#dorjeega

[gataash]

i want what you have.

@dorjeega

past.

he sucks in a breath, cold air rushing into his lungs. the instinct is to close his eyes, but he can’t, not even for a second. his aim is perfect but he can’t let his guard down so predictably. 

relax. hold. concentrate.

arms loose at his sides, fists clenched. he turns his head to follow dorjee’s moving line across the training arena, how quick he moves that it seems like his feet barely touch the ground. a bird flies over head - blue jay.

release.

a beam forms above the skin of his forehead, a needle thin line that swells, expands, and shoot forward, lightning fast and white hot. taash waits, waits, waits, and sucks in his breath right before the beam touches his brother - close enough to singe. but when dorjee jumps up and out of the way, taash realizes only too late that he’s left himself open - both from behind, and from the blast that he’s no doubt going to get in retaliation. his stance is unstable, his pulse jumping, head pounding from the pressure.

he ducks, curses himself for his slow reaction time and holds his arms ahead of him to redirect the blast. 

except it never comes.

his beam shatters midair, and the small explosion seems like nothing compared to how it would have been had dorjee countered it with a fire shot of his own. 

taash crouches, one hand on his chest as he catches his breath. this always takes out more of him than he can prepare for, every effort leaving him exhausted. but there’s no time to relax in a battle, not even at a distance. he grinds his teeth, forces himself to stand up rather than look weak for a second more.

“why aren’t you fighting back? i told you not to go easy on me.” 

[asnksga]

bitters & absolut

@ozenga / @dorjeega

TWO MONTHS AGO, PRE-DOBS

Nothing could’ve prepared her for this: an arrangement too soon, an arrival too late. Sitting across when they’ve always, always sat in a row, not two to one. Heart sinking by the passing second instead of the soaring lift of elation. 

It’s all wrong: the wrong ring, the wrong hand at the small of her back, the weather bright as if this is something worth celebrating. She avoids meeting any eyes, be it from the man on the other side of the table to the man sitting to her right. God, is all she thinks, holding her glass by the stem in complete and utter silence. God help me. 

[asnksga]

the ledge

@dorjeega

DAY THREE (?), POST-DOBS

Turns out even the lowest of expectations does little to quell the pace that her fury mounts with every word, anecdote and demand passed off for so-called esteemed wisdom. Sages and advisors are alike this way, at least in this part of their world. Turning too quick in the face of defiance, then turning the other cheek.

Their apathy should come as no surprise, but somehow this time it strikes a raw, new nerve. Enough so that after the debriefing, she is the first to leave the room—face grim, lips a thin, firm line.

And then there’s him. At ready and waiting in a way that makes her teeth set on edge for more reasons than one, but Asana maintains her resolve, jaw a steel trap clamped shut against the impulse to speak even a single word of the ordeal. She brushes past him, and briskly walks on ahead for the car. “Let’s go.”