[ he clicks his tongue instead. his head is hurting so bad that he knows that if he continues to make a racket that he's going to be the only one suffering in the end. turning over onto his side, he glances at the glass of water ... he might be staring at it longingly.
but shifts his gaze back up to his "host." ]
Yes? [ moran has enough gall to act like albert's the one disturbing him, and well, that is partially true, at least. ]
[Silly man. Albert just stares back at him for a moment, totally unimpressed. Then he retrieves the water before pressing it into the couch cushions by Moran's head.]
[ moran wants to be difficult for the sake of it, but again, he realizes how detrimental it would be to him. he reaches out to take the glass of water and carefully pushes himself up into a sitting position.
he breathes out before he pauses to look down. he's lacking his shirt and jacket. his shoulders drop as he looks around to try to figure out where he threw them as he drinks his glass of water. pants partially unbuttoned but still up -- super. but his boots are nowhere to be found. ]
[Every single piece of this morning is a power move on Albert's part, only a little designed to harass Moran. Mostly it's to lift his own spirits. Against all his hopes, William and Louis aren't here... Not that he'd wish them a place of absurdity, but this isn't like being in London without them. It's far away.
The suspicious looks around are obvious. It's all Albert can do to not actually have a laugh at Moran's expense.]
You did indeed. Your missing clothing is in my room, if you're looking for it.
[ He somehow is able to keep holding his glass as he coughs. The fit doesn't last for long and he's settles quickly. Again, he sits back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Shooting Albert a dirty look, he returns to drinking his water. ]
You certainly look like you're enjoying yourself. [ And he looks away. ] You don't have to try so hard right now to be the perfect actor.
[He's not lying. He took it to his bedroom so he could hang it up after Moran passed out. Moran doesn't need the whole story yet.
He does crack a smile at the second comment, about enjoying himself, because Moran is just really delightful to antagonize, especially first thing in the morning. The latter makes him tense, though, the smile freezing into something he reserves for outsiders. It's not really great to be caught in the act, after all. It was funny via text, but... The reiteration drives it home.]
[ Honestly, Moran can't help but be a little irritated by Albert's response. The very idea that it wouldn't be obvious to him that the man was acting really dug into something under his skin.
The upset that he's felt being away from the manor, being away from everyone, has been enough to wear him down on the inside. But he's gotten good at compartmentalizing his suffering and pain; he sets it aside and able to act like nothing is bothering him and he can be just a normal man from the "past."
So, Albert thinking that he could hide from him was an insult. ]
Not at all. You are, however, thoroughly hung over.
[He straightens, looking away. He made the post because he knew if he spent any time getting his hopes up about William or Louis showing up, he'd set himself up for failure. Turning it over to the masses, a brother who simply misses his siblings... It felt better. It looked better. Better than how he feels.]
I'm not having this discussion with you if you're impaired.
[Yet he's still running a hand through his only faintly styled hair, obviously ill at ease.]
[ The rest of the water is drank down before he breathes out hard. He lifts one hand to rest it over an eye and rub the heel of his palm against the socket. ]
Who else are you going to talk to about this?
[ The empty glass is held in his other hand, uncertain what to do with it. He decides to bring it up to rest it against his forehead. The coolness of the surface is still nice even if it doesn't have any water left. ]
With how I am, I probably won't remember much later. So, speak your mind while you can. [ Moran decides to give him that out; he'll act like he was too hungover to remember anything if that'll make Albert feel better. It's really for no other reason than not liking that damn post of his. ]
[Albert knows it's a false reassurance, he's absolutely confident that it is, but it seems to be what he needs to hear.
Moran is a bit of a sight with the glass held to his forehead, though, so Albert stands, crossing to the small kitchen to retrieve a second glass, this time full of ice. Louis isn't here to fuss over everyone in the most upstanding and helpful ways, so Albert takes on his long-lost need to assist those less fortunate, if only because Moran looks genuinely a mess.]
It's nothing I can put to words, particularly. You don't want to hear about my guilt, surely. That although there are reassurances they won't notice I'm gone, I've abandoned them, and the cause.
[He plucks a piece of ice from the glass before handing it over.]
I've decided I'll throw myself into things, so that if William or Louis comes they won't have a difficult time. And--this is your fault, Colonel--I spent most of the night considering your words from yesterday. Not that you recall them, I'm sure.
[ He grunts something unintelligent as he takes happily takes the glass filled with ice. Resting it against his forehead, he rolls it between his eyes -- it honestly seems to help the pain that he's in.
