[ He breathes it. Drying the tears that spill from his eyes, seeking to hold her fast. The expression on his face twists, into a toothy sneer. A vicious little smile of defiance.
His balance skews towards Meridian in effort, and Zenith in existence; he straddles the line between two factions, repulsed and straining to hold not their ideologies, but their people fast to him. A difficult, impossible task that will tear him in two. He would burn this world if it meant ensuring the ones he has come to care for will ride a wave of horror to the things they desire, and he will be able to return to his own realm and do his duty once more. He is drawn to either side because they are a means to an end, and those means may fluctuate over time. Adapt and transform, but regardless of them —
she will have him, through all that comes their way. That much, he is certain of.
Ruby begins to let herself down, to loosen her grip upon him and badly, badly he wants to keep holding her. She is miserable, she gives him meaning beyond that which he might deserve; dangerous, insane meaning. He is miserable, and he does something for her that the two of them cannot put words to, but understand implicitly between them. As her mouth brushes along the corner of his, he reaches up. Slow. To cup his hands across the exterior of her hair ( he does not sink his fingers into her tresses, he would not like it, his own hair is long and has been gripped by so many brutal hands — ), to gather it up and loop it around itself. To take up a stray root, two, and pin her hair atop her head.
Out of her face, out of the way of grabbing hands or debris. ]
— you are mine. No leader, nor force, will obscure that now, Ruby.
[ For her, he presses his nose to her forehead. To the center of her brow where he breathes her in, deep and slow. Run, he urges her in impressions and wild energy, like a coursing hound or lunging crocodile, hide, survive for me. ]
no subject
[ He breathes it. Drying the tears that spill from his eyes, seeking to hold her fast. The expression on his face twists, into a toothy sneer. A vicious little smile of defiance.
His balance skews towards Meridian in effort, and Zenith in existence; he straddles the line between two factions, repulsed and straining to hold not their ideologies, but their people fast to him. A difficult, impossible task that will tear him in two. He would burn this world if it meant ensuring the ones he has come to care for will ride a wave of horror to the things they desire, and he will be able to return to his own realm and do his duty once more. He is drawn to either side because they are a means to an end, and those means may fluctuate over time. Adapt and transform, but regardless of them —
she will have him, through all that comes their way. That much, he is certain of.
Ruby begins to let herself down, to loosen her grip upon him and badly, badly he wants to keep holding her. She is miserable, she gives him meaning beyond that which he might deserve; dangerous, insane meaning. He is miserable, and he does something for her that the two of them cannot put words to, but understand implicitly between them. As her mouth brushes along the corner of his, he reaches up. Slow. To cup his hands across the exterior of her hair ( he does not sink his fingers into her tresses, he would not like it, his own hair is long and has been gripped by so many brutal hands — ), to gather it up and loop it around itself. To take up a stray root, two, and pin her hair atop her head.
Out of her face, out of the way of grabbing hands or debris. ]
— you are mine. No leader, nor force, will obscure that now, Ruby.
[ For her, he presses his nose to her forehead. To the center of her brow where he breathes her in, deep and slow. Run, he urges her in impressions and wild energy, like a coursing hound or lunging crocodile, hide, survive for me. ]