( they're crueler words than she expects to fall from her lips, and it's almost like they climb out of her mouth without her even recognizing them, almost as if they're pulled from a place that should be buried, deep and dark, hidden from even those metallic grey eyes that stare at her like she's some poorly-made illusion or like she's not precisely what he's made her to be. no, it's unfair to blame him for everything--in fact she can't really blame him for anything at all. it's her choice that has her here, even if it's tempting to force him to bear more of the burden than she knows he can rightfully tolerate.
he's beaten and low and hopeless, and sharp words and biting retorts aren't the sorts of things he needs to hear now.
julian gestures, wearily, towards any of the open chairs, and while he may have no realization of what she is, there's a shiver of something that goes through the room that makes it quite apparent to the rest of the monsters scattered about that she is not the creature any of them likely want to be caught in the path of. it's not unlike her days in vesuvia, though there was a circle of space around her built from admiration and awe, there, like a flower that needed air around it to breathe; here, it's the quiver of fear, of knowing the power that she possesses even in the unassuming flick of her fingers when she moves through the room and nothing remains in her path, no one left in the line of sight.
which just leaves julian and his sad little feathers, sitting there, with chairs aplenty near him. she melts down into one of them, folds her arms to the table, and curls a finger at him. )
You made an admirable effort, Doctor Devorak, but I couldn't just leave you here to atone for everything you've never had to. You know he could have chosen to dishonor your deal at any point, and would have, naturally, and then where would we be? Where would the city be?
( the minor movement jerks his tankard away from him by magic, slides it across the table until it ends up in the coil of her finger, seemingly held up by nothing at all. )
I make my own deals. And I can get you out of this one now, easy, if you ask nicely.
( but should she? there's a faint uncertainty there, tinging in the words, but it's selfishness that has her doubting. she can't keep him here. )
no subject
( they're crueler words than she expects to fall from her lips, and it's almost like they climb out of her mouth without her even recognizing them, almost as if they're pulled from a place that should be buried, deep and dark, hidden from even those metallic grey eyes that stare at her like she's some poorly-made illusion or like she's not precisely what he's made her to be. no, it's unfair to blame him for everything--in fact she can't really blame him for anything at all. it's her choice that has her here, even if it's tempting to force him to bear more of the burden than she knows he can rightfully tolerate.
he's beaten and low and hopeless, and sharp words and biting retorts aren't the sorts of things he needs to hear now.
julian gestures, wearily, towards any of the open chairs, and while he may have no realization of what she is, there's a shiver of something that goes through the room that makes it quite apparent to the rest of the monsters scattered about that she is not the creature any of them likely want to be caught in the path of. it's not unlike her days in vesuvia, though there was a circle of space around her built from admiration and awe, there, like a flower that needed air around it to breathe; here, it's the quiver of fear, of knowing the power that she possesses even in the unassuming flick of her fingers when she moves through the room and nothing remains in her path, no one left in the line of sight.
which just leaves julian and his sad little feathers, sitting there, with chairs aplenty near him. she melts down into one of them, folds her arms to the table, and curls a finger at him. )
You made an admirable effort, Doctor Devorak, but I couldn't just leave you here to atone for everything you've never had to. You know he could have chosen to dishonor your deal at any point, and would have, naturally, and then where would we be? Where would the city be?
( the minor movement jerks his tankard away from him by magic, slides it across the table until it ends up in the coil of her finger, seemingly held up by nothing at all. )
I make my own deals. And I can get you out of this one now, easy, if you ask nicely.
( but should she? there's a faint uncertainty there, tinging in the words, but it's selfishness that has her doubting. she can't keep him here. )