The two of them are feeling the same things. There really is no need to just commiserate with one another. But there is also no point in ignoring it like it isn't there to begin with. ]
You didn't abandon them by choice and the cause is one we can continue to do while we are here. [ There's quite a few people that could be rehabilitated and bring back those feelings to their worlds. Hopefully, anyway. ] No matter how far we are from them, we're still connected.
[ Or so he tells himself. ]
I don't remember a lot of what I said... so should I say that I'm sorry that I kept you up? Since it apparently means I had to listen to that fake act of yours all morning?
[He knows. He knows all of this, and it's why he didn't want to voice his concerns. It's why he never did back home to anyone but William. Because people expect more of him, more levelheadedness, more success, more control. He doesn't need to be lectured by anyone, Moran least of all.
But the words he thought on... It's just fortunate he's not prying on that point. Because in Albert's sleeplessness he certainly entertained the idea of never deciding to kill again, no matter how easy it's become, no matter what that might mean. A man like him saying that might sound absolutely preposterous to Moran. Moran, who has only ever known him as a difficult cohort, a superior, someone close enough to confide in about matters of business but not this, a man who would sooner destroy a true enemy completely than show any mercy.
Ah, well. He's going to call him fake regardless, isn't he? Might as well be.]
That may be the appropriate response. Keep it to yourself that I'm exaggerating certain things, if you don't mind. And be glad I didn't drop the name and state of my dear friend Sebastian Moran, currently half naked on my sofa.
[ He rolls his eyes -- it hurts when he does so. Grimacing, his eyebrows furrow in pain as he presses the glass a little harder against his forehead. Moran breathes out hard through his nose. There is an irritation that builds up in him about how Albert is acting, but he's gone over and over it in his head why it grates at him. He can repeat the same points for as long as he likes, and it won't change anything. ]
I have no intention of ruining your little act to anyone other than to yourself.
[ It's a pointed response directed at Albert. Breaking him down isn't really his goal, but rather, just letting him a space where he can act without a care. He certainly can't be William, but at the very least, he doesn't think it's good to just put on airs everywhere -- even in private spaces. ]
Only a few know my first name. [ But it'd be easy to narrow down that Albert is talking about him. ]
Besides, I told almost everyone that I'm a butler to some nice noblemen. Calling me your friend, you really want to do that? [ Before the night became a blur, he recalls the man being somewhat adverse to the idea of friendship. So he just spits that back at him. ]
I don't intend to abandon our ideals, but it will take some time to grow accustomed to being in two places at once, so to speak. That's what I meant.
[At least Moran has moved over a bit at this point, so Albert sits back against the cushions and crosses his legs, feigning comfort. He's a wreck on the inside, largely from the lack of sleep and the whole ordeal of newly arriving, but he likes to think he's coping...
Until Moran fires back again. Of course the words sting, but how is he going to admit that he was absolutely just bluffing when he made that fuss about friendship...?]
No, even I said we're equals here. I will thank you for calling us "nice", however. It could help me secure my reputation.
[Maybe if he just leads up to this in a different way he can make himself throw down a wall or two and voice his concerns. Moran isn't William, but Moran is a competent man, loyal and true to his causes, and Albert honestly doesn't dislike him so much as he enjoys the reactions his ribbing gets. It makes Albert feel like he does have a friend, or as close as he'd been willing to get to one outside of his brothers.]
Since you'll be here for a while... What have you been doing since you arrived?
[ He makes a sound out of his mouth that isn't too polite, but says nothing more. The ice is helping with his headache, but Albert is not. ]
I'm shocked. I gave you a free pass to boss me around. [ His tone of voice isn't all that cold or annoyed, however. He turns his head away to stare at an unfamiliar wall. Moran breathes slowly as he pulls the glass way from his face and holds it loosely in one hand against his hip. ]
People got the impression that I respect and care for you all. [ Still, he doesn't look at him as he stares at the wall. ] I only spoke of my feelings and they were understood. How about that?
[ His head turns slightly back towards Albert before he rests it a little more comfortably against the back cushion of the couch, turned away. It's not so much the act of sulking, but the act of attempting to give the man next to him the feeling that he isn't being seen. ]
What I always do when I have free time. Drinking, women, and perfecting my shooting.
You did. I didn't take it for now, but I'll keep your cooperation in mind.
[He doesn't feel right being referred to in ways Moran would refer to William and Louis, or grouping himself in with them when they aren't here. It actually turns his stomach a bit to be without them. But he swallows that feeling down and wears the normal, pointless smile he bears when he's being politely attentive.
Seeing Moran look away, Albert turns his head in the opposite direction, training his gaze away from Moran, too. Once again, his hand ends up in his hair, putting it back loosely into place, before he rests the back of his hand over his eyes.]
