The man's eyes are...charming is not the word Cera reaches for, but it's all he can settle upon. They remind him of an old friend, one entirely blind, who had trusted him to lead her forth into the world whenever they were together. They are like fractured seafoam, frozen in time as they split into fractals. He does not let himself stare long, too concerned by the sudden stillness that takes over Remi's entire body at his touch. It's not enough to withdraw his hand, to sever the connection he forms between them, and his touch is not roughly shrugged off or drawn away from. Still, he can't help but inspect the lines and dips of Remi's features, handsome and rugged in ways his own cannot mimic, searching for any signs of discomfort or denial. Nothing is more important to him in this moment than Remi's comfort, but no such emotions are forthcoming. His emotions are well-concealed. Not that Cera can fault him for such a thing with all he is going through.
As he sits back on his shins, fingertips disengaging last from the warmth of the man's body, the younger man cannot help his smile at the color that suffuses scruff-lined cheeks. The demure tilt of his face, the flutter of his lashes like butterfly wings on a backdrop of starlight, softens the edges of his own anxiety. People here are so reticent to reach out, to embrace. Are they unaware of the healing nature of it all? The way it disperses the burden of life to another set of shoulders, makes breathing easier? And yet, Remi had allowed him close. Even in his moment of weakness, of solitude, he did not push Cera away or request he depart.
Instead, he offers his thanks, his low voice wrapping around Cetra like a blanket that settles his nerves and draws them into a little cocoon of privacy in this vast, empty space. And just as Cera had offered, he bids distraction, delusion, a brief interlude of fantasy and faraway lands that will take his mind away from the horrors of the life they have to live. Cera hums thoughtfully, closes his eyes and sways to the wind that brushes past him, chilled but warm enough to bear a few hours longer.
"In my homeland, magic was as plentiful as the air we breathe. There were no Abandoned; the Gods would accept any to their shrines, though you could easily piss them off in person," he adds with an impish grin, remembering such things being commonplace for the less 'polite' individuals. "Fantastical things happened every day, and questioning it was useless. Our Gods would walk the earth, visit the lands they held power over. Sometimes their magical disciples would come to you if they could not. When I was a child, I was nearly killed, and I went to the shrine of the God I was raised to worship. Instead of his arrival, a giant talking turtle came to me!" There is little room for sorrow in his memories of his old friend. The Earth Turtle would not have wanted him to mourn, he'd spent enough time at his side absorbing his teachings to know that.
Gesturing with his arms dramatically, he declares, "He was much, much larger than a normal turtle! He had an entire forest growing from his shell, and a voice like the sound of brooks and birds in the trees. He came to me and helped ease the worries in my heart. And when the nights grew colder and snow touched the earth, he would come and sing a song, and everyone across the land heard it no matter how far. When they arrived, he would give them gifts, and we would all gather in harmony and celebrate the season." A warm smile pulls at his mouth, eyes bright with better memories, trying his best to spin a tale that will make Remi feel better. While there were many things he could speak of that were dangerous, enticing, adventurous - battling sickly Gods from another realm, the Moon Goddess' murders and the detective spree that followed, the shaping of an entire land by the newly revealed Time God - not all of them were pleasant stories.
"And once, an entire island took form in the sky overnight. We had wings there, many of us, but even those earthbound were magically brought safely to the island when they approached. It was beautiful - cherry blossom trees, the brightest waters you've ever seen. We had no idea how it was created, but it was like nothing could reach you there. The world looked so...so small, from that high." It's dreamily spoken, perhaps sorrowfully at the end. The prince misses his wings, the power of flight. At times he was restless, wondering why his soul had not taken the form of a bird. The sky seemed so far away these days...
Turning to Remi he tries to gauge the reception of his story, fully prepared to speak further if the man had no commentary to provide about his homeland.
As he sits back on his shins, fingertips disengaging last from the warmth of the man's body, the younger man cannot help his smile at the color that suffuses scruff-lined cheeks. The demure tilt of his face, the flutter of his lashes like butterfly wings on a backdrop of starlight, softens the edges of his own anxiety. People here are so reticent to reach out, to embrace. Are they unaware of the healing nature of it all? The way it disperses the burden of life to another set of shoulders, makes breathing easier? And yet, Remi had allowed him close. Even in his moment of weakness, of solitude, he did not push Cera away or request he depart.
Instead, he offers his thanks, his low voice wrapping around Cetra like a blanket that settles his nerves and draws them into a little cocoon of privacy in this vast, empty space. And just as Cera had offered, he bids distraction, delusion, a brief interlude of fantasy and faraway lands that will take his mind away from the horrors of the life they have to live. Cera hums thoughtfully, closes his eyes and sways to the wind that brushes past him, chilled but warm enough to bear a few hours longer.
"In my homeland, magic was as plentiful as the air we breathe. There were no Abandoned; the Gods would accept any to their shrines, though you could easily piss them off in person," he adds with an impish grin, remembering such things being commonplace for the less 'polite' individuals. "Fantastical things happened every day, and questioning it was useless. Our Gods would walk the earth, visit the lands they held power over. Sometimes their magical disciples would come to you if they could not. When I was a child, I was nearly killed, and I went to the shrine of the God I was raised to worship. Instead of his arrival, a giant talking turtle came to me!" There is little room for sorrow in his memories of his old friend. The Earth Turtle would not have wanted him to mourn, he'd spent enough time at his side absorbing his teachings to know that.
Gesturing with his arms dramatically, he declares, "He was much, much larger than a normal turtle! He had an entire forest growing from his shell, and a voice like the sound of brooks and birds in the trees. He came to me and helped ease the worries in my heart. And when the nights grew colder and snow touched the earth, he would come and sing a song, and everyone across the land heard it no matter how far. When they arrived, he would give them gifts, and we would all gather in harmony and celebrate the season." A warm smile pulls at his mouth, eyes bright with better memories, trying his best to spin a tale that will make Remi feel better. While there were many things he could speak of that were dangerous, enticing, adventurous - battling sickly Gods from another realm, the Moon Goddess' murders and the detective spree that followed, the shaping of an entire land by the newly revealed Time God - not all of them were pleasant stories.
"And once, an entire island took form in the sky overnight. We had wings there, many of us, but even those earthbound were magically brought safely to the island when they approached. It was beautiful - cherry blossom trees, the brightest waters you've ever seen. We had no idea how it was created, but it was like nothing could reach you there. The world looked so...so small, from that high." It's dreamily spoken, perhaps sorrowfully at the end. The prince misses his wings, the power of flight. At times he was restless, wondering why his soul had not taken the form of a bird. The sky seemed so far away these days...
Turning to Remi he tries to gauge the reception of his story, fully prepared to speak further if the man had no commentary to provide about his homeland.
and my hands are not clean, maybe they never will be
but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep
but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep
