[SE] If I hit the bottom will I break?

melita

and she recklessly plays with matches

She didn’t muster the sentiments lingering in her chest – that no, she’d never want him to experience that level of pain, that sudden onslaught of death – and whatever her eyes conveyed as they swung back to him were tiny fragments of it. They became less furrowed and narrowed the moment of jocular tattoos settled in, and she gave a low chuckle, supplied and followed by another swig of alcohol. “Yeah, like what?”

Sah not going all out, healing after, made some inclination she couldn’t quite parse through spark and sizzle in her brain. Probably rage. Or maybe gratitude that he’d learned something. Just burdened with the notion that it’d taken her life to even put a dent into it. “Well, glad you’re okay,” she mustered, gaze going upward again, rather than leaning into multitudes. “He’s still a dick.”

But then the mental image of him using an ax to cook food made her brows pinch together, and she ended up chuckling at the insane mental image. “Brilliant.” She would’ve kept the line going, except now she’d seemed to stir something up in him with Vesper, and she paused, head tilting to direct her full attention back to him – watching as he braced and dimmed. Well, weren’t they a pair of livewires, tripping over one another and sending little snippets of incendiary pieces. “Not much. I pissed him off once because his sister came at me, and I didn’t coddle up to her entitled bullshit.” She shrugged; unbothered, but he seemed to be. “Mmm, then you come up with shit or find things to counter him.” Or give one another a wide berth; she didn’t think Vesper for one to frequent Halo, despite dodgeball endeavors.