Clemente
Her silence is peaceful, far from judgmental, and it soothes away his anxieties like water smoothing a rock's rugged surface over time. It's easier to tell her then, to report his findings and await her reaction as she chews it over slowly. Eager to please as a puppy, still held by the strappings of his hero-worship. And when she finally speaks, he quickly mulls through his memories to give her an adequate answer. "More straight. She was a Natural." That at least he knows with certainty from her speech. If Wessex knows that another redhead is not, maybe it'll be easier for them to narrow it down. Again he wishes people had announced their names, not because Clem cares to learn them, but because it would only make it easier to report things back to Wessex instead of relying on physical appearances.
He can't feel it, but the memory of a chill runs down his spine at the warning she gives. He is both embroiled with a sudden fierce hatred of the man, and a self-preserving fear that he has never been able to shake. One that had kept him alive during cold winters on darkened street corners, that had taught him when to fight and when to flee. His kind hadn't been hated in his old world, and his vulnerability here is far less, but the sentiment still aches and frightens him equally. So he nods firmly, committing the man's appearance, forms, and name to memory. Unwilling to forget if it means endangering himself or his family. "Is there anyone else I should avoid?" Nobody has given him an official list of who hates the Ascended and who may be considered an ally or friend, but if she knows of anyone else he'd at least like to know. Knowledge alone is a weapon, and for Clem it's one he clings to, incapable of the strength of his little ragtag family members.
Strength that, for Wessex, seems to have exponentially increased. The glow of her eyes silences him, and the wash of her words drowns him as he eagerly clings to the secret she shares. She is so much more than Queen and Wraith now. She is godly. And isn't that just further, cementing proof of her brilliance? Chosen by their maker, lifted up into her esteem. And it makes sense that her duties have therefore changed, even if she will always be Queen in his heart. Matriarch, guide, protector. "I understand," he says softly, eyes wide and guileless. "Why...why do they hate us so much, though? Why can't they just let th' Gods do what they want, and worship 'em outside that?" A childish notion perhaps. Religion hadn't really existed in his homeworld, and he's just desperate for his family to be safe, happy, free from the shackles of discrimination and prejudice.
He can't feel it, but the memory of a chill runs down his spine at the warning she gives. He is both embroiled with a sudden fierce hatred of the man, and a self-preserving fear that he has never been able to shake. One that had kept him alive during cold winters on darkened street corners, that had taught him when to fight and when to flee. His kind hadn't been hated in his old world, and his vulnerability here is far less, but the sentiment still aches and frightens him equally. So he nods firmly, committing the man's appearance, forms, and name to memory. Unwilling to forget if it means endangering himself or his family. "Is there anyone else I should avoid?" Nobody has given him an official list of who hates the Ascended and who may be considered an ally or friend, but if she knows of anyone else he'd at least like to know. Knowledge alone is a weapon, and for Clem it's one he clings to, incapable of the strength of his little ragtag family members.
Strength that, for Wessex, seems to have exponentially increased. The glow of her eyes silences him, and the wash of her words drowns him as he eagerly clings to the secret she shares. She is so much more than Queen and Wraith now. She is godly. And isn't that just further, cementing proof of her brilliance? Chosen by their maker, lifted up into her esteem. And it makes sense that her duties have therefore changed, even if she will always be Queen in his heart. Matriarch, guide, protector. "I understand," he says softly, eyes wide and guileless. "Why...why do they hate us so much, though? Why can't they just let th' Gods do what they want, and worship 'em outside that?" A childish notion perhaps. Religion hadn't really existed in his homeworld, and he's just desperate for his family to be safe, happy, free from the shackles of discrimination and prejudice.
i felt so much so often
that i started to feel nothing
that i started to feel nothing
