( julian's chin jerks up sharply, eyes wide and kind of shocked, glassy again. not unlike the way he'd looked up when she'd tackled him to the ground in the first place, just unfathomably stricken to see and hear everything in front of him. then—something like pain, again. only more touched. he forgets to blink and his eyes well up as they dry out, so that his tears cut a few more icy streaks down his face when he finally does inhale again, open and close his eyes, speak. )
You stayed? You looked out for them? I...
( he'd like to reach out. get up and hug her, if he were himself, the old julian. any sort of julian, really, but he just isn't anymore, is he? instead he puts his arms around himself, shivering like he's cold. )
[it comes off as an accusation, but morga really only means to make an observation of it. her face softens again, and after a long few seconds of wrestling with herself, she offers him her hand. fingers slack, palm up, and it's just. there. she won't force him to take it. not unless she feels he needs the contact.]
Surely you know by now that I'm not so heartless.
[could she be cruel? absolutely. but julian's family has never done anything to deserve her ire - the opposite, really. for as much as morga tried to keep her distance, they still welcomed her with open arms. even with the knowledge that she had been lucio's mother... morga doesn't understand it.]
( he "just" what? he just... didn't expect it, maybe. listen, morga has never made any secret of not being one for the hustle and bustle of vesuvia, for one thing. and for another, it's the way she phrased it. the way she said she watched out for his family. as if it was a favor for him, specifically. for the others, too, of course. obviously. but she could have said it any number of ways. any number of ways that wouldn't send a lance of guilt and gratitude straight to his heart.
he might even smile if not for the guilt part, how it wins out in the end. it always wins out in the end.
julian's gaze lingers on morga's outstretched hand, hesitant. when he finally does take one arm from around himself, he reaches out hesitantly—and stops when he gets a look at the difference between the two of them. he can't touch her with those ugly, horrible talons. shaking his head, he draws his hand back again and finally manages a crooked... well, "smile" is stretching it, but it's something. )
I'm grateful, that's all. I didn't have any way to know if anyone was even still... ah, well. It doesn't matter now. You kept them safe. You... did what I couldn't, I suppose. What I tried to do. You win again, hmm?
[morga exhales slowly, and she hopes the disappointment doesn't show on her face when he pulls his hand back. it's... there, but it's hard to keep everything in check. but she doesn't withdraw her own. no, she keeps it out and open, even curls her fingers by a hair in an invitation of sorts. things would be so much easier if she took a page from monty's book and wore her emotions and heart on her sleeve around people outside of the clan. so, so much easier.
she was brought up differently. this is all she knows, and she may as well be pulling a dragon's tooth by trying it any other way. yet she still tries.]
Look. I didn't know what happened to you. I didn't know where the hell you went, only that you were gone and the world was filling up with monsters I'd only heard of in myths and legends. I had to do something. I couldn't...
[her eyes close and she takes a breath. saying it out loud makes it seem so... wrong. but if she doesn't say it, she never will.]
It was all I could think to do. To honor you. To keep what you had left alive and in one piece while I could.
( it shows. a little. maybe. julian tells himself that isn't what he's looking at, that he only wishes anyone would still feel the way about him that they did before he became a monster. and then he feels guilty for wanting that. guilty for the very notion of thinking he has any right to drag anyone down to his level. his eyes dart from her face to her hand, still held out. not insistently, but it may as well be. she wants him to put his hand in hers, and shouldn't he obey?
maybe, but it's better if he doesn't. it's the right thing to do not for her to have to feel how he's changed. still, miserable wretch that he is, he can't hold out forever. eventually, once he's stricken emotionally enough by the things that she says, he swallows and extends his clawed hand one more time. and this time he finally does lay it against her palm. the second they make contact he's crushed by guilt and regret, glancing up apologetically and then looking away again, hangdog, ashamed. )
Honor? Me? Oh, Morga, I don't deserve your honor. I don't deserve a second thought of yours or anyone's. I'm sorry... I only left you with more burdens.
( what hits him harder? the physical contact, or how he finally, finally says her name out loud? both. who knows. whichever, it makes his brow crease like he's weathering a painful blow, his voice low and rough. )
All I deserve is exactly what I got. But not you. Not any of you.
[his hand is both rougher and smoother than she was expecting. his palm and the underside of his fingers aren't even close to what they once were, but they've a sort of softness to the skin. and — gods — it nearly dwarfs her own. her fingers curl around his with only a heartbeat of hesitation. too fast, and she worries she might scare him off. too slow, and... well, probably the same thing. after another, she brings her second hand up to join the first and she moves to sit cross-legged before him, bringing his hand down with her. it's easier to look at him like this on equal ground.]
People don't always get what they deserve, whether it be good or bad. And those who think themselves undeserving are often more than those who believe they deserve the world simply because of... whatever else. Status. Position.
[carefully and oh-so-slowly, morga turns julian's hand over in her own. her fingertips brush against the rough scales across the top of his hand, while her thumbs work their way across his palm. it's... surprising to be sure, but with how often she has handled Jæger's talons? it doesn't shock her as much as it ought to. this is sort of the same thing, only more "human" and, well. much, much bigger. if she had to guess, she'd guess they were almost as large as a bear's paws. not as wide, but long. yet however big they are, she shows no fear or disgust. and why should she be afraid?]
This... You didn't deserve to have this happen to you. No one does.
[but especially not him. a kind heart was supposed to get people killed. not... tormented by a fiend. not like this.]
( morga may not show disgust or fear, but julian hardly expects her to show it. while not truly unflappable, she's a hard one to make flinch. a tough cookie, as they say. it'd only make sense that she'd face this as deliberately and pointedly as she does. brave, undeterred. a warrior, a paragon. that's his morga. he'd forgotten. in his mind's eye, he'd pictured everyone he loved afraid. hurt, lost, and scared. as much as he tried to convince himself he'd done the right thing and that they'd all be living happy lives, safe and sound, free and unburdened... all his moments were filled with dread, in reality. even morga. cornered and afraid, defenseless. unable to save herself. and no one to step between her and certain danger this time. he used to picture it all the time... when he could remember.
it's fine. he wears the disgust for the both of them. the shame roils off him, but in spite of everything he can't bring himself to continue to look away. that just makes it worse, that he doesn't have the good sense to pull back and stay away. that his eyes fix on their hands with such desperation, such a painful need. no one has touched those awful hands of his since they became what they are. big with viciously thick, sharp, curved talons at the end, the knuckles of his fingers knobby and bent. just like a bird. the shorter, thicker feathers are course and almost sharp, but they become softer and softer as they travel up his arm. for safety's sake he tries very hard just to hold still, even though all he wants is to squeeze tight. )
This is exactly what I deserved. If it hadn't been me, it would have been one of you, you see? Or all of you. After everything I've done, or... didn't do, it's fitting. And I wouldn't take it back. Not after finding out the rest of you didn't have to suffer like I did. Or do. Depending. It isn't so bad now, although I don't know how you can stand it.
