What the #?*!

Is that a better fucking explanation for you?’ She remained silent then, words failing her entirely. Why… why would Alistair be wearing a mask? Kalt had turned away from her with that alcohol of his, and she grabbed for it herself with hands that didn't quite feel like her own. There was a roaring building in the back of her head, something dark and cold and smothering rising to life. She wasn't looking at him as she drank from it, uncaring of any protest or attempts at stopping her. She was startled for a moment by its strength, but she managed three large gulps of it down before the thumped it back down on the counter, letting that numbing burn tear into her and set her teeth on edge. A faceless mask. Alistair. It didn't matter, couldn't matter, he had left her, it shouldn't fucking matter.    From the corner of her eye, she watched Kalt roll up his sleeve, exposing the self inflicted scars he'd collected for all the time she'd known him. Her jaw feathered, and she flicked her eyes up to us face with her wildly racing heart. She realized his intention a second too late. ”Shit,” she hissed as she tried to grab for his dagger before he could, but within seconds there was bright blood dripping steadily onto the counter and the sound of a dagger clattering to the counter. Ashe’s breaths were short as she looked down at his bloodied palm, watched him close his fist around the bloody wound. ”Kalt,” she muttered, and she flicked her eyes up at him.    He didn’t even look at her. Her heart was racing so quickly she couldn’t feel it, and she was keenly aware of the sound of blood dripping slowly to the countertop. The assassin swallowed hard, watching him for a tense moment. Her fingers twitched with the desire to take his hand, to take care of that wound. Or maybe it was a desire to hit something, anything, until she couldn’t feel her hands anymore - she couldn’t tell which. She opted for reaching out and grabbing his wrist with quick movement, whether he wanted her to or not. SHe didn’t open his hand, but she wrapped hers over his closed fist - best not to open the wound until it could be stitched, and if he still took care of his blades like he used to? It would need to be stitched.    His voice was rough when he spoke again, quietly. Ashe never took his eyes off of him, and gods, this was something so small, so mundane to anyone else. A gods-damned mask. But to Silver Wing and the Assassin in Blue? And… And a new glove to go with it. Ashe pulled in a sharp breath and held it, and she shrank inwards on herself. Gloves, they’re just fucking gloves, stop it you idiot fucking girl, she was saying to herself, but something in her was shaking deeply. Her stomach roiled, and she had to focus on keeping that alcohol she’d downed from coming back up.    That cold, furious cruelty wasn’t singing in his eyes now as he looked at her, but her own blood turned to ice with what he implied. ”No,” she snapped, and her hand squeezed over his closed fist to keep pressure over the bleeding. Her eyes were sharp now as she looked at him, as she trembled before him. Mask and gloves. Mundane things, stupid fucking things that chased her from sleep with wild fear every time she slept. ”He’s not getting back at me, he’s not… that’s not…” Breathing was getting hard, and she looked down to his hand as her eyes nearly overflowed. She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. ”Alistair isn’t like that,” she said quietly, firmly. Her brow furrowed as she throttled down the swelling in her chest, the flickers of blue beneath her skin.    She suddenly snapped her eyes up at Kalt. ”And even if he was getting back at me, it doesn’t fucking matter,” Her gaze was blazing as her magic flared, flashes of light flickering in raven hair. It didn’t matter because she deserved every bit of scorn… but he wasn’t like that. He wasn’t. ”You don’t do anything about this, Kalt.” ashe Isn't it strange that love is in the way? It never goes away.

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