He sighs, turning his head away from her frown to look at Torgal, who is happily gnawing a fresh layer of spit and viscera into his bed. There's nothing to be done about that; Clive fully intends to sleep there again tonight. He finally looks back at Jill, gesturing to the remainders of his loft bed.
"Torgal didn't like being left here alone while I was at the ball. Once I haul that out, it'll look fine."
Torgal hasn't even been here the past week, but Clive's reluctant to admit he just hasn't cared about the rest.
"I've lived in much worse," he adds, like this is supposed to be reassuring. "He's fed and you're cared for, that's what matters."
The ball. Jill can't help the scrunch of her nose at mention of that night. She would happily pretend like it never happened. She steps further into the room to crouch down and pat Torgal's head as his teeth scrape against bone. The only indication that he notices Jill at all is the wag of his tail.
"I know you have," she says quietly. "Just as I know you are always your last priority. It doesn't make it acceptable."
She rests her hands on her knees and looks up at Clive. She doesn't have anywhere to be today, which is why she tells herself she's being so generous.
He feels his skin crawl, knowing every minute she spends in here is an opportunity to notice more. He wants to argue: he's not sleeping in literal shit, he's not taking food directly from the floor to his mouth with dirty fingers, he's not anticipating getting kicked in the ribs by some asshole who didn't like having had to look at him. It's fine, as long as no one sees it. But having her move through this filthy space fills him with shame; how he could bear her helping him clean it is unfathomable.
"I don't want to interrupt the rest of your day," he says, and he gets to work right there, as though he could spend a minute moving shattered wooden beams against the wall and suddenly prove it's acceptable. See how there's now a single place to stand that isn't on the mattress or obstructing the door?
"It's just been a bad week." A bad month. "I'll take some time today, I promise."
Jill watches him with that same frown. They've had a lot of bad weeks, lately.
"It will feel like less of a bad week if we work together and get this done now. It'll be faster with two pairs of hands," she tells him, and he knows that much at least is true. She may not be able to haul out the larger slabs of gnawed wood, but she can clean up splinters and take out the garbage and tidy the rest.
She sighs softly.
"Please, Clive. Let me help you with this one thing."
How can he disappoint her, again and again, by not only living this way, but by denying her the one thing she's asking for? He looks at his room, at how little of the floor is visible. Everything seems greasy, and there's a fine layer of fur on every surface.
"Only if you don't have other plans," he relents.
Privately, he vows that she won't have to lift a finger in her own space. How he'll accomplish that, he's not yet sure, but he'll find a way.
"I don't," she promises. "My only plan for the day was to hand off Torgal to you."
Now, that's led her here. And if she can do a good deed, help him not live in a den of... broken wood and wolf fur, she'll be glad for it.
"Let's start with some sunlight."
She gets up to free the window. Her skirts brush against a tower of take out containers, and they topple over. She can't move without bumping into one thing or another. How does he stand it in here, when he's twice her size?
"You're not making it worse," he says, with only the vaguest trace of humour. He closes the door to the hall now that she's not making a swift, screaming exit, and it both hides his shame from passersby and makes the slightest bit more room.
Adding more light is definitely going to throw the level of chaos into view, but he decides to ignore it, instead focusing on digging out a trash bag from his tiny kitchenette.
"I had some thought to get a roommate and live somewhere bigger but I don't think anyone would want to live with Torgal."
At that, Torgal does cast a glance Clive's way. Does he understand what was said? Unlikely, given the lazy wag of his tail before he goes back to getting the marrow out of that bone.
Light really doesn't help the room much, but at least she can see if she's about to step on a dust bunny. She carefully picks her way over to Clive, hand extended for the bag. She wants to ask him how he could live like this, but she suspects his answer would just be him repeating that he's lived in worse.
She's not here to shame him over this.
"I've been meaning to bring this up," she says slowly, carefully. "You needn't spend your hard earned coin on me. You could afford somewhere nicer if you weren't paying for us both."
She's more than capable of providing for herself. Besides, they're no longer together. He should do as he pleases with his money, not feel obligated to care for her.
He thinks on the three chapters of Jill's life, the part where she was raised to be a bride and the part where she was a weapon of war and the part where she accompanied him in rebellion, and he does not think he can send her out to find work so easily. What she needs is time to heal and relax, and enjoy herself, and he does not find himself moved to think otherwise.
"I don't want you to worry about money," he says, handing her the bag. "Just as you don't want me to live in squalor. Perhaps we just call it even there."
As much as she would love to say it to his face, spit out a I am no longer your responsibility, it's too hypocritical even for her. She worried over his injury, insisted he was fed and well before seeing him home, and now she's cleaning his room because she can't stand the thought of him living like this.
She bites her tongue and starts filling the bag with the containers at her feet. It's still not quite fair, the arrangement. She'll think of something more to do.
