and that would be enough to get cassian's attention, even in this crowded space. but not only is her pain loud, but her guilt is of a familiar tenor. it meets, matches, resonates with his own, intertwines with the strength of their iconoclast connection. his guilt lives as a constant undercurrent to his presence, his thinking; the knowledge that he has crossed too many lines and taken too many lives and gone too far beyond the pale to ever hope for redemption. the inherent knowledge that he is cruel, is beyond saving. he hears her pain, and he understands it.
he struggles, too, with the competing energies of meridian and zenith. the burning sun, and the freezing moonlight, coursing like sap through his veins. he feels powerful pangs of longing for people and places gone; he feels endless waves of self-recrimination for his crimes; he struggles with anger and despair in equal measure. he runs pale, exhaustion clear in the lines of his face, hair rumpled and sticking to the back of his neck.
but he's drawn to the cacophony of her misery. he telegraphs his approach, raising a hand to her forearm with a gentle, ]
Hey.
[ an attempt at being gentle, anyway, voice soft. kindness doesn't come to him easily, but he tries. ]
rooted
and that would be enough to get cassian's attention, even in this crowded space. but not only is her pain loud, but her guilt is of a familiar tenor. it meets, matches, resonates with his own, intertwines with the strength of their iconoclast connection. his guilt lives as a constant undercurrent to his presence, his thinking; the knowledge that he has crossed too many lines and taken too many lives and gone too far beyond the pale to ever hope for redemption. the inherent knowledge that he is cruel, is beyond saving. he hears her pain, and he understands it.
he struggles, too, with the competing energies of meridian and zenith. the burning sun, and the freezing moonlight, coursing like sap through his veins. he feels powerful pangs of longing for people and places gone; he feels endless waves of self-recrimination for his crimes; he struggles with anger and despair in equal measure. he runs pale, exhaustion clear in the lines of his face, hair rumpled and sticking to the back of his neck.
but he's drawn to the cacophony of her misery. he telegraphs his approach, raising a hand to her forearm with a gentle, ]
Hey.
[ an attempt at being gentle, anyway, voice soft. kindness doesn't come to him easily, but he tries. ]
Take a breath.