( there's something almost fascinating about watching him piece it together, the way his feathers shift and move as though there's some method to it all, a way to force his body to find the pathways that have scabbed over, where things have been taken from him, robbed from him, and left emptiness in their wake. she has those things too, little pieces that seem to scatter in the wind of her breath when she tries to focus too hard on them--it's much easier to let it all flow, like water, and the thought reminds her of asra and all of his beautiful magic, and her heart hurts, or what's left of it does, in any case, while the rest feels heavy like stone.
he says the words and it's like they slot in where her mind glosses over; yes, he'd said it that night, yes, had relented to her mostly out of obligation, surely, but she had been pleased to take him away. even with the library being one of her own favourite places--they both needed the cool night air to finally breathe. julian had taken the whole thing to desperate lengths, with desperate measures, and that's her fault too, and that's something that she's never gotten to apologize for. probably can't ever apologize for. and that's another reason vesuvia is, truly, in better hands now, right/
because if she had just been better, had found a way to weave past all of lucio's obstacles, thrown in her path, then perhaps it all wouldn't have happened like--
julian's head jerks, rights itself like his whole neck snaps back into place again. the thought makes her want to shiver. )
It's more that you should be asking what I did to him.
( and this is probably the part where she shouldn't tell him, exactly, what happened--because there is no way that he would look at her with those soft, sad eyes and still feel anything but contempt and, especially, disgust with her, for doing it at all. her gaze goes from his face back down to the cup with her hand clamped over it, and damn it all, she decides, and brings it up to her lips.
it's--
--utterly disgusting. how does he drink this? she skids the tankard back across the table towards him with the blunt base of her palm. )
He's gone. I'm here in his place. Which begs the question, really, of where you should be, now that I'm capable of helping you.
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he says the words and it's like they slot in where her mind glosses over; yes, he'd said it that night, yes, had relented to her mostly out of obligation, surely, but she had been pleased to take him away. even with the library being one of her own favourite places--they both needed the cool night air to finally breathe. julian had taken the whole thing to desperate lengths, with desperate measures, and that's her fault too, and that's something that she's never gotten to apologize for. probably can't ever apologize for. and that's another reason vesuvia is, truly, in better hands now, right/
because if she had just been better, had found a way to weave past all of lucio's obstacles, thrown in her path, then perhaps it all wouldn't have happened like--
julian's head jerks, rights itself like his whole neck snaps back into place again. the thought makes her want to shiver. )
It's more that you should be asking what I did to him.
( and this is probably the part where she shouldn't tell him, exactly, what happened--because there is no way that he would look at her with those soft, sad eyes and still feel anything but contempt and, especially, disgust with her, for doing it at all. her gaze goes from his face back down to the cup with her hand clamped over it, and damn it all, she decides, and brings it up to her lips.
it's--
--utterly disgusting. how does he drink this? she skids the tankard back across the table towards him with the blunt base of her palm. )
He's gone. I'm here in his place. Which begs the question, really, of where you should be, now that I'm capable of helping you.