emmen’ ônêr ottis enantios toi isdanei [closed]
Who: sonvisage and lumenrelegandus
When: a Wednesday
Where: The Ruins
Format: Set-up is prose, continuation is whatever Aeri likes. ;-)
What: On Priscillawatch
Warnings: Worst date ever? Trying to resolve issues while standing ready to behead?
The smell of dust and warm stone had a clarifying feel. The Ruins to him always felt the brightest part of Anatole. Mist notwithstanding, one could stand in the low jagged land and feel closer to the sky. Which today was bright. Maybe it seemed brighter for its contrast to the kind of atmosphere they usually shared.
Lupin found a promontory to perch against and a patch of earth to dig in the point of his walking stick. Both hands braced atop it, and his wand in one of them made a disproportionate cross.
It cut into the air: how he and Io needed to talk.
They'd continued… everything: living together, sleeping together, not-sleeping together, but they hadn't quite talked-had they looked into each other's eyes?-since she'd saved him from bleeding to death on the floor.
She'd stopped mentioning Scar and he'd stopped mentioning Dora. Both loomed all the larger. -She'd also slept with other people; that wasn't relevant.
This was a ridiculous choice of venue to try and change that; not the least because he never took his eyes off the distant gleaming figure of Priscilla.
Since volunteering for this morally conflicted position, he'd studied up on Claymores. Testament (Forge backlog) suggested he'd notice any Awakening just being in the vicinity. Unbroken surveillance was not necessary. He kept watching anyway. If any violence did need to be done, he needed half a chance of beating Io to it.
Bad enough, in trying to help, she'd had his blood on her hands. She needn't be responsible for shedding any.
emmen’ ônêr ottis enantios toi isdanei | qui sedens adversus identitem te spectat et audit <- two poets sitting on either side of a poem
When: a Wednesday
Where: The Ruins
Format: Set-up is prose, continuation is whatever Aeri likes. ;-)
What: On Priscillawatch
Warnings: Worst date ever? Trying to resolve issues while standing ready to behead?
The smell of dust and warm stone had a clarifying feel. The Ruins to him always felt the brightest part of Anatole. Mist notwithstanding, one could stand in the low jagged land and feel closer to the sky. Which today was bright. Maybe it seemed brighter for its contrast to the kind of atmosphere they usually shared.
Lupin found a promontory to perch against and a patch of earth to dig in the point of his walking stick. Both hands braced atop it, and his wand in one of them made a disproportionate cross.
It cut into the air: how he and Io needed to talk.
They'd continued… everything: living together, sleeping together, not-sleeping together, but they hadn't quite talked-had they looked into each other's eyes?-since she'd saved him from bleeding to death on the floor.
She'd stopped mentioning Scar and he'd stopped mentioning Dora. Both loomed all the larger. -She'd also slept with other people; that wasn't relevant.
This was a ridiculous choice of venue to try and change that; not the least because he never took his eyes off the distant gleaming figure of Priscilla.
Since volunteering for this morally conflicted position, he'd studied up on Claymores. Testament (Forge backlog) suggested he'd notice any Awakening just being in the vicinity. Unbroken surveillance was not necessary. He kept watching anyway. If any violence did need to be done, he needed half a chance of beating Io to it.
Bad enough, in trying to help, she'd had his blood on her hands. She needn't be responsible for shedding any.
emmen’ ônêr ottis enantios toi isdanei | qui sedens adversus identitem te spectat et audit <- two poets sitting on either side of a poem