This may seem a ridiculous question for a hunter such as yourself, but have you ever considered... putting your gun down for a while? Purely hypothetically.
[ His head tips back on the cushion as he stares up at the ceiling. Breathing out hard, he lifts the glass again to rest it against his cheek. ]
Putting my gun down for awhile? [ That is honestly a surprising comment to hear from Albert. His eyebrows shoot up but he decides to keep his gaze fixed on the ceiling instead. ] No, that thought never occurred to me. I actually spent a good few days figuring out how to use the firearms of the "modern era."
[ Which really is something to be said. He's constantly taken weapons that Von Herder has just prototyped into actual battle without accustoming himself to it; he trusts in his own skills enough to know how to compensate for anything that may be off about it. But in this case, he actually took time to do as he said -- perfect his shooting. ]
My skills are for the manor. [ And that is all there is to it. ]
[He takes time to school his expression before he turns his head back toward Moran, looking him over for any signs of difference, of changes he couldn't see last night.]
No, of course. You're a professional in that regard. I suppose I should do the same.
[He can't back down, even for a moment. As Moran said, they serve the same ideals no matter where they are. And whatever it takes to make them reality is acceptable. That's the path Albert started them all down, and he'll see it through, or he'd be a hypocrite unworthy of his brothers' and allies' trust.
What's bothering Albert is pointless. The sooner he gives up on the notion, the better. He can live with that, he thinks. What's more of the same going to do to him? He can't get worse.]
I should also consider how I'm supposed to go about the business of "Synchrony".
Moran closes his eyes as the glass remains pressed against his cheek. It is just that he finds Albert's question off and his following words even more so. But he's no William; he can't figure out what is going on in the man's head and goes with the safest assumption that Albert was wondering if he planned to stand down and abandon the manor.
He can't help but click his tongue at that thought. His one eye open as he shoots a glare at him, but says nothing further. For all the good that he's doing in trying to listen to Albert's feelings, the man certainly has a way of stabbing him in the back and thinking he'll turn tail as soon as there's a chance to escape. ]
It's not that hard. [ Is what he finally says. It isn't said through grit teeth but he's definitely in a fouler mood than he was a few seconds ago. ]
[How funny. Albert had intended it as a genuine compliment. But neither of them can read minds, so here he is now frustrated with Moran's obvious fouled mood.
It shouldn't be hard for him to say what he wants to say. That he wants to start here from zero, in certain regards. That he wants to try being genuine and honest about his feelings, one tiny step at a time. But, well... He couldn't even tell William that at home, that things wore on him, that he felt hollowed out and gravely responsible for everything, that the fervor and idealism was all that kept him going. It was never pressing, never a crisis. Things were always going strictly according to plan. But Albert knows they can't go on like that forever.
It's because he trusts Moran with his life and his brother's purpose that now he can't say what he's feeling. Surely he'd be called every name in the book if he were to admit to wanting things to be simpler. And somehow, betraying Moran's expectations currently feels like betraying William's trust.
Still.
Albert doesn't like this back and forth of foul moods. He speaks again with cutting coldness.]
It was a compliment, Colonel. I suppose I'm not allowed that, even if we're "friends" or "equals" here, then? If you'd rather I treat you as a subordinate and nothing more, just say the word.
[ He curses abruptly as his leg goes out to violently kick the coffee table in front of him. It doesn't knock the furniture over, but it does knock it quite a distance away from the couch.
The pain of having struck the solid surface with his bare foot doesn't even register as he rises to his feet. He tosses the glass of ice all over Albert -- or attempts to do so -- before the cup is tossed where he had once been sitting. Moran isn't in such a foul mood that he wants to worry about picking up broken pieces later. ]
Exactly what are you getting at, Albert? You really want me to just abandon you right here on the spot! If so, then go ahead and say the word!
[ It's honestly the only reason he can think of the man closing himself off, and treating him like he's some turncoat. Here he thought they always had an understanding with one another; that Albert always knew of his loyalty to the manor and the three brothers. Was that all just a lie?! All the years that he devoted to them just something that can be washed away? Is that how Albert views him!? ]
Somehow, he expected a reaction, but definitely not his own hospitality being thrown back at him. Literally, in the case of the ice that hits his face and leaves water spots on his shirt and tie. No real harm is done to anything but his mood, but he is looking at Moran with the same dead, impassive eyes he levels at anyone who's trying his patience.]
If I wanted to dismiss you from our service, I would say it directly.
[Brushing the ice off to the floor, he stands.]
On the contrary, I'm fully aware you are the only person I can trust here. I'd hoped we could, in the spirit of the world William wants, be able to talk to each other candidly. As something closer to friends. Yet...
