Thalassa
They move into a familiar cycle of discussion, one they've agreed over a million times: Maea will never change. It eases some of the tension, but does little to smother the bitter guilt on her tongue as Asta performs the same role he always does - the supportive friend who says exactly what she needs to hear. The rhythm is easy to slip into regardless, exasperated comments sliding between the movements of her organization.
"She never did." And Thal didn't think Maea ever would, somehow rivaling herself in stubbornness. It's an annoying thought that has her tail flicking when she arranges the fabric in her chest. Then she turns to accept the next set of clothes.
There's rarely been a moment that Asta has touched her without politely asking first, but even when he has, it's been calm and gentle like a plume of smoke taking physical form - like she need only breath a word for him to retreat.
This is not that.
The flash of movement is so contradictory that it startles her out of that daze she'd slipped into, shock sending her instincts into overdrive to retrieve her hand from the foreign grasp before she's realizing who it is. Undisguised confusion is written across her face, glancing down at the shadows that ooze and flicker like uncontrolled murderous intent that she hadn't realized was a threat of spilling over. After all, their conversation isn't anything new, and it certainly doesn't call for such a reaction. But she has to wonder if the time of season has something to do with his sudden intensity, and hadn't Thal wanted to flare his emotions?
Her hand lowers cautiously to her side as she scans Asta, concern peeking through her lingering frustrations with Maea. It gives a slow consideration to her tone despite the anger that still coats her words. "No. I'd much rather she just fall off the face of the planet." She doesn't move, deciding perhaps that he needs a moment to collect himself, but there's a quiet tension to her stance, analyzing and observing for how far this reaction would go.
"She never did." And Thal didn't think Maea ever would, somehow rivaling herself in stubbornness. It's an annoying thought that has her tail flicking when she arranges the fabric in her chest. Then she turns to accept the next set of clothes.
There's rarely been a moment that Asta has touched her without politely asking first, but even when he has, it's been calm and gentle like a plume of smoke taking physical form - like she need only breath a word for him to retreat.
This is not that.
The flash of movement is so contradictory that it startles her out of that daze she'd slipped into, shock sending her instincts into overdrive to retrieve her hand from the foreign grasp before she's realizing who it is. Undisguised confusion is written across her face, glancing down at the shadows that ooze and flicker like uncontrolled murderous intent that she hadn't realized was a threat of spilling over. After all, their conversation isn't anything new, and it certainly doesn't call for such a reaction. But she has to wonder if the time of season has something to do with his sudden intensity, and hadn't Thal wanted to flare his emotions?
Her hand lowers cautiously to her side as she scans Asta, concern peeking through her lingering frustrations with Maea. It gives a slow consideration to her tone despite the anger that still coats her words. "No. I'd much rather she just fall off the face of the planet." She doesn't move, deciding perhaps that he needs a moment to collect himself, but there's a quiet tension to her stance, analyzing and observing for how far this reaction would go.
Don't ask questions you don't wanna know
Learned my lesson way too long ago
Learned my lesson way too long ago
