Kaisel
Don't need a sign, nothing divine's gonna save me
He had half a mind to storm out of the Slob Knob right now and march up to the keep Dahlia had claimed. He didn't know what he'd do once he got there, but anything had to be better than nothing. Instead, he stood there, waiting. He'd do it alone, but he wanted her to come with him. Not because she needed the empowering moment to reclaim her life from them in the one way she had yet to, but because he needed the help. He knew, deep down, he could not stand against them alone. He could march to his death, but to what end if nothing changed?
He was holding out a hand to her, but she did not take it. Instead, she said his name, calling him back to the reality of their life. She seemed so unruffled. He swayed on his feet, hesitating. Defeat settled over him like a weight, making everything feel heavier. He was so gods damned tired tonight. He slumped back into his chair. Had he misread what she was saying earlier? She knows? It had felt so real. It'd been like watching petals slowly fall off a picked flower. Its stem was still bright as it stood merrily in a jar of water, and so it would be until every petal, everything lovely and beautiful about it had decayed. She joked and blamed herself—but what, was she just putting on a show for the violet eyes and ears that haunted this pisshole?
He felt adrift, unmoored in the wake of her words. Her laugh was cutting and he hunched his shoulders forward as something akin to shame coiled around him. Big words for someone sitting back down. He stared at the wood grain of the table, doing his best not to feel like he was floating away from it and the chair he sat in.
Before.
He lifted his eyes back to hers, quietly searching her face, looking for an answer, looking for something he could trust.
She leaned forward; he pulled back unwittingly. Sinking against the curve of his chair, he was grounded again at last. "You sound like mom," he said after a momentary pause, and it wasn't clear if he meant that as something positive or not. He held her in his gaze, emotionless for a beat before a toothless smile spread. "Gods, after all that I've worked up some thirst again." This time, he rose slowly, his chair scraping back with an eerie calm. "This round's on me." He said with a brightness that felt hollow, like a shitty dollarstore flashlight.
He was holding out a hand to her, but she did not take it. Instead, she said his name, calling him back to the reality of their life. She seemed so unruffled. He swayed on his feet, hesitating. Defeat settled over him like a weight, making everything feel heavier. He was so gods damned tired tonight. He slumped back into his chair. Had he misread what she was saying earlier? She knows? It had felt so real. It'd been like watching petals slowly fall off a picked flower. Its stem was still bright as it stood merrily in a jar of water, and so it would be until every petal, everything lovely and beautiful about it had decayed. She joked and blamed herself—but what, was she just putting on a show for the violet eyes and ears that haunted this pisshole?
He felt adrift, unmoored in the wake of her words. Her laugh was cutting and he hunched his shoulders forward as something akin to shame coiled around him. Big words for someone sitting back down. He stared at the wood grain of the table, doing his best not to feel like he was floating away from it and the chair he sat in.
Before.
He lifted his eyes back to hers, quietly searching her face, looking for an answer, looking for something he could trust.
She leaned forward; he pulled back unwittingly. Sinking against the curve of his chair, he was grounded again at last. "You sound like mom," he said after a momentary pause, and it wasn't clear if he meant that as something positive or not. He held her in his gaze, emotionless for a beat before a toothless smile spread. "Gods, after all that I've worked up some thirst again." This time, he rose slowly, his chair scraping back with an eerie calm. "This round's on me." He said with a brightness that felt hollow, like a shitty dollarstore flashlight.
Here only the strong survive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
