He didn't expect Jigano to get himself tangled up in whatever went on between Edy and himself, but then again... It hardly seemed to be in his character to merely ignore such a thing, either, some tiny, familiar assumption that felt very strange to make. Rory's eyebrows came down over his eyes, a thoughtful and unhappy expression as he drifted a little to the side, unwilling to let Jigano fight his battles. "There's no need to drag yourself down into this," he said quietly. He doubted there would be any healing on this night, after all. Edy had most of the facts. What she chose to do with them was up to her, and she seemed to have made her mind up.
Which.. he wished he was more okay with. He wished he could just roll over and accept it, cut her loose. The whole world didn't need to love him. So why, then, did it irk him? Why did it slither unpleasantly under his skin? It wasn't all about the fire and the threats—there was something else that left him unwilling to accept that she'd dislike him this much from now on, their opinions diverging so wildly. Was it a remnant of Long Night, or mere selfishness, wounded ego, on his part?
He didn't know, and that, too, bothered him.
"We never expected to succeed," he offered by way of explanation, something in his voice so tired, so small and defeated; every skirmish with the Demon, every warrior, young and old, every fool—three hundred years, and not an inch had been gained. They lived and they died and some chose to do it here, around the black tower.
No one cared. Why would they? Rory had been scared on the day of the Outlander assault because they might succeed, and what then?
What then was here and now, Wessex's teeth in Edy's neck and their hands tangling and throats moaning and Rory's gaze was very blank as he gazed at Jigano, hands wrapped together. Even turned away, even if it lasted only for a few seconds, it was an adventure into voyeurism he could've done without.
"Only if you come out again," he murmured to Jigano, quite distracted by something at the edges of his awareness, but then Wessex and Edy were done and—
Oh, it was such a mess, wasn't it? He felt like chiding someone—all of them, wanted to gently say their names, as if it could somehow dissolve the tension, but.. at that moment, he realized that what had caught his drifting attention was the sound of footsteps coming up the Spire steps. His gaze flickered to Wessex, and he nodded to her, something cold hardening in his gut.
Out of the Spire's dark mouth came Maea, bloodied, the pale child of a woman stumbling, coughing; red flecked her in a bizarre manner, a sword (when did she get a sword?) dangling from her hand. And she implored them, she warned them, and Rory was suddenly next to her, catching her as she fell and steadying her. "Easy now," he mumbled, blood and sticky fluids on his hands and fingers. The small hairs on his neck prickled, the scent in his nose—
He squeezed her shoulder and disentangled the rapier from her bloody hands. Rory didn't care much for Roana and two Ascended he didn't even know, but.. his gaze flicked up toAmalia. To Jigano.
Then he followed them into the Spire,
and yet another part of his soul withered.
[ Rory is just very casually ignoring Are, I'm sorry xDD ]
Which.. he wished he was more okay with. He wished he could just roll over and accept it, cut her loose. The whole world didn't need to love him. So why, then, did it irk him? Why did it slither unpleasantly under his skin? It wasn't all about the fire and the threats—there was something else that left him unwilling to accept that she'd dislike him this much from now on, their opinions diverging so wildly. Was it a remnant of Long Night, or mere selfishness, wounded ego, on his part?
He didn't know, and that, too, bothered him.
"We never expected to succeed," he offered by way of explanation, something in his voice so tired, so small and defeated; every skirmish with the Demon, every warrior, young and old, every fool—three hundred years, and not an inch had been gained. They lived and they died and some chose to do it here, around the black tower.
No one cared. Why would they? Rory had been scared on the day of the Outlander assault because they might succeed, and what then?
What then was here and now, Wessex's teeth in Edy's neck and their hands tangling and throats moaning and Rory's gaze was very blank as he gazed at Jigano, hands wrapped together. Even turned away, even if it lasted only for a few seconds, it was an adventure into voyeurism he could've done without.
"Only if you come out again," he murmured to Jigano, quite distracted by something at the edges of his awareness, but then Wessex and Edy were done and—
Oh, it was such a mess, wasn't it? He felt like chiding someone—all of them, wanted to gently say their names, as if it could somehow dissolve the tension, but.. at that moment, he realized that what had caught his drifting attention was the sound of footsteps coming up the Spire steps. His gaze flickered to Wessex, and he nodded to her, something cold hardening in his gut.
Out of the Spire's dark mouth came Maea, bloodied, the pale child of a woman stumbling, coughing; red flecked her in a bizarre manner, a sword (when did she get a sword?) dangling from her hand. And she implored them, she warned them, and Rory was suddenly next to her, catching her as she fell and steadying her. "Easy now," he mumbled, blood and sticky fluids on his hands and fingers. The small hairs on his neck prickled, the scent in his nose—
He squeezed her shoulder and disentangled the rapier from her bloody hands. Rory didn't care much for Roana and two Ascended he didn't even know, but.. his gaze flicked up to
Then he followed them into the Spire,
and yet another part of his soul withered.
[ Rory is just very casually ignoring Are, I'm sorry xDD ]
