10-23-2013, 09:34 AM
Charlotte stands shoulder to shoulder with Melantha-whose-blood-sings quite as starkly and furiously as her own, though the tenor of the song is sweeter and richer and darker; less luminous. It is a song of turned earth and rich soil and hells and the way we defeat them, not the moon, mad and flickle, its light gleaming, fey, molten. Regardless, the trio are connected and they may well break into a cliath-y chatter but,
no.
Charlotte just stands there, looking glorious and a little bit haunted or perhaps more accurate a little bit haunting. Wide eyes and an open, rather solemn face, still round with youth. Hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans, her sharp shoulders hunched forward, her pale eyes darting between them, each to each. Truth is she wants to follow Erich but also knows Erich, the blood-red way he fights and knows beneath it that he's right here not to suggest himself. Remembers his plans and his 'plans' and the way those plans turn into fury, absolute committment to the cause.
Javed makes her uneasy; a little bit sad and a little bit sick.
She does not look at him much. It is easy to read a pure-blooded Silver Fang's bone deep prejudice, revulsion, the usual sort into her reaction to his presence here, out of the field, when there is time to think, or be. But she's quiet, quietly uneasy, pale eyes darting from Erich to Phoebe and back again.
--
Éva is quiet. She has nothing to add as they work out the particulars of leadership. There is a moment where she reacts to the suggestion that they split up but -
- swallows that. This is their business, and their war. Still, her attention, dark and direct without ever impinging on challenge, drifts between them. Settles here. Lingers there.
Moves on. These things are in their hands.
When they go below, there is nothing she can offer them.
no.
Charlotte just stands there, looking glorious and a little bit haunted or perhaps more accurate a little bit haunting. Wide eyes and an open, rather solemn face, still round with youth. Hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans, her sharp shoulders hunched forward, her pale eyes darting between them, each to each. Truth is she wants to follow Erich but also knows Erich, the blood-red way he fights and knows beneath it that he's right here not to suggest himself. Remembers his plans and his 'plans' and the way those plans turn into fury, absolute committment to the cause.
Javed makes her uneasy; a little bit sad and a little bit sick.
She does not look at him much. It is easy to read a pure-blooded Silver Fang's bone deep prejudice, revulsion, the usual sort into her reaction to his presence here, out of the field, when there is time to think, or be. But she's quiet, quietly uneasy, pale eyes darting from Erich to Phoebe and back again.
--
Éva is quiet. She has nothing to add as they work out the particulars of leadership. There is a moment where she reacts to the suggestion that they split up but -
- swallows that. This is their business, and their war. Still, her attention, dark and direct without ever impinging on challenge, drifts between them. Settles here. Lingers there.
Moves on. These things are in their hands.
When they go below, there is nothing she can offer them.
But my heart is wild and my bones are steel
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula