Chapter Text
After the... begging I did to Bretta, I couldn't fully bare with being outside. It felt better to be in someone's company that wasn't trying to encourage someone to go on a suicidal endeavor, so I chose to speak with Iselda. We exchanged light pleasantries and idly chatted about a board game we both played before; A number-filling game in a 3 by 3 grid within larger group of 3 by 3 squares connected together. A board game I never really won at, but I always had fun playing it. I could tell Iselda was attempting to ease in conversation to bring up Bretta, for Iselda's not particularly one to conversate about such mundane stuff as an opener; she's already as bored as she is with being away from Cornifer for so long. Eventually, the topic switched over to what I didn't want to speak about, but I held strong and entertained the thoughts anyways.
"So, Bretta is actually serious about learning Nailsbugship, huh..." Lightly commented Iselda. She held a look of considerable apathy, but I can see that underlining glare of uncertainty, and doubt. She must not fully believe that Bretta could really reach a proper capability of fighting; must've been the heavy exposure of all of the arts stuff and random stories she shared that muddies the idea of proper fighting interest... Only for a left-hook of a remark to hit me. "I feel like Bretta is better off learning hand-to-hand combat." I frown in slight displeasement hearing that, but after thinking about it for a few seconds, it does feel rather appropriate for Bretta. She dismisses the notion of fat a whole lot, and I get why, but I think she could make usage of her weight class pretty easily.
"Elderbug, level with me here..." My eyes barely turn over to Iselda, while she walked over to another spot in the store to mindlessly sort some scrolls. "You used to get up to a lot of violent stuff in your youth. But, you look utterly distraught at the idea of Bretta learning how to fight." A slow, weak exhale leaves my mouth; nothing came out that could address Iselda properly, so she continued promptly. "Did something completely mind-shatteringly distressful happen that made fighting disturbing to you, or... what?" Truth to be told, barely anything really phases me anymore, including fighting. I've seen my fair share of monsters-- I have actually tumbled with a few here and there. Bugs have fought me, even beating me close to death a couple times, but, I've gotten used to those circumstances... However, the one thing I can't really bare with is losing others.
"The loss of life has always been a distressing topic to me." I spoke as calmly as I could, but the previous discussion with Bretta is still weighing heavily upon my psyche; my voice wavered on occasion, something Iselda definitely has noticed, but doesn't seem to really care about. "Definitely, I have participated in situations that should've fully acclimated me to the idea of violence and aggression, and death..." I turn over to Iselda, whom has properly turned towards me again. "But, I've always been opposed to the act of truly harming others." Before I could speak further, Iselda interjected mildly. "That doesn't include mindless beasts, or bugs that were infected with mind-wiping viruses, right?" That comment feels like a weird test of my patience; a rather obvious answer is ready for it that Iselda no doubt already thought of, but... "Of course, Iselda. Why do you ask?" Iselda remained quiet for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. "Was just curious."
A grunt of slight annoyance leaves me; an ire that lightly grew with Iselda's continued display of dismissive care to the subject at hand. I continue on, speaking a bit more mildly. "Another thing I can't handle well is losing people, but they're still alive." For the briefest moment, Iselda flattened her brow in bemusement, only to perk her eyebrows in realization. "Like this town slowly losing its inhabitants over the years, it crushed my heart to see this place degrade into sheer desolation." A quiet, slow exhale leaves Iselda's mouth; a look of empathy fills her face more properly. "Did you know that this town is where I was born, Iselda?" She shook her head, squinting her eyes in slight shock. "Well, you know now."
"I can imagine how soul-wrenching it is to watch your hometown just... snuff out of life." Iselda mournfully commented. "I'm sorry to hear that." My head nods as my own response, which after a few silent seconds, Iselda resumes speaking. "Makes a little bit more sense as to why you care for Bretta to not leave, but..." Her eyes squinted questioningly. "Didn't Bretta immigrate here?" Affirmatively nodding my head, I briefly wriggle-point a claw at Iselda. "Indeed so," I replied, "she moved in while this place was still nicely occupied by dozens of bugs." A weak grunt leaves Iselda's mouth, followed by a mild reply. "And in just one year, we're down to several bugs." A reminder was really not necessary, but it holds validity here. "Unfortunately so."
Walking off to behind the counter to fiddle with the cash register mindlessly, Iselda spoke in a curious tone. "So... I apologize if this comes off as insensitive, but why not move, since Hallownest is basically a carcass of itself?" "Heavy sentimentality." I aptly remarked. "It is... rather difficult to let go of being here, especially when I almost never actually left Dirtmouth." A befuddled smirk leaves Iselda; her mouth opened up briefly, like she were about to question the validity of that, but instead shook her head and looked back to the cash register. "Bit of a hermit, are you?" Her lightly warm tone barely moved me, but I couldn't help but faintly grin at the comment. Speaking more calmly now, I walk up to the counter. "You're not particularly wrong," my claws rest upon the counter, "but do know that I did travel out of Dirtmouth on occasion. I just didn't spend much time outside of Dirtmouth."
A light, understanding grunt leaves Iselda. "Doing all of that gang stuff, haha." She shook her head again, then focused more properly on the cash register-- now actually fiddling with it; she realized it weren't actually opening after several different presses to access its cash reserve. I tried letting out a remark about that, but I feel a little too mentally shot to actually reply to that. Instead, a light sigh leaves my mouth, and my claws gently rubbed the counter top; might as well leave Iselda to her own thing.
I'll just sit here and continue to calm myself down.