[It’s a moment in coming back, Vassa’s plea a muted thing in his ears as the drum of his blood drowns out near all else. There is a voice in him that wants to persist- knowledge of ages past echoing through his veins and clamoring for something more- greater. A desire to press, to pull Vassa within his domain. To make him fall in line
It breaks when he opens his eyes, that whisper falling silent as Ze returns to the reality of the moment, suppressed but not forgotten. Gaze flicking down to the hand wrapped around his own, he draws his fingers back after a moment and stares at his palm- smeared at some point in a graze of blood.
He recognizes well the urge, remembering briefly the blinding light that shone in the Western Highlands. Gods, but it seems an age ago…
The problem then, Ze thinks as he raises his eyes to look up at Vassa, is that which spurned such an urge. While he can’t claim to understand much of it, he recalls well Papashan’s words; that when two souls are in contest and a victor cannot be discerned, one must claim dominance… but as insane as that might have sounded, he was certain that was unique to those bound to an oath. To paladins, of which he is almost positive Vassa is not.
So why…?
Ah, but looking up at Vassa as his gaze refocuses, Ze can tell this is neither the time or place. Something to ponder, alongside the revelation that he was never an oathbreaker, later.]
You’d have done well to let me continue. [Is all he says after a moment, burying that uneasiness with habitual calm, moving to his feet after a moment. Deliberately- insistently- he headbutts Vassa gently on the way up, but in a kinder way that is more akin to affection among their kind, though that may only sting more.] Don’t complain to me later if the job is a shoddy one.
[But as if to give Vassa the relief he desires, Ze pulls away and goes towards the sack he discarded earlier, wiping his bloodied hand clean(?) against the side of his coat before he undoes the tie and pulls the mouth open.]
Heads up. [And, as if in direct opposition to the knowledge of Vassa’s injuries, Ze pulls out an apple, and chucks it in the other’s direction, waiting to hear if it’s caught or it thuds into the wall behind him.]
⤞misaligned
[It’s a moment in coming back, Vassa’s plea a muted thing in his ears as the drum of his blood drowns out near all else. There is a voice in him that wants to persist- knowledge of ages past echoing through his veins and clamoring for something more- greater. A desire to press, to pull Vassa within his domain. To make him fall in line
It breaks when he opens his eyes, that whisper falling silent as Ze returns to the reality of the moment, suppressed but not forgotten. Gaze flicking down to the hand wrapped around his own, he draws his fingers back after a moment and stares at his palm- smeared at some point in a graze of blood.
He recognizes well the urge, remembering briefly the blinding light that shone in the Western Highlands. Gods, but it seems an age ago…
The problem then, Ze thinks as he raises his eyes to look up at Vassa, is that which spurned such an urge. While he can’t claim to understand much of it, he recalls well Papashan’s words; that when two souls are in contest and a victor cannot be discerned, one must claim dominance… but as insane as that might have sounded, he was certain that was unique to those bound to an oath. To paladins, of which he is almost positive Vassa is not.
So why…?
Ah, but looking up at Vassa as his gaze refocuses, Ze can tell this is neither the time or place. Something to ponder, alongside the revelation that he was never an oathbreaker, later.]
You’d have done well to let me continue. [Is all he says after a moment, burying that uneasiness with habitual calm, moving to his feet after a moment. Deliberately- insistently- he headbutts Vassa gently on the way up, but in a kinder way that is more akin to affection among their kind, though that may only sting more.] Don’t complain to me later if the job is a shoddy one.
[But as if to give Vassa the relief he desires, Ze pulls away and goes towards the sack he discarded earlier, wiping his bloodied hand clean(?) against the side of his coat before he undoes the tie and pulls the mouth open.]
Heads up. [And, as if in direct opposition to the knowledge of Vassa’s injuries, Ze pulls out an apple, and chucks it in the other’s direction, waiting to hear if it’s caught or it thuds into the wall behind him.]