[ They cannot be anything but aware, a renewed line of tension between them, thrumming with it.
Mars may have been the land where they began, but if McGillis's betrayals had begun with a person, that person must be he who had smashed through after him, with whom, Gaelio had learned, McGillis had early fought beside. Mikazuki Augus.
The boy McGillis had chosen for his dream, for the Fate he would actualize, while disposing of his so-called friend.
Who better to represent their ending?
In contrast, though it might superficially equalize, Julieta had not been his choice, but a byproduct of Rustal Elion. A disturbance to their understanding of their situation, though a swiftly pretextual understanding.
If he closes his eyes, he more than remembers the taste of him. The smell of sea salt, the breeze brisk against his cheek, fingertips against his jaw and neck. It might be his magic that augments it; it might be that less than twenty-four hours have passed. He closes his eyes.
If I think of it, if it crosses my path again, I'll rest on my blade.
Even if he could believe him, the truth could yet be more duplicitous, if unintentionally. McGillis, unable to perceive it as a betrayal, as they had never been allies.
Only enemies.
How insipid that such a long-suspected thing, confirmed so readily their first day here, continues to sting.
Gaelio does not answer for longer than he knows, caught by memories that muddle and bleed and linger on his tongue. ]
»Perhaps you've yet to think of how to use him here. I'm sure you will, with time.«
[ Unfair, and he knows it. Because he should be permitted that, he shouldn't care, and doesn't care, but a weight shifts in his chest, discomfort in it, unable to settle. He shouldn't, doesn't, but he doesn't add what he would, Against me. More oozing than radiating, a crawling up his throat, compelling him to ask what would otherwise keep prominent and aching in the backdrop of this. ]
»Has it changed anything for you?«
[ It almost rushes, as though to swallow what he does not, does not, does not regret. In that rush, less control, and so in that rush, traces of emotion. Whatever describes the snap of muscles anticipating a blow, tight and cringing. Apprehension -- or fear. ]
no subject
Mars may have been the land where they began, but if McGillis's betrayals had begun with a person, that person must be he who had smashed through after him, with whom, Gaelio had learned, McGillis had early fought beside. Mikazuki Augus.
The boy McGillis had chosen for his dream, for the Fate he would actualize, while disposing of his so-called friend.
Who better to represent their ending?
In contrast, though it might superficially equalize, Julieta had not been his choice, but a byproduct of Rustal Elion. A disturbance to their understanding of their situation, though a swiftly pretextual understanding.
If he closes his eyes, he more than remembers the taste of him. The smell of sea salt, the breeze brisk against his cheek, fingertips against his jaw and neck. It might be his magic that augments it; it might be that less than twenty-four hours have passed. He closes his eyes.
If I think of it, if it crosses my path again, I'll rest on my blade.
Even if he could believe him, the truth could yet be more duplicitous, if unintentionally. McGillis, unable to perceive it as a betrayal, as they had never been allies.
Only enemies.
How insipid that such a long-suspected thing, confirmed so readily their first day here, continues to sting.
Gaelio does not answer for longer than he knows, caught by memories that muddle and bleed and linger on his tongue. ]
»Perhaps you've yet to think of how to use him here. I'm sure you will, with time.«
[