"I do not expect you to understand why I did what I did."
Funny how such a simple phrase can pack such a punch if said the right way.
She's a petite sort of woman, her neon violet hair kept back in a simplistic braid as she watches the man before her lean back against his desk. He crosses one long leg over the other, mismatched eyes meeting violet ones the hue of Eridium slag.
"Maybe I don't want to."
The words are sharp and cold, but his hands still visibly shake as he crosses his arms across his chest.
He's frightened of her.
She doesn't blame him for it.
She's terrified of herself as well. Of what she's become. Of who she is now.
She wonders if the circumstances were different, if the pair of them would have gotten along. If he had not made his decisions, and she had not made hers.
But there was no use dwelling on what could have been.
Otherwise the guilt would swallow her whole.
He looks like he's debating reaching into his desk drawer for his pistol (Atlas tech, a source of pride) so that he can end this once and for all.
But he needs her just as much as she needs him.
And he strikes her as the sort of fellow to not want to shoot someone when their hands have been tied behind their back. When they can't defend themselves.
It's a precaution, he tells her.
She knows it's more of a power play. Something to indicate that he's the one in control now.
The doors behind her slide open and heels click against tiled floor. She visibly tenses as the figure circles around her to stand beside the man.
"Has she told you anything?" The woman asks coolly, her almost-blonde hair framing her attractive features, and the woman tied to the chair launches forward before she can even think.
She scoots forward pathetically, barely moving and a smirk graces the other woman's features.
"She was just about to," the man replies. "So, let me guess...it all began with a deal you couldn't refuse?"
The woman in the chair turns to the woman standing beside him.
"I'm not telling you a single thing if she is here."
"You don't exactly have a choice," the man replies.
"Oh Rhys...we always have a choice. Whether it's the right one or not we can never tell until it's too late."
She meets the cyborg's eyes.
"You should know that better than anyone."
It was a simple fact that war had not just arrived in the months following the joyful return of Rhys and Fiona....it had utterly levelled Pandora.
Gun companies were disappearing left and right, the Vault Hunters seemed to have permanently locked themselves away in the floating city of Sanctuary, and the rest of Pandora's citizens were too busy fighting each other for scraps of what remained to really pay attention.
Pandora was a ticking bomb, and Rhys wasn't so sure he wanted to be on it when it went off.
It didn't help that there was apparently some vigilante wandering around, picking clean what remained of the gun companies that couldn't fight off the Eridians, the psychos, or whoever this person was.
