To a certain extent she does realize it, but there are certain levels to things that sometimes she just isn't interested in paying attention to. It would not be the first time that a man like Claudius has given her attention; it will not be the last, and Nill knows full well that at some point eventually she will be the one sitting here trying to drink herself into oblivion before they can start putting their hands on her so she won't have to remember it come morning. She's smart enough not to glare at the man at the frankly grotesque suggestion, and she's careful enough not to let anything about her expression become unfriendly. To someone like Linden, who knows Nill as well as he does, there is close to nothing on her face that is realistic; for him her hatred for this man is probably blatant, and if not then the distaste for him is. He can read her better than most people can.
She's good at seeming polite however, even as she glances at the bartender every so often to make sure there is nothing extra in her drink. She takes it with a polite smile when it's set in front of her, about the only genuine thing she's managed this entire evening, and it's gone just as fast. For the most part she's happy to let him prattle on, as most anything he would ask her would receive a partial lie in return anyway. It's easier. And the longer he talks, the longer it will be before he leaves.
But the more Nill listens to him talk the more the polite smile slowly drains out of her expression. It's still there in the corners of her lips - which have been painted to shine in a way that is not overly noticeable, but tends to draw attention to them anyway, thanks to her stylist - but outside of that it doesn't hold up as well. He cites dates and years and Nill wants to punch him just for being that obsessed, for making Linden's life as awful as he has.
When the most disturbing aspect of it finally hits Nill in the chest in the chest she almost forgets how to breathe, and though she has not touched the drink she takes a very hesitant sip, far less to actually get any alcohol in her system and far more so she can look away. Her pen, which matches her outfit, is held in a white-knuckled fist on her lap, mostly out of view from Cladius but maybe not Linden.
This man has been using Linden since the moment he won his game, and he's one of the reasons that for years Linden preferred the sting of a needle to actually needing to live in his own skin and mind. Probably one of the reasons why sometimes he still preferred to live that way, and always might, despite trying his damnedest not to go back to it. This man is a living embodiment of the things that destroyed the boy from the interviews with Ceasar.
Nill also remembers that night on the roof before the first Arena, remembers carefully trying to get Linden to somewhere that could be close to safe, or as near that as either of them could get in this place, and how even though he had no idea where he was and who he was with he still curled in on himself and practically begged without ever speaking that they just not touch that one part of him.
There have only been a handful of times in Nill's life where she wished that she could scream, but sitting there, staring at this man that was going to do the one thing Linden had managed to avoid, she wishes she could. She wishes it was a restaurant instead of a bar, that instead of napkins on the bartop there were utensils, that if she actually reached for it there would be a knife in her fingers in a moment instead of a useless pen.
It's lucky that Nill is too smart to think for even a second that she could just grab Linden and leave. No matter what they would be caught, and they would be killed, and his parents and karkat would go down right alongside them. She clenches her jaw, mostly so she can stop holding her pen as if she wants to plunge it into the man's eye.
my escort and mentors have decided it would be best to wait until I'm a victor.
It's a neutral enough answer, one that doesn't really give any indication of her own feelings on the matter while not exactly confirming whether or not she's used to it. She hopes it's enough, because the next thing Nill writes she actually wants an answer to.
no subject
She's good at seeming polite however, even as she glances at the bartender every so often to make sure there is nothing extra in her drink. She takes it with a polite smile when it's set in front of her, about the only genuine thing she's managed this entire evening, and it's gone just as fast. For the most part she's happy to let him prattle on, as most anything he would ask her would receive a partial lie in return anyway. It's easier. And the longer he talks, the longer it will be before he leaves.
But the more Nill listens to him talk the more the polite smile slowly drains out of her expression. It's still there in the corners of her lips - which have been painted to shine in a way that is not overly noticeable, but tends to draw attention to them anyway, thanks to her stylist - but outside of that it doesn't hold up as well. He cites dates and years and Nill wants to punch him just for being that obsessed, for making Linden's life as awful as he has.
When the most disturbing aspect of it finally hits Nill in the chest in the chest she almost forgets how to breathe, and though she has not touched the drink she takes a very hesitant sip, far less to actually get any alcohol in her system and far more so she can look away. Her pen, which matches her outfit, is held in a white-knuckled fist on her lap, mostly out of view from Cladius but maybe not Linden.
This man has been using Linden since the moment he won his game, and he's one of the reasons that for years Linden preferred the sting of a needle to actually needing to live in his own skin and mind. Probably one of the reasons why sometimes he still preferred to live that way, and always might, despite trying his damnedest not to go back to it. This man is a living embodiment of the things that destroyed the boy from the interviews with Ceasar.
Nill also remembers that night on the roof before the first Arena, remembers carefully trying to get Linden to somewhere that could be close to safe, or as near that as either of them could get in this place, and how even though he had no idea where he was and who he was with he still curled in on himself and practically begged without ever speaking that they just not touch that one part of him.
There have only been a handful of times in Nill's life where she wished that she could scream, but sitting there, staring at this man that was going to do the one thing Linden had managed to avoid, she wishes she could. She wishes it was a restaurant instead of a bar, that instead of napkins on the bartop there were utensils, that if she actually reached for it there would be a knife in her fingers in a moment instead of a useless pen.
It's lucky that Nill is too smart to think for even a second that she could just grab Linden and leave. No matter what they would be caught, and they would be killed, and his parents and karkat would go down right alongside them. She clenches her jaw, mostly so she can stop holding her pen as if she wants to plunge it into the man's eye.
my escort and mentors have decided it would be best to wait until I'm a victor.
It's a neutral enough answer, one that doesn't really give any indication of her own feelings on the matter while not exactly confirming whether or not she's used to it. She hopes it's enough, because the next thing Nill writes she actually wants an answer to.
why can you do it now?