EVIE
Every notion is felt and heard as his hands tenderly unearth the fire beneath the ichor, in all ways. In the warmth of the steam and water she finds the heat of his affection, his admiration, his pride, to be far better at chasing away the cold. In turn she hopes he feels the same in the gentle press of her hands along his skin, washing away toil and sacrifice amidst grit and sweat. Even the nip of playful chastisement against her ear only makes her laugh something close to a giggle, feeling the bonds of fear and uncertainty falling away at last.
In empty revenge she squeezes his foot as she finishes with it, refraining from more energetic notions of tickling or splashing, and moves to his other leg. Never hurrying or brisk in her motions. Nearly luxuriating, as Deimos so surely deserves and which she is more than happy to provide.
Her own brow lowers and knots for merely a moment before she exhales slowly, and lets that worry go, out and away from her where it can’t take root yet. “I don’t think she would go down that easily either. But your victory alone is reason for celebration, even informally.” Though its undeniable Halo’s Wardens are for the Old Gods, a formal celebration seems strange, potentially overshadowing the efforts of the fighters with faith politics. Evie wants to celebrate them.
Though she hadn’t anticipated this kind of celebration, and she turns slightly to bare her surprised face. She is not particularly close with either individual, isn’t even sure how long they’ve been together, but good news is always good news regardless of her personal stake in it. “Last I know Cordelia was okay. She was hit once by the banshee and ran; there was a strange mist affecting my magic, so I was unable to heal her while she fled…” she bites her lip, hands pausing on his thigh, fingers flexing uncertainly. She wonders if it was her fault somehow; would the Shrike have come back, if Evie had not failed? “Halo is not taking it well. I hope it doesn’t impact their nuptials.” Regardless of how she feels about Cordelia’s departure, Evie would never wish ill-tidings on something so precious as a wedding.
In empty revenge she squeezes his foot as she finishes with it, refraining from more energetic notions of tickling or splashing, and moves to his other leg. Never hurrying or brisk in her motions. Nearly luxuriating, as Deimos so surely deserves and which she is more than happy to provide.
Her own brow lowers and knots for merely a moment before she exhales slowly, and lets that worry go, out and away from her where it can’t take root yet. “I don’t think she would go down that easily either. But your victory alone is reason for celebration, even informally.” Though its undeniable Halo’s Wardens are for the Old Gods, a formal celebration seems strange, potentially overshadowing the efforts of the fighters with faith politics. Evie wants to celebrate them.
Though she hadn’t anticipated this kind of celebration, and she turns slightly to bare her surprised face. She is not particularly close with either individual, isn’t even sure how long they’ve been together, but good news is always good news regardless of her personal stake in it. “Last I know Cordelia was okay. She was hit once by the banshee and ran; there was a strange mist affecting my magic, so I was unable to heal her while she fled…” she bites her lip, hands pausing on his thigh, fingers flexing uncertainly. She wonders if it was her fault somehow; would the Shrike have come back, if Evie had not failed? “Halo is not taking it well. I hope it doesn’t impact their nuptials.” Regardless of how she feels about Cordelia’s departure, Evie would never wish ill-tidings on something so precious as a wedding.
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
