i fell in love with a war
The man's vague compliments about Torchline are telling in what he doesn't say. It's nice. It's warm. But the words aren't imbued with the comfort of speaking about somewhere he'd call home. Icarus is about to respond something along the lines about how he's never left Halo, really, before now, and this was certainly an auspicious start to a new region, but the man's feet leaves the bridge and meets solid ground and the young solider's shoulders slump from relief. He follows him shortly, bounding the last few strides on rickety planks, uncaring of the danger in his desperation to reach solid ground. The ice dissipates into air as his feet touch ground and he thanks the Gods for his success. For as much as he worshipped Mort, he didn't want to meet the God of death on that particular day.
The full force of Zavien's smile is blinding, like looking into a sun, and Icarus, used to both the low-light landscape of Halo and the curved half-grins of Deimos, steps back from the force of it. It's odd to see someone so enthusiastically friendly after such a harrowing experience (and, he half-expected someone friends with Deimos to be as tightlipped and professional as him), and he's not entirely sure what to do with himself.
"I'm Icarus," He remembers how to introduce himself and reaches out his hand to take Zavien's outstretched one. Icarus' hands feel rougher than a person his age's should, worn with sword calluses and scars from nicks and accidental injuries during training, and he retreats his hand back to his side before Zavien can hopefully notice.
Now that he's on solid ground and no longer has the distraction of the danger of the bridge occupying his thoughts, the full impact of the fact that a damn dragon is here, trilling excitedly and swiping its tail back and forth. His hand is half-twitching towards his sword when his mind reminds his body that Zavien would turn rather unfriendly if his companion dragon was attacked, and Icarus forces his hand away.
"Sorry," He murmurs sheepishly. "I've had, uh, bad experiences with dragons." It's an echo of what he said earlier, but this time there's nowhere to hide his reddening face. He suddenly becomes very self-conscious of the scars creeping up the collar of his tank-top undershirt and he uselessly tugs it a little higher to try and conceal them.
The full force of Zavien's smile is blinding, like looking into a sun, and Icarus, used to both the low-light landscape of Halo and the curved half-grins of Deimos, steps back from the force of it. It's odd to see someone so enthusiastically friendly after such a harrowing experience (and, he half-expected someone friends with Deimos to be as tightlipped and professional as him), and he's not entirely sure what to do with himself.
"I'm Icarus," He remembers how to introduce himself and reaches out his hand to take Zavien's outstretched one. Icarus' hands feel rougher than a person his age's should, worn with sword calluses and scars from nicks and accidental injuries during training, and he retreats his hand back to his side before Zavien can hopefully notice.
Now that he's on solid ground and no longer has the distraction of the danger of the bridge occupying his thoughts, the full impact of the fact that a damn dragon is here, trilling excitedly and swiping its tail back and forth. His hand is half-twitching towards his sword when his mind reminds his body that Zavien would turn rather unfriendly if his companion dragon was attacked, and Icarus forces his hand away.
"Sorry," He murmurs sheepishly. "I've had, uh, bad experiences with dragons." It's an echo of what he said earlier, but this time there's nowhere to hide his reddening face. He suddenly becomes very self-conscious of the scars creeping up the collar of his tank-top undershirt and he uselessly tugs it a little higher to try and conceal them.
Icarus
and nobody told me it ended
