I will be your lighthouse
One does not stand outside in the rain and ask it not to soak you. So it is with Mel and her motives in the world, ever dancing on the border of danger. He's been reassured enough of her skill set, a far cry better than his own, and a god clearly watching over. If he wanted to do anything like holding her back, which he ever hoped to avoid, he meant to be able to at least stand beside her to do so.
While not having known his father makes it rather easy to do just that, imagine something else, like a shitty serial killer, he also doubts it. All the brave and grand stories he'd heard of his father wouldn't pair well with such a monster, and he doubts his mother would have succumbed to such grief. "How awful," he lands on instead, sighing in despair for poor Violet. Reaching for his own chips to dip alongside her. The heat and color that finds his cheeks soon thereafter could be due to the kick of spice on his tongue, or could be the subtle embarrassment at misunderstanding. "Oh," he says around a crunch of tortilla chip, frowning as he chews. "That's fucking tragic." His own hope dashed now, he really feels the impact of the loss of all those friends for Violet.
Swiping at more salsa with new chips, more mindless than hungry now, he continues to lean into the tale's progression. "Surely her father wouldn't kill her... he had all that time to do so and never did." Iskra tries to reason when Mel quiets to chew (or choke on heat). The golem plan earns an approving lift of his brows around a fresh chomp of chip. "Oh Calla. How wrong I had it, I hope she's ok." How quickly the tables have turned.
While not having known his father makes it rather easy to do just that, imagine something else, like a shitty serial killer, he also doubts it. All the brave and grand stories he'd heard of his father wouldn't pair well with such a monster, and he doubts his mother would have succumbed to such grief. "How awful," he lands on instead, sighing in despair for poor Violet. Reaching for his own chips to dip alongside her. The heat and color that finds his cheeks soon thereafter could be due to the kick of spice on his tongue, or could be the subtle embarrassment at misunderstanding. "Oh," he says around a crunch of tortilla chip, frowning as he chews. "That's fucking tragic." His own hope dashed now, he really feels the impact of the loss of all those friends for Violet.
Swiping at more salsa with new chips, more mindless than hungry now, he continues to lean into the tale's progression. "Surely her father wouldn't kill her... he had all that time to do so and never did." Iskra tries to reason when Mel quiets to chew (or choke on heat). The golem plan earns an approving lift of his brows around a fresh chomp of chip. "Oh Calla. How wrong I had it, I hope she's ok." How quickly the tables have turned.
Iskra
