[ a laugh digs its way out of her chest, no louder than an raspy exhale, but — telling, all the same. tattling on herself, even. it is mortifyingly childish, but such a silly display endears itself to the child she had never been allowed to be, the lost little girl that had died too young in order for shadowheart to take her place.
the nip of her teeth (where his pulse would be, were it to beat) is a harmless, retaliatory strike — which in itself is revealing, when the both of them are creatures capable of great violence, once tasked to a mission. it's written in the sharpness of his incisors as equally as it's etched into the lean strength of her form, an undeniable aptitude that makes choosing softness (softness that had never served either of them, nearly eroded beneath the heel of a master's boot) all the more poignant.
more's the point, it's an answer. for all her pride, shallow vanity has never much ranked among her priorities. she's hardly unaware of her looks, the way one is aware that the sky is blue — a simple fact, and little more. some natural observation that doesn't require much deeper thought than what's skin-deep. judging by the light huff of her exhale, his instincts are well-honed to veer away from the superficial, no matter how sweet the sentiment may be. ]
Shall I take pity on you, I wonder? I would hate for kindness to become your new cause of un-death, lovely as it is to hear from you.
[ teasing though it is, an honest note chimes within it. it hardly necessitates a scholar to recognize this is uncharted territory for him, that she's nudged him to tread outside his comfort zone. her fingers lift to stroke along the back of his neck, accordingly soothing, like caressing a lounging cat's fur. a thoughtful hum stirs in her throat, in the pensive pause before: ]
Know this: my considerable strength is yours to draw from, in the days to come.
[ it's as direct a promise as one can make (your faith in me is not misplaced, it says, between the lines), without pointedly picking at the scab that is cazador. he doesn't deserve to have his name spoken, in this moment or any other, besides. ]
After all, I've developed a taste for liberating precious artefacts and keeping them close at hand. If it pleases you, I think I'll keep you, next.
ur right i wasn't even wrong the first time
the nip of her teeth (where his pulse would be, were it to beat) is a harmless, retaliatory strike — which in itself is revealing, when the both of them are creatures capable of great violence, once tasked to a mission. it's written in the sharpness of his incisors as equally as it's etched into the lean strength of her form, an undeniable aptitude that makes choosing softness (softness that had never served either of them, nearly eroded beneath the heel of a master's boot) all the more poignant.
more's the point, it's an answer. for all her pride, shallow vanity has never much ranked among her priorities. she's hardly unaware of her looks, the way one is aware that the sky is blue — a simple fact, and little more. some natural observation that doesn't require much deeper thought than what's skin-deep. judging by the light huff of her exhale, his instincts are well-honed to veer away from the superficial, no matter how sweet the sentiment may be. ]
Shall I take pity on you, I wonder? I would hate for kindness to become your new cause of un-death, lovely as it is to hear from you.
[ teasing though it is, an honest note chimes within it. it hardly necessitates a scholar to recognize this is uncharted territory for him, that she's nudged him to tread outside his comfort zone. her fingers lift to stroke along the back of his neck, accordingly soothing, like caressing a lounging cat's fur. a thoughtful hum stirs in her throat, in the pensive pause before: ]
Know this: my considerable strength is yours to draw from, in the days to come.
[ it's as direct a promise as one can make (your faith in me is not misplaced, it says, between the lines), without pointedly picking at the scab that is cazador. he doesn't deserve to have his name spoken, in this moment or any other, besides. ]
After all, I've developed a taste for liberating precious artefacts and keeping them close at hand. If it pleases you, I think I'll keep you, next.