[ This is when he stands up, walks as close to her as he has ever been when he was not that other person, and looks her in the eyes. And for one small moment, he hides absolutely nothing. None of it. Not the pain nor the anger... nor the hate. All of it, over two thousand years of it. There's no artifice to the act; even he isn't sure what exactly is in his eyes. He simply drops the curtain. ]
Are you so certain... that you wish to know about me?
[She doesn't retreat when he approaches, not even when he gets close enough for her to feel his presence, the slight stir of air caused by the movement of all his layers of clothing. She doesn't flinch, even when he drops the act, when everything in his expression shifts in a way she recognizes immediately. There's so much of it--so much suffering, so much anger, rage, and yet--she doesn't blink. Red eyes meet amber and there's nothing in them but a sudden clarity of understanding, a sense of compassion. This is what she could have been. If everyone had given up on her. If she'd stayed. There's a spark in her eyes, a flare of recognition, something so much older than a girl her age should be. Here is someone who knows pain and anger at the world and how consuming it can be.
Her voice is quiet when she answers, but no less firm in her answer.]
[ The urge to pull sword from cane and ram it through her is strong. Very very strong. Her pale skin, her pale hair... the similarities to the Princess of Tenebrae are strong enough, but those eyes, that look, the audacity to offer him compassion...
But that would be a stab, easily traceable to him, a temporary relief for a rather large loss. It doesn't remove the urge, but it does transform it as he considers the avenues through which he can channel such intent. And, ultimately, what will be the most satisfying.
This child... he has no doubt she has seen pain, more than her years might account for. The echoes of the Lucian King ring through him, clanging painfully inside his chest before he tears them down with the same ruthlessness as had destroyed his room with. That she thinks her pain sufficient to understand him, that she thinks her present state is some sort of enlightenment, 'graduation', as if he had not faltered on occasion towards his ultimate goal-
He needs a smaller weapon. Or any proper weapon.
He needs to close his eyes and never open them again.
He needs to make her hurt worse than she thought she could hurt. Yes.
That is why he very slowly, very carefully, leans over to press a kiss to the top of her head. ]
Go. [ And his voice is very very soft. ] Read the file if you wish.
[ Which is when he steps back, steps to the side, and starts to walk towards the exit to the room, out. He doesn't care about leaving her in the room. There is nothing there that can harm his efforts. And, despite all, he will be courteous.
He bows as he opens the door for her. ]
I'll be early to dinner. With a list.
If you bring your file, I will read it.
[ She doesn't have to bring her file. The choice is hers.
[She isn't sure what to expect next, and that shows. He might try to kill her. It's what she might have done. Of course, there's no point to that here on the barge (no point to it anywhere, really, with the way her body heals), and he's not dumb. He knows it won't help. So, what then?
She isn't sure, but she knows she isn't expecting what he actually does, the brief press of lips to her head, almost--she never had parents, she doesn't know, but it feels almost parental, even if it also feels like a substitute for a blow, for a knife to the heart. She doesn't flinch, but her eyes widen in surprise, pulse jumping in her throat. When he turns to leave, she follows behind him, as silent as her footsteps on the tile.
There's only one moment she pauses, passing him as she exits through the door, and her eyes search his again for the briefest second. She isn't sure what she's looking for--a trace of the pain that had filled them just moments ago, or any sign of the bruised and broken man she'd met just a few weeks ago. Whatever it is, all she finds is a series of choices. So she nods, her own choice made. She won't give up. No matter what.]
I'll be there.
[She'll bring her file. It's the least she can do. And so she continues on, heading for her own rooms to think.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ This is when he stands up, walks as close to her as he has ever been when he was not that other person, and looks her in the eyes. And for one small moment, he hides absolutely nothing. None of it. Not the pain nor the anger... nor the hate. All of it, over two thousand years of it. There's no artifice to the act; even he isn't sure what exactly is in his eyes. He simply drops the curtain. ]
Are you so certain... that you wish to know about me?
no subject
Her voice is quiet when she answers, but no less firm in her answer.]
Yes. I'm sure.
no subject
But that would be a stab, easily traceable to him, a temporary relief for a rather large loss. It doesn't remove the urge, but it does transform it as he considers the avenues through which he can channel such intent. And, ultimately, what will be the most satisfying.
This child... he has no doubt she has seen pain, more than her years might account for. The echoes of the Lucian King ring through him, clanging painfully inside his chest before he tears them down with the same ruthlessness as had destroyed his room with. That she thinks her pain sufficient to understand him, that she thinks her present state is some sort of enlightenment, 'graduation', as if he had not faltered on occasion towards his ultimate goal-
He needs a smaller weapon. Or any proper weapon.
He needs to close his eyes and never open them again.
He needs to make her hurt worse than she thought she could hurt. Yes.
That is why he very slowly, very carefully, leans over to press a kiss to the top of her head. ]
Go. [ And his voice is very very soft. ] Read the file if you wish.
[ Which is when he steps back, steps to the side, and starts to walk towards the exit to the room, out. He doesn't care about leaving her in the room. There is nothing there that can harm his efforts. And, despite all, he will be courteous.
He bows as he opens the door for her. ]
I'll be early to dinner. With a list.
If you bring your file, I will read it.
[ She doesn't have to bring her file. The choice is hers.
The game is on. ]
no subject
She isn't sure, but she knows she isn't expecting what he actually does, the brief press of lips to her head, almost--she never had parents, she doesn't know, but it feels almost parental, even if it also feels like a substitute for a blow, for a knife to the heart. She doesn't flinch, but her eyes widen in surprise, pulse jumping in her throat. When he turns to leave, she follows behind him, as silent as her footsteps on the tile.
There's only one moment she pauses, passing him as she exits through the door, and her eyes search his again for the briefest second. She isn't sure what she's looking for--a trace of the pain that had filled them just moments ago, or any sign of the bruised and broken man she'd met just a few weeks ago. Whatever it is, all she finds is a series of choices. So she nods, her own choice made. She won't give up. No matter what.]
I'll be there.
[She'll bring her file. It's the least she can do. And so she continues on, heading for her own rooms to think.]
no subject