sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine
There’s no response. Nate rambles out his list, keeps his face light, the grin in place, keeps the growl of stress and emotion out of his words, and there’s utterly no reaction. Sunjata adds a few more details here and there, bringing up the sickness Nate had left out, bringing up the Climb, the sea panther. He brings up the war, something that has Nate shifting, his boots scuffing against the floor as he straightens, throws a look over his shoulder at the door, had they locked it when they came in?
His head returns just in time to catch the full brunt of Maea’s words, the congratulations, hollow as they were. Thanks die on his lips. It just doesn’t feel right. As easy as it is to be so flippant in his mind, it feels like overkill, like gloating to acknowledge it so much. He meets her gaze as steadily as he can, utterly still, and wonders if there’s something he can do to ease this pain. For all of them.
It’s a moment that both lingers far beyond what it should, and that passes too quickly, Nate left grasping at unanswered questions. Something in his grin slants more towards sincerity, death, and coming back from it, flowing easier than conversation about changes, than trying to face this bitch of a situation. Maea’s words are a balm as well though. No matter what else happens, what brings about the end, what hells are survived, death is peaceful and comforting. For those who go to that realm at least.
”You’ll get used to it fast.” This is perhaps the one true reassurance Nate can pffer, the one part of all of this where he has experience. Save for the flashes that come at his lows, and the ache to be able to turn off, to wrap himself in the embrace of substances or sleep, ascension is easy. Comfortable. Safe, at least to an extent, as he is well aware.”The Voice is kind like that.”
Of course, the moment of peace, of simplicity doesn’t last. Maea focuses back on Sunjata, and Nate follows her eyes. He softens for a breath, if that long, looking at his husband, and then freezes, the question sparking some deep seated, righteous anger. The grin drops away into a twist of tight lips and clenched teeth, Nate fighting himself to keep from twisting his face into a sneer, a snarl. All at once his head snaps back to lock on Maea, all the kindness, the consideration sapped away, replaced by a cold, almost animalistic stare. ”No.” Is his voice loud, or simply firm? Does it matter how n the moment? Does he care enough to stop? ”No, he didn’t.” He stops just short of saying it wasn’t worth it, that the price was too high for anyone to pay, but doesn’t. Sunjata doesn’t need him to fight his battles.
His head returns just in time to catch the full brunt of Maea’s words, the congratulations, hollow as they were. Thanks die on his lips. It just doesn’t feel right. As easy as it is to be so flippant in his mind, it feels like overkill, like gloating to acknowledge it so much. He meets her gaze as steadily as he can, utterly still, and wonders if there’s something he can do to ease this pain. For all of them.
It’s a moment that both lingers far beyond what it should, and that passes too quickly, Nate left grasping at unanswered questions. Something in his grin slants more towards sincerity, death, and coming back from it, flowing easier than conversation about changes, than trying to face this bitch of a situation. Maea’s words are a balm as well though. No matter what else happens, what brings about the end, what hells are survived, death is peaceful and comforting. For those who go to that realm at least.
”You’ll get used to it fast.” This is perhaps the one true reassurance Nate can pffer, the one part of all of this where he has experience. Save for the flashes that come at his lows, and the ache to be able to turn off, to wrap himself in the embrace of substances or sleep, ascension is easy. Comfortable. Safe, at least to an extent, as he is well aware.”The Voice is kind like that.”
Of course, the moment of peace, of simplicity doesn’t last. Maea focuses back on Sunjata, and Nate follows her eyes. He softens for a breath, if that long, looking at his husband, and then freezes, the question sparking some deep seated, righteous anger. The grin drops away into a twist of tight lips and clenched teeth, Nate fighting himself to keep from twisting his face into a sneer, a snarl. All at once his head snaps back to lock on Maea, all the kindness, the consideration sapped away, replaced by a cold, almost animalistic stare. ”No.” Is his voice loud, or simply firm? Does it matter how n the moment? Does he care enough to stop? ”No, he didn’t.” He stops just short of saying it wasn’t worth it, that the price was too high for anyone to pay, but doesn’t. Sunjata doesn’t need him to fight his battles.
i couldn't get the boy to kill me
but i wore his jacket for the longest time
NATE