"Well... should you change your mind, you won't hear a complaint from me. I would understand."
"I'll remember that," he promises, and he will, but he cannot imagine a world in which he needs to call upon her for anything like that. He's committed, in that sense, even if he can't provide anything else.
The frames from his loft bed will take a number of trips to take down, but for now he stacks them upright in the corner. His laundry bag was pinned under some of them, and he tosses that onto the pile of dirty laundry.
At least Clive has left no crumbs in his takeout containers. Jill expects to touch something unpleasant at some point, but they're all clean. They're not ones to waste food.
"Were any of these places particularly good...?" She pauses to read the name on one of the containers.
He probably shouldn't. They don't need to be getting one another food, even if she did bring him a coffee and it's becoming very apparent that, while he can feed himself, he was so happy eating a simple sandwich.
"Have you found anything else interesting?"
Small talk stings when she'd been looking forward to discovering new things together.
"I wouldn't say interesting," he says, "but it's fine."
Truthfully, he's been eating at the same places over and over again, because they are on the exact route he takes to get home, or because it's served at the same bars he frequents.
Speaking of coffee, he fetches his from the counter to take a swig.
"A few things," she says, shoving more containers into the bag. She can at least see the light at the end of the tunnel. "That winter market is huge. Every time I stop by, I find something new."
And so often she wishes she could turn around and show him something, but he's not there.
Jill ties up the first bag and gently tosses it by the door. It doesn't have to travel far.
"You should. It's a good way to spend the time," she says, though she imagines Clive wandering the stalls alone, and that does pull at her heart. "The food and drinks are lovely."
Jill will always love her food, and she can't help but smile at the memory of a particularly good meal as she shoves more containers into the bag.
"I'm sure it's of no surprise, but there was a stall selling the most perfect bread. It was warm and soft on the inside, crispy on the outside... and they had so many spreads and oils to dip it in. I imagine I was supposed to take it home to eat, given the packaging, but I sat on a nearby bench and nearly ate the whole loaf myself. There was an artichoke dip full of butter and cheese that I could eat every day."
Yes, her favorite meal that isn't necessarily a seasonal staple was the bread. Jill sighs. Maybe she'll stop by and get another loaf and container of dip once she's done here.
Clive can't help but smile, though he keeps his attention on what he's doing, fishing plastic cutlery out of the sink, where he has never washed a single dish. (Because he does not own any.)
"I haven't had an artichoke since we were last in Dhalmekia," he replies. "And that definitely did not include butter and cheese."
Sounds decadent. How fortunate for the people here.
Not we. Jill tempers her excitement with scooping up the last of the containers into the bag, and clearing out the bin that had disappeared in among the mess. He needs a bigger one.
She would love to share that with him, watch his own face light up at the taste, but that's not a thing to share anymore.
"You should try it, if you have the chance. You'll love it."
He hears the we and wonders if it would be so terrible if they were just friends; he may not be in a position where he can be a partner to her right now, but they were close long before they were together. Still, that's for her to decide. He chooses not to suggest it again and again.
"I think I will," he says. "Though when this place is clean, perhaps I'll actually enjoy being here."
She doesn't know how she can ever go back to knowing him as simply a friend. She doesn't know how to not fall into him, and it seems unfair to saddle him with her yearning when he doesn't want it. And she thinks it's unfair to do to herself as well: to dangle what she wants most right in front of her, to bite her tongue in every conversation, to put her emotions into a box. She will do nothing but build resentment.
"You'll at least be able to move without knocking into something," she murmurs. With the containers taken care of, she reaches for the laundry bag to start shoving what she assumes are his dirty clothes into it. "Torgal might even let you have a spot on the mattress."
With the state of this room, it's all dirty. Clive takes two steps back to the mattress and uses his bare foot to kick back a square of blanket to reveal a huge bloodied spot where Torgal had gnawed on a meaty bone.
"I ought to just replace the damn thing, and keep this one for him."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Torgal didn't like being left here alone while I was at the ball. Once I haul that out, it'll look fine."
Torgal hasn't even been here the past week, but Clive's reluctant to admit he just hasn't cared about the rest.
"I've lived in much worse," he adds, like this is supposed to be reassuring. "He's fed and you're cared for, that's what matters."
no subject
"I know you have," she says quietly. "Just as I know you are always your last priority. It doesn't make it acceptable."
She rests her hands on her knees and looks up at Clive. She doesn't have anywhere to be today, which is why she tells herself she's being so generous.
"I'll help you."
Like, right now.
no subject
"I don't want to interrupt the rest of your day," he says, and he gets to work right there, as though he could spend a minute moving shattered wooden beams against the wall and suddenly prove it's acceptable. See how there's now a single place to stand that isn't on the mattress or obstructing the door?
