03-25-2020, 12:04 AM
Gentle distraction served its purpose, and she discarded the phone and image without ceremony. Natalie didn’t want to speak about Africa, nor leave the opportunity open to grasp, but the shadow it cast was one that spread its cool wings over them both. Beyond the ghosts in her own skull there was no one else she could share such small happiness with. It did not deserve words, and it certainly wasn’t a pure thing. It was bitter and sharp and the best she could hope for. It was a blade to twist, but also cool hands on a dying brow, and she wasn’t innocent of either the weapon or the salve.
She listened quietly to his description; to its ferocity and vastness, utterly alien to her own experience. His openness soothed her in a way she didn’t pause to examine, the outpouring one she did not choose to interrupt either -- because he rarely spoke so freely. Like black and white. Light they were night and day. Her own gift fluttered like the trail of a slumbering river in comparison, beckoning the slow sink into a realm of light. She wondered briefly about the training Brandon had spoken of then, realigning it with this new context. Something she had probably been aware of for a while now, but had never thought to piece together.
That the danger was intrinsic, not inflicted. That there was no way to teach this safely.
For a moment she almost asked more. But some secrets did not need to be shared, and she had only wanted to understand something more about him, not to pry deeper than she was welcome. His muscles corded at even the words; she could feel it where he touched her, but she didn’t flinch away even knowing his capabilities. Not because she was safe, but because she was equal.
Eventually he drifted in another direction she was reluctant to go, knowing they were likely to one day find disagreement on its shores. The trail of his words curled into the image of Nikolai Brandon. Or she imagined it did, like the tightening of chains. Jay wouldn’t ever discover her absent of challenge, and she would never apologise for it either, but it was not a battle she had any interest in fighting today. Blind devotion was not in her blood -- ironic when hers was of the Custody’s patronage, and his the convert. But it was not betrayal she contemplated. Rather, her loyalty was laid with the edge of his sword. One of those hard truths, and one she wasn’t wholly convinced wasn’t just plain weakness. It was immutable either way. And easier to face than the reason.
He looked at her like she might evaporate. It was a strange moment of unreality; like being seen truly. Such exposure ought to have made her uncomfortable, but it only made her wonder at the thoughts running through his head. The turn of conversation actually surprised her, enough that her pale eyes turned up to watch his face as he spoke. Stubble sloped his cheeks from the past day’s hard living, as far removed from Wall Street as he might conceivably be. Hands scrubbed a mess of hair. She’d probably played a part in that.
Her head tilted, an indolent smirk lazy on her lips. Not necessarily for the dissonance of two lives split down forking paths. She understood the mantle of disappointment a parent might place on the shoulders of a child, but she also believed in forging the path of one’s own even when it cost. Purgatory was right. She’d escaped her own, and had been better for it, at least for a while. A little melancholy pinched his tone, but he was entitled to that. She was content to listen.
When wicked tease lightened his tone instead, genuine laughter hummed against his kiss. That damn grin lit all sorts of feelings inside, and most of it felt like free falling. She really shouldn’t succumb, but it was a foolishness he tipped her into willingly. A line in the sand, washed clean by the tide. His rakish nature sparked her own like kindling, the repartee natural, like something rediscovered. Her fingers stroked the rough edge of his jaw. “My poker face is pretty good, Jay. Do you think you would win?”
She listened quietly to his description; to its ferocity and vastness, utterly alien to her own experience. His openness soothed her in a way she didn’t pause to examine, the outpouring one she did not choose to interrupt either -- because he rarely spoke so freely. Like black and white. Light they were night and day. Her own gift fluttered like the trail of a slumbering river in comparison, beckoning the slow sink into a realm of light. She wondered briefly about the training Brandon had spoken of then, realigning it with this new context. Something she had probably been aware of for a while now, but had never thought to piece together.
That the danger was intrinsic, not inflicted. That there was no way to teach this safely.
For a moment she almost asked more. But some secrets did not need to be shared, and she had only wanted to understand something more about him, not to pry deeper than she was welcome. His muscles corded at even the words; she could feel it where he touched her, but she didn’t flinch away even knowing his capabilities. Not because she was safe, but because she was equal.
Eventually he drifted in another direction she was reluctant to go, knowing they were likely to one day find disagreement on its shores. The trail of his words curled into the image of Nikolai Brandon. Or she imagined it did, like the tightening of chains. Jay wouldn’t ever discover her absent of challenge, and she would never apologise for it either, but it was not a battle she had any interest in fighting today. Blind devotion was not in her blood -- ironic when hers was of the Custody’s patronage, and his the convert. But it was not betrayal she contemplated. Rather, her loyalty was laid with the edge of his sword. One of those hard truths, and one she wasn’t wholly convinced wasn’t just plain weakness. It was immutable either way. And easier to face than the reason.
He looked at her like she might evaporate. It was a strange moment of unreality; like being seen truly. Such exposure ought to have made her uncomfortable, but it only made her wonder at the thoughts running through his head. The turn of conversation actually surprised her, enough that her pale eyes turned up to watch his face as he spoke. Stubble sloped his cheeks from the past day’s hard living, as far removed from Wall Street as he might conceivably be. Hands scrubbed a mess of hair. She’d probably played a part in that.
Her head tilted, an indolent smirk lazy on her lips. Not necessarily for the dissonance of two lives split down forking paths. She understood the mantle of disappointment a parent might place on the shoulders of a child, but she also believed in forging the path of one’s own even when it cost. Purgatory was right. She’d escaped her own, and had been better for it, at least for a while. A little melancholy pinched his tone, but he was entitled to that. She was content to listen.
When wicked tease lightened his tone instead, genuine laughter hummed against his kiss. That damn grin lit all sorts of feelings inside, and most of it felt like free falling. She really shouldn’t succumb, but it was a foolishness he tipped her into willingly. A line in the sand, washed clean by the tide. His rakish nature sparked her own like kindling, the repartee natural, like something rediscovered. Her fingers stroked the rough edge of his jaw. “My poker face is pretty good, Jay. Do you think you would win?”