In which Glee and Unglee occur. [Closed to Dustin]

[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

It seems an odd day indeed when Yoshimi is as buoyant as she is, floating into the room on wings made of success, mind spinning with schematics and potentially helpful devices and maybe the desire to try her hand at building an aircraft, except for the limited on-ship supplies. A data pad is clutched in one hand, as per usual, but she tosses it onto the bed with nary a thought, tripping over to the shared desk merrily.

Humming--atonally, as is her unfortunate habit--she pulls out one of the few pieces of paper they have, and a pencil she found in the Mess--with an eraser!--and starts sketching that aircraft.

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[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

For some reason, Dustin's tone of voice bothers Yoshimi. It bothers her so much that she is positively scowling by the time he starts stuttering about recreating time, or starting afresh, or whatever bullshit he was spewing, because goddammit, Dustin, she thought you had gotten over using that tone of voice with her.

She is amazed with herself as she glares furiously at him, fur rubbed the wrong way, metaphorical tail puffed to be about the size of a feather duster, because despite her low tolerance for condescension, she still has enough affection for this infuriating man that she's considering a) not blowing up on him, b) not storming out, c) not blowing up on him and then storming out, and/or d) not hitting him. Oh, also, e) continuing with her attempts to comfort him. (Option e will probably lose.)

Fortunately, she comes to her decision before he finishes talking, and she cuts him off at "It can't be--"

"Shut up," she says sharply, eyes flashing. She makes sure that silence has fallen before fixing him with the icy stare of a woman who has spent the last three years in almost complete solitude, dealing only with corporate assholes, government officials, and veritable mob bosses, all of whom could talk up Denial Storms to equal, if not rival Dustin's. The only problem with the control she asserts here is the total lack of emotion in her face, something that always unnerved those assholes, officials, and bosses, because a nineteen-year-old with a pink bob should not be that cool, calm, and collected.

"You're making excuses to make yourself miserable. I'm not going to sit here and help you do that. You have two options here, and only two. 1) You keep talking like that, drive yourself mad with the guilt and the loneliness and the sorrow until you find yourself begging Stacy to decapitate you, or 2) You use your ears and you use your brain and you use your capacity for emotion, which I have a feeling is larger than that of a teaspoon despite the show you're putting on now, and you let yourself hope like the rest of us, because hope is what pulls people out of these situations. Hope and trust. You trust in Stacy, you trust in your crewmates, and you trust in your dead Universe to keep going, because you have two feet, and they're there to be used."

All of this is said in what is more or less a tone devoid of emotion, which, if Dustin has ever once paid attention, he will notice is very not normal. There is no stuttering, there is no apologizing, there is no neuroticism or blushing or anxiety, there is just a pretty pissed off woman not letting her pissed-offedness show because the man she's trying to talk down is, despite being a huge asshole, having an emotional crisis, and she has too big a heart to just let fly on him.

It's saying a lot that she remains seated beside his bed, arms folded across her chest, eyes fixed solidly on him, because all she really wants to do right now is get up and leave.

[quark-assassin.livejournal.com]

Damnit. He’d screwed up now, hadn’t he?

That look in her eyes, that less-than-comfortable pause she created, made Dustin snap to attention and stare at her, dumbfounded, because for whatever stupid reason he thought she would actually take what his explanation to heart. But now, with Arrogance muttering something about leaving the oven on and subserviently scuttling to the back of his mind, he was left with an emotional blank that had Logic furiously finding some of the lesser inhabitants to fill the blank. What else was left, though? What else…?

Well…there was always Shame.

Dustin’s eyes slid to Yoshimi. Quickly they slid back to the wall, and his mouth opened, prepared to defend him—but there were no words waiting. He closed his mouth again and waited for his brain to catch up.

It didn’t.

Dustin put his head back on his knees and let Yoshimi’s words replace the ones that he was lacking. Perhaps…perhaps if he waited long enough they would actually catch. Until then, however, he remained silent, and he didn’t look up again.

[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

She lets the silence drag on for a while, glaring holes in his head while the anger drains out of her. The glare fades, dropping entirely with a sigh. Yoshimi combs her hair out of her face, watching him silently, looking a bit pained as she fights the still-present urge to leave, because now she's fighting Guilt and Low Self-Confidence for control, and Guilt and Low Self-Confidence are just as eager to get the Hell out of here as Anger was.

Sighing again, she frowns and leans forward to touch his knee, eyes fixed on a fold in the fabric of his pants. She moves her hand to his hair after a moment, still frowning, though the expression is more exhausted than anything now.

"Don't treat me like an idiot. I know I am one, but really, just... don't," she murmurs, and hey, here's a characteristic Yoshimi move as her cheeks heat with a mixture of discomfort and embarrassment. "And I'm sorry. That you're... you know, going through this. I wish I could help."