#dissolvedshadows:asks

[anarcalina]

         // @dissolvedshadows​​ sent,  “ what is she to you anyway ? ” 

          He stills, body rigid, poised for an action he has not yet resolved upon. How easy it would be, as he would with most, to lash out. A neck snapped, a heart torn from between ribs, a thousand and one ways to kill swiftly and in doing so avoid so much hassle. His expression contorts, safely concealed from Caleb’s view, as he wrestles with his temper and reminds himself that he dare not. Not for fear of retribution, for fear of starting a war, for fear that killing one such as he may not actually be so easy — Klaus has yet to put it to the test. Yet for reasons yet obscured to him, Caleb matters to her. Lips curl in distaste at the thought. 

          When he turns to face Caleb, Klaus has his temper mastered, expression smooth and unconcerned, lip half-quirked in the merest hint of amusement.    ❛ Nothing. Absolutely nothing. ❜    How easily, how calmly, lies fall from his lips. If anything, he relishes the words, the security they offer.    ❛ Well, save an ally. One whose company aggravates me less than yours — not that that’s saying much. ❜    Perhaps ally is the wrong word, too formal for what is scarcely more than an understanding, save that that understanding helps preserve the balance, the peace, in the city. Yet in the moment he can find no other.

          ❛ But tell me, Caleb, ❜   — he speaks the name with a sneer, disdain weighty upon his tongue —    ❛ what concern is it of yours? ❜

[anarcalina]

         // @dissolvedshadows​​ sent,  “ I look at you and it is like my throat being cut. ”

          The street below bustles, thronging with too many people. The clamor presses in upon him, a disorienting cacophony. At times, he finds it reassuring, a distraction from the introspection that accompanies true quiet, true solitude. Klaus turns from the window at her words, just far enough to give her a long look over his shoulder.    ❛ Very flattering, I’m sure, love. ❜    The wry, abrasive words come instinctively, thoughtlessly, a natural reflex to defend. 

          He knows, though he’ll fight the knowledge, that he ought to take them more seriously, to consider the ramifications. To concede, even just to himself, that the implication that his mere presence is painful alarms him, that he would not have her feel that way. But how much easier it is to hide behind the persona he’s cultivated for a thousand years, to take pride in the pain his mere being inflicts upon those around him. But no grin accompanies his words, no subtle mockery. They’re hollow husks of his usual demeanor, and he finds himself taking two steps across the room towards her before continuing,    ❛ Very poetic. But what is your point? ❜

[anarcalina]

         // @dissolvedshadows​ sent,  ❝  i don’t think gods work that way.  ❞

          ❛ Mmmm. ❜    For a long moment, Daniel’s half tempted to leave it at that, a half-acknowledgment, half-dismissal, an unreadable something that spares him the need to take any stance on the issue. His attention can remain upon documents before him, and for a fleeting moment, he can pretend that things are simpler, his work no more than theoretical. Yet he can’t resist ( he never can ), and finds himself continuing, almost without conscious thought,    ❛ Unfortunately, it doesn’t exactly matter how we think gods work, does it? I think the past years have proved as much. ❜

          Finally, his gaze flickers up. a shrug upon his shoulders. The end of the pencil in his hand taps twice upon the paper before him, unnoticed.    ❛ What matters is what they think. And just how quickly this plan is going to go wrong. Not that anyone’s asking me. ❜

[duefaith-a]

         // @dissolvedshadows​ sent,  ❝ you owe me a dinner. a very nice dinner. ❞

          He could argue, offer whatever excuses or defenses he could devise, yet he hates to be a sore loser, no matter the unofficial nature of the bet. No agreements made, no collateral set, only a disagreement in what to expect, in how seriously to take the warning etched upon tablet, and reckless words: how much do you want to bet it’s nothing?

          He ought to have listened to her. Muscles ache, and the abrasion upon his forehead stings. He can’t imagine there’s not blood smeared from when he attempted to wipe it away before it might fall into his eyes, and his sleeve remains stained with it. If she’s in better shape, it’s not by much, and he has little doubt she shares the fatigue that rapidly settles into mind and body.    

          There’s not a bit of injury and exhaustion that they might not have been spared had he listened, had he waited, exhibited any semblance of patience instead of striding in heedless. So no, Cam cannot dispute that he owes her, starting no doubt with further apologies ( already he has offered some ), promises of patience and heed in the future. Even then, he’ll fall far short of amends.    

                   ❛          Promise not to hold this against me in future, and you’ve got a deal. ❜    

[duefaith-a]

          // @dissolvedshadows​ sent,  ❝ are you going to tell us anything else about your miraculous plan? ❞

          The word miraculous becomes comical; ‘miraculous’ is an adjective best applied to Carter’s plans and kept far from his own. He himself rather specializes in half-baked plans that suffer from an overabundance of poorly concealed flaws, requiring improvisation to carry the day when preparations falter.    ❛ No. ❜    For a moment, he intends to leave it there, to reserve explanation for himself and, possibly, save face just a little bit longer. Yet, she’s no fool, and he’s not fool enough to believe for even a moment that she does not already know better.    ❛ If I tell you anything about my plan, you’ll realize i don’t have one. ❜

[anarcalina]

          // @dissolvedshadows​​  ( caleb)  sent,  ❝ i’ll  do  anything  for  you ,   just  tell  me  what  you  need. ❞

          A smile, however tremulous, emerges upon her lips, though her sightless eyes remain downcast, as if seeking to avoid eye-contact she cannot truly make.    ❛ Anything? ❜    Aline asks, a faint stab at humor that scarcely achieves its goal ( if it even does at all ).    ❛ Didn’t anyone ever warn you to be careful what promises you make? ❜    As if she would ever ask for anything, anything save the rarest request for company or participation in her latest foolhardy plan.

          And the hardest thing is that, even if she could impose, could accept such an offer, there’s nothing that would help. Aline’s not even sure that turning back the clock, that resetting it all and living a world in which the events never happened, could fully erase the ache she feels sometimes. She hates this day the most, the day that must weigh heaviest on her each year. Yet she knows, come tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, it will ease, as it always does. She reaches out in his direction, seeking his arm, his hand, to squeeze. More quietly, she adds,    ❛ But I do appreciate it, Caleb. Truly. Thank you. ❜

[anarcalina]

          // @dissolvedshadows​​  ( caleb )  sent,  ❝ i  have  ideas !   most  of  them  are  illegal. ❞

          ❛ Yes... ❜    he repeats slowly, hesitantly, as if deciding whether to think better of his following words. In the end, he does, leaving aside the snark-filled rhetorical question he wishes to pose aside and remarking instead,    ❛ That’s rather the problem. ❜    Not that the lines of legality don’t blur when you’re a member of a top-secret government program traveling to other worlds. Daniel sometimes thinks they operate too far outside the law as it is, however, and he’s loathe to encourage such behavior.    ❛ Let’s stick to ideas that aren’t illegal. I don’t suppose you have any of those. ❜

          He does not sound particularly hopeful.

[anarcalina]

        // @dissolvedshadows​  ( ana )  sent,  ❝ you’d rather shut your eyes than feel any pain. ❞

          The anger flares, hot and bright, and words leap to the tip of his tongue, scathing words designed to hurt. An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. He’s giving in to such impulses so many times that he cannot say what compels him to rein in the instinct now.    ❛ Do you think I don’t feel pain? ❜    he asks instead, voice falling somewhere short of flat, despite his best efforts. Steps carry him forward, closer, though some part of him, firmly ignored, signals a retreat.     ❛ Because I have forgotten, if I ever knew, what it is to go a day without pain, Ana. You of all people I would expect to understand that — you’ve lived long enough. ❜

          Another step, and he stays himself, stopping far short of looming as is his wont.    ❛ What would you have me do? Embrace more with open arms? ❜    There are days, days when the facade he has constructed relentlessly, the persona that hides him even from himself, wavers, a mere mirage in the desert. On those days, he doubts he can endure what already he must face, what already he must feel, and more threatens to drown him. If he’s not drowned already.