Hotaru
nothing's fair in love and war
Rolled eyes do not dissuade her playfully quirked lips. She is intimately aware of his flaws, and yet loves him despite them. Or perhaps despite is not the correct word. She loves all his flaws, his mistakes, his falterings. They are not obstacles to be overcome or barriers that test her adoration for him. Ironic then that what she seeks she has found so readily, if only draped in the wrong shades - familial instead of romantic. “That’s the plan,” she agrees, countenance soft and full of a burgeoning, tentative hope. Healing is an inevitability; Hotaru is never so lost to her heartbreak and grief as to deem it an impossibility. She has lost far more than this before. But she is similarly just as aware that it will take time. “Their loss, hm?” And so saying she lets her hands open, freeing the pair of them from such talk, leaving them free to indulge in their unexpected roiling laughter instead. It is a far better feeling, and Hotaru stumbles as her form breaks, catching herself on the table as laughter brings wetness to her own eyes. The imagery is simply too perfect.
“Oh Gods - Deimos, no. A dummy. We need to make full dummies out of them, it will be so worth it.” Scarcely able to speak through her laughter. Imagining something greater than a painted scrap held to a target. Something they can ragdoll around, pummel and plummet. A pair of old foes turned into burlap and sand, ready to be abused anew.
