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04-05-2013, 04:57 AM
'Speaking of rude,' a murmur, a low hiss, jagged and piercing against the web of safety surrounding us; poisoned with a passion that swerves through tangled veins, burning, itching, destroying. Your impassiveness shifts to something dangerous, gaze sharpening with feral hunger, primordial and raw. She tears you down, and while you rise in defiance, there is hurt throbbing within your rabbit heart, vulnerable and all too fragile. Anger lies just beneath your skin, seeping into avian-bones, caustic and unfamiliar; you had always had something akin to patience, though not quite, you had always held yourself above where others would stoop. And yet she sits there, looking at you as if you were an insect that deserves nothing more than to be squished beneath her dainty little feet; something that you can only relate to him. Through a hazy mind you recall the look on his face, the way he threw them at you with the weight that he had carried from your lies, the conviction which he had held at your throat all this time; the way he looked at you, as she looks at you now. Your stomach turns, head rising as you look down at her with the same weight, the same judgment, only a different shade——your anger multiplying where it should fade, a terrible sensation rising from your gut as those same thoughts of instilling fear resonate and flourish. 'Forget it.' You growl, muscles flexing to turn from the naïve, delusional girl to finish the exploration that she had done little more than interrupt. It is then that a familiar voice catches your attentions, eyes shooting to the corners of their sockets in acknowledgement of the man that you had so briefly met. You hadn't ever been one for social gatherings of the like, nor keeping such ill company, but a part of you is undoubtedly grateful ( and the thought strange, for you had never truly experienced relief ) for his genteel presence. But he speaks to her of family, and with your weak grasp of the meaning of the word, you fight to hold back a snort of disagreement, the pointed edges of your eye flickering back to the girl colored of rust. You would judge her, like no one had done to you since your arrival, though your encounters few, if you were only able of truly being cruel, idiotic even. You inhale deeply as the clay man speaks to you, doing your best to abolish the anger still surging electrically through you, though your gaze remains unwavering. 'Always.' It is quick and precise, a rush of breath as it leaves your lungs begrudgingly, breaking your death-stare to look Thor over once, a flicker of a smile whispering along your lips. There is something on his face that speaks of a chronic tiredness, a weariness that you can only attribute to the responsibilities of leading as he has. 'And you, my Gentle-heart?' ;_______; |