[He crosses the room to the bedroom to retrieve the neatly hung-up garments and brings them back out. Then he drops them on the couch. His resolve isn't as strong as William's. It never has been.]
...It seems like it was too early for candor, on my part. Everything I've given you in honesty has been thrown in my face. If you can't handle the truth, don't ask for it.
[He leans down to move the glass Moran discarded from the couch to the coffee table, then turns his back to head to his room.]
Moran feels as though he's seething even with all the pain that he is in. His head continues to throb and his foot is starting to ache. Albert has turned to leave the room, and he lets him go so he doesn't do anything stupid. He feels his teeth set on edge. Wanting us to be friends and talk candidly with one another? You're not saying anything, you bastard! You're still just--
He feels his face growing red. ]
You certainly think you can say whatever you like when you feel wronged. [ His hand reaches out to grab Albert's arm to prevent him from leaving the room. ] You have a lot of words that you can use. I'm not William and I'm not Louis.
You can't expect me to understand you like they understand you. You brothers are closer than I could ever hope to be.
[ He attempts to drag Albert closer to him. Honestly, he's never besmirched the relationship that the family had; he never felt jealous or envious about how close that they are together. They are good for each other; they support each other; they cover each other's weaknesses. He would never want to replicate or take that relationship from them. ]
So if you have to talk to me, talk to me like an idiot so I get it!
[Albert goes stock still when his arm is grabbed, then rounds on Moran, ready to turn this into a most unseemly physical altercation if needed. He doesn't want things to be like this, but if he and Moran can't see eye to eye, it's not the end of the world. Surely they'll be back to their mutual antagonism tomorrow, and the day after, and beyond. He was content to cool off and attempt again later when he didn't feel so passionate. So vulnerable.
His eyes narrow at first in anger, but widen at the invocation of his brothers. He hears Moran's words like an echo in his mind, in slow motion, as he's pulled closer. He's... being called out. Absolutely. And what's more, what he hates the most, is that Moran isn't wrong for being upset, not entirely. Albert was purposefully tiptoeing around something he feared, something so sacred to him, something he couldn't even tell William.
All because Moran... Well, Moran is different. He's older. He's come to terms with things in his life, in his own way. He follows orders to the letter, is reliable, dependable, excellent at what he does, has a razor sharp tongue at the worst times and a core that Albert knows is as good as his own, if not better. The one he's called himself on denying since the moment he arrived here, and thought he was in Hell itself.
Moran isn't trying to replace his dear brothers, or trying to patronize Albert. Albert is silent as he thinks all of this through, staring blankly, impassively at Moran's face, looking through him, really... Moran is trying to understand, genuinely, and has reacted as he has because he missed cues Albert relies on William's intellect and skill to deliver to anyone. If he assesses this calmly instead of hiding inside his impenetrable shell, he can honestly see where Moran is coming from.
How he hates himself even more in the moment, for troubling someone who was honestly glad to see him.
His free hand moves to grip Moran's wrist firmly, hoping to persuade him to ease the grip on his arm. He may be smaller and younger and less solidly built than Moran, but he has confidence in his movements and a fluid grace and dignity that usually serves to at least throw Moran off when things are heated.]
I understand.
[It's all he says for a moment, a non-answer, a lack of response, just a bland acknowledgement after the silence to break it up while he decides what to do. It's probably enough to make things worse, but... It's what he needs.
When his eyes meet Moran's, there's something foreign there, shining back the the man. Resignation. And even, if Moran bothers to hold his gaze, a touch of genuine pain.]
I want to find another way, here. I don't want to so much as raise my hand against anyone unless I absolutely must. If or when William arrives, I'll say the same. That we can do better here, and accomplish our goals. Do you understand? And I won't ask you to do anything I wouldn't do.
[His shoulders relax visibly.]
I am a soldier and an agent of MI6, ultimately. I acknowledge that things may not be easy, and I may have to resort to violence. But only, only if I must. Believe it or not, everything that happened at home was at my behest. If anyone can change it, it should be me. I have the chance, and I intend on taking it.
[ The red on his face fades, but he can't quite stop breathing hard. A silence has stretched on as his words sink in for Albert to understand -- Moran relaxes the anger in his face but the grip on the man's arm doesn't yet loosen.
In many ways, he's worried that without something holding onto him that Albert may very well fade away. He can't put it into words; he isn't quite sure why he has this feeling, but Moran can't say that he likes it.
No, he'd fade away in a way that'd be too painful to watch. It would be the man hiding behind a mask that he couldn't let down for anyone. Eventually, whatever sorrow or guilt or anguish felt, it would all be hidden away somewhere that the man wouldn't even be able to see. Perhaps, he wanted it that way, but Moran thought that he deserved a much better existence.
