Hotaru
She growls against his neck, frustrated by her own lack of eloquence. Clearly this was why she didn't drink. Dropping her glass, she reaches across her own body to fist her hands in his shirt, giving it an impotent little shake as if she could ever hope to move him. "No," she snarls, half-feline, and wishes she could open the bond on her side as a human the way he can. Blinking heavily she tries to focus on his face, pulling back enough to force him to look at her. "Even then, I trusted you. I told Deimos and - and Morgan both. I knew you'd never hurt me, or the babies. I knew," she stresses, dismay pulling at her face, color high in her cheeks. She wants so badly to make him understand, but she can't at every turn, and it never gets any easier to accept. "If I hadn't trusted you, I never would have come. You never would have found me if I didn't want to be. I don't," know how else to say it. Sighing, she thunks her head back down to his shoulder, inhaling his sandalwood scent, muted by the rain still dampening their clothes. Her own ozone scent melting into his like they'd never parted. Things made enhanced now with her Attunement that she'd missed before.
Sunjata's hand turns and she interlaces their fingers almost desperately, gripping tight to him. The same fit she remembers, if a few extra scars and callouses. Inside and out. It turns her laugh strangled as it escapes, butting her forehead against his chin like an unruly pup. "Shut it, you. You've bedded half the most powerful people in Caido, you'd have bookings into the next year." There's only fondness to the accusation and it feels freeing to not have that bitterness invading her chest at the idea. Lifting her own head as he does, she spies her glass and makes a noise, having forgotten it was even there. Ru snags it with her left hand, freeing it from his shirt where she'd forgotten it had remained (there's a lot of forgetting happening here, and she doesn't mind it) to drain it in two gulps. "That's gonna hit hard," she comments almost cheerfully, the glass rocking in a circle when she sets it down too far on its edge.
"Sleep is for the weak," she scoffs belatedly, refusing to acknowledge her own nightmares that he'd once soothed. Or Nate, if he'd been too deep in his own slumber. The last good night of sleep she'd had was when Remi had given her the Foothills back, and she had spent hours roaming the construct of her own childhood memories. It plunges her straight back into grief, and Ru's hand tightens spasmodically around Sunjata's, chest aching. Her bed had been warm for a matter of weeks before the twins had aged, and now it is cold and empty anew as they have their own to sleep in. Any private hopes or dreams of Maeve or some other poor soul pitying her long enough to share it with her now well and truly crushed. A wheeze of pain leaves her, wordless and raw, and completely incapable of even communicating how or why the switch has flipped. Waiting for him to distract her anew with the rumble of his words, so that she might claw her way back to some temporary level of joy.
Sunjata's hand turns and she interlaces their fingers almost desperately, gripping tight to him. The same fit she remembers, if a few extra scars and callouses. Inside and out. It turns her laugh strangled as it escapes, butting her forehead against his chin like an unruly pup. "Shut it, you. You've bedded half the most powerful people in Caido, you'd have bookings into the next year." There's only fondness to the accusation and it feels freeing to not have that bitterness invading her chest at the idea. Lifting her own head as he does, she spies her glass and makes a noise, having forgotten it was even there. Ru snags it with her left hand, freeing it from his shirt where she'd forgotten it had remained (there's a lot of forgetting happening here, and she doesn't mind it) to drain it in two gulps. "That's gonna hit hard," she comments almost cheerfully, the glass rocking in a circle when she sets it down too far on its edge.
"Sleep is for the weak," she scoffs belatedly, refusing to acknowledge her own nightmares that he'd once soothed. Or Nate, if he'd been too deep in his own slumber. The last good night of sleep she'd had was when Remi had given her the Foothills back, and she had spent hours roaming the construct of her own childhood memories. It plunges her straight back into grief, and Ru's hand tightens spasmodically around Sunjata's, chest aching. Her bed had been warm for a matter of weeks before the twins had aged, and now it is cold and empty anew as they have their own to sleep in. Any private hopes or dreams of Maeve or some other poor soul pitying her long enough to share it with her now well and truly crushed. A wheeze of pain leaves her, wordless and raw, and completely incapable of even communicating how or why the switch has flipped. Waiting for him to distract her anew with the rumble of his words, so that she might claw her way back to some temporary level of joy.
But I am just a broken machine
And I do things that I don't really mean
And I do things that I don't really mean
