[ Recognition registers on his face. It's not that he's unused to others caring about his well-being - his lot is not so sad as that, thank the gods big and small - but it's rare that someone will directly ask him about it, particularly when it comes to a death, commonplace as death has been in his life. Usually there's getting aggression out through sparring or at the shooting range or through training protocols, hauling a brother down to the soothing motions of repainting armour, or when their leaves permit it, someone coming to share a bunk.
Everything is different here. This too is different, both more direct and not. ]
I am. [ And he is. He feels awful, of course, aggrieved and tightly wound up, and it would be a lie to say that he hasn't taken it out at the shooting range or on a punching bag since everything had fallen apart. He's sad and angry and confused and aimless but even so, he's holding up. He has not flagged in upholding his professional duties, has not lagged in keeping his own space tidy and clean, has recontinued his brothers' Mando'a lessons, has been taking care of Martin to the best of his ability.
That's the very definition of holding up fine. You can mourn, yes, but it should never interfere with your duties. And this has not interfered with Rex's, as paltry as his current set of duties may be.
He sets his glass on the table with a click and sighs, quietly. When he speaks, his voice is just as quiet, though it's only low, not weak. ]
I'm angry about what happened, of course, and... I mourn Andy's death. [ It had been sudden; jarring. He wishes he could have seen her body. Knowing what he knows about her, seeing the things he has, her death still doesn't feel real. ] I'm not made of stone. I can hardly claim to be unaffected. But I'm holding up fine. Truly.
[ Perhaps the lines he's been fed about not being affected by stress, about being able to withstand any mental duress are lies - but when you believe those lies, it makes little difference at the end of the day. ]
no subject
[ Recognition registers on his face. It's not that he's unused to others caring about his well-being - his lot is not so sad as that, thank the gods big and small - but it's rare that someone will directly ask him about it, particularly when it comes to a death, commonplace as death has been in his life. Usually there's getting aggression out through sparring or at the shooting range or through training protocols, hauling a brother down to the soothing motions of repainting armour, or when their leaves permit it, someone coming to share a bunk.
Everything is different here. This too is different, both more direct and not. ]
I am. [ And he is. He feels awful, of course, aggrieved and tightly wound up, and it would be a lie to say that he hasn't taken it out at the shooting range or on a punching bag since everything had fallen apart. He's sad and angry and confused and aimless but even so, he's holding up. He has not flagged in upholding his professional duties, has not lagged in keeping his own space tidy and clean, has recontinued his brothers' Mando'a lessons, has been taking care of Martin to the best of his ability.
That's the very definition of holding up fine. You can mourn, yes, but it should never interfere with your duties. And this has not interfered with Rex's, as paltry as his current set of duties may be.
He sets his glass on the table with a click and sighs, quietly. When he speaks, his voice is just as quiet, though it's only low, not weak. ]
I'm angry about what happened, of course, and... I mourn Andy's death. [ It had been sudden; jarring. He wishes he could have seen her body. Knowing what he knows about her, seeing the things he has, her death still doesn't feel real. ] I'm not made of stone. I can hardly claim to be unaffected. But I'm holding up fine. Truly.
[ Perhaps the lines he's been fed about not being affected by stress, about being able to withstand any mental duress are lies - but when you believe those lies, it makes little difference at the end of the day. ]