EVIE
Their arms come around each other like twining branches, but with the strength and immovable conviction of trunks and roots. His steps continue on, implacable, even as she hangs within the cradle of his arms. She goes willingly, work forgotten; in all truth she could have stepped aside earlier, taken a proper rest, as little remains now that cannot be achieved by various underlings in the Infirmary. Now there is only this, only him. Alive, if nothing else. Whatever else there is can be dealt with, she is sure of it, with a conviction that warms instead of burns.
He smells of iron and sweat, electricity and magic, and she longs to divest him of his clothes and soak him, wash him clean with her own hands, until he smells once more of only himself. Eradicate all memory of that which he has triumphed through. But first, home. Home to his companions, to familiar notions and better memories, and rest.
Finally, rest.
Though she stirs to life at the mention of Zuriel, hands previously clinging to the back of his jacket moving to touch his neck with gentle fingertips. “Let me help until we get to her,” she murmurs, an offer that she doesn’t wait to be taken before she is letting her magic seep through her and into his own body, healing everything she can find until her own vision goes spotty at the corners. It’s worth it, and it always will be, and he need not know anything more than that. “I killed a Banshee Queen,” she huffs, trying to find some degree of pride or amusement in this hellish aftermath. “She got me pretty good while I held her down. My shoulder and arm mostly. Some scars, but I’m healed.” It had taken too long for Evie to submit to her own healing, too busy doing triage, but with some rest and some application of her own magic even those would fade if she desired it.
He smells of iron and sweat, electricity and magic, and she longs to divest him of his clothes and soak him, wash him clean with her own hands, until he smells once more of only himself. Eradicate all memory of that which he has triumphed through. But first, home. Home to his companions, to familiar notions and better memories, and rest.
Finally, rest.
Though she stirs to life at the mention of Zuriel, hands previously clinging to the back of his jacket moving to touch his neck with gentle fingertips. “Let me help until we get to her,” she murmurs, an offer that she doesn’t wait to be taken before she is letting her magic seep through her and into his own body, healing everything she can find until her own vision goes spotty at the corners. It’s worth it, and it always will be, and he need not know anything more than that. “I killed a Banshee Queen,” she huffs, trying to find some degree of pride or amusement in this hellish aftermath. “She got me pretty good while I held her down. My shoulder and arm mostly. Some scars, but I’m healed.” It had taken too long for Evie to submit to her own healing, too busy doing triage, but with some rest and some application of her own magic even those would fade if she desired it.
Don't look up, just let them think
There's no place else you'd rather be
There's no place else you'd rather be
