Yeah, something's definitely up, here, and considering everything that happened, Cater is pretty sure he can make an educated guess. The question is...does he really want to bring it up? Wouldn't it be better for the both of them to just pretend like nothing happened? Riddle seems pretty willing to write it all off. Cater could easily take that offering and run with it.
"Eh? In my honor? Hey, Cay-Cay's totally up for a party and all, but..."
He doesn't want to be celebrated. Not for something like that, in particular.
"Maybe we could honor more than just a person. How about..."
Humming thoughtfully, Cater sits on the edge of his bed, folding one leg casually over the other.
Cater's smile falls as the sentiment sends a shock through him. Never, not since the moment that they met, when he was still Housewarden and Riddle was the freshman upstart with a heart painted on his face, had Cater ever heard him speak in such a way.
He stands, approaching and putting his hands on Riddle's shoulders, squeezing firmly. There isn't a trace of humor in his expression.
"You don't mean that."
Riddle couldn't mean that. It wasn't him. It was the phantom--the blot inside of him--traces that still clung to his back and whispered terrible things into his ear. Cater recognized the sound...but Riddle was stronger than him. Riddle could cut the heads off of his demons. Cater wouldn't let him lay down and let himself be swallowed.
"You're twice the Housewarden I ever was--ever could have been. Your Overblot doesn't change that."
"Hey. Look at me," Cater urges. His tone is firm but not unkind. "That wasn't you. You weren't you."
This is...it prickles under his skin in a way he doesn't understand. So what does he care if Riddle doubts himself? It's only fair to feel that way after what happened. He'll figure it out on his own, probably, and if not, he has Trey to pick him back up again. So, why? Why does he feel so...responsible?
"You screwed up, yeah. Really, royally made a huge mess of things. But you know what else you've done? The hardest part: admitting it."
"But you know that now, don't you? You can admit you were wrong."
And once again, Riddle's looking down. He thinks about the angry fire in his Overblotted eyes, and then the sorrowful pits they'd become. They were still so sad. Maybe they'd always been, and just like Cater, he'd learned to cover up that pain. Acting on instinct, feeling some kind of impulse to see those eyes again, Cater's hands move from Riddle's shoulders to cup his face, instead.
"Nobody can be right all the time--that's just being human. What makes a leader isn't the ability to avoid mistakes, but how to move past them and learn to do better in the future." His voice getting even softer, Cater adds, "having weaknesses doesn't make you weak. You're the strongest person I've ever met. I still believe that."
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"Eh? In my honor? Hey, Cay-Cay's totally up for a party and all, but..."
He doesn't want to be celebrated. Not for something like that, in particular.
"Maybe we could honor more than just a person. How about..."
Humming thoughtfully, Cater sits on the edge of his bed, folding one leg casually over the other.
"To the card soldiers?"
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After a moment, he gives a wry smile.
"Yes, of course... an answer befitting of one who once held the title of Housewarden."
...
"Perhaps... I never should have taken that title from you."
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He stands, approaching and putting his hands on Riddle's shoulders, squeezing firmly. There isn't a trace of humor in his expression.
"You don't mean that."
Riddle couldn't mean that. It wasn't him. It was the phantom--the blot inside of him--traces that still clung to his back and whispered terrible things into his ear. Cater recognized the sound...but Riddle was stronger than him. Riddle could cut the heads off of his demons. Cater wouldn't let him lay down and let himself be swallowed.
"You're twice the Housewarden I ever was--ever could have been. Your Overblot doesn't change that."
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And then his head falls, a soft, humorless "heh" escaping.
His voice is quiet and solemn.
"I doubt you ever tried to kill all the people you were tasked with leading and protecting."
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This is...it prickles under his skin in a way he doesn't understand. So what does he care if Riddle doubts himself? It's only fair to feel that way after what happened. He'll figure it out on his own, probably, and if not, he has Trey to pick him back up again. So, why? Why does he feel so...responsible?
"You screwed up, yeah. Really, royally made a huge mess of things. But you know what else you've done? The hardest part: admitting it."
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"But it was, Cater! Of course I was being influenced, but..."
He closes his eyes tightly.
"...but it was still my weaknesses. My insecurities that were simmering, waiting to be brought to the surface."
A shiver runs through his body.
"All the fury and upset and... ...pain..."
He opens his eyes again, glaring down at the ground, and he gives a small, wry laugh.
"I was as far from being right as anyone could get."
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And once again, Riddle's looking down. He thinks about the angry fire in his Overblotted eyes, and then the sorrowful pits they'd become. They were still so sad. Maybe they'd always been, and just like Cater, he'd learned to cover up that pain. Acting on instinct, feeling some kind of impulse to see those eyes again, Cater's hands move from Riddle's shoulders to cup his face, instead.
"Nobody can be right all the time--that's just being human. What makes a leader isn't the ability to avoid mistakes, but how to move past them and learn to do better in the future." His voice getting even softer, Cater adds, "having weaknesses doesn't make you weak. You're the strongest person I've ever met. I still believe that."
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Just like they were during his Overblot.
His breath shakes a bit at Cater's words. He blinks a couple of times, two tears sliding from his eyes.
"Cater..."
... if his voice sounds a bit like it did toward the end of their interaction the last time, surely it's all in Cater's head.