Ruka doesn't mean to be vague. Though she barricades herself from others, the masking of meaning is not a deliberate shield. In matters of the heart, it's difficult to be specific without being without heart, but perhaps that's what he needs now.
She keeps hold of the railing, but even as she moves to descend, she talks, keeping her attention fixed on the man below. The one-handed grip is tight, and the steps cautious, but the stiffness of her shoulders and the hard line of her jaw cloak that tremble.
"You asked me before if someone could harm people, if their power affected emotions. Even accidentally."
She rounds the corner; at the top of this straight of stairs, she stops—she's unwilling to get too close. It's not fear of his power that holds her back; guilt will always eat at her heart, after all. She's much more fearful of the consequence, if drawing too close pushes him away.
"Powers that affect emotion are ruled by them. If your feelings control your actions, then you can't control your power." She saw it with Eridan so many times, how his hopelessness would become so great as to pull the whole block down with him. How many times did she have to cross into that despair to pull him out, and protect those people around him from his poisonous moods?
"If you can't get your heart under control—" No, that's a verbal shorthand he might mistake for a literal problem with the organ— "If you go running into that crowded lobby, as unsteady as you are, you'll do nothing but hurt them with that power."
It hurts to lay him accusation like this—it hurts to betray the secret of his power, that he tried to keep even from her, hurts to say the words without sympathy, without understanding, without offering help. It hurts, knowing even if she did, he would never accept it. (Nobody ever does; it doesn't ever help.)
She can't show him hurt; instead, the tightness to her shoulders and to the sweep of her hand through the air, gesture stiff for the splint binding two her fingers together, is one of frustration.
"You are too dangerous for such a reckless escape. Is that clear enough?"
these keep getting longer im gomen
She keeps hold of the railing, but even as she moves to descend, she talks, keeping her attention fixed on the man below. The one-handed grip is tight, and the steps cautious, but the stiffness of her shoulders and the hard line of her jaw cloak that tremble.
"You asked me before if someone could harm people, if their power affected emotions. Even accidentally."
She rounds the corner; at the top of this straight of stairs, she stops—she's unwilling to get too close. It's not fear of his power that holds her back; guilt will always eat at her heart, after all. She's much more fearful of the consequence, if drawing too close pushes him away.
"Powers that affect emotion are ruled by them. If your feelings control your actions, then you can't control your power." She saw it with Eridan so many times, how his hopelessness would become so great as to pull the whole block down with him. How many times did she have to cross into that despair to pull him out, and protect those people around him from his poisonous moods?
"If you can't get your heart under control—" No, that's a verbal shorthand he might mistake for a literal problem with the organ— "If you go running into that crowded lobby, as unsteady as you are, you'll do nothing but hurt them with that power."
It hurts to lay him accusation like this—it hurts to betray the secret of his power, that he tried to keep even from her, hurts to say the words without sympathy, without understanding, without offering help. It hurts, knowing even if she did, he would never accept it. (Nobody ever does; it doesn't ever help.)
She can't show him hurt; instead, the tightness to her shoulders and to the sweep of her hand through the air, gesture stiff for the splint binding two her fingers together, is one of frustration.
"You are too dangerous for such a reckless escape. Is that clear enough?"