Bitten (Ends)
Aug. 13th, 2009 10:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jheti
I fully blame the screencaps. And lo, Google shall deliver you paydirt in that regard; I do not remember from whence I gathered mine.
Minor vices, minor tics that magnify over the years; no, no, it doesn't work dramatically if I don't take him seriously.
I don't. XD
Awful habit, this. Blood and pain that isn't enough, spins down into darkness and doesn't hit bottom, doesn't even leave an echo.
There is nothing. There is nothing and nothing and nothing and how long has he been sitting here, anyway. There's that look again, on all their faces, and if he could he would draw himself tall and assure them all was well. That all they must do is wait. The traitor will pass this way again.
It's only a matter of time.
Instead he bites down and pulls, past the quick. Stubborn things. Ragged dirty willful things. Have to be evened out.
Where is Ayel? He would know the words. He knows how these things go, sings his whole life in the meter of this errand, now. Revenge. Justice. Semantics. There's a promotion for him in it, somewhere, the bones of the makings of his own ship if he keeps this up--they can get it done, with enough wheedling. Enough bowing and scraping.
The Senate's a shipful of fools, but they like their flattery.
Earth and Air. His fingers are in his mouth again. He'd promised her he wouldn't. And in front of everyone, too.
He can feel the gesture happen before he can stop it, hand curled closed, his index finger straight, sticking vertical against his own lips.
He can't tell them. It's a secret.
Don't tell them to go to hell; send them yourself.
Minor vices, minor tics that magnify over the years; no, no, it doesn't work dramatically if I don't take him seriously.
I don't. XD
Awful habit, this. Blood and pain that isn't enough, spins down into darkness and doesn't hit bottom, doesn't even leave an echo.
There is nothing. There is nothing and nothing and nothing and how long has he been sitting here, anyway. There's that look again, on all their faces, and if he could he would draw himself tall and assure them all was well. That all they must do is wait. The traitor will pass this way again.
It's only a matter of time.
Instead he bites down and pulls, past the quick. Stubborn things. Ragged dirty willful things. Have to be evened out.
Where is Ayel? He would know the words. He knows how these things go, sings his whole life in the meter of this errand, now. Revenge. Justice. Semantics. There's a promotion for him in it, somewhere, the bones of the makings of his own ship if he keeps this up--they can get it done, with enough wheedling. Enough bowing and scraping.
The Senate's a shipful of fools, but they like their flattery.
Earth and Air. His fingers are in his mouth again. He'd promised her he wouldn't. And in front of everyone, too.
He can feel the gesture happen before he can stop it, hand curled closed, his index finger straight, sticking vertical against his own lips.
He can't tell them. It's a secret.
Don't tell them to go to hell; send them yourself.