[the only thing that slips out is a non-committal grunt, her brows knitting together as she slides her hands along the length of his fingers. she keeps her touch light, even as she squeezes the padded tips between her thumb and index... and then she slides them further forward, hooking them into his talons as easily as she would jæger's. they certainly put the eagle's to shame, though she wouldn't say it within earshot of the bird. not when he has a flair for the dramatics himself behind closed doors. that had been a side he'd only started to show julian and now... it'll be an adjustment period for everyone. no doubt he'll be even angrier than morga was. is? was? it's not important.
she's so engrossed in what she's doing that she's only half aware of the endearment falling from her lips. somewhere down the line she'd gotten so used to hearing things like it from julian that she started slinging them back. how much was genuine and how much of it was in jest was still unknown, but it's out there.]
You've forgotten who my closest friend is, kära. You're simply... bigger.
[her thumbs run down the smooth surface of each talon, stopping before she reaches the ends of them. back up, down, and then to the tops of his fingers once more. she turns his hand, holding it and inspecting it with nothing but neutral curiosity on her face. everything about it is unfortunate and if she had the power... it'd still be julian's choice, not hers. but it's not the worst thing she's seen. magic took all shapes and forms, and it wasn't uncommon to hear tales of other warriors in other clans taking the form of great beasts in the midst of a fight. they were few, though, and as such were better served to live only in those stories.]
Does it bother you? Having me look at you like this?
Not exactly. I missed you looking at me. It's just... unfortunate this is what you have to look at.
( so basically yes. look—he meant what he said. nobody has looked at him in such a long time. nobody has touched him in even longer. it does make his misery feel less miserable, just like it always did. why do you think he was always so quick to throw himself into open arms? because he really craved that touch and attention. receiving it, naturally, but offering it too.
not that he's doing much offering now. he's still hesitant to move, convinced he'll cut her if he curls his fingers too much or tries to squeeze her hand. yeah, yeah, she's strong and tough and not easily hurt, he knows, he remembers that much, but... but still. it's different now, or so he tells himself. it's one thing for people to be indelicate with each other. it's another entirely when he's a loathsome monster, strong and dangerous enough to do real damage. and he doesn't exactly know his own strength, either. he hasn't much had to use it.
still. after studying his other hand a moment, he lays it overtop of morga's. yeah, between the long claws and just the general size of them now, he completely engulfs her hand in his. )
It says enough that when you heard of me, you came here armed. The description those poor folk that spotted me in the city must've been monstrous. I tried not to be seen, but it was—hard to avoid. I don't even know why I'm here. I'm supposed to be locked away, serving my sentence. It can't've been pardoned. It wasn't just a life sentence. It was forever.
They could've told me that there was a white rabbit tearing through the streets hissing at people about the time and I'd still bring a weapon with me. They're deceptive, vicious little bastards under all of that fluff.
[she almost doesn't notice the corners of her mouth quirking up, though whether it's because of the rabbits or the fact that julian is presently touching back is up to debate. it might be both, or it might be over nothing. the only thing that truly matters is... he's not shying away. that counts for something.
and it does something to her, too. having her hands enveloped by something so large? gods, it was always one thing when someone had bigger, meatier hands but for them to still look and feel so delicate like this? it's something else. oh, it's something else, alright. she doesn't need to see his face to know who they belong to, because they speak for him under the rough and smooth scales.]
Either way... It doesn't matter where you think you're supposed to be. You're in the real world, not his. Not... whatever he'd twisted this one into months ago. Take your freedom and hold it tight, Julian.
( maybe she doesn't, but julian does. he notices every minute change in her expression because he's watching very carefully for... well, for lots of things. for a sign that this is all another elaborate illusion, or maybe that she actually secretly hates his, or—whatever. his own expression softens when morga's does. his heart aches. it's... god, how do you explain how it feels to have someone smile at you when you haven't seen one in so, so long?
but that all fades quickly. in an instant he's shaking his head, taking at least the one hand back, all his feathers ruffling at once. )
No—no! That's just the thing, don't you understand? If I'm here, that means the deal must have been broken. You're all in danger—all of you! What I should be doing is turning myself back in before he can find one of you and... god, I can't bear to think of it. You have no idea what he's capable of. I-I can't let that happen to you. To any of you.
[she doesn't fight it when she feels his hand withdraw. what matters is she still has the other in her own, and that's the one she gives a squeeze to. it's almost funny how much smaller her hands look and feel. it'd be even funnier if morga were to let something as small as a difference in size get in her way. she doesn't get to think about it for too long, her eyes drawn to the way the feathers around his shoulders flare. to the ones on his neck, and the curve of his wings. while part of her actually wants to reach out and smooth them down, she doesn't remove her hands from his. he isn't jæger, and she won't insult him by treating him like he were simply an upset animal.]
Oh, I have an idea of what he's capable of.
[the ritual. the state of the world. the state of julian. she tries not to think about the former, running her hands up the length of his instead. up, back down, to the outer sides. it's a way of grounding not only herself, but hopefully him, too. something to keep their minds on the present rather than something else. after a minute or so of it, morga's fingers pause at his wrist where the scales widen and creep up the length of his arm. silently, she asks permission.]
...But it won't happen. You're not turning yourself into anyone — the city guards would be on you in an instant, and I'd rather avoid the headache of pissing off the entire city by breaking you out of jail. And him... I'll write to the magicians if it'll help. Find out what happened. I'll send it with Jæger, and I'll keep everything as vague as I can.
[not until he's good and ready. it's cruel to keep this knowledge from portia and mazelinka, but it wouldn't do anyone any good if she plucked julian from the frying pan and threw him into the fire almost immediately.]
The city guard never could cage me, and they don't stand a prayer of a chance of it now. That's not what I'm worried about. It's the Devil. What's to say he can't reach this world whenever he pleases again? He had Lucio before. Now he's got...
( me, the end to that sentence falling dead on his lips before he can bear to say it. just being here at all, isn't it a risk? not that he chose it. he just... woke up here. what's a guy to do? and he doesn't know how to reach the magical realms on his own. he would've needed his good, dear friend, or asra, or someone, right? and he couldn't risk being seen by them. so he just. hid. waited. agonized. panicked. and now here morga is, and being near each other is a disaster waiting to happen.
the ruff of feathers around the back and sides of his neck are all flared out, shoulders tense. his wings rustle independently of his conscious control; he hasn't learned how to maneuver them yet. not exactly, anyway. once or twice, when things got hairy, he had completely unintentionally spread them out and beat them once, twice with a great flurry of wind. the span was so wide he felt them crash against the walls of the hanged raven, still not fully outstretched. but most of the time they only twitch, incidental additions just like the feathers and the extra teeth.
he frowns down at the path morga's hand takes along his arm. it must not be very pleasant to touch the rough, dry scaly parts, but she isn't far off from where that gives way to feathers and, more in the center, pale skin. silently, he allows her to continue, if only by virtue of looking away and up to her face again. )
If you ask them anything, it should be how to find him. How to face him. I've got to, there's no two ways about it.
[it's all she needs. her touch remains light, almost ghost-like as she touches a patch of feathers. some new, some older. she keeps it as such as she carefully wipes them clean of dirt and mud, and even straightens and smooths the heavier ones out. her thumb sweeps over a patch of black dots scattered across the inside of his arm, her brows furrowing. further up, she catches a glimpse of skin rubbed raw and red, no doubt where feathers once sat just days ago. it shouldn't bother her, but it does. the fool can't heal like he used to, so perhaps that's the reason why it does.]
You didn't make the mistakes he did. It wasn't your blood that...
[one hand slips back into julian's, fingers curling around two of his fingers. the other remains by his feathers, along with her gaze. it's easier to hide how she's feeling if she keeps her attention focused on tidying him up to the best of her ability. it's only right, isn't it? she's the reason he took an old-fashioned dirt bath. occasionally her eyes tilt up to the rest of the patches, and to the ends of his wings behind his arms. he's familiar, somehow, but... only by word of mouth. he's not just a raven, is he?]
Nevermind that. If you were to face him, what would you do? Throw yourself at his feet and beg forgiveness? Or try to kill him?
( well, there's one upside to all this feathery business: it's really difficult to tell the gooseflesh her touch gives him from the rest of him. that's just how his flesh is already, ha ha. bumpy in places, oddly textured. scaly in rough in some places, and where some of the feathers look like they should be soft and fluffy down, there's a dangerous, spiny sort of sharpness to the edges. not to mention how much in disarray his feathers are in general. he clearly doesn't maintain or groom them. if anything, he's yanking them out when they bother him. there are patches around his shoulders where they've been torn bald and bloody, covered in scabs. it itches a lot there, sometimes.
julian's head cants to the side, but he doesn't push. last thing he wants is to listen to blame herself for her piece of shit son, anyway. they all wish they'd killed him sooner, to be sure. or done something else differently. or both. instead, he looks away entirely, relaxed in her purposeful hands. relaxed-ish, at least. malak catches his eye, and when he lifts his other hand, he lights from the pole of morga's spear to roost on the inner curve of his hand with a sound like a clucking tongue. )
He doesn't forgive, or forget. And I can't kill him. I can't fight him at all, in fact. Believe me, I've tried. And tried... and tried, and tried, and tried. No, the only thing for me to do is... surrender. And if that isn't enough, then... well, it can't get any worse, can it? I'm still alive, technically. That must mean I've got something left to barter with.
[ah, malak. tutting in her stead. see, she always knew she liked him and that's proof enough right there. it's a damned shame she can't understand him like she can jæger. she can only imagine the things he'd say about this man. still, it doesn't mean she can't look him in those tiny little eyes. a quiet apology and then some. after a moment, she shakes her head and looks back down to his hand with a dry chuckle.]
If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were telling me this so I could track you down again. Maybe rescue you from a tower and cart you off over my shoulder.
[now there's a shame. with how much bigger he is, she can't do that nearly as easily. as if something like that would even be possible now. it probably is, but... morga doesn't know. everything was complicated before all of this, and now it's turned into an even bigger mess that could rival ragnarok itself. she shoves the thought back with everything else. one step at a time.]
Let me ask another; if I wrote to them and they said he was no longer a threat, what would you do then?
( with a croaking warble, malak gives his wings a flap and leaps from the top of julian's head to the shoulder closest to morga. ah, yes, that's how it is, isn't it? playing favorites. well, it can't be helped. for better or worse, morga just seems to have a way with birds. and... bird-like things, as it were. he's got plenty of odd, throaty clicks for her, but julian can't understand him any better than he ever did, either. whatever he's trying to say, it's probably exasperated, though.
and whatever it is is enough to bring some levity to julian's countenance, finally. his lips quirk in a way that isn't miserably wry and resigned. it's faint, but it's there. for all you can see of it before he—carefully—curls his fingers around morga's and brings her hand up. no, not for you, malak! for him. to tilt his head down and press his lips to the backs of her fingers, gently as anything. as if he could hurt her that way, either. his lips are at least more or less the same as they were. no scales there. )
No, my dear, that won't do. If anyone's swooping in to save anyone, it'll be me. I can still do it.
( and down it goes again from his hideous beak. ...and back comes the rough curl of his upper lip. well, it was nice while it lasted. )
If they said that, I'd think they were lying. He'll never not be a threat.
[every single time he pulled that stunt in the past, it received the same reaction. this is the first time it doesn't earn a bewildered scowl and a scoff. this time, grey eyes follow her hand as he lifts it higher, and this time the chain cinched tight around her heart loosens. it's proof that under each and every feather, he's still the same doctor who happily followed her into the south for sightseeing and research. it made sense to simply bring him along at the time - some plants wouldn't have survived the journey back north. she just didn't expect things to turn out the way they did. was it strange? of course. but would she change it?
