[ It's not quite like flipping a switch. But there's a chance from one breath to the next, one moment to the next. A confused little man, the stranger called himself, but that's not what stares back at Carver now. That's not the man who stands up straighter and speaks so calm and controlled there's a moment it reminds him almost viscerally of the way Pope would give orders that it almost sets him back.
Carver cocks his head, eyes narrowed. That was always Pope's trick, he knows. Swinging brutal in a moment, in less than a moment. Going from calm and personable to apocalyptic even before the fires came, and skill like that doesn't come from nothing. You don't learn to size up an enemy and shift the axis of the world without first being tested. And this man knows, doesn't he? It's the calm analysis, the way he lays it out so cool and controlled that no oxygen remains for doubt. The way he calls it blooded like he understands the shape of the rituals if not their names.
He knows. And knowing can only come from two places. ]
You were in the Valley.
[ It's the simplest conclusion to draw. Carver did his time in the Valley of Death; he was blooded first and darkest in Korengal's dust and that was where Pope began with him, where all of it began. This man isn't a Reaper, no, isn't one of Carver's ghosts or a brother come to guide him out of the dark, but he knows the Valley's lessons; he must have been there even if Carver doesn't recall his face.
But then, lots of people endured Korengal's lessons. Not all of them were military.
Something settles in him. Tension bleeds away. Even so, Carver steps forward, until they're almost touching. His voice softens ever so slightly, his drawl fading away into something almost personable. ]
I won't kill you. Out of respect. [ The Valley was the first crucible, but not the last. And this man is not a Reaper, whatever else he is. ] But you come for me and I'll leave you swaying, we understand each other?
[ He doesn't smile. But he shifts to stand almost at attention. You don't strike an officer. You don't sass them, either. They've earned that respect. ]
no subject
Carver cocks his head, eyes narrowed. That was always Pope's trick, he knows. Swinging brutal in a moment, in less than a moment. Going from calm and personable to apocalyptic even before the fires came, and skill like that doesn't come from nothing. You don't learn to size up an enemy and shift the axis of the world without first being tested. And this man knows, doesn't he? It's the calm analysis, the way he lays it out so cool and controlled that no oxygen remains for doubt. The way he calls it blooded like he understands the shape of the rituals if not their names.
He knows. And knowing can only come from two places. ]
You were in the Valley.
[ It's the simplest conclusion to draw. Carver did his time in the Valley of Death; he was blooded first and darkest in Korengal's dust and that was where Pope began with him, where all of it began. This man isn't a Reaper, no, isn't one of Carver's ghosts or a brother come to guide him out of the dark, but he knows the Valley's lessons; he must have been there even if Carver doesn't recall his face.
But then, lots of people endured Korengal's lessons. Not all of them were military.
Something settles in him. Tension bleeds away. Even so, Carver steps forward, until they're almost touching. His voice softens ever so slightly, his drawl fading away into something almost personable. ]
I won't kill you. Out of respect. [ The Valley was the first crucible, but not the last. And this man is not a Reaper, whatever else he is. ] But you come for me and I'll leave you swaying, we understand each other?
[ He doesn't smile. But he shifts to stand almost at attention. You don't strike an officer. You don't sass them, either. They've earned that respect. ]