[He droops, mournfully, comforted by the weight of Rafael's hand. It is unfortunately less-than-difficult to remember how awful it was under the razored gaze of the elf in question, even here, in amid warmth and laughter and conversation and food. And drink, which, speaking of, Scipio grabs his mug and takes a draught.
Better.]
I was only myself. No noses. Nothing. But she looked at me, and it was-- like the way a rat must feel, when he eats of a poison. All shriveled up. Awful, Rafa, and I hope that you never feel anything of its like. You're so good, and strong, you must stay this way forever-- [He reaches to pat a hand against Rafael's cheek, weak, boneless--] --while I languish.
[A little exaggerated, but exaggeration makes him feel a little better. Like playing a character, and he can distance himself from reality. Only when he thinks of it that way, he thinks of that reality, the spool of song played faint at the back of his head. Sobering like nothing else is. That's what gets him to say:]
She knew, Rafa. About-- She had never heard of Wardens before. I don't know how, I didn't ask. A hermitage, maybe, one so far removed no tale has ever reached its shores. But she knew. She said my blood was poison.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2015-11-17 03:18 pm (UTC)[He droops, mournfully, comforted by the weight of Rafael's hand. It is unfortunately less-than-difficult to remember how awful it was under the razored gaze of the elf in question, even here, in amid warmth and laughter and conversation and food. And drink, which, speaking of, Scipio grabs his mug and takes a draught.
Better.]
I was only myself. No noses. Nothing. But she looked at me, and it was-- like the way a rat must feel, when he eats of a poison. All shriveled up. Awful, Rafa, and I hope that you never feel anything of its like. You're so good, and strong, you must stay this way forever-- [He reaches to pat a hand against Rafael's cheek, weak, boneless--] --while I languish.
[A little exaggerated, but exaggeration makes him feel a little better. Like playing a character, and he can distance himself from reality. Only when he thinks of it that way, he thinks of that reality, the spool of song played faint at the back of his head. Sobering like nothing else is. That's what gets him to say:]
She knew, Rafa. About-- She had never heard of Wardens before. I don't know how, I didn't ask. A hermitage, maybe, one so far removed no tale has ever reached its shores. But she knew. She said my blood was poison.