memory’s so treacherous
Tobi sits and Finn potters about making tea, his body relaxing into familiar movements in familiar space, even though someone visiting and sitting at his kitchen table is utterly foreign in comparison. "A vandal? Or an accomplice?" he suggests, finding himself in the unusual position of having to make light of something. But then the scars on his back show well that even though he didn't hurt himself, he... did hurt himself. Indirectly.
Huffing out a sigh, he leans against the counter as he waits for the kettle to whistle. "I think it might be a Taliesin thing rather than a demigod thing," he admits after a few moments. "From all of my studies, I know that they must be tempered by the gods they serve. It's the source of their power. And those who were born as demigods are, from my experience, a lot more... mellow."
Who would win a fight, though? "Demigods would win the battle. Cian wins wars," he says easily, the words slipping out with surprising conviction and confidence.
Huffing out a sigh, he leans against the counter as he waits for the kettle to whistle. "I think it might be a Taliesin thing rather than a demigod thing," he admits after a few moments. "From all of my studies, I know that they must be tempered by the gods they serve. It's the source of their power. And those who were born as demigods are, from my experience, a lot more... mellow."
Who would win a fight, though? "Demigods would win the battle. Cian wins wars," he says easily, the words slipping out with surprising conviction and confidence.
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
FINN