His breathing settles.
Eventually, Albert seems to be looking at him -- and seeing him. When the hand comes to rest over his own, he loosens his grip to let go of him.
He can't help but look a little surprise at what is said. It certainly isn't something that he expects. Albert doesn't want to kill anyone anymore; he doesn't want that stain to be something that they carry in this world as well. The man isn't being idealistic about it, either. ]
I see.
[ The tension in his own posture relaxes. ]
I don't believe that, Albert. Not all of that was your doing. We share this sort of burden together as fellow conspirators. [ A smile touches his lips. ] It seem like you're giving me something that I was not able to have before.
[ His smile fades. ] The chance to ensure that James Moriarty did not have to have his hands stained with blood. You don't need to ask me to do anything. In fact, I won't ask you to make that decision when you want to be better.
I won't let you give up on living a better life, so... even if you want to... you don't have to carry the burden of my sins and life.
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no subject
[ he clicks his tongue instead. his head is hurting so bad that he knows that if he continues to make a racket that he's going to be the only one suffering in the end. turning over onto his side, he glances at the glass of water ... he might be staring at it longingly.
but shifts his gaze back up to his "host." ]
Yes? [ moran has enough gall to act like albert's the one disturbing him, and well, that is partially true, at least. ]
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Drink up. You need it.
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he breathes out before he pauses to look down. he's lacking his shirt and jacket. his shoulders drop as he looks around to try to figure out where he threw them as he drinks his glass of water. pants partially unbuttoned but still up -- super. but his boots are nowhere to be found. ]
Certainly made myself at home.
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The suspicious looks around are obvious. It's all Albert can do to not actually have a laugh at Moran's expense.]
You did indeed. Your missing clothing is in my room, if you're looking for it.
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Don't say that while I'm drinking.
[ He somehow is able to keep holding his glass as he coughs. The fit doesn't last for long and he's settles quickly. Again, he sits back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Shooting Albert a dirty look, he returns to drinking his water. ]
You certainly look like you're enjoying yourself. [ And he looks away. ] You don't have to try so hard right now to be the perfect actor.
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He does crack a smile at the second comment, about enjoying himself, because Moran is just really delightful to antagonize, especially first thing in the morning. The latter makes him tense, though, the smile freezing into something he reserves for outsiders. It's not really great to be caught in the act, after all. It was funny via text, but... The reiteration drives it home.]
What makes you think I'm acting?
[He is. But he wants to hear more.]
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[ Honestly, Moran can't help but be a little irritated by Albert's response. The very idea that it wouldn't be obvious to him that the man was acting really dug into something under his skin.
The upset that he's felt being away from the manor, being away from everyone, has been enough to wear him down on the inside. But he's gotten good at compartmentalizing his suffering and pain; he sets it aside and able to act like nothing is bothering him and he can be just a normal man from the "past."
So, Albert thinking that he could hide from him was an insult. ]
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[He straightens, looking away. He made the post because he knew if he spent any time getting his hopes up about William or Louis showing up, he'd set himself up for failure. Turning it over to the masses, a brother who simply misses his siblings... It felt better. It looked better. Better than how he feels.]
I'm not having this discussion with you if you're impaired.
[Yet he's still running a hand through his only faintly styled hair, obviously ill at ease.]
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[ The rest of the water is drank down before he breathes out hard. He lifts one hand to rest it over an eye and rub the heel of his palm against the socket. ]
Who else are you going to talk to about this?
[ The empty glass is held in his other hand, uncertain what to do with it. He decides to bring it up to rest it against his forehead. The coolness of the surface is still nice even if it doesn't have any water left. ]
With how I am, I probably won't remember much later. So, speak your mind while you can. [ Moran decides to give him that out; he'll act like he was too hungover to remember anything if that'll make Albert feel better. It's really for no other reason than not liking that damn post of his. ]
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Moran is a bit of a sight with the glass held to his forehead, though, so Albert stands, crossing to the small kitchen to retrieve a second glass, this time full of ice. Louis isn't here to fuss over everyone in the most upstanding and helpful ways, so Albert takes on his long-lost need to assist those less fortunate, if only because Moran looks genuinely a mess.]
It's nothing I can put to words, particularly. You don't want to hear about my guilt, surely. That although there are reassurances they won't notice I'm gone, I've abandoned them, and the cause.
[He plucks a piece of ice from the glass before handing it over.]
I've decided I'll throw myself into things, so that if William or Louis comes they won't have a difficult time. And--this is your fault, Colonel--I spent most of the night considering your words from yesterday. Not that you recall them, I'm sure.