"It's just been a bad week." A bad month. "I'll take some time today, I promise."
no subject
"It will feel like less of a bad week if we work together and get this done now. It'll be faster with two pairs of hands," she tells him, and he knows that much at least is true. She may not be able to haul out the larger slabs of gnawed wood, but she can clean up splinters and take out the garbage and tidy the rest.
She sighs softly.
"Please, Clive. Let me help you with this one thing."
no subject
"Only if you don't have other plans," he relents.
Privately, he vows that she won't have to lift a finger in her own space. How he'll accomplish that, he's not yet sure, but he'll find a way.
no subject
Now, that's led her here. And if she can do a good deed, help him not live in a den of... broken wood and wolf fur, she'll be glad for it.
"Let's start with some sunlight."
She gets up to free the window. Her skirts brush against a tower of take out containers, and they topple over. She can't move without bumping into one thing or another. How does he stand it in here, when he's twice her size?
"Sorry."
no subject
Adding more light is definitely going to throw the level of chaos into view, but he decides to ignore it, instead focusing on digging out a trash bag from his tiny kitchenette.
"I had some thought to get a roommate and live somewhere bigger but I don't think anyone would want to live with Torgal."
no subject
Light really doesn't help the room much, but at least she can see if she's about to step on a dust bunny. She carefully picks her way over to Clive, hand extended for the bag. She wants to ask him how he could live like this, but she suspects his answer would just be him repeating that he's lived in worse.
She's not here to shame him over this.
"I've been meaning to bring this up," she says slowly, carefully. "You needn't spend your hard earned coin on me. You could afford somewhere nicer if you weren't paying for us both."
She's more than capable of providing for herself. Besides, they're no longer together. He should do as he pleases with his money, not feel obligated to care for her.
no subject
"I don't want you to worry about money," he says, handing her the bag. "Just as you don't want me to live in squalor. Perhaps we just call it even there."
no subject
She bites her tongue and starts filling the bag with the containers at her feet. It's still not quite fair, the arrangement. She'll think of something more to do.
"Well... should you change your mind, you won't hear a complaint from me. I would understand."
no subject
The frames from his loft bed will take a number of trips to take down, but for now he stacks them upright in the corner. His laundry bag was pinned under some of them, and he tosses that onto the pile of dirty laundry.
no subject
"Were any of these places particularly good...?" She pauses to read the name on one of the containers.
no subject
"Oh," he says. "That was something called pad-tie. Noodles in some sort of nut sauce. I'll bring you some next time I get it."
no subject
He probably shouldn't. They don't need to be getting one another food, even if she did bring him a coffee and it's becoming very apparent that, while he can feed himself, he was so happy eating a simple sandwich.
"Have you found anything else interesting?"
Small talk stings when she'd been looking forward to discovering new things together.
no subject
Truthfully, he's been eating at the same places over and over again, because they are on the exact route he takes to get home, or because it's served at the same bars he frequents.
Speaking of coffee, he fetches his from the counter to take a swig.
"Have you?"
no subject
And so often she wishes she could turn around and show him something, but he's not there.
no subject
He realizes one garbage bag won't cover it all, so he grabs a second. Why the fuck did he buy garbage bags and then not use them?
no subject
"You should. It's a good way to spend the time," she says, though she imagines Clive wandering the stalls alone, and that does pull at her heart. "The food and drinks are lovely."
no subject
"What did you enjoy most?"
no subject
"I'm sure it's of no surprise, but there was a stall selling the most perfect bread. It was warm and soft on the inside, crispy on the outside... and they had so many spreads and oils to dip it in. I imagine I was supposed to take it home to eat, given the packaging, but I sat on a nearby bench and nearly ate the whole loaf myself. There was an artichoke dip full of butter and cheese that I could eat every day."
Yes, her favorite meal that isn't necessarily a seasonal staple was the bread. Jill sighs. Maybe she'll stop by and get another loaf and container of dip once she's done here.
no subject
"I haven't had an artichoke since we were last in Dhalmekia," he replies. "And that definitely did not include butter and cheese."
Sounds decadent. How fortunate for the people here.
no subject
Not we. Jill tempers her excitement with scooping up the last of the containers into the bag, and clearing out the bin that had disappeared in among the mess. He needs a bigger one.
She would love to share that with him, watch his own face light up at the taste, but that's not a thing to share anymore.
"You should try it, if you have the chance. You'll love it."
no subject
"I think I will," he says. "Though when this place is clean, perhaps I'll actually enjoy being here."
Not likely. It's practically a coffin.
no subject
"You'll at least be able to move without knocking into something," she murmurs. With the containers taken care of, she reaches for the laundry bag to start shoving what she assumes are his dirty clothes into it. "Torgal might even let you have a spot on the mattress."
no subject
"I ought to just replace the damn thing, and keep this one for him."
And put it where? Who knows.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
that should happen lmao it would be funny
she gets spotted out with clive and then he comes home to a destroyed couch
flawless plans
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)