How to Train Your Channeler

[Oriena]

Honestly, she would have preferred it had he just run. She could certainly do without all the fucking yelling at her. Sasha’s voice was hoarse; he sounded like a wounded animal – pathetic and confused – and had she thought he’d actually stick up for himself she’d have struck a match against the anger he must be feeling somewhere inside, just for the catharsis. Ori could take the punishment. But even if he labelled her the villain of the piece, it wasn’t like he was going to actually do anything about it. It all felt like a waste of breath.

There were a thousand things she could have said to explain. That Nox had warned her he was in trouble and she didn’t have to come and save his ass. That she did what made sense in the moment to get that thing out of his head, and it had come with a price. She didn’t even know what exactly he was asking her. Why what? But it sounded like an accusation, and she didn’t like that.

She shifted languidly to her feet. Raked a hand through her hair, and adjusted to the new lightness inside. Sasha had crushed himself back up against the wall, and she thought about leaving him there. Fear was only ever useful to her when it leveraged retaliation. The kind that made someone break and cower just reminded her of every bully she’d ever cut down in her youth, and she hated it enough that the kindest thing she could do was leave. Comfort wasn’t something anyone ever sought from Ori.

Still, she crouched in front of him.

“Why what?” she snapped.

[Sasha]

Sasha blinked back at Oriena. He knew he had a reason for asking her but her question in return only gave a blank stare. Why what? "Why me?" Sasha's head collasped to his knees. Oriena was not a soft woman, she wasn't even warm and caring or anything of that nature but she'd never been mean. He wouldn't cry in front of her. He wouldn't whine or fall apart. He just sat there head hung over his knees, his arms wrapped around them and hugged himself. It was colder now. The fire of anger burned away. He could start a fire if he had his shard. Stay warm. He didn't have it and he was never going back to get it. He didn't want anywhere near her.

His voice still a whisper and muffled by the fetal position he held. Sasha said it again "Thank you. It was a living hell." He still didn't understand the monsters that had been there, that were there because of Oriena. He wanted to be angry, but he didn't understand it was all so very confusing.

Sasha took a deep breath and lifted his head and stood up, tears filled his eyes but they didn't fall. He wouldn't cry in front of her -- or anyone. "I'm cold. I'm going home." Not that he had a real home, but the church would be warm and there would be fire to satiate his hunger. The anger he could feed what little he had left into him into the fires there.

[Oriena]

She just watched him, silently. Life crushed Sasha, and he let it, but she had no interest in making him any smaller than he already made himself. There was no answer to his question anyway. Life was cruel. It made a survivor of Oriena in the same way it made a victim of Sasha. Because it could.

He completely folded in on himself. It stirred no pity inside her, but she didn’t look away either. Her brows were lightly drawn – whatever thoughts might be passing behind her eyes anyone’s guess. Ori didn’t respond to his thanks any more than she did to his visible distress. She just watched him with an expression of displeasure, or maybe frustration.

When he stood, she did too. Not in a predatory way, just to let him go. Only her arm moved without any conscious thought as he shifted to do just that, palm on his chest to block an easy exit. There wasn’t any force behind it; it wasn’t a move to spark confrontation, just a gesture to make him pause. Her eyes were still heated with their usual challenge despite the wretchedness of his gaze, but it wasn’t the kind which would push to breaking.

“I’ve felt one of them feed. I know how shitty it is,” she said. “But it’s what they wanted in exchange for their aid.” She glanced at the device where it lay, motionless now, but only for a moment. It wasn’t an apology. It was barely an explanation. Neither were owed, and it wasn’t why she chose to speak –  she’d already discarded his gratitude, and she wasn’t after vindication. If he pressed he might get more, but people rarely dared – they just accepted what Ori gave and scuttled out of her way. She would let him go if he shoved passed. Probably. She’d tolerate being hated. She’d tolerate being feared. But she’d decided she didn’t go to all this trouble just to let him flee straight back into the shadows.

“Open your hands.” It was still a command more than a request, but a more merciful one; there was no impetus behind it this time, just an expectation.