I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust
What he offers, she gives back too, without even realizing. Each moment that passes with them wrapped in just each other's arms, hidden from the party, from the rest of anything, is a reassurance that grows steadily through him. His previous thoughts aren't aligning with this, and she's here, with him, instead of out there. It's no comfort that something's wrong, but the rest proves selfishly soothing.
He doesn't press, just waits. It isn't as if she hasn't tried to explain, and she's not so urgent about it as to be sprinting out of this room, so he trusts that whatever weight she's picked up will be alright in here, patient until she finds the strength to offer some of it to him too. When she does, he's not prepared for it in the slightest.
"What?!" comes out as just a strangled whisper. He's glad for the backbone of the sink because he feels like he staggers in place. Though Flora's mother has always proven to be a difficult woman to pin down, it'd often been waved away as her nature, projects and plans and such, so for Flora to be this worried suggests something horrific. Which, yeah, when she goes on to explain further, crossing off the mental checklist he'd been populating as reassurance.
"Fuck," he says rather unhelpfully, but is a succinct summation of all the bristling worry that he can't help but regurgitate like a hairball between them. He's still holding her tight, lace marking the pattern of despair on his skin that's not behind the fabric of his suit. It barely even registers now, the clean explanation for Frey's presence, not a party favor but a plea for information. The past worries he'd just carried are already broken up and drifting away, hardly worthwhile now, and proven to be a sweatshirt draped over a chair rather than shadowy monster in the corner of his room.
He wants to tell her it'll be fine, that there's probably a good reason, that she doesn't have to cry because he'll fix it all. None of those are real though, and it's not the truth ring that keeps them inside, it's just the truth itself. "Would Frey have a reason to lie?" he wonders, chewing on thoughts and sighing them against her head with his own dose of worry and wonder. "If they did...your ring would have told you, right?" He doesn't know if a god could be more powerful than that or not, or if they are held to the bindings of the things they help craft. "Frey might have been tricky, depending on what you asked, or how they answered. Maybe we ask Remi to just...confirm?" Fine could be an argument made for a ghost chilling in Mort's halls after all, depending on how you want to define fine.
He doesn't press, just waits. It isn't as if she hasn't tried to explain, and she's not so urgent about it as to be sprinting out of this room, so he trusts that whatever weight she's picked up will be alright in here, patient until she finds the strength to offer some of it to him too. When she does, he's not prepared for it in the slightest.
"What?!" comes out as just a strangled whisper. He's glad for the backbone of the sink because he feels like he staggers in place. Though Flora's mother has always proven to be a difficult woman to pin down, it'd often been waved away as her nature, projects and plans and such, so for Flora to be this worried suggests something horrific. Which, yeah, when she goes on to explain further, crossing off the mental checklist he'd been populating as reassurance.
"Fuck," he says rather unhelpfully, but is a succinct summation of all the bristling worry that he can't help but regurgitate like a hairball between them. He's still holding her tight, lace marking the pattern of despair on his skin that's not behind the fabric of his suit. It barely even registers now, the clean explanation for Frey's presence, not a party favor but a plea for information. The past worries he'd just carried are already broken up and drifting away, hardly worthwhile now, and proven to be a sweatshirt draped over a chair rather than shadowy monster in the corner of his room.
He wants to tell her it'll be fine, that there's probably a good reason, that she doesn't have to cry because he'll fix it all. None of those are real though, and it's not the truth ring that keeps them inside, it's just the truth itself. "Would Frey have a reason to lie?" he wonders, chewing on thoughts and sighing them against her head with his own dose of worry and wonder. "If they did...your ring would have told you, right?" He doesn't know if a god could be more powerful than that or not, or if they are held to the bindings of the things they help craft. "Frey might have been tricky, depending on what you asked, or how they answered. Maybe we ask Remi to just...confirm?" Fine could be an argument made for a ghost chilling in Mort's halls after all, depending on how you want to define fine.
Kaisel
I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
