@deceivedthem continued from x
he's staring. it knows exactly what he's staring at, too. its own eyes glance away, but yield to the heavy air in the room.
" it's not polite to stare at someone's chest, your grace. " a pathetic attempt at lightening the mood, complete with a half-hearted chuckle. it's difficult to hide such a large mark when one is laid bare. though, it's not like aviv didn't take curiosity into account—— it just sort of hoped wriothesley would be more tactful about it.
" i got opened up once. from here to here, " as its claw taps where the large scar begins and ends. " i got caught up in a huge mess with some underground markets 'n they tried to gut me like a fish. "
though aviv recalls it like a funny story, its voice trembles just slightly—uneasy.
" i won that fight, of course, seeing as i'm... you know, here. "
it still remembers having to run home despite the bleeding. having to rush to its employer while somehow keeping to the shadows. having so many parts of its brain running a mile a minute, knowing that a single slip-up meant death. sometimes it still tastes the hauntings of that fear and adrenaline, creeping up its throat like vomit.
here, though, here is safe. it has to keep reminding itself of this.
" you don't have to worry about that, though. but you do owe me your own scar story now~... ah, whenever you feel ready, that is. "
He hadn't meant to stare - archons know he detests the attention his own scars earn from curious eyes who don't know any better. Yet something simply compelled him to look, and he was unable to tear his gaze away. The apology is instantly upon his lips, but he doesn't get a chance to utter it before Aviv is offering an explanation he isn't owed.
I got opened up from here to here. The words are spoken as casually as he speaks of his own traumatic history, the subject matter taken lightly despite the weight of its reality. His hand lifts, catches Aviv's where it lingers near that wicked scar. He says nothing for a moment, simply holding onto its hand in a grip that manages to be both soft and firm at the same time.
"I hope you gave them as good as you got." Are his first words spoken aloud. The words left unspoken - tell me you killed them - linger within his cool gaze.
His hand then guides Aviv's to the trio of scars that sit like a brand upon his throat. Scars that so many have asked about - often not directly to him, but he hears the gossip and the rumours that spread like wildfire through the Fortress - and so few know the truth behind. He has a slew of false stories to feed to people, stories he laughs off at the end as a joke.
It is not one of these that he offers Aviv now.
"When I broke into my former foster home to kill my parents, my mother tried to take me with them." He sees it in his mind as fresh as the day it happened - the feral scream as she launched at him, the glint of the three-pronged gardening tool she'd snatched from somewhere as it swung down towards him. "If the gardes hadn't come when they did... she might have succeeded."
He'd said little at his trial, partly because there was no need for long speeches, and partly because it still hurt to talk. When he had spoken, it was with a rasp that he hadn't been sure would ever fade.
"I wore my first pair of gauntlets back then, but... well, they weren't as refined as my current ones. The scars on my arms? This one here?" He taps at the mark beneath his eye. "Bloody things blew up, pretty much. Shrapnel went everywhere. I think the pieces are still in an evidence box somewhere in the Palais."
He laces their fingers together, now, and leans in to drop a tender kiss to the cat's forehead. "Looks like we both know how to survive despite the odds, no?"
