i fell in love with a war
Thorn's voice had drifted into a softness, a recollection, that Casimir had never heard from him before. He dares not turn his gaze back to the other man, afraid to see whatever softness or hints of memory linger there. If there was even a hint of sympathetic kindness written in those sparkling eyes -- and he knows there would be, because for all his mocking and teasing Thorn is kind, Thorn is good -- Casimir thinks he would flee the House of Midnight and take his chances with a new continent.
Who is this recollection for, Casimir wonders, as they linger under the illusions of stars that rest somewhere between Torchline's and King's End's constellations? He hopes it's not for him. Every murmured gentle memory sends a spike of pain shooting through the bartender and his hands clench almost unwillingly into fists where they rest on the counter. But, as Thorn talks, he wants to ask Thorn if it hurts him to be an open book, letting his past spill out to anyone. Through his delusion of Thorn talking to get something off his chest, he can read that Thorn chatters in hopes his murmured memories talk him off whatever cliff he was so clearly veering towards.
The room starts to drift closer towards Torchline on a Longheat night, the air growing damper and warmer and the sky lightening just a little as if they were closer to the dregs of a glowing sunset than the dark of night. The grass starts to rot, turning from that lush, perfect green to a dry and brittle brown. Even as the heat builds upon Casimir's skin he runs from the memory, shutting his eyes for a second and pushing something down.
He turns his gaze back on Thorn and regrets it almost instantly. The smile resting there is soft and wistful and sympathetic and looks to Casimir like he has something to contribute instead of run away from. Under the stool where Casimir sits, a puddle of something blood-like grows and stains the dead grass red. Casimir doesn't even see it, too busy staring at Thorn and trying to work up something like a response in his frozen throat.
"I don't," He lies. It's a statement he wants to accompany with his quiet rage, the one that sends people thinking about mischief at the bar running and courtesans whispering about who he was, but it just comes out flat and tired.
Who is this recollection for, Casimir wonders, as they linger under the illusions of stars that rest somewhere between Torchline's and King's End's constellations? He hopes it's not for him. Every murmured gentle memory sends a spike of pain shooting through the bartender and his hands clench almost unwillingly into fists where they rest on the counter. But, as Thorn talks, he wants to ask Thorn if it hurts him to be an open book, letting his past spill out to anyone. Through his delusion of Thorn talking to get something off his chest, he can read that Thorn chatters in hopes his murmured memories talk him off whatever cliff he was so clearly veering towards.
The room starts to drift closer towards Torchline on a Longheat night, the air growing damper and warmer and the sky lightening just a little as if they were closer to the dregs of a glowing sunset than the dark of night. The grass starts to rot, turning from that lush, perfect green to a dry and brittle brown. Even as the heat builds upon Casimir's skin he runs from the memory, shutting his eyes for a second and pushing something down.
He turns his gaze back on Thorn and regrets it almost instantly. The smile resting there is soft and wistful and sympathetic and looks to Casimir like he has something to contribute instead of run away from. Under the stool where Casimir sits, a puddle of something blood-like grows and stains the dead grass red. Casimir doesn't even see it, too busy staring at Thorn and trying to work up something like a response in his frozen throat.
"I don't," He lies. It's a statement he wants to accompany with his quiet rage, the one that sends people thinking about mischief at the bar running and courtesans whispering about who he was, but it just comes out flat and tired.
Casimir
and nobody told me it ended
