ISKRA
I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
There's a part of him begging to ask her when, and what, exactly, she deems a snowman. The skepticism runs deep, if only because he's now someone who's lived in Halo long enough now to be a snob about hot cocoa and snowmen. The quickfire nature of her response however, has him smartly buttoning up his lips, and letting just the sweep of his eyes and the wag of his eyebrows speak to his being convinced on the matter.
As he erects the base, she builds on top of it. He helps where he can, trying to deliver shape and extra materials to the haphazard creation that has a very heavy lean to one side. Perhaps this is Sah while drunk. "The resemblance is uncanny," he decrees with a thoughtful nod and a tug of a smile as she announces the completion. There is a resemblance in the hair, he will admit. "This is Snah," he adds, deciding that a truly applicable name is needed, the choice of course being a mash up of snow and Sah.
Peeling a glove off with his teeth, Iskra plunges the now bare hand into his pocket, where his little woolen cloth awaits. He still has not mastered his lightning, and so he sets his thumb and forefinger to rub the fabric between his fingers, rousing the static beast that lives within him with the conduit's help. "Ready?" he asks her, the question muffled, but pointed, his beard hairs starting to lift. "Just like the fire," he reassures her, the gloved dropped in the effort to speak clearly. "It belongs to you, and you control where the bite goes."
As he erects the base, she builds on top of it. He helps where he can, trying to deliver shape and extra materials to the haphazard creation that has a very heavy lean to one side. Perhaps this is Sah while drunk. "The resemblance is uncanny," he decrees with a thoughtful nod and a tug of a smile as she announces the completion. There is a resemblance in the hair, he will admit. "This is Snah," he adds, deciding that a truly applicable name is needed, the choice of course being a mash up of snow and Sah.
Peeling a glove off with his teeth, Iskra plunges the now bare hand into his pocket, where his little woolen cloth awaits. He still has not mastered his lightning, and so he sets his thumb and forefinger to rub the fabric between his fingers, rousing the static beast that lives within him with the conduit's help. "Ready?" he asks her, the question muffled, but pointed, his beard hairs starting to lift. "Just like the fire," he reassures her, the gloved dropped in the effort to speak clearly. "It belongs to you, and you control where the bite goes."
I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free
that can set my soul free
