‘ do you trust me enough? do you trust me at all? ’
lotor stands with his claws clasped behind his back. HE DOESN’T TURN. turning means he’d see her expression, see past the tremble in her voice, see the way she places AN ACCUSATION on his shoulders that doesn’t feel like a lie. isn’t.
his lips twitch & his claws curl tighter. tighter, even when his voice REMAINS COLD; impassive, with no inflection, no tell-tale sign. it’s easier that way – to turn back to politeness, to a DISTANCE unable to be breached. ❝ trust? ❞ it’s like a fantasy to trust; a fairy tale. he knows it as well as anyone else – THAT GIVEN THE CHANCE betrayal is always more appealing than loyalty, that there would be a knife at his back if it meant they could SAVE THEMSELVES.
everything, everyone, is a means to an end, but acxa – acxa is not, will not. her loyalty … he wants to BELIEVE IN IT, should. ( but some things cannot be unlearned, some things cannot change. )
he turns with a soft exhale, his body language exuding openness, a small smile on his lips. ( he remembers -- the soft sounds of her agreeance, the minute changes of expression, the firmness of her words, confidence, the twist of her lips, the relief THE PRIDE when she succeeds, her protection -- her protection of him. ) but he also remembers -- the disgust in his father’s eyes, his knees scraping across the ground, blood in his fangs, the WHISPERS that jeer with anger, that promise violence -- he remembers, allies are only as useful as they can be in the moment, are only STEPPING STONES, sacrifices for ultimate success. he won’t be the one used.
HE WONT BE MANIPULATED, won’t be humiliated, won’t be killed. he’ll do what he must, no surprises, he’ll expect submission / loyalty because that’s the only way he gets them to listen.
❝ of course i trust you, acxa. ❞ he says.
