I will still be here, stargazing
His distraction is perhaps a welcome one, or just a louder one than he gave credit for, as both Mel and Sunjata turn a touch to help attend to the cringe so extreme that death seems a viable exit strategy. If only it were so easy. Unfortunately, the risk is only a melodrama, and he covers swiftly enough with the prickle of a tear in one eye and a fashion statement stolen. He does take the glass of water though with a nod, "thanks." He sips at it in small doses as Mel chews through the news with a more apt bite size.
Choosing not to play at lamenting a fiancé's demise (in both forms) when he doesn't know either she or Sunjata very well. He instead latches onto the next horrible news that Sunjata doles out, as if the third course of their dinner, serving drama instead of braised meats. He does glance again at Mel, brows begging for clarity as they drive upwards. Giving away a heart sounds plausible enough, in the very metaphorical sense of loving someone.
It becomes clear that's not the way Sunjata meant though, and Iskra now fears he's fumbled his salad fork with his dessert fork. "What the fuck?" Which, about sums up everything he's just heard rather well, honestly. "That's why everyone's calling you the Heartless now?" Admittedly, he doesn't brush up on politics and demigod alterations as well as a leader, coworker (read, fellow demigod) or Accepted would, but he'd heard the new name buzzing in the bars, but the tales range from kernels of truth to outlandish mockeries of it. A hand pulls absently at the hairs of his beard. "Kinda ironic that keeping it safe killed it instead," Iskra muses, and he can only hope that it was an accident.
He regards Sunjata with a curious tilt, because gods know he has chased feeling nothing, and part of him can't help but wonder how it feels, though he doesn't need it anymore. "I'd say killing your heart is a very good reason for calling off a wedding. Now what, though?" Last Iskra knew, there was no heart store for Sunjata to shop at, and as ever the gods do not immediately come to his mind.
Choosing not to play at lamenting a fiancé's demise (in both forms) when he doesn't know either she or Sunjata very well. He instead latches onto the next horrible news that Sunjata doles out, as if the third course of their dinner, serving drama instead of braised meats. He does glance again at Mel, brows begging for clarity as they drive upwards. Giving away a heart sounds plausible enough, in the very metaphorical sense of loving someone.
It becomes clear that's not the way Sunjata meant though, and Iskra now fears he's fumbled his salad fork with his dessert fork. "What the fuck?" Which, about sums up everything he's just heard rather well, honestly. "That's why everyone's calling you the Heartless now?" Admittedly, he doesn't brush up on politics and demigod alterations as well as a leader, coworker (read, fellow demigod) or Accepted would, but he'd heard the new name buzzing in the bars, but the tales range from kernels of truth to outlandish mockeries of it. A hand pulls absently at the hairs of his beard. "Kinda ironic that keeping it safe killed it instead," Iskra muses, and he can only hope that it was an accident.
He regards Sunjata with a curious tilt, because gods know he has chased feeling nothing, and part of him can't help but wonder how it feels, though he doesn't need it anymore. "I'd say killing your heart is a very good reason for calling off a wedding. Now what, though?" Last Iskra knew, there was no heart store for Sunjata to shop at, and as ever the gods do not immediately come to his mind.
Iskra
