Pierce
He’s never missed a summoning before – never with Dorian at least. So when he hears the call, feels it stirring on Starfall, the brawler finds himself arriving swiftly without a moment of hesitation. Whatever he was doing before could wait.
What he doesn’t expect is to arrive without their Reaper, without the blade. Because he’d heard Vox’s broadcast, had learned that she’d been taken from them, but surely that never actually lasted when it came to them. It never had before.
But Dorian stands in all of his seriousness, poised and prepared to offer what information was necessary. Nothing more, nothing less, just as it always had been. But as he speaks, Pierce’s face is mostly unreadable, calm and calculating and focused until he tells them she’d been cured and how he’s incapable of getting to her. This is when his composure breaks, nose wrinkling, frowning sharply, arms with corded muscle folding across his chest. He stays in line, because he always does, but the wind picks up the curls that frame his face as he puffs out a sigh as Vox goes on his monologue.
And not that he really wants to fully agree with Vox each and every time, he does find himself leaning toward it. “It has taken awhile. The lessons we teach ‘em don’t stick.” Comes the admission, sour on his tongue, bitter in the panes of the frown on his face. “Do we have time to say goodbye to the Friends we did make?” Dahlia’s return was everything in comparison to the friends they had made along the way, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t miss a few of the people he’d encountered here in their time.
He, too, doesn’t say no. Acceptance, even if he hates the idea of giving in to them. But for Dahlia, Pierce finds that he'd do anything for her, too. And if this is what it took? Then so be it.
What he doesn’t expect is to arrive without their Reaper, without the blade. Because he’d heard Vox’s broadcast, had learned that she’d been taken from them, but surely that never actually lasted when it came to them. It never had before.
But Dorian stands in all of his seriousness, poised and prepared to offer what information was necessary. Nothing more, nothing less, just as it always had been. But as he speaks, Pierce’s face is mostly unreadable, calm and calculating and focused until he tells them she’d been cured and how he’s incapable of getting to her. This is when his composure breaks, nose wrinkling, frowning sharply, arms with corded muscle folding across his chest. He stays in line, because he always does, but the wind picks up the curls that frame his face as he puffs out a sigh as Vox goes on his monologue.
And not that he really wants to fully agree with Vox each and every time, he does find himself leaning toward it. “It has taken awhile. The lessons we teach ‘em don’t stick.” Comes the admission, sour on his tongue, bitter in the panes of the frown on his face. “Do we have time to say goodbye to the Friends we did make?” Dahlia’s return was everything in comparison to the friends they had made along the way, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t miss a few of the people he’d encountered here in their time.
He, too, doesn’t say no. Acceptance, even if he hates the idea of giving in to them. But for Dahlia, Pierce finds that he'd do anything for her, too. And if this is what it took? Then so be it.
