Soleil
When the silence isn't quiet
And it feels like it's getting hard to breathe
She had hoped - vainly - that asking after their training immediately would stymie this question, and it leaves her smile hanging wooden and trembling like a dilapidated tavern sign. Soleil is a terrible liar. She's never seen reason to practice at it; honesty is her currency, and it has yet to fail her. And it feels like it's getting hard to breathe
"I've been better," she admits, gritty and as evasive as her eyes suddenly become. Her hands cramp slightly from how tightly she holds her spear. Her heart - unfettered, honest - yearns to reach out, to spill everything she feels and seek comfort, but the anger comes swift on the heels of that with recriminatory vengeance. How dare she? When Deimos of all people had suffered the most, had given everything while she'd been trying to make it back?
Her cheek bulges as she clenches her jaw, and the pressure in her morals is punishment for only herself. "A spar, please." He won't hurt her in the way she want, and he can't reach where the rest of the hurt stems, but she'll take what she can get. The ache of muscles, the scrape of knees and palms. And maybe she can prove she's still capable of something, can atone in his eyes somehow.
I know you feel like dying
But I promise we'll bring the world to its feet
But I promise we'll bring the world to its feet
