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09-18-2015, 01:37 PM
Nothing is more sobering than that stare. Dark and tear stained, with broken aggression pressing the surface, and strain ringing every line. A side of his lips twitch to see it, was it the affliction he battled or the pain wearing so unusually on her every feature? Even before she spoke the worn golden felt every nerve twinge, screaming: Wrong. A familiar weight, heavy as a stone, grew in his gut. He didn’t belong here. This wasn’t his place. It didn’t fit with his world, and it didn’t fit her. Nothing about this made ANY sense. The strong, bold rosen girl lay crumpled and wounded. The golden stood by, quiet and confused. It was a point of pride that the golden could always pick apart himself. His skills were so strong as to need no aid in sorting through what he knew and felt. But though the fog was lifting from his mind ever still, there was a deeper darkness surrounding this. Pieces weren’t fitting, and it seemed more like dark dreams then reality. Shivers and trembles ever race up and down his spin, but he wouldn’t be distracted. The scene before him trapped his gaze in its foreign mystery. Or was it really so foreign? Or did he just want to be? Her voice cuts across, full of vehemence and vulnerability. Yet it only made the golden, standing there with pained shallow breaths, watch ever closer. Laugh? She wanted him to laugh? The crowned head tilts ever so slightly and though his expressions were muted with the strain of survival, those dark eyes narrow slightly. Then she crumples back into herself, crying ever more. Laugh? Laughter required there be something humorous, something delightful, but though he had laughed at tears before, this, this wasn’t the same. Nothing about this brought any lightness in his voice, or any dark twisting mischievous joy. And it made no sense. He should be laughing. Here was the girl who tried so hard to usurp him. Tried so hard to out maneuver him. Here she was, completely exposed and pathetic. Showing herself a weakling, a child, and nothing more than all the criticism he and every other haters of her had ever expected her to be. Now she was showing her true weakness, her cracked veneer. Showing him in raw footage that she could not match him. That she was beneath him in every way they kept track of. Her legs were not strong enough to bear her. Her heart was not steeled enough to keep out her emotions. Her skills were not trained enough to pull her curtains back down. This is what he wanted. This is what he always knew to be true. She was in every way unequal to him. Right? So why wasn’t he celebrating? Why wasn’t he laughing? Another breath fails to reach his lungs and he gasps and coughs for air for a second before she yells out again. Twitching harks lean back, still lost in confusion. Why wasn’t he laughing? Why didn’t he tease her? Grapping in himself for the weapons and words of choice he can’t find the strength to reach them. He couldn’t reach them. He couldn’t reach them. It was too familiar. Too close. The weight pressing her to earth, and loss of herself had left too may sores on his back and too many dark hours in his nights. He couldn’t laugh at it. Even if she was a stranger, and his coat not been tore and battered, he could not laugh at something so real. She stands, stumbling back and the gold pulls his attention forward again, but he doesn’t step forward. His body frozen by its weakness and his own need for space. It was all getting to close. Too dark. A red line runs off her shoulder, and the dark dull eyes of the gold draw to it. Blood. The battle. That’s right, she had been at the battle too. His weight shifts, the reminder causing him to remember too hotly the wounds of his own, and the warm trails rolling down. Its not like he cared? He didn’t did he? If he cared, that would make this a whole other nightmare. Her yell storms up like a hurricane, deafening even his thinking in its wake and hallowing her words for a moment. But he stands the storm. As if he had a choice. Legs tremble more forcibly, they were getting weaker, whether from the affliction or his strength finally starting to give way. To step forward would threaten the delicate balance. Another irony in the seas building about them. Such strength he seemed to show, but how it was only made in weakness. What was she saying though? She cared? A tumble of words collect, and he is left to shift through them. The slamming of a hoof and vicious bitterness does not move him still. She cared. Cared about, his face? Wait…the golden simply could not process. It spun and spun, a record on a track but going nowhere further. The idea that the rosen girl, the pink spy, the Lady of the Basin, steeled, cold, and a match of his own skills cared for his face? Wait, more than his face? It made no sense. A shape moves in his view and his body twists to see, it but it spirals into a series of coughs and tinges of pain that though he tries to muffle, come through anyway. Her dog came slinking to his side, and it made all the uneasy feelings tumble all the more and grow like a cancer. Haldir might have been one of the few to know what was happening. His mind was not so trapped by walls of his own making, and so he heard the rosen girl with full attention. She cared for the golden. Oh boy. She said it. And she didn’t show signs of stopping. Large ears fall back and he turns to look at his bonded like a sleeping dragon. You see the young stag knew what was said. He knew the story of the golden. He had seen him fall before. He had heard the tale. And it frightened him. Because he cared for the golden as well. The girl didn’t know she was saying. She didn’t know here this was going and what she was feeling for in the dark. The dark deer’s body trembles, and he backs away. He comes to the hell hound, who looked more cowed than the deer. His own soul was not so cruel as to block out pity and concern, and especially in his position, every sense was heightened. So though he reaches out, hoping to grace his back in care, but also moves to block his path to the gold. He wanted to go get help. The sweet thing, or another healer, but every heart string was tied here. Frozen in the fear of where this was headed. Of the consequences. So it was well the golden was lost in these comments. For if he knew what truth she was slowly letting slip like a dress from the shoulder, the damage would be deep and at this stage, risking more than he had left. Her whisper comes across to him even stronger than her shouts. She didn’t need him. Of course not. Their kind didn’t need others. He never had. (There he goes lying to himself again.) This was-She thought? Body pulls back, unsure. And when she turns and the dark ringed eyes pierce him his pulse increases, unbidden. Blurred vision could not hide the hang of her head, nor the loud rasping of his own breath her tone. I thought I didn’t need you. The fears of Haldir began to leak into his system. No, she doesn’t. No, no, no, no, this wasn’t. He was not going there. Damnit he did not want open that. Pain continued to etch on his face, but now it begged. Now it pleaded. This was wrong. This wasn’t truth. Don’t do this. Don’t touch there and think everything will be alright. Don’t talk about this. You can’t just say that here, in this place, and think everything will be fine. He warned her damnit. He WARNED HER. Don’t call them. This cruel, this is pain. You think you will smile? That this is a confession for relief? To say it will bring some easement? NO. It was selfish. To speak so freely, so readily, a selfish, uncaring child. To think her relief will bring the same for him. It brings only pain, and agony. A bitterness and dark hole of hell. Don’t go there. Don’t touch there. Please don’t say this. “No-o…” It wobbled, strained and hissed. His lungs struggled, but the rest of him was so consumed, that the struggle came out jumbled. She being selfish, and cruel. Just cruel and naïve. This isn’t some fairytale. You can’t just do this. You can’t. So in the strain, in the struggle, the threads which held him standing up before, now pull in to wrap about him. A blanket, or gentle hand whispering, now, now its alright. The lies. Ever the lies that he lets turn his life. “You don’t need me.” That’s right. She didn’t. She might be foolish enough not to see it, but that’s where they differed. She didn’t need him. She didn’t even know him. How many had he plagued to gain such a sentence from them and crush it against them? To tear it from their souls and use its truth to shape their death. Yet here, to her, he could not do it. The lies were like cotton in his ears, like a blanket against the cold, but they could not move him beyond protection. Nor did he want them to. He could so easily have smiled, and strode up to her like the superior she now granted him. Wearing like a mantle his ego and pride against her. But he couldn’t. He had spoken with a rasp, a strain, was it more than the stuggle to stand? Was there actually some care to let her head fall softly instead of crashing down? Some resistance? Some acknowledgement truth? As his body stands trembling, straining, he does the strangest thing, though he can not sort through why or how, he speaks softly. “No one needs their nightmares.” Was he protecting her? Stopping her? Admitting a truth? Or was this no more than hidden plea. From the lips of the long tortured, a last request, to stop. To not speak of such things. To not pull out from him in the cruelest fashion these senses and unknown thoughts. To not make him feel. Another ragged breath leaves him coughing, and his glance falling from her. But it cleared him slightly. It gave distance. So that when he looks back, his form still swaying slightly with the effort, there is a grasping for reality, for sense. Some normality. Something to make sense, and move away from all that was said. “You-You’re hurt” It was laughable. He nearly looses it again to say she, with her none noticed mark, was wounded, and nothing said of his. “Its just the…from the …that’s all.” He couldn’t exactly finish it. To call her crazy. To cite the wound for her talking out of her mind. For twisting her into something he was sure she wasn’t. Perhaps it was because his heart was racing too fast, and his body couldn’t keep up. Or perhaps because his strength was failing him as well. Or perhaps because he wanted to escape his own nightmares. Of being trapped. Being caught. Battered and wounded. And unable to finish the kill. Unable because there was in there somewhere in his darkness, still a beating heart. "talk talk talk" OOC:: Thranduil
His words are clever and bright
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