories he has about the incense, the location of the country club, letting logic guide his focus. )
( but when Ben receives that second message...the indicator disappears, followed by a few beats of idle nothing.
it takes some time for Ben to reel about the question, double-triple questioning how much of that remark is really meant for him, directly. )
Hopefully not before the point where one finds themselves concerned about another's vulnerability, but doesn't know if they have the right to ask someone to put something personal on display.
So, perhaps the point where the phrase "that isn't any of my business" was used. ( he can see that now, now that he's dissecting the scene that played out a moment ago. )
I'm sorry. I've had to handle quite a lot of explaining-myself-from-scratch in life and it's never been pleasant. I don't want someone else thinking they owe me an explanation for something personal. It's tricky, wanting to know more about someone else, and knowing most of what to navigate is uncomfortable. I don't mean to turn you away.
I can rescind my remark about it not being my business, considering I would be happy to make it my business. If it isn't too late to make an edit to the conversation.
no subject
Will's reply, even though he indirectly requested this, is several moments in the making. ]
i'd offer up a suggestion for later, but i don't think i'm a good person to ask about my own personal boundaries. if we negotiated it ahead of time, i'd probably warn you away from me in general.
it's only in the moment that i surprise myself with wanting to tell you things. or wanting to find out if you WANT me to tell you things.
it was an insult that was used to...frame me as fragile, and to turn me against someone else. and then later it ended up as part of a metaphor about impossible, broken things fixing themselves. me, fixing myself. so it was less an insult and more a [ he hesitates to use this word here, but ] grooming tool.
'teacup'. sounds harmless. and it's obvious based on what my puzzle looks like. but there's no chance that word wasn't picked on purpose.
yours doesn't seem as obvious, not unless it was 'copper'.