[attr="class","illie i]she can't exactly say she's surprised when the answer is no, he doesn't trust many. it's to be expected if she dwells on it for longer than the moment at hand. he's in a position of power where not everyone has good intentions laced into their actions. "a trial and error basis, then," she comments and there's almost something fond about the way she smiles, as if she recognizes the same fundamentals in the research process she uses. "still, it must be disappointing when someone doesn't live up to expectations." it doesn't need to be mentioned that she's alluding to herself in loose terms.

her smile widens slightly. "sound structures are required for buildings to stand," she murmurs and there's a metaphor somewhere between syllables and gentle tones. "what's sounder than fundamentals?" it's rhetorical, really, but only halfway as if she's not certain if something else could be laced into a structure to make it impenetrable. she hums once more, tasting the answer on her tongue. part of her is torn between the experience of trying only to fail and the understanding that some things aren't able to be overcome. perhaps it's due to the freshness of littleroot and her shortcomings but how does she learn without first applying herself? by training to not react in such a way that's damning, that much she knows now. "what battles should they pick, then? ones with better odds?"

the lack of an answer bothers her in a sense that she is denied understanding, denied insight. it sends her mind into a frenzy of trying to supply answers on its own and each one is more anxious than the last. perhaps most of all, the only one that fully stands out is if he's telling her all of this because he finds her worthy in some sense. is that possible? or is it her jumping to conclusions? the lack of people believing in her as a child produces a woman who's willing to go to extreme lengths to secure such a thing. her gaze lazily follows his for a moment while he observes before she's fixing it in place on him, on the straight posture he holds. "if someone's interested but not necessarily what you want, how would they go about securing a spot?"

is this the part where she sells her soul to a three piece? fed concepts like she's worthy, she's capable, she's holy until she's turning her life over in exchange for more.

[attr="class","illie i]he expects to be disappointed by those he deems worthy enough to put time into. a simple concept and she's tilting her head as if to follow a thought she's not yet having. he wants to fix the shortcomings of the league, the failures that seem to be around every corner. what better way to do that than to invest himself into crafting those outcomes into successes? "true. not everyone can be on the same caliber," she murmurs. the elite four are hand selected as a cut above the rest, a mold those beneath them aspire to one day fill. the mention raises an eyebrow from the scientist, however. why create a new team when the best already exist? she keeps this to herself, tucked into a filing cabinet to collect dust.

he feeds her small increments, just enough to keep her biting, to keep her curiosity chomping at the bit. never fully satisfied with the answers given, asking for more. it's a cycle that is intent on repeating itself. "by changing their process of judgement? or their actions?" would a rookie still be crushed if they don't take on the stronger opponent? or would they succeed despite the lack of strength? she wants to unravel it, wants to pick apart the logic piece by piece until her mind can fully wrap around it and absorb the reasoning. and yet, she's denied by the simplistic nature of it all.

shoulders tense slightly beneath the weight of a question only to slowly ease back into a state of mild relaxation. an exhale escapes and she's understanding that subtlety isn't her strong suit. it never has been. "perhaps," she supplies. maybe it's coy and maybe it's her lack of a final decision that fuels the response. "is that an option?" the look she gives him is almost expectant, almost hopeful.

[attr="class","illie i]it's almost as if she hits a wall that might not be able to crumble. the topic shifts toward one of high importance, perhaps the most important of the day. and yet, she approaches it with as much hesitation as her body can contain. is she adamant about this change? is she willing to give it her all?

her eyes dart away toward papers and reports, toward a cluttered workspace and the fruition of her work. "if i am," she murmurs, not bothering to fully shift her gaze back just yet. despite his need for a full answer, she avoids it with the appearance of a new question. one that weighs a little too heavily on her shoulders. "what will be given up?" she doesn't want to ask what's holding her back, what's keeping her from diving into the deep end. if she's adamant on this, will she be giving up what gave her purpose?

finally, she finds him again and try as she might, she can't hide what her eyes show. the seeds of fear have roots that are too deep within her to mask with good intentions alone. fear of failure, rejection, loneliness, cruelty, pain. each one lends itself to the next until it's a bundle of nerves on bones covered by skin and called by the name illeana.

[attr="class","illie i]responsibility given for the easy tolerance given up. a realistic thing, really. where there is gentleness, there is weakness and he points it out every time. he highlights the failures, the opportunities missed until they're all she can see. and then that's where the shift begins.

"one could say that's an easy trade," she comments and while she doesn't fully fall into that category yet, she's beginning to see the appeal of it.

"you'll make sure i become something more?" hesitation is slowly fading into the starting points of acceptance but she needs more. she always needs more and perhaps that's what makes it so difficult to take what she wants. because while she wants it, is it actually for her, not someone else? "i don't want to fail, not again."

[attr="class","illie i]he's right. it's not an easy trade or task. instead, it's daunting and she's not sure which could be worse. the easy or the difficult. both yet neither, she decides, and it's confusing all the same.

she sighs, eyes drifting up toward the ceiling once more. "this is true but," she pauses only to find his eyes, to search for something and nothing in his expression. "what happens if we use the tools wrong?" perhaps it's obvious, perhaps it's nothing more than the same failures from littleroot rushing up to greet her all over again. and maybe that's a chance she has to take. there's no way to know what the outcome will be.

you cannot fail for free. somehow, she understands this better than most. failure comes at a price. it comes with pain and humiliation and insecurities bubbling up from the ashes of what you thought was success. her body is a temple of failures written in languages of old and etched into skin until it's all she sees. and even when given the opportunity to succeed, the weight of losing, of being placed back into that position all over again is something that leads her to falter and stumble. it's human to fail, yes, but at what cost? "and to not fail is to use the tools given in the correct manner, right?" a nod follows before she's pushing away from the desk she had been using as support, a half step taken closer and then halting. there's an invisible boundary keeping her from shifting distance, one that she recognizes as a measure of strengths. it always feels uncomfortable to be the weakest in the room. "i want to learn to defy that nature." another pause, a rising of a chin in some attempt of strength she doesn't possess. "show me how to not fail."

[attr="class","illie i]he doesn't sugarcoat it, something she's coming to both appreciate and loathe. reprimanded accordingly. somehow, she isn't familiar with the concept. it's always been one extreme or the other. freedom or a cage, bruises or rewards. never a grey area. would he be the same as those before him who tried to teach her things she wanted to learn? would she wear her failure again? no, she decides with a gentle nod, he wouldn't and she wouldn't be in that position again. that's the whole point of this, isn't? to learn from the failures and secure success, to never face the consequences again.

his eyes stay on hers and while she's tempted to glance away, to break the eye contact because it feels too forward and too personal... she holds the gaze evenly. baby steps, maybe. or it's a false sense of comfort, of security in his presence. she doesn't dwell on it long. not when he's giving her the answer she's looking for, the answer she had been hoping for. surprise registers on her face and another step forward is taken and quickly stopped. "really?" for all the confidence she wants to have, it sure is lacking. there's that incessant need to question, to hear confirmation as if she's imagining him doing all of this. is it worse if she asks him to promise? yes and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to hold it back.

"thank you," she murmurs. there's a brief moment where she wonders if she should bow or attempt a hug or whatever it is that people do in these sorts of situations. and then the thought is leaving her mind as quickly as it came, replaced by the next and the one after. "i won't let you down." ah, but that sounds like a promise she can't keep.