04-28-2019, 08:07 PM
“Normal is overrated,” he assured with a small smile. The underbelly of society rarely tolerated those outcast as abnormal. Raffe had stomached his fair share of that growing up. But there was camaraderie to be found too, in the right places. “Ah, fair point. I wouldn’t want to be Jaxen Marveet right now.” He ran a hand over his jaw, gaze pinched by a frown. Raffe was not much given to politics, and despite the destitution of his upbringing at the state’s hand, he held no real hatred of the Custody. In the small circle of his life he laboured to make things better. He cared for those around him, aware of the larger injustices but powerless to stop them. The knowledge made him uncomfortable if he looked at it too long, like the violence that thrummed through his limbs the day he finally fought back at the orphanage. Freedom of expression should not be caged, but the Custody’s fist squeezed too tight. The thought lingered.
“You’ll be surprised by the people who come here. But discretion is part of the package. We don’t judge.” He leaned to watch the story, chin rested in the cup of his palm. It wasn’t a myth he recognised, though even had it been more renowned he doubted on reprisal. “That’s really what the Atharim believe?” It wasn’t a question, but he paused to consider the ramifications of a life like that; to become the very thing you were taught from the cradle to hate and fear. He’d watched the feeds as Ascendancy pulled the Arch into being. He’d heard the stories of Andlain. The power was only as dangerous as the men who wielded it, yet it didn’t justify a death sentence. He nodded to himself, like something slotted into place. Understanding a fraction of the duty Nox wreathed around his own shoulders, and of the cost.
He glanced up, catching the smile. It flashed one of his own as his gaze absorbed what that might look like. He laughed, then winced, rubbing his throat as he accused playfully, “Seems like you don’t need my help at all.”
“You’ll be surprised by the people who come here. But discretion is part of the package. We don’t judge.” He leaned to watch the story, chin rested in the cup of his palm. It wasn’t a myth he recognised, though even had it been more renowned he doubted on reprisal. “That’s really what the Atharim believe?” It wasn’t a question, but he paused to consider the ramifications of a life like that; to become the very thing you were taught from the cradle to hate and fear. He’d watched the feeds as Ascendancy pulled the Arch into being. He’d heard the stories of Andlain. The power was only as dangerous as the men who wielded it, yet it didn’t justify a death sentence. He nodded to himself, like something slotted into place. Understanding a fraction of the duty Nox wreathed around his own shoulders, and of the cost.
He glanced up, catching the smile. It flashed one of his own as his gaze absorbed what that might look like. He laughed, then winced, rubbing his throat as he accused playfully, “Seems like you don’t need my help at all.”