When enemies are at your door, I'll carry you way from war
With his head pressed into his hand, gaze turned down to his toes, he doesn’t catch the ripple of feelings that laps against her features. It might have tempered his own response more if he had, though it’s hard to say if knowing would have resulted in anything actionable, given he’s reeling through his own wild pattern of emotion. After stacking up such monumental dread, relief rushes in so thoroughly that he feels momentarily euphoric. It leaks through on a groan, cutting across the frost that attempts to creep towards him.
His hand slides down from his forehead, tugging along his face and peeling his mouth apart before it slaps to his leg. Another absurd exhale of mild laughter escapes, the sound of frayed nerves reconnecting into a sturdier braid. His head tips back like he intends to peer directly up at the gods in gratitude for their blessing. ”No, it’s plenty,” he says on a ragged sigh. ”Fantastic, in fact, compared to what I thought you were going to say.”
Slowly, sense slots back into place like coins being fed into a meter, organized if not immediate. Not trusting that the cents have made their descent into his legs yet, he remains propped up against the table, never more grateful for it than now. Schooling the threat of a smile from his face, which is easy enough to do the moment his attention pulls from the ceiling back to her, he tests the weight of the information she gave him instead of the absence of what she didn’t, though he has no understanding of its gravity upon her. ”So, what does this mean? Did he…affect your mind with it?” Could explain the vomiting, a side effect of intense psychic damage. Concern strains on the edges of his stare, not entirely sure how to combat an opponent locked inside her head. ”Does breaking this, promise, mean a curse or something just got triggered?” Warily, his gaze lifts to the top edge of his view, searching for some manifestation of an impending threat.
His hand slides down from his forehead, tugging along his face and peeling his mouth apart before it slaps to his leg. Another absurd exhale of mild laughter escapes, the sound of frayed nerves reconnecting into a sturdier braid. His head tips back like he intends to peer directly up at the gods in gratitude for their blessing. ”No, it’s plenty,” he says on a ragged sigh. ”Fantastic, in fact, compared to what I thought you were going to say.”
Slowly, sense slots back into place like coins being fed into a meter, organized if not immediate. Not trusting that the cents have made their descent into his legs yet, he remains propped up against the table, never more grateful for it than now. Schooling the threat of a smile from his face, which is easy enough to do the moment his attention pulls from the ceiling back to her, he tests the weight of the information she gave him instead of the absence of what she didn’t, though he has no understanding of its gravity upon her. ”So, what does this mean? Did he…affect your mind with it?” Could explain the vomiting, a side effect of intense psychic damage. Concern strains on the edges of his stare, not entirely sure how to combat an opponent locked inside her head. ”Does breaking this, promise, mean a curse or something just got triggered?” Warily, his gaze lifts to the top edge of his view, searching for some manifestation of an impending threat.
Kaisel
If you need help, I'll shut down the city lights
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
