Michael
OUT OF DARKNESS INTO THE LIGHT
IF YOU WANT ME GONE
IF YOU WANT ME GONE
Michael would offer the world no opportunity to feel comfortable. Not in his own skin, not in the presence of others. Not in a space of ice and snow where few tread. He didn't deserve it, didn't want it. Something beyond his grasp that he wouldn't ever fight for. But he saw it in this man…
Confidence.
A surety that what he was doing here would somehow help make the world a better place. That there was hope, a goal to be set and obtained. It made his gut twist into nauseous coils.
Even still, he wasn't dead yet. And Hadama seemed competent. Always looking, checking their surroundings to ensure they remained alone. Even still, the potential for eyes to be on them unseen was a constant, and he found himself looking, too. In all directions the other wasn't. He didn't have exceptional senses, only those granted to an Accepted at birth. Maybe a little less attuned now, less efficient through trials of aging, diet, and battle.
He took a small step away as the box was set on the ground, a side-eye cast to ensure it kept its distance. As though the nomad believed it to be alive enough to walk. In this world, considering everything that had happened thus far, it wasn't an impossibility.
Another step away, distance extended. Still, he didn't leave, felt compelled to stay to learn more. Wondered at the point of trying to stop such a thing until he remembered that it was in his god damn head.
"How is a frostbloom going to stop it? Isn't it just as fucked as the rest of us?" No shame in his ignorance as he shifted his hands, let them rest on his hips. "What does the Void want? What is it doing here?"
No attempts to assist as the bloom was harvested and placed into the terrarium. He understood enough about anything purple that it was best to avoid such things. Same, too, his opinion about the gods. He held no love for them, saw no purpose to their existence. Especially now when they were needed the most and were absent.
YOU PULL THE TRIGGER YOURSELF