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The two of them are feeling the same things. There really is no need to just commiserate with one another. But there is also no point in ignoring it like it isn't there to begin with. ]
You didn't abandon them by choice and the cause is one we can continue to do while we are here. [ There's quite a few people that could be rehabilitated and bring back those feelings to their worlds. Hopefully, anyway. ] No matter how far we are from them, we're still connected.
[ Or so he tells himself. ]
I don't remember a lot of what I said... so should I say that I'm sorry that I kept you up? Since it apparently means I had to listen to that fake act of yours all morning?
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[He knows. He knows all of this, and it's why he didn't want to voice his concerns. It's why he never did back home to anyone but William. Because people expect more of him, more levelheadedness, more success, more control. He doesn't need to be lectured by anyone, Moran least of all.
But the words he thought on... It's just fortunate he's not prying on that point. Because in Albert's sleeplessness he certainly entertained the idea of never deciding to kill again, no matter how easy it's become, no matter what that might mean. A man like him saying that might sound absolutely preposterous to Moran. Moran, who has only ever known him as a difficult cohort, a superior, someone close enough to confide in about matters of business but not this, a man who would sooner destroy a true enemy completely than show any mercy.
Ah, well. He's going to call him fake regardless, isn't he? Might as well be.]
That may be the appropriate response. Keep it to yourself that I'm exaggerating certain things, if you don't mind. And be glad I didn't drop the name and state of my dear friend Sebastian Moran, currently half naked on my sofa.
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[ He rolls his eyes -- it hurts when he does so. Grimacing, his eyebrows furrow in pain as he presses the glass a little harder against his forehead. Moran breathes out hard through his nose. There is an irritation that builds up in him about how Albert is acting, but he's gone over and over it in his head why it grates at him. He can repeat the same points for as long as he likes, and it won't change anything. ]
I have no intention of ruining your little act to anyone other than to yourself.
[ It's a pointed response directed at Albert. Breaking him down isn't really his goal, but rather, just letting him a space where he can act without a care. He certainly can't be William, but at the very least, he doesn't think it's good to just put on airs everywhere -- even in private spaces. ]
Only a few know my first name. [ But it'd be easy to narrow down that Albert is talking about him. ]
Besides, I told almost everyone that I'm a butler to some nice noblemen. Calling me your friend, you really want to do that? [ Before the night became a blur, he recalls the man being somewhat adverse to the idea of friendship. So he just spits that back at him. ]
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[At least Moran has moved over a bit at this point, so Albert sits back against the cushions and crosses his legs, feigning comfort. He's a wreck on the inside, largely from the lack of sleep and the whole ordeal of newly arriving, but he likes to think he's coping...
Until Moran fires back again. Of course the words sting, but how is he going to admit that he was absolutely just bluffing when he made that fuss about friendship...?]
No, even I said we're equals here. I will thank you for calling us "nice", however. It could help me secure my reputation.
[Maybe if he just leads up to this in a different way he can make himself throw down a wall or two and voice his concerns. Moran isn't William, but Moran is a competent man, loyal and true to his causes, and Albert honestly doesn't dislike him so much as he enjoys the reactions his ribbing gets. It makes Albert feel like he does have a friend, or as close as he'd been willing to get to one outside of his brothers.]
Since you'll be here for a while... What have you been doing since you arrived?
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I'm shocked. I gave you a free pass to boss me around. [ His tone of voice isn't all that cold or annoyed, however. He turns his head away to stare at an unfamiliar wall. Moran breathes slowly as he pulls the glass way from his face and holds it loosely in one hand against his hip. ]
People got the impression that I respect and care for you all. [ Still, he doesn't look at him as he stares at the wall. ] I only spoke of my feelings and they were understood. How about that?
[ His head turns slightly back towards Albert before he rests it a little more comfortably against the back cushion of the couch, turned away. It's not so much the act of sulking, but the act of attempting to give the man next to him the feeling that he isn't being seen. ]
What I always do when I have free time. Drinking, women, and perfecting my shooting.
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[He doesn't feel right being referred to in ways Moran would refer to William and Louis, or grouping himself in with them when they aren't here. It actually turns his stomach a bit to be without them. But he swallows that feeling down and wears the normal, pointless smile he bears when he's being politely attentive.
Seeing Moran look away, Albert turns his head in the opposite direction, training his gaze away from Moran, too. Once again, his hand ends up in his hair, putting it back loosely into place, before he rests the back of his hand over his eyes.]
This may seem a ridiculous question for a hunter such as yourself, but have you ever considered... putting your gun down for a while? Purely hypothetically.
