Clemente
Clem is no longer capable of flushing, but he ducks his head habitually to conceal the shy smile that her praise provokes. As easily pleased as an alley cat presented with a gentle, stroking hand. It as all too easy to fall into the depths of his emotions, young and untempered until it threatens to swallow him. Anxiety, love, fear. All vanishing beneath her touch, the motherly sweeping away of his tears that brings his pale golden gaze to her. Gazing upon her with all the faith and piety of the legendary followers from stories and holy books in his home world.
Her form of comfort, of settling his fears, is unexpected. But certainly no less effective for it. Clem shakes his head vigorously like a damp dog, vehement in his denial of any possible flaw she may have. A further damnation of his childish nature, but a child does not look upon their mother in search of flaws when they have been given no need to. "I-I'm sorry. No, no I just -" his voice warbles, not sure how to express what he needs to say. He is glad he doesn't need to blink, because his eyes never leave The Voice as she speaks. "I love you," he spits stupidly, just as he had with Wessex, because he feels foolish for such a proclamation when this is their first official meeting. But he feels it. "An' I wanna help. I wanna do more. I want everyone else ta love ya too." A sizzling spark seems to overtake him, energizing him into an unexpected frenzy. And that street kid sharpness comes back with a vengeance, a wicked blade slipped from a loose sleeve, ready to jab between the ribs of his target.
"'m no good at a lotta stuff, but people here love kids. Maybe I can convince 'em, even if they don't wanna Ascend?" They don't seem to be as prevalent now, but the number of those who want the Ascended dead are still in the positives. And Clem is more than willing to fight dirty, as he has always been forced to do. Ready to do what it takes to protect this family he has been given, this dreamlike euphoria The Voice has bestowed upon him. "If they wanna hate us, they're gunna have to want to hurt an innocent kid." Innocent is subjective considering the fierce look upon his young face, the manipulation that uncoils like a spool of thread in the brightness of his eyes. If they want to kill them all, to rob them of their rights and deny their experiences, they will have to look into his young face as they burn him on their pyre alongside the rest of his family. He is counting on them being torn between his age and his designation, and the flames dance in his eyes as he gazes upon The Voice. Ready to be her martyr at a single word, to be the face of this movement of proving the Ascended are more. That they are worthy of life, of happiness, no matter the structure of their bodies or who they place their faith in.
Her form of comfort, of settling his fears, is unexpected. But certainly no less effective for it. Clem shakes his head vigorously like a damp dog, vehement in his denial of any possible flaw she may have. A further damnation of his childish nature, but a child does not look upon their mother in search of flaws when they have been given no need to. "I-I'm sorry. No, no I just -" his voice warbles, not sure how to express what he needs to say. He is glad he doesn't need to blink, because his eyes never leave The Voice as she speaks. "I love you," he spits stupidly, just as he had with Wessex, because he feels foolish for such a proclamation when this is their first official meeting. But he feels it. "An' I wanna help. I wanna do more. I want everyone else ta love ya too." A sizzling spark seems to overtake him, energizing him into an unexpected frenzy. And that street kid sharpness comes back with a vengeance, a wicked blade slipped from a loose sleeve, ready to jab between the ribs of his target.
"'m no good at a lotta stuff, but people here love kids. Maybe I can convince 'em, even if they don't wanna Ascend?" They don't seem to be as prevalent now, but the number of those who want the Ascended dead are still in the positives. And Clem is more than willing to fight dirty, as he has always been forced to do. Ready to do what it takes to protect this family he has been given, this dreamlike euphoria The Voice has bestowed upon him. "If they wanna hate us, they're gunna have to want to hurt an innocent kid." Innocent is subjective considering the fierce look upon his young face, the manipulation that uncoils like a spool of thread in the brightness of his eyes. If they want to kill them all, to rob them of their rights and deny their experiences, they will have to look into his young face as they burn him on their pyre alongside the rest of his family. He is counting on them being torn between his age and his designation, and the flames dance in his eyes as he gazes upon The Voice. Ready to be her martyr at a single word, to be the face of this movement of proving the Ascended are more. That they are worthy of life, of happiness, no matter the structure of their bodies or who they place their faith in.
been waitin' all my life to live when I've only been dreaming
Get love when I've only been stealing
Get love when I've only been stealing
