stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
"Ascended?"
Rory nodded slowly, absentmindedly—the monsters of divine creation, superhumans born through prayer and sacrifice. He knew very little of them, only that they existed, and that every once in a while some people would get the idea everything was their fault, and hunt them. It had happened before, and it would happen again, but it wasn't like hunting deer: it was like hunting wolves.
"Yes," he simply said at first, not sure he'd ever caught the woman's name but thinking that had to be who he was talking about. He looked at nothing for a second longer, before blinking. "I really don't understand how she can be one. She's not from here." With a chill down his spine he'd thought of it at the time: how could she be one of the New Gods's creations, if she was not from here?
Did we share Gods?
Abandoned and never one who had prayed much, he still felt oddly jealous at the thought of their gods having left them for some other realm, far away. It made the back of his mouth taste bitter and bad.
Remi's self-consciousness was endearing, enough to lift his spirits a little. He was too jaded to mourn strangers anyway, and that's what he thought it was—friendly as he was, he made oddly few friends. "If willpower was all we needed we would've broken out ages ago," he confirmed sadly, the hand holding Bakshi's rein momentarily tightening. If willpower was all they needed, Rory himself could've blown the entire barrier to pieces ten years ago.
But willpower only got your insides melted, as Remi had now witnessed. Rory watched the alchemist's face as he spoke, took in the little things—the gestures, the way his eyes swept, momentarily returning then fleeing again. Smiles. He readily smiled; so did Rory, and yet Remi felt more benign, somehow. "Not all enjoy your presence here, but what choice do you have? What choice do any of us have?" He, too, shrugged lightly, his gaze returning to the sketchbook.
He wished he had to wrestle with himself, he wished he was more like Wessex, that he wasn't so damn accepting, but he wasn't. "I appreciate it, though. Your.. thoughtfulness? Concern? Confession?" He grimaced; neither word embodied what it was Remi had said, not really. It just sounded strange to him, and with a grunt he looked back at the barrier. "But perhaps there is something you will be able to see, that we can't," he went on, quieter. Elyna's bravado had irked him—yeah, sure, take your arrogance and go get cooked. But Remi's inquisitive, searching approach?
At least it seemed unlikely it'd get anyone killed. "I don't think we understand it. We know what it does, and how to not get killed, but understand? No." He shook his head again. "And if you have any questions.. just ask them. Better that than you die."
Rory nodded slowly, absentmindedly—the monsters of divine creation, superhumans born through prayer and sacrifice. He knew very little of them, only that they existed, and that every once in a while some people would get the idea everything was their fault, and hunt them. It had happened before, and it would happen again, but it wasn't like hunting deer: it was like hunting wolves.
"Yes," he simply said at first, not sure he'd ever caught the woman's name but thinking that had to be who he was talking about. He looked at nothing for a second longer, before blinking. "I really don't understand how she can be one. She's not from here." With a chill down his spine he'd thought of it at the time: how could she be one of the New Gods's creations, if she was not from here?
Did we share Gods?
Abandoned and never one who had prayed much, he still felt oddly jealous at the thought of their gods having left them for some other realm, far away. It made the back of his mouth taste bitter and bad.
Remi's self-consciousness was endearing, enough to lift his spirits a little. He was too jaded to mourn strangers anyway, and that's what he thought it was—friendly as he was, he made oddly few friends. "If willpower was all we needed we would've broken out ages ago," he confirmed sadly, the hand holding Bakshi's rein momentarily tightening. If willpower was all they needed, Rory himself could've blown the entire barrier to pieces ten years ago.
But willpower only got your insides melted, as Remi had now witnessed. Rory watched the alchemist's face as he spoke, took in the little things—the gestures, the way his eyes swept, momentarily returning then fleeing again. Smiles. He readily smiled; so did Rory, and yet Remi felt more benign, somehow. "Not all enjoy your presence here, but what choice do you have? What choice do any of us have?" He, too, shrugged lightly, his gaze returning to the sketchbook.
He wished he had to wrestle with himself, he wished he was more like Wessex, that he wasn't so damn accepting, but he wasn't. "I appreciate it, though. Your.. thoughtfulness? Concern? Confession?" He grimaced; neither word embodied what it was Remi had said, not really. It just sounded strange to him, and with a grunt he looked back at the barrier. "But perhaps there is something you will be able to see, that we can't," he went on, quieter. Elyna's bravado had irked him—yeah, sure, take your arrogance and go get cooked. But Remi's inquisitive, searching approach?
At least it seemed unlikely it'd get anyone killed. "I don't think we understand it. We know what it does, and how to not get killed, but understand? No." He shook his head again. "And if you have any questions.. just ask them. Better that than you die."