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[ His head tips back on the cushion as he stares up at the ceiling. Breathing out hard, he lifts the glass again to rest it against his cheek. ]
Putting my gun down for awhile? [ That is honestly a surprising comment to hear from Albert. His eyebrows shoot up but he decides to keep his gaze fixed on the ceiling instead. ] No, that thought never occurred to me. I actually spent a good few days figuring out how to use the firearms of the "modern era."
[ Which really is something to be said. He's constantly taken weapons that Von Herder has just prototyped into actual battle without accustoming himself to it; he trusts in his own skills enough to know how to compensate for anything that may be off about it. But in this case, he actually took time to do as he said -- perfect his shooting. ]
My skills are for the manor. [ And that is all there is to it. ]
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No, of course. You're a professional in that regard. I suppose I should do the same.
[He can't back down, even for a moment. As Moran said, they serve the same ideals no matter where they are. And whatever it takes to make them reality is acceptable. That's the path Albert started them all down, and he'll see it through, or he'd be a hypocrite unworthy of his brothers' and allies' trust.
What's bothering Albert is pointless. The sooner he gives up on the notion, the better. He can live with that, he thinks. What's more of the same going to do to him? He can't get worse.]
I should also consider how I'm supposed to go about the business of "Synchrony".
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Moran closes his eyes as the glass remains pressed against his cheek. It is just that he finds Albert's question off and his following words even more so. But he's no William; he can't figure out what is going on in the man's head and goes with the safest assumption that Albert was wondering if he planned to stand down and abandon the manor.
He can't help but click his tongue at that thought. His one eye open as he shoots a glare at him, but says nothing further. For all the good that he's doing in trying to listen to Albert's feelings, the man certainly has a way of stabbing him in the back and thinking he'll turn tail as soon as there's a chance to escape. ]
It's not that hard. [ Is what he finally says. It isn't said through grit teeth but he's definitely in a fouler mood than he was a few seconds ago. ]
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It shouldn't be hard for him to say what he wants to say. That he wants to start here from zero, in certain regards. That he wants to try being genuine and honest about his feelings, one tiny step at a time. But, well... He couldn't even tell William that at home, that things wore on him, that he felt hollowed out and gravely responsible for everything, that the fervor and idealism was all that kept him going. It was never pressing, never a crisis. Things were always going strictly according to plan. But Albert knows they can't go on like that forever.
It's because he trusts Moran with his life and his brother's purpose that now he can't say what he's feeling. Surely he'd be called every name in the book if he were to admit to wanting things to be simpler. And somehow, betraying Moran's expectations currently feels like betraying William's trust.
Still.
Albert doesn't like this back and forth of foul moods. He speaks again with cutting coldness.]
It was a compliment, Colonel. I suppose I'm not allowed that, even if we're "friends" or "equals" here, then? If you'd rather I treat you as a subordinate and nothing more, just say the word.
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[ He curses abruptly as his leg goes out to violently kick the coffee table in front of him. It doesn't knock the furniture over, but it does knock it quite a distance away from the couch.
The pain of having struck the solid surface with his bare foot doesn't even register as he rises to his feet. He tosses the glass of ice all over Albert -- or attempts to do so -- before the cup is tossed where he had once been sitting. Moran isn't in such a foul mood that he wants to worry about picking up broken pieces later. ]
Exactly what are you getting at, Albert? You really want me to just abandon you right here on the spot! If so, then go ahead and say the word!
[ It's honestly the only reason he can think of the man closing himself off, and treating him like he's some turncoat. Here he thought they always had an understanding with one another; that Albert always knew of his loyalty to the manor and the three brothers. Was that all just a lie?! All the years that he devoted to them just something that can be washed away? Is that how Albert views him!? ]
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Somehow, he expected a reaction, but definitely not his own hospitality being thrown back at him. Literally, in the case of the ice that hits his face and leaves water spots on his shirt and tie. No real harm is done to anything but his mood, but he is looking at Moran with the same dead, impassive eyes he levels at anyone who's trying his patience.]
If I wanted to dismiss you from our service, I would say it directly.
[Brushing the ice off to the floor, he stands.]
On the contrary, I'm fully aware you are the only person I can trust here. I'd hoped we could, in the spirit of the world William wants, be able to talk to each other candidly. As something closer to friends. Yet...
[He crosses the room to the bedroom to retrieve the neatly hung-up garments and brings them back out. Then he drops them on the couch. His resolve isn't as strong as William's. It never has been.]
...It seems like it was too early for candor, on my part. Everything I've given you in honesty has been thrown in my face. If you can't handle the truth, don't ask for it.
[He leans down to move the glass Moran discarded from the couch to the coffee table, then turns his back to head to his room.]
Good day, Colonel Moran.