...it's doubtful. just because she was married once before and has no interest in that sort of life again doesn't mean she has to deprive herself of affection. with julian and whatever they've got (or had?) is... enjoyable.
the proof is in the way morga pulls her hand from his grip when he lowers it, and when she lifts it to press her palm against his cheek? she doesn't leave room for argument. little touches like this were still foreign to her and left morga with a lingering sense of uncertainty, but never let it be said that she wasn't human. sometimes she was a monster. sometimes a heartless one on the battlefield. but behind closed doors or — er, the privacy of the forest — she could allow herself to be tender. plus it's not as if anyone else would believe what they'd see if someone happened upon them.]
Hm. I'll rephrase it, then. Providing he isn't a threat in your natural lifetime... Would you sit here in the woods like a babe? Or stand and hold your head high knowing that he was so weak that he couldn't keep you locked in a cage for as long as he thought?
( it's at least a little bit tempting to pull away. not because he doesn't like it. because he can't imagine how repulsive it must be to touch his face like this. it's repulsive to him, if the patches of torn feathers that've left scars and scabs are anything to go off of. for the most part, at least, his cheek feels normal. besides the feathers cresting over his cheekbones down the side of his face. the skin itself is smooth, pale, untouched. he used to wonder if he could pull all the feathers out if he'd maybe go back to looking normal, and that was a valiant effort for awhile... until... well.
let's not think about that.
anyway, he doesn't pull away. instead, he lets his eyes close and leans into her touch. he couldn't pull back if he wanted to, really. there just isn't any expressing how good it feels to feel touch again. )
He isn't weak. You just don't get it...
( clucking, malak turns and plucks at a feather by his eyebrow, feathers ruffling. julian sighs. )
Alright, alright—listen, I know what you're trying to say. But it isn't that simple. And even if it were, just to humor you... I— I couldn't go back to Vesuvia. I just... couldn't.
[morga snorts, and she reaches up with her free hand to give malak's chest tuft a quick scratch. good boy. tell him what's what. seriously, this is why she likes the little bugger. he's good at getting through to julian when words can't. it's a good talent to have.]
I'm not asking you to. I don't think I have it in me to return to the far south, myself. I'd be picking at an open wound if I did that. But...
[she sighs, stretching her fingers out to reach behind the curve of his jaw and into the feathers there. they're softer than some of the ones on his arms, and the skin underneath that much more. really, she's content to gently scratch him there for a moment as she thinks. asking him to return to vesuvia so soon is, like she said, out of the question. his family deserves to know he's alive and well (as well as he can be), but where could he go? the south was out of the question until morga got her shit together, but... hm.]
I seem to recall you telling me that Hjalle is rather nice this time of year. And something about spring across the water to the east.
( oh, that's nice. whether he realizes he's doing it or not (he doesn't really), julian cranes his head further into her hand, leaning in hard on those scratches, lips pulled back just a little. not in a wince, or at the very least not a pained one. kind of like a dog when it finds that perfect spot and just scratches without restraint. underneath all that, he's trembling a little, though. in spite of himself, he can't convince himself to just sit there, either. he's going to have to do something with those horrible talons of his. tentatively, one goes to morga's opposite shoulder. once upon a centuries ago, he's pretty sure he remembers her saying not to treat her like she's delicate, but the way he rests his hand there, minding his claws, she might as well be a statue of salt. )
Ah—mm. Now you want to see the world, hmm?
( hjalle. and spring water? oh. his shoulders jump with an utterly silent sound that should have been one of his laughs. it's enough to make malak take off, squawking, but only to light on a branch nearby. )
Hot springs, you mean. In... in... wherever it was I grew up. Somewhere in the east, that's right. I don't remember what those places are like anymore. It's all so faint. Can't even guess how long it's been. Do they even still exist? I'd hardly be much of a tour guide anymore. And besides, how can you expect to take a monster sightseeing? I'll just terrify everyone we come across. Still...
( his hand starts to slip away. he rethinks it and leaves it where it is, eyes peeling open. )
[a ghost of a smile appears on her face, and for a long moment she's... content? is that what this feeling is? no, not quite, but it's a taste. if she listens hard enough, she can hear traces of the old julian in his voice. once, she'd wanted nothing more than for him to shut up when they first started traveling. now? part of her actually misses wondering what would happen first; her ears freezing, or falling off because of his incessant chatter.]
As for terrifying people... You didn't let that stop you when you dragged me through your city on multiple occasions. I'm fairly certain I remember one man nearly pissing himself when he tried to rob you in that alleyway. And a few people in the palace when they'd find me in a room by myself. The room with that painting comes to mind, actually.
[the one she tore from the walls and subsequently dunked into the fireplace. her head lists towards the hand on her shoulder, not quite leaning on it but more of a silent request for it to stay. it sounds silly in her mind, but the weight brings... some small amount of comfort. emotions were a messy thing, but this? it keeps her grounded. and if she can feel those long talons through the leather and wools of her clothing, she doesn't mention it. jæger weighs more and he sits on her shoulder constantly, so it really doesn't bother her. and why should it?
he's here. he's alive. and that's what matters most, right?]
For the record, you're not as terrible as you think you look.
Hah... I remember that day in the alley. If I recall, you didn't much care for the little show I put on. Frankly, I think I could have taken it a step further. Grabbing his hand and sticking it in my knife wound wasn't enough to put the fear of heaven and hell in him. I should've had him pull a little something back out for his trouble, heh.
( does... that count as a laugh? kind of. he's not quite there, and the noise is more of a birdlike honk than a proper heh, but whatever dumb noise he's making has to be a step up from wallowing in his misery, guilt and self-doubt, right? sure, right.
at least he isn't taking his hand away. not when she drifts toward it in the same sort of way he's drifted to her touch in turn. look, he... mostly remembers. or thinks he does, maybe. names and faces would fade in and out, and the details of who they were and what they were like, too. there were days when he couldn't picture morga whatsoever, let alone recall her voice. then he'd see an illusion or have a nightmare and it'd all come flooding back in broken pieces. but he remembers... he remembers discovering hands-on that he wasn't the only one between them who missed touch. it was an enlightening moment, really. maybe that's what prompts him onward to putting his other hand on her side. he's one second away from just throwing his arms around her and hanging on, but he's sort of afraid he might not come back from that moment if he does it. )
You've only seen me on the ground. It's a lot worse when I'm upright. Which is why I mostly avoid it these days. Being upright, that is.
