[everything he says all boils down to one thing. this time, however, dabi doesn't respond. he lets him have his say and listens. how much actually goes in one ear and out the other... that or it's instantly smacked down, ripped apart, transformed, or any other method he has to in order to avoid taking those words to the rare tender parts of his heart still left inside him. what he's more focused on right now... is getting out of endeavor's arms. that feeling along is disgusting and it's raising the hackles on his body in increasing rate. bristling under his touch, his scarred flesh itching and demanding to be scratched raw.
dabi's shoulders are just about hiking upward when the man lets his arms fall to his side and without those stupid brawny bands around him, dabi springs free, retreating back to his feet and away from the hero like a rat touched by a fire poker. unconsciously merciful, he turns his back on endeavor and heads off towards the desk. one leg yanks the chair out from underneath and he slams down into it with a heavy slump before leaning back and kicking his legs up onto the desk, ignoring his boots landing atop the keyboard with a noisy crunch. hands behind his head, not wanting to look at the other man right now.]
Looks like we got different definitions of what "abandonment" means then.
[which makes arguing the point nothing more than a dissolution into "yes you did" and "no i didn't" back and forth. that's hardly satisfying.]
Ah, ya finally recognized that, huh. Yeah, ya see, I never got a chance to make my own ideas. Never made my own dreams. All I had were yours, dumped on me and shoved down my throat over and over. But the thing is, by the time ya realized that, it was already too late. All I wanted was to be the damn hero ya told me I was. The more ya told me I couldn't, the more I was determined to prove ya wrong. Just like you did every time someone told ya you couldn't become No. 1.
[there's a few scuffs of cloth against skin before a soft 'tap tap' of cardboard preceded a light slide and 'fwshp' of flame. a few seconds later, dabi's breath comes out from behind the back of the chair and his own spiky head, blowing smoke into the room. nicotine helps calm him down.]
I know ya not, but ya really should be prouda me now. I got my own ideas. I got my own dreams. My Quirk's even stronger than yours. I'm lightin up the whole damn country. And I certainly ain't a fuckin hero. Just like ya wanted. Well... minus the crazy part.
[dabi gazes at the end of the cigarette, his turquoise eyes glowing softly in the darkness and reflected on the black computer screen in front of him. no more yelling at the moment, everything comes out of him cool and composed, with all the ease of drawing a knife slowly across the skin.]
Ya "would have" given up on all of it? Right. The hell-- hang on ... head's up. [dabi slides another cigarette out of the box and throws it over his shoulder, aiming at wherever endeavor's gotten to after he left.] The hell do ya mean by that? If ya really wanted to protect me, why didn't ya listen to me beggin ya and train me to control it? I wasn't even askin ya to give me a whole damn day all the time. Just somethin. But nah, ya way of protectin me was what I call "abandonment".
I really did wanna show ya somethin special that day... [his tone wanders into something mockingly wistful as he holds his hand out to the side and a gout of blue flame flares to life above his palm. but dabi can't make the fancy shapes his father can, no real fine control over his powers. he knows how to gun it. that's about it. so it's gone soon after it appears.] I thought if ya saw this, ya'd acknowledge I was worth some of ya attention again...
[another spurt of flame appears, looking no different than the first. though to endeavor's trained eye and familiarity, it's somewhat slimmer. another one, and another one, short bursts that are obviously spaced out enough dabi's not in danger of cooking himself, but it seems he's actively attempting--and failing--to shape his flames.]
...ya know what it feels like to burn to death, Enji?
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Date: 11/22/21 22:10 (UTC)dabi's shoulders are just about hiking upward when the man lets his arms fall to his side and without those stupid brawny bands around him, dabi springs free, retreating back to his feet and away from the hero like a rat touched by a fire poker. unconsciously merciful, he turns his back on endeavor and heads off towards the desk. one leg yanks the chair out from underneath and he slams down into it with a heavy slump before leaning back and kicking his legs up onto the desk, ignoring his boots landing atop the keyboard with a noisy crunch. hands behind his head, not wanting to look at the other man right now.]
Looks like we got different definitions of what "abandonment" means then.
[which makes arguing the point nothing more than a dissolution into "yes you did" and "no i didn't" back and forth. that's hardly satisfying.]
Ah, ya finally recognized that, huh. Yeah, ya see, I never got a chance to make my own ideas. Never made my own dreams. All I had were yours, dumped on me and shoved down my throat over and over. But the thing is, by the time ya realized that, it was already too late. All I wanted was to be the damn hero ya told me I was. The more ya told me I couldn't, the more I was determined to prove ya wrong. Just like you did every time someone told ya you couldn't become No. 1.
[there's a few scuffs of cloth against skin before a soft 'tap tap' of cardboard preceded a light slide and 'fwshp' of flame. a few seconds later, dabi's breath comes out from behind the back of the chair and his own spiky head, blowing smoke into the room. nicotine helps calm him down.]
I know ya not, but ya really should be prouda me now. I got my own ideas. I got my own dreams. My Quirk's even stronger than yours. I'm lightin up the whole damn country. And I certainly ain't a fuckin hero. Just like ya wanted. Well... minus the crazy part.
[dabi gazes at the end of the cigarette, his turquoise eyes glowing softly in the darkness and reflected on the black computer screen in front of him. no more yelling at the moment, everything comes out of him cool and composed, with all the ease of drawing a knife slowly across the skin.]
Ya "would have" given up on all of it? Right. The hell-- hang on ... head's up. [dabi slides another cigarette out of the box and throws it over his shoulder, aiming at wherever endeavor's gotten to after he left.] The hell do ya mean by that? If ya really wanted to protect me, why didn't ya listen to me beggin ya and train me to control it? I wasn't even askin ya to give me a whole damn day all the time. Just somethin. But nah, ya way of protectin me was what I call "abandonment".
I really did wanna show ya somethin special that day... [his tone wanders into something mockingly wistful as he holds his hand out to the side and a gout of blue flame flares to life above his palm. but dabi can't make the fancy shapes his father can, no real fine control over his powers. he knows how to gun it. that's about it. so it's gone soon after it appears.] I thought if ya saw this, ya'd acknowledge I was worth some of ya attention again...
[another spurt of flame appears, looking no different than the first. though to endeavor's trained eye and familiarity, it's somewhat slimmer. another one, and another one, short bursts that are obviously spaced out enough dabi's not in danger of cooking himself, but it seems he's actively attempting--and failing--to shape his flames.]
...ya know what it feels like to burn to death, Enji?