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Moran feels as though he's seething even with all the pain that he is in. His head continues to throb and his foot is starting to ache. Albert has turned to leave the room, and he lets him go so he doesn't do anything stupid. He feels his teeth set on edge. Wanting us to be friends and talk candidly with one another? You're not saying anything, you bastard! You're still just--
He feels his face growing red. ]
You certainly think you can say whatever you like when you feel wronged. [ His hand reaches out to grab Albert's arm to prevent him from leaving the room. ] You have a lot of words that you can use. I'm not William and I'm not Louis.
You can't expect me to understand you like they understand you. You brothers are closer than I could ever hope to be.
[ He attempts to drag Albert closer to him. Honestly, he's never besmirched the relationship that the family had; he never felt jealous or envious about how close that they are together. They are good for each other; they support each other; they cover each other's weaknesses. He would never want to replicate or take that relationship from them. ]
So if you have to talk to me, talk to me like an idiot so I get it!
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His eyes narrow at first in anger, but widen at the invocation of his brothers. He hears Moran's words like an echo in his mind, in slow motion, as he's pulled closer. He's... being called out. Absolutely. And what's more, what he hates the most, is that Moran isn't wrong for being upset, not entirely. Albert was purposefully tiptoeing around something he feared, something so sacred to him, something he couldn't even tell William.
All because Moran... Well, Moran is different. He's older. He's come to terms with things in his life, in his own way. He follows orders to the letter, is reliable, dependable, excellent at what he does, has a razor sharp tongue at the worst times and a core that Albert knows is as good as his own, if not better. The one he's called himself on denying since the moment he arrived here, and thought he was in Hell itself.
Moran isn't trying to replace his dear brothers, or trying to patronize Albert. Albert is silent as he thinks all of this through, staring blankly, impassively at Moran's face, looking through him, really... Moran is trying to understand, genuinely, and has reacted as he has because he missed cues Albert relies on William's intellect and skill to deliver to anyone. If he assesses this calmly instead of hiding inside his impenetrable shell, he can honestly see where Moran is coming from.
How he hates himself even more in the moment, for troubling someone who was honestly glad to see him.
His free hand moves to grip Moran's wrist firmly, hoping to persuade him to ease the grip on his arm. He may be smaller and younger and less solidly built than Moran, but he has confidence in his movements and a fluid grace and dignity that usually serves to at least throw Moran off when things are heated.]
I understand.
[It's all he says for a moment, a non-answer, a lack of response, just a bland acknowledgement after the silence to break it up while he decides what to do. It's probably enough to make things worse, but... It's what he needs.
When his eyes meet Moran's, there's something foreign there, shining back the the man. Resignation. And even, if Moran bothers to hold his gaze, a touch of genuine pain.]
I want to find another way, here. I don't want to so much as raise my hand against anyone unless I absolutely must. If or when William arrives, I'll say the same. That we can do better here, and accomplish our goals. Do you understand? And I won't ask you to do anything I wouldn't do.
[His shoulders relax visibly.]
I am a soldier and an agent of MI6, ultimately. I acknowledge that things may not be easy, and I may have to resort to violence. But only, only if I must. Believe it or not, everything that happened at home was at my behest. If anyone can change it, it should be me. I have the chance, and I intend on taking it.
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In many ways, he's worried that without something holding onto him that Albert may very well fade away. He can't put it into words; he isn't quite sure why he has this feeling, but Moran can't say that he likes it.
No, he'd fade away in a way that'd be too painful to watch. It would be the man hiding behind a mask that he couldn't let down for anyone. Eventually, whatever sorrow or guilt or anguish felt, it would all be hidden away somewhere that the man wouldn't even be able to see. Perhaps, he wanted it that way, but Moran thought that he deserved a much better existence.
His breathing settles.
Eventually, Albert seems to be looking at him -- and seeing him. When the hand comes to rest over his own, he loosens his grip to let go of him.
He can't help but look a little surprise at what is said. It certainly isn't something that he expects. Albert doesn't want to kill anyone anymore; he doesn't want that stain to be something that they carry in this world as well. The man isn't being idealistic about it, either. ]
I see.
[ The tension in his own posture relaxes. ]
I don't believe that, Albert. Not all of that was your doing. We share this sort of burden together as fellow conspirators. [ A smile touches his lips. ] It seem like you're giving me something that I was not able to have before.
[ His smile fades. ] The chance to ensure that James Moriarty did not have to have his hands stained with blood. You don't need to ask me to do anything. In fact, I won't ask you to make that decision when you want to be better.
I won't let you give up on living a better life, so... even if you want to... you don't have to carry the burden of my sins and life.
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