“Shh, it was just a bad dream. Just a dream, okay? None of it was real.” | just... kisses his nose... |
meme status: accepting.
“Are you so sure… Petra?”
They drew hands away in reluctance of the wrath’s touch, like they might be hurt too, like in their dreams. Variks wanted to believe it wasn’t real; no, it wasn’t. But it felt like it, so now he’s weary of letting even Petra near him. He couldn’t look directly at her visor, seeming distant– haunted, like her visions ( Mandibles idly open and close like this for a few moments, before the scribe lowers his head and hangs it ).
He doesn’t WANT Petra to see him—– like this. And he clearly flinches when she begins to move and take up the space next to him, rubbing the hand with her thumb that can actually feel, a lower arm.
Before she opened her mouth Variks just shook his head, very solemnly. A part of him wanted to say nothing about it, nothing: like it would SAVE the trouble. The prosthetic makes a shrill creak reaching up over face, and there’s the hide of a muffled far cry, a whimper. It dies down in a chitter almost immediately and the Warden feels his own body shake. Nobody sees him like this. Nobody but…
“Petra.”
His voice sounds cracked and broken and clearly it’s painful to speak in a soft voice, so it just rolls into silence. He fears if he says anything more it’ll just be the shrill whine. Variks would admit he was terrified of less than FEW things in his life, but there must have been something awful in that dream to simply tear through him like this.
Something that makes him unable to look at the emissary.
