[ What is the worst, is that he feels nothing to see her perform such a feat. Not irritation that his arrow has not found purchase, not delight that she is as majestic as he is — there is a deep numb thing within his core, rooted among the flowers that continue to blossom in his wake, step by step. She looses his own arrow upon him, and he tips his body underneath its path to avoid it — thrusting his hand behind him to call the sands back from the shaft, peeling the projectile away into grains and dust.
( He wants to cry out in fervor for her, wants to choke on a wild laugh at her wrath and loveliness, but the dance he is in — it feels, like he is standing outside of himself. Watching himself act, while his hands are forced to hold fast to his own mouth and throat, silencing and strangling himself and what he truly wishes to say. )
As the sand bleeds back into his form, he immediately abandons the idea of trading projectiles with her — twisting his wrist to lay the long line of his bow parallel to the ground, before seizing it at the center with both hands. When he drags them apart, the weapon transforms at will; two halves of bow become the subtle, elegant curve of the black khopesh, and he gives one a mocking little spin through fingers and across palm. ]
— get lost already. I have things to do, without you watching me like the fucking voyeur you are.
[ He snarls it, sudden and without restraint; calling the words not to her, but to the side of his own form. The snap of his voice like the lash of a whip, one blade brought to bear against some invisible vision he sees. ( The patient, calm eyes of his brother; awaiting him tiring, awaiting Hayame's fury and stubbornness to finally drive Set from her, or her from Set. Convinced, that it is the only reality that could exist. ) ]
Hey, Hayame.
[ His attention returns to her. The earth below his feet begins to crack, to cave in below the sudden dip of pressure; the strength in his thigh bunching, as he buckles down in preparation to lunge — ]
You're so fucking aggravating, [ in the comic, his season one affect was so much more thuggish rizu so enjoy. ] I ask you to consider some other life for yourself, and you tell me off like it's some stupid fucking thing you're incapable of. Every damn time, your refusal tells me you'd rather go rot in your bitter little hole where you get to be a dead-end warrior than someone who wants to even be alive — !
[ He can drive her out with words, if he has to.
And he lunges, blades diving at her as if to land lacerating blows along any section of flesh he can score a hit on. ]
Why would I want a warrior who's only goal is to die!
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( He wants to cry out in fervor for her, wants to choke on a wild laugh at her wrath and loveliness, but the dance he is in — it feels, like he is standing outside of himself. Watching himself act, while his hands are forced to hold fast to his own mouth and throat, silencing and strangling himself and what he truly wishes to say. )
As the sand bleeds back into his form, he immediately abandons the idea of trading projectiles with her — twisting his wrist to lay the long line of his bow parallel to the ground, before seizing it at the center with both hands. When he drags them apart, the weapon transforms at will; two halves of bow become the subtle, elegant curve of the black khopesh, and he gives one a mocking little spin through fingers and across palm. ]
— get lost already. I have things to do, without you watching me like the fucking voyeur you are.
[ He snarls it, sudden and without restraint; calling the words not to her, but to the side of his own form. The snap of his voice like the lash of a whip, one blade brought to bear against some invisible vision he sees. ( The patient, calm eyes of his brother; awaiting him tiring, awaiting Hayame's fury and stubbornness to finally drive Set from her, or her from Set. Convinced, that it is the only reality that could exist. ) ]
Hey, Hayame.
[ His attention returns to her. The earth below his feet begins to crack, to cave in below the sudden dip of pressure; the strength in his thigh bunching, as he buckles down in preparation to lunge — ]
You're so fucking aggravating, [ in the comic, his season one affect was so much more thuggish rizu so enjoy. ] I ask you to consider some other life for yourself, and you tell me off like it's some stupid fucking thing you're incapable of. Every damn time, your refusal tells me you'd rather go rot in your bitter little hole where you get to be a dead-end warrior than someone who wants to even be alive — !
[ He can drive her out with words, if he has to.
And he lunges, blades diving at her as if to land lacerating blows along any section of flesh he can score a hit on. ]
Why would I want a warrior who's only goal is to die!