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TLV: IC Inbox

You've reached Timothy Stoker, leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you.

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"No-one's asking you to take literally every person you come across into your innermost circle of confidantes and 'will kill for's," Tim replies easily. "But-- I dunno, maybe if you let yourself more often, you might be a little less... volatile?"

Bertha's turn to hop into Jacobi's lap, nudging his hand with her beak for attention.

"Why?" he wonders, running a light hand along Bertha's feathers. "How many people do you give a shit about, Tim? How many people would you be sad about if I lit this place up right now? Just your friends?"

Bertha's feathers ruffle with the light touch, making familiar goosebumps roll down Tim's spine, and he unfolds his arms to rest one on the table.

"Admittedly it's not many. I'm aware I'm a hypocrite, thanks, but I'm working on that too."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Jacobi says but he's not upset about it. He's not disappointed. He knew. This is a difficult point for him and for Tim.

"They're not even a means to an end," Jacobi tells him. "They're just faces. I know their names and some of them I know how to hurt, but - " He shrugs. "I don't care enough."

Marie, not one to miss out on a good party, jumps into Tim's lap and offers him a berry in exchange for cuddles.

Marie's a lot heavier than Bertha, and Tim glances down in surprise, but he'll give her a smile, taking th berry to put on the table so he can give her a scratch behind her ear and down her neck.

But honestly, to Tim? The way Jacobi describes it honestly sounds miserable. It's keeping everyone at arm's length until you need them, just to hurt them. It's what he did for most of his last few months alive, just clocked out of caring.

"Just because someone's not worth killing for doesn't mean they're worth nothing." He's not trying to be condescending; he knows Jacobi knows that. It's not exactly rocket science. But there's still more of a gentle edge to it - no judgement, just commentary.

"Intellectually, I know that," he assures him, relaxing a bit as Tim pets Marie. He's not worked up about this conversation. He's not angry about it. But he is thoughtful.

He carefully shifts Bertha to his other leg so he can still pet her but also reach out for the cheese. "Unless it's part of a job, it doesn't matter. I had friends at Goddard. Regular friends. Not - 'kill for' friends. I even had a boyfriend who wasn't Warren, remember?" The one he had to put down after he was taken over. Klein.

Marie, sensing Jacobi's discomfort, curls up a bit more to Tim.

"I can do it. I just choose not to because, well, one day I might have to take them out. Why make friends with the guy you meet at the dog park when you might have to take out the factory he works at the next day? It's not personal. It's just how it is."

When he feels the daemon tense, Tim's hand curls without any real conscious thought to stroke between Marie's shoulder blades in a soothing motion. Old habits from Martin's daemon Geoffrey, back in the day.

"Something about the human condition, probably," he comments wryly. "How we're meant to be social creatures or some bollocks." He believes it too, in all honesty - he'd have had a bit of a difficult time with his degree if he didn't. But ten years is a long time. "But I suppose that's sort of the point. The whole thing with empathy is letting you recognise how hurting someone else is detrimental to yourself. Emotions aren't bigger picture, they're not supposed to be."

Jacobi stays settled, fortunately, and gives him a single shake of his head. "It's not that I don't know that," he explains. "But - hm." He looks down to Bertha a moment. "Let's go back to dog park guy. We'll call him Phil. So I see Phil and I meet Phil. I think Phil's a pretty swell dude. Phil's the foreman at the factory that I have to tank. So I do that. With no hesitation. Because if I don't, then the mission fails and I don't know what the implications of that are. I follow orders. I kill Phil because some other bigwig somewhere else has crunched the numbers. What's feeling bad about it going to do except slow me down? But it's hard to do that. It's hard to look at Phil, my friend, and say 'sorry, bud. Today's not your day.'"

Like it was hard to put down Klein, he thinks and lets out a long breath.

"So why not just skip that step? That's what I'm working with here. And yeah, I know that it might never happen, but - just by being in close proximity to me means that shit usually happens."

In Jacobi's lap, Bertha looks up at him, and gently nibbles his fingers with her beak. Holding hands is hard but she's doing it lovingly.

"Right." Tim takes another cracker, but just twiddles it between his fingers. "So your options are really limited to like. One, care - then have that blow up in your face when you feel for someone, don't do your job right, and face who the fuck knows what sort of consequences." But knowing what he does of Cutter, he can imagine.

"Or two," Bertha adds, hopping deftly onto Jacobi's sleeve so she can clamberclimb up to his shoulder again. "Don't care. Rock falls, everyone dies, but you and yours survive another day."

"Pretty much," he says, pausing to let Bertha climb. "And again, I know that not everyone I meet is like that. I know that a lot of the times, I can make friends with people and they won't get caught up in my nonsense. Even if, like I said, the likelihood is pretty high." He rubs the back of his neck.

"It's a pretty poor excuse, I know. But it's what I tell myself. Because, at the end of the day, I like doing it sometimes, Tim," he admits softly. "That when I get mad at someone, as you well know - " He makes a soft explosion sound. "That nuclear option is my first option."

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