[god, she'd nearly forgotten that detail. were it not for his startling lack of self preservation, the event might've earned more than an ugly snort. in all her years she'd never met a self-proclaimed doctor care less about his own personal safety, trick or no trick. it's a wonder he survived as long as he did in the world with something like that following his heels like a stray puppy. now the mere memory earns a good, proper snort and a slow shake of the head. as she feels the weight of his hand against her side, she barely gives it a second glance. just a brief one to look, and... goodness. now she's starting to understand the misconception the people had.
cowards. making her think there was some truly vicious beast out here when it's just julian. they really had nothing to be afraid of.]
Shouldn't...
[she doesn't hesitate in getting to her feet. it's already telling that she can stand and keep his hands more or less on her (and hers on him) as she straightens up, but she needs to... no, wants to see this with her own eyes.]
Show me. You were the first man I'd met in a long time who happens to be taller than I am. I'd like to see how much that's changed and how far I'll have to reach now.
[sweet little monty may have taken after her in the looks department, but he definitely took after dear papa as far as height went.]
( he really doesn't have anyone but himself to blame for that one. if he didn't want it to happen, he shouldn't have said it. julian's lips pull back in a grimace as she stands, his fingers curling to grasp at her like he might pull her back down to the ground. he could, probably easily. more easily than he realizes, in fact. he truly doesn't know the extent of his own strength anymore, but it's a lot. it isn't enough that he's bigger and equipped with spines and fangs and claws, but that with all that size came an abundance of raw power he never quite had before. he could pull her down alright. he could throw her clear across the clearing one-handed if he wanted to.
of course he would never.
just like he would never pull like a barbarian, either. just grasp on, pathetically urging as if that'll accomplish anything. he knows it won't. once morga makes up her mind, that's that, it's done. so he's got no option but to drop the pleading look and sigh resignedly. )
Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you...
( technically, he has not quite seen himself upright. hasn't really looked in a mirror or anything. doesn't technically know what he looks like anymore beyond what he can see and feel of himself. but he knows it's a lot more imposing than it was. he often had to duck through certain doorways, but now he knows he's got to duck through all of them. he's broader, too. partly because of the wings that jut out a bit on either side, even when he's got them tucked close to his body. and— well. she'll see in a minute.
getting up is difficult for him, in fact. as was probably evident by his ungainly movements while she was stalking him, he hasn't quite figured out his body in a lot of ways. it takes a good couple of minutes before he is, at last, standing as "upright" as he can get. arranging his bent legs to support his weight and standing, keeping his balance with an involuntary beat of his wings that rustles up dirt and twigs and leaves from the forest floor—it's a process. even once he is standing, he can't quite straighten his neck or shoulders, although whether that's an effect of his long-practiced bad posture since he disappeared or because of the shape of his body now, it's hard to tell. either way, he's... quite imposing. quite imposing. somewhere past seven feet tall and hulking in a way that might even rival the good ol' scourge of the coliseum—not because of his musculature, although it seems there may be more of it (although that might just be because he isn't wearing anything; doesn't need to, the feathers do the job of decency for him these days), but because, again, of the shape of him, his silhouette, the almost menacing hunch he makes while standing. and the wings, those too. they're enormous, but they hang as useless as if they'd been taped to his back rather than the real, working appendages that they are. he wouldn't really know how to spread them out wide anyway. and he doesn't want to anyhow. why advertise even more what a horrible, unnatural monster he is?
no. instead he holds his arms out at his sides, palms up. once upon a time he was a sculpture model in a faraway land and something like this should have been fun, a chance to flirt—but he's long, long forgotten about that. now his stomach just roils with uneasy nausea, eyes averted. )
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( julian's chin jerks up sharply, eyes wide and kind of shocked, glassy again. not unlike the way he'd looked up when she'd tackled him to the ground in the first place, just unfathomably stricken to see and hear everything in front of him. then—something like pain, again. only more touched. he forgets to blink and his eyes well up as they dry out, so that his tears cut a few more icy streaks down his face when he finally does inhale again, open and close his eyes, speak. )
You stayed? You looked out for them? I...
( he'd like to reach out. get up and hug her, if he were himself, the old julian. any sort of julian, really, but he just isn't anymore, is he? instead he puts his arms around himself, shivering like he's cold. )
I don't know how to thank you.
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[it comes off as an accusation, but morga really only means to make an observation of it. her face softens again, and after a long few seconds of wrestling with herself, she offers him her hand. fingers slack, palm up, and it's just. there. she won't force him to take it. not unless she feels he needs the contact.]
Surely you know by now that I'm not so heartless.
[could she be cruel? absolutely. but julian's family has never done anything to deserve her ire - the opposite, really. for as much as morga tried to keep her distance, they still welcomed her with open arms. even with the knowledge that she had been lucio's mother... morga doesn't understand it.]
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( he "just" what? he just... didn't expect it, maybe. listen, morga has never made any secret of not being one for the hustle and bustle of vesuvia, for one thing. and for another, it's the way she phrased it. the way she said she watched out for his family. as if it was a favor for him, specifically. for the others, too, of course. obviously. but she could have said it any number of ways. any number of ways that wouldn't send a lance of guilt and gratitude straight to his heart.
he might even smile if not for the guilt part, how it wins out in the end. it always wins out in the end.
julian's gaze lingers on morga's outstretched hand, hesitant. when he finally does take one arm from around himself, he reaches out hesitantly—and stops when he gets a look at the difference between the two of them. he can't touch her with those ugly, horrible talons. shaking his head, he draws his hand back again and finally manages a crooked... well, "smile" is stretching it, but it's something. )
I'm grateful, that's all. I didn't have any way to know if anyone was even still... ah, well. It doesn't matter now. You kept them safe. You... did what I couldn't, I suppose. What I tried to do. You win again, hmm?
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[morga exhales slowly, and she hopes the disappointment doesn't show on her face when he pulls his hand back. it's... there, but it's hard to keep everything in check. but she doesn't withdraw her own. no, she keeps it out and open, even curls her fingers by a hair in an invitation of sorts. things would be so much easier if she took a page from monty's book and wore her emotions and heart on her sleeve around people outside of the clan. so, so much easier.
she was brought up differently. this is all she knows, and she may as well be pulling a dragon's tooth by trying it any other way. yet she still tries.]
Look. I didn't know what happened to you. I didn't know where the hell you went, only that you were gone and the world was filling up with monsters I'd only heard of in myths and legends. I had to do something. I couldn't...
[her eyes close and she takes a breath. saying it out loud makes it seem so... wrong. but if she doesn't say it, she never will.]
It was all I could think to do. To honor you. To keep what you had left alive and in one piece while I could.
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maybe, but it's better if he doesn't. it's the right thing to do not for her to have to feel how he's changed. still, miserable wretch that he is, he can't hold out forever. eventually, once he's stricken emotionally enough by the things that she says, he swallows and extends his clawed hand one more time. and this time he finally does lay it against her palm. the second they make contact he's crushed by guilt and regret, glancing up apologetically and then looking away again, hangdog, ashamed. )
Honor? Me? Oh, Morga, I don't deserve your honor. I don't deserve a second thought of yours or anyone's. I'm sorry... I only left you with more burdens.
( what hits him harder? the physical contact, or how he finally, finally says her name out loud? both. who knows. whichever, it makes his brow crease like he's weathering a painful blow, his voice low and rough. )
All I deserve is exactly what I got. But not you. Not any of you.
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People don't always get what they deserve, whether it be good or bad. And those who think themselves undeserving are often more than those who believe they deserve the world simply because of... whatever else. Status. Position.
[carefully and oh-so-slowly, morga turns julian's hand over in her own. her fingertips brush against the rough scales across the top of his hand, while her thumbs work their way across his palm. it's... surprising to be sure, but with how often she has handled Jæger's talons? it doesn't shock her as much as it ought to. this is sort of the same thing, only more "human" and, well. much, much bigger. if she had to guess, she'd guess they were almost as large as a bear's paws. not as wide, but long. yet however big they are, she shows no fear or disgust. and why should she be afraid?]
This... You didn't deserve to have this happen to you. No one does.
[but especially not him. a kind heart was supposed to get people killed. not... tormented by a fiend. not like this.]
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it's fine. he wears the disgust for the both of them. the shame roils off him, but in spite of everything he can't bring himself to continue to look away. that just makes it worse, that he doesn't have the good sense to pull back and stay away. that his eyes fix on their hands with such desperation, such a painful need. no one has touched those awful hands of his since they became what they are. big with viciously thick, sharp, curved talons at the end, the knuckles of his fingers knobby and bent. just like a bird. the shorter, thicker feathers are course and almost sharp, but they become softer and softer as they travel up his arm. for safety's sake he tries very hard just to hold still, even though all he wants is to squeeze tight. )
This is exactly what I deserved. If it hadn't been me, it would have been one of you, you see? Or all of you. After everything I've done, or... didn't do, it's fitting. And I wouldn't take it back. Not after finding out the rest of you didn't have to suffer like I did. Or do. Depending. It isn't so bad now, although I don't know how you can stand it.
( touching him, that is. gross. )
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she's so engrossed in what she's doing that she's only half aware of the endearment falling from her lips. somewhere down the line she'd gotten so used to hearing things like it from julian that she started slinging them back. how much was genuine and how much of it was in jest was still unknown, but it's out there.]
You've forgotten who my closest friend is, kära. You're simply... bigger.
[her thumbs run down the smooth surface of each talon, stopping before she reaches the ends of them. back up, down, and then to the tops of his fingers once more. she turns his hand, holding it and inspecting it with nothing but neutral curiosity on her face. everything about it is unfortunate and if she had the power... it'd still be julian's choice, not hers. but it's not the worst thing she's seen. magic took all shapes and forms, and it wasn't uncommon to hear tales of other warriors in other clans taking the form of great beasts in the midst of a fight. they were few, though, and as such were better served to live only in those stories.]
Does it bother you? Having me look at you like this?
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( so basically yes. look—he meant what he said. nobody has looked at him in such a long time. nobody has touched him in even longer. it does make his misery feel less miserable, just like it always did. why do you think he was always so quick to throw himself into open arms? because he really craved that touch and attention. receiving it, naturally, but offering it too.
not that he's doing much offering now. he's still hesitant to move, convinced he'll cut her if he curls his fingers too much or tries to squeeze her hand. yeah, yeah, she's strong and tough and not easily hurt, he knows, he remembers that much, but... but still. it's different now, or so he tells himself. it's one thing for people to be indelicate with each other. it's another entirely when he's a loathsome monster, strong and dangerous enough to do real damage. and he doesn't exactly know his own strength, either. he hasn't much had to use it.
still. after studying his other hand a moment, he lays it overtop of morga's. yeah, between the long claws and just the general size of them now, he completely engulfs her hand in his. )
It says enough that when you heard of me, you came here armed. The description those poor folk that spotted me in the city must've been monstrous. I tried not to be seen, but it was—hard to avoid. I don't even know why I'm here. I'm supposed to be locked away, serving my sentence. It can't've been pardoned. It wasn't just a life sentence. It was forever.
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[she almost doesn't notice the corners of her mouth quirking up, though whether it's because of the rabbits or the fact that julian is presently touching back is up to debate. it might be both, or it might be over nothing. the only thing that truly matters is... he's not shying away. that counts for something.
and it does something to her, too. having her hands enveloped by something so large? gods, it was always one thing when someone had bigger, meatier hands but for them to still look and feel so delicate like this? it's something else. oh, it's something else, alright. she doesn't need to see his face to know who they belong to, because they speak for him under the rough and smooth scales.]
Either way... It doesn't matter where you think you're supposed to be. You're in the real world, not his. Not... whatever he'd twisted this one into months ago. Take your freedom and hold it tight, Julian.
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but that all fades quickly. in an instant he's shaking his head, taking at least the one hand back, all his feathers ruffling at once. )
No—no! That's just the thing, don't you understand? If I'm here, that means the deal must have been broken. You're all in danger—all of you! What I should be doing is turning myself back in before he can find one of you and... god, I can't bear to think of it. You have no idea what he's capable of. I-I can't let that happen to you. To any of you.
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Oh, I have an idea of what he's capable of.
[the ritual. the state of the world. the state of julian. she tries not to think about the former, running her hands up the length of his instead. up, back down, to the outer sides. it's a way of grounding not only herself, but hopefully him, too. something to keep their minds on the present rather than something else. after a minute or so of it, morga's fingers pause at his wrist where the scales widen and creep up the length of his arm. silently, she asks permission.]
...But it won't happen. You're not turning yourself into anyone — the city guards would be on you in an instant, and I'd rather avoid the headache of pissing off the entire city by breaking you out of jail. And him... I'll write to the magicians if it'll help. Find out what happened. I'll send it with Jæger, and I'll keep everything as vague as I can.
[not until he's good and ready. it's cruel to keep this knowledge from portia and mazelinka, but it wouldn't do anyone any good if she plucked julian from the frying pan and threw him into the fire almost immediately.]
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( me, the end to that sentence falling dead on his lips before he can bear to say it. just being here at all, isn't it a risk? not that he chose it. he just... woke up here. what's a guy to do? and he doesn't know how to reach the magical realms on his own. he would've needed his good, dear friend, or asra, or someone, right? and he couldn't risk being seen by them. so he just. hid. waited. agonized. panicked. and now here morga is, and being near each other is a disaster waiting to happen.
the ruff of feathers around the back and sides of his neck are all flared out, shoulders tense. his wings rustle independently of his conscious control; he hasn't learned how to maneuver them yet. not exactly, anyway. once or twice, when things got hairy, he had completely unintentionally spread them out and beat them once, twice with a great flurry of wind. the span was so wide he felt them crash against the walls of the hanged raven, still not fully outstretched. but most of the time they only twitch, incidental additions just like the feathers and the extra teeth.
he frowns down at the path morga's hand takes along his arm. it must not be very pleasant to touch the rough, dry scaly parts, but she isn't far off from where that gives way to feathers and, more in the center, pale skin. silently, he allows her to continue, if only by virtue of looking away and up to her face again. )
If you ask them anything, it should be how to find him. How to face him. I've got to, there's no two ways about it.
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You didn't make the mistakes he did. It wasn't your blood that...
[one hand slips back into julian's, fingers curling around two of his fingers. the other remains by his feathers, along with her gaze. it's easier to hide how she's feeling if she keeps her attention focused on tidying him up to the best of her ability. it's only right, isn't it? she's the reason he took an old-fashioned dirt bath. occasionally her eyes tilt up to the rest of the patches, and to the ends of his wings behind his arms. he's familiar, somehow, but... only by word of mouth. he's not just a raven, is he?]
Nevermind that. If you were to face him, what would you do? Throw yourself at his feet and beg forgiveness? Or try to kill him?
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julian's head cants to the side, but he doesn't push. last thing he wants is to listen to blame herself for her piece of shit son, anyway. they all wish they'd killed him sooner, to be sure. or done something else differently. or both. instead, he looks away entirely, relaxed in her purposeful hands. relaxed-ish, at least. malak catches his eye, and when he lifts his other hand, he lights from the pole of morga's spear to roost on the inner curve of his hand with a sound like a clucking tongue. )
He doesn't forgive, or forget. And I can't kill him. I can't fight him at all, in fact. Believe me, I've tried. And tried... and tried, and tried, and tried. No, the only thing for me to do is... surrender. And if that isn't enough, then... well, it can't get any worse, can it? I'm still alive, technically. That must mean I've got something left to barter with.
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If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were telling me this so I could track you down again. Maybe rescue you from a tower and cart you off over my shoulder.
[now there's a shame. with how much bigger he is, she can't do that nearly as easily. as if something like that would even be possible now. it probably is, but... morga doesn't know. everything was complicated before all of this, and now it's turned into an even bigger mess that could rival ragnarok itself. she shoves the thought back with everything else. one step at a time.]
Let me ask another; if I wrote to them and they said he was no longer a threat, what would you do then?
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and whatever it is is enough to bring some levity to julian's countenance, finally. his lips quirk in a way that isn't miserably wry and resigned. it's faint, but it's there. for all you can see of it before he—carefully—curls his fingers around morga's and brings her hand up. no, not for you, malak! for him. to tilt his head down and press his lips to the backs of her fingers, gently as anything. as if he could hurt her that way, either. his lips are at least more or less the same as they were. no scales there. )
No, my dear, that won't do. If anyone's swooping in to save anyone, it'll be me. I can still do it.
( and down it goes again from his hideous beak. ...and back comes the rough curl of his upper lip. well, it was nice while it lasted. )
If they said that, I'd think they were lying. He'll never not be a threat.
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...it's doubtful. just because she was married once before and has no interest in that sort of life again doesn't mean she has to deprive herself of affection. with julian and whatever they've got (or had?) is... enjoyable.
the proof is in the way morga pulls her hand from his grip when he lowers it, and when she lifts it to press her palm against his cheek? she doesn't leave room for argument. little touches like this were still foreign to her and left morga with a lingering sense of uncertainty, but never let it be said that she wasn't human. sometimes she was a monster. sometimes a heartless one on the battlefield. but behind closed doors or — er, the privacy of the forest — she could allow herself to be tender. plus it's not as if anyone else would believe what they'd see if someone happened upon them.]
Hm. I'll rephrase it, then. Providing he isn't a threat in your natural lifetime... Would you sit here in the woods like a babe? Or stand and hold your head high knowing that he was so weak that he couldn't keep you locked in a cage for as long as he thought?
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let's not think about that.
anyway, he doesn't pull away. instead, he lets his eyes close and leans into her touch. he couldn't pull back if he wanted to, really. there just isn't any expressing how good it feels to feel touch again. )
He isn't weak. You just don't get it...
( clucking, malak turns and plucks at a feather by his eyebrow, feathers ruffling. julian sighs. )
Alright, alright—listen, I know what you're trying to say. But it isn't that simple. And even if it were, just to humor you... I— I couldn't go back to Vesuvia. I just... couldn't.
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I'm not asking you to. I don't think I have it in me to return to the far south, myself. I'd be picking at an open wound if I did that. But...
[she sighs, stretching her fingers out to reach behind the curve of his jaw and into the feathers there. they're softer than some of the ones on his arms, and the skin underneath that much more. really, she's content to gently scratch him there for a moment as she thinks. asking him to return to vesuvia so soon is, like she said, out of the question. his family deserves to know he's alive and well (as well as he can be), but where could he go? the south was out of the question until morga got her shit together, but... hm.]
I seem to recall you telling me that Hjalle is rather nice this time of year. And something about spring across the water to the east.
[hot springs, not spring. but close enough.]
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Ah—mm. Now you want to see the world, hmm?
( hjalle. and spring water? oh. his shoulders jump with an utterly silent sound that should have been one of his laughs. it's enough to make malak take off, squawking, but only to light on a branch nearby. )
Hot springs, you mean. In... in... wherever it was I grew up. Somewhere in the east, that's right. I don't remember what those places are like anymore. It's all so faint. Can't even guess how long it's been. Do they even still exist? I'd hardly be much of a tour guide anymore. And besides, how can you expect to take a monster sightseeing? I'll just terrify everyone we come across. Still...
( his hand starts to slip away. he rethinks it and leaves it where it is, eyes peeling open. )
...it's a nice thought, isn't it?
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[a ghost of a smile appears on her face, and for a long moment she's... content? is that what this feeling is? no, not quite, but it's a taste. if she listens hard enough, she can hear traces of the old julian in his voice. once, she'd wanted nothing more than for him to shut up when they first started traveling. now? part of her actually misses wondering what would happen first; her ears freezing, or falling off because of his incessant chatter.]
As for terrifying people... You didn't let that stop you when you dragged me through your city on multiple occasions. I'm fairly certain I remember one man nearly pissing himself when he tried to rob you in that alleyway. And a few people in the palace when they'd find me in a room by myself. The room with that painting comes to mind, actually.
[the one she tore from the walls and subsequently dunked into the fireplace. her head lists towards the hand on her shoulder, not quite leaning on it but more of a silent request for it to stay. it sounds silly in her mind, but the weight brings... some small amount of comfort. emotions were a messy thing, but this? it keeps her grounded. and if she can feel those long talons through the leather and wools of her clothing, she doesn't mention it. jæger weighs more and he sits on her shoulder constantly, so it really doesn't bother her. and why should it?
he's here. he's alive. and that's what matters most, right?]
For the record, you're not as terrible as you think you look.
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( does... that count as a laugh? kind of. he's not quite there, and the noise is more of a birdlike honk than a proper heh, but whatever dumb noise he's making has to be a step up from wallowing in his misery, guilt and self-doubt, right? sure, right.
at least he isn't taking his hand away. not when she drifts toward it in the same sort of way he's drifted to her touch in turn. look, he... mostly remembers. or thinks he does, maybe. names and faces would fade in and out, and the details of who they were and what they were like, too. there were days when he couldn't picture morga whatsoever, let alone recall her voice. then he'd see an illusion or have a nightmare and it'd all come flooding back in broken pieces. but he remembers... he remembers discovering hands-on that he wasn't the only one between them who missed touch. it was an enlightening moment, really. maybe that's what prompts him onward to putting his other hand on her side. he's one second away from just throwing his arms around her and hanging on, but he's sort of afraid he might not come back from that moment if he does it. )
You've only seen me on the ground. It's a lot worse when I'm upright. Which is why I mostly avoid it these days. Being upright, that is.
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cowards. making her think there was some truly vicious beast out here when it's just julian. they really had nothing to be afraid of.]
Shouldn't...
[she doesn't hesitate in getting to her feet. it's already telling that she can stand and keep his hands more or less on her (and hers on him) as she straightens up, but she needs to... no, wants to see this with her own eyes.]
Show me. You were the first man I'd met in a long time who happens to be taller than I am. I'd like to see how much that's changed and how far I'll have to reach now.
[sweet little monty may have taken after her in the looks department, but he definitely took after dear papa as far as height went.]
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( he really doesn't have anyone but himself to blame for that one. if he didn't want it to happen, he shouldn't have said it. julian's lips pull back in a grimace as she stands, his fingers curling to grasp at her like he might pull her back down to the ground. he could, probably easily. more easily than he realizes, in fact. he truly doesn't know the extent of his own strength anymore, but it's a lot. it isn't enough that he's bigger and equipped with spines and fangs and claws, but that with all that size came an abundance of raw power he never quite had before. he could pull her down alright. he could throw her clear across the clearing one-handed if he wanted to.
of course he would never.
just like he would never pull like a barbarian, either. just grasp on, pathetically urging as if that'll accomplish anything. he knows it won't. once morga makes up her mind, that's that, it's done. so he's got no option but to drop the pleading look and sigh resignedly. )
Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you...
( technically, he has not quite seen himself upright. hasn't really looked in a mirror or anything. doesn't technically know what he looks like anymore beyond what he can see and feel of himself. but he knows it's a lot more imposing than it was. he often had to duck through certain doorways, but now he knows he's got to duck through all of them. he's broader, too. partly because of the wings that jut out a bit on either side, even when he's got them tucked close to his body. and— well. she'll see in a minute.
getting up is difficult for him, in fact. as was probably evident by his ungainly movements while she was stalking him, he hasn't quite figured out his body in a lot of ways. it takes a good couple of minutes before he is, at last, standing as "upright" as he can get. arranging his bent legs to support his weight and standing, keeping his balance with an involuntary beat of his wings that rustles up dirt and twigs and leaves from the forest floor—it's a process. even once he is standing, he can't quite straighten his neck or shoulders, although whether that's an effect of his long-practiced bad posture since he disappeared or because of the shape of his body now, it's hard to tell. either way, he's... quite imposing. quite imposing. somewhere past seven feet tall and hulking in a way that might even rival the good ol' scourge of the coliseum—not because of his musculature, although it seems there may be more of it (although that might just be because he isn't wearing anything; doesn't need to, the feathers do the job of decency for him these days), but because, again, of the shape of him, his silhouette, the almost menacing hunch he makes while standing. and the wings, those too. they're enormous, but they hang as useless as if they'd been taped to his back rather than the real, working appendages that they are. he wouldn't really know how to spread them out wide anyway. and he doesn't want to anyhow. why advertise even more what a horrible, unnatural monster he is?
no. instead he holds his arms out at his sides, palms up. once upon a time he was a sculpture model in a faraway land and something like this should have been fun, a chance to flirt—but he's long, long forgotten about that. now his stomach just roils with uneasy nausea, eyes averted. )
...You see? Appalling, isn't it?
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