It feels as if his ears have to strain to pick up his old friendās soft-spoken tone over the slight howl of the wind outside their dark, cold cave; Mnervis feels on the edge of his metaphorical seat, on his toes, fingers clenched into fists and jaw set. Apprehensively, he waits, as if fully ready to lunge at him and tear the helmet off if his request ā demand, really ā goes unheeded.
He stares at him, cold eyes as round as the moon, fingers curled so tightly he can feel his fingers start to go numb underneath his gloves. What he expected, he doesnāt even know; Sarvoniks looks no different than what he had before. Still as young as ever, still the same burns, yetā¦ No blood covering his mouth and his nose and his chest.. Different than the last time he saw him. The same, but different.
His fangs press down a little harder, and he can feel the blood in his mouth from digging into his gums, but he doesnāt care.
The question, whether question or reassurance, goes unanswered. It feels as if he spoke, his voice would shake.
Mnervis flinches then, suddenly, when Sarvoniks speaks, lifting one free hand almost protectively to the cloak wrapped tightly around his neck and under the pelt at his back. Something he almost forgot about, he wears it so often it barely leaves his person.
Ā āOhā¦ā His head tilts down then, as if ashamed, staring down at the worn and tattered cloakā it feels like the equivalent of a child never growing out of their blanket.. not a keepsake of a dead friend, now that Sarvoniks is here, standing in front of him. āI didnātā¦ā
It was the only thing he could keep. The only thing he could salvage from his dead friend. He rarely ever let it goā he doesnāt even remember if he ever washed it more than once in two decades. Mnervis turns his head away, no longer wanting to look at him. Maybe he cared too much.
Ā Ā āā¦I didnāt want to let you go..ā
Ā he didnāt mean it that way, but it may have boiled down to sarcastic or condescending, unable to move on from... him. it was more out of disbelief. eliksni werenāt quite known for caring about their fallen crewmates-- they lost every breathing moment. everything wanted them extinct. the sterile awoken called them insects, often, if not enough. usually they left their fallen people behind; let them rot in the vacuum of space, on the planet, for graves were not enough. too many bodies. even worse, it was not uncommon to see another looting them for their now useless belongings ( if they even had any ). but he also knew mnervis cared about him, if not too much.
Ā āoh no, no, i didnāt...ā he couldnāt really take it back now, could he?
Ā āitās thoughtful.ā sarvoniks offered, but there was still some kind of guilt resonating. to some, it was a sign of weakness to act this way. that is why thereās such a ruthless reputation... but he didnāt follow those conventional ideals ( not anymore, in the least ). no one was around to be witness except him, though.
Ā āi just didnāt think youād...ā he swallowed thickly, palette dry. words were hard to come with comfort on his end. most, if not all the time, mnervis had such a stoic & cruel appearance around him---- so well rounded, the expectation of a killing machine. but times like this, where that facade faltered and he got to see live memories of their old self surface again, it felt oddly natural. natural & nostalgic. words werenāt cut for him in this situation.
Ā in the zen moment, sarvoniks scooted a bit closer. it didnāt matter if they protested at that point, but he gently placed his helmet against theirs, so it didnāt fall away, and wrapped arms around their chassis. they were much larger than his form. his head rested against the cold chestplate, an airy sigh stuttering.
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