HARPER
I stood outside when the roof gave in
You crawled from the wreckage you were lying in
You crawled from the wreckage you were lying in
Harper does not have a companion's eyes to assist in his search, no fanciful nose or magical powers to help him as he combs through the crowd. What he does have is training. Falling back on it has perhaps only steepened his descent into old habits, his high defenses and solitary nature like stone walls blocking out any helpful hands. It hasn't been long since he came out of his weird fugue state, no more than half a season, but without Phoebe he'd lost the sunlight that kept the ice of his past from creeping back into his bones.
When his gaze slides keenly over the milling heads, the blonde hair is his first sign. A trait he has been chasing all around Caido, like a phantom in the corner of his eye. With the time that has passed, Harper doesn't dismiss the longer hair, already angling to move closer to get a better view without being obvious enough to intimidate whoever it is in case they're just an unlucky stranger.
Except as he gets closer, familiarity becomes too hard to ignore. His heartrate begins to pick up, graceful maneuvering through the crowd devolving into bumped shoulders and grumbled complaints left in his wake as his stride hastens. "Phoebe?" A plaintive call on hoarse, ill-used vocals. Blue eyes only dare to leave her profile to glance around, and his pace falters with relief to see Prim at her ankles and Branbast on her shoulder. Shoving through towards her, his voice rises the closer he gets, feeling the empty ache of time falling away the closer he gets to her. "Phoebe!" Bursting through he's suddenly left unsure what to do with his hands, terrified that she's not real and that he will disturb the illusion if he touches her. That pain is evident on his ever-guileless face, the hesitation apparent in his trembling hands, and yet all the same there is a desperation and a breaking joy dawning in his eyes at simply being able to see her. Even if she may not be real.
When his gaze slides keenly over the milling heads, the blonde hair is his first sign. A trait he has been chasing all around Caido, like a phantom in the corner of his eye. With the time that has passed, Harper doesn't dismiss the longer hair, already angling to move closer to get a better view without being obvious enough to intimidate whoever it is in case they're just an unlucky stranger.
Except as he gets closer, familiarity becomes too hard to ignore. His heartrate begins to pick up, graceful maneuvering through the crowd devolving into bumped shoulders and grumbled complaints left in his wake as his stride hastens. "Phoebe?" A plaintive call on hoarse, ill-used vocals. Blue eyes only dare to leave her profile to glance around, and his pace falters with relief to see Prim at her ankles and Branbast on her shoulder. Shoving through towards her, his voice rises the closer he gets, feeling the empty ache of time falling away the closer he gets to her. "Phoebe!" Bursting through he's suddenly left unsure what to do with his hands, terrified that she's not real and that he will disturb the illusion if he touches her. That pain is evident on his ever-guileless face, the hesitation apparent in his trembling hands, and yet all the same there is a desperation and a breaking joy dawning in his eyes at simply being able to see her. Even if she may not be real.
You're out of reach and we're out of time, I take it all and toe that line
You held my hand and pulled me down with you
You held my hand and pulled me down with you
