breath of the wild / accepting / @nihlkahn
"Let's wish each other good luck, hm? We all need it."
Edel signs it as he speaks it, slow and defined. "Good luck." Link plays the sequence over again in his head, from the fingers by the chin to the last shape they twist into. It's an uncomplicated progression. Easy, honestly — he can recognise what makes good and what makes luck. This is usually where he raises his own hands, mimicking each motion with the eager awkwardness of someone still ingraining these things into muscle memory.
Link's hands remain on his lap, unmoved. His eyes flit up to his companion's. As his left hand clenches, he bites his lip against the sour taste suddenly lingering in his mouth.
There's something really funny about a god talking about needing luck.
I know, he's tempted to return. He can imagine how he'd say it, can imagine the press of fingernails at his temple: sharp and biting and bitter with each tap. I know. But he doesn't have to repeat what Edel is already aware of, and — worse besides — it'd be a certain kind of unfair to point out.
His companion is a god, and his companion is a mask. In this misfortune, they are the same type of people. The ones who need luck the most — the ones for whom luck isn't an option. It isn't even a reality. For them, there are only decisions, then consequences.
Yet here the Fierce Deity sits: eyes soft and shadow a welcome shelter from the sun, wanting to give him this wish that counts for nothing. To give him the means to say it, regardless of his voice, like it matters that he can. In the face of a world that is far more beloved than it loves, Link almost thinks it pointless. Insincere.
Just almost though, 'cause this is the same world where Link is also Lark.
Lark, who doesn't need to ask to have someone ready to help. Lark, who's been told he deserves to be cared for, to be loved. Lark, who— maybe, maybe, has something like a guardian.
Lark, who definitely has Edel.
He exhales. It's an unwinding of what he's tightened into, from brow to lips to shoulders to fist. He pulls his left hand open the rest of the way and looks down to consider it. For several moments, that's all he does, before he eventually lifts it to his chin.
"Good luck," he signs, with no more than what he has in his belief of it — but his smile as he meets Edel's gaze again makes it clear he rather doesn't care. Perhaps it's hopeless to wish, perhaps Link is wrong. It is, either way, a nice thought. Edel seems to have a lot of those for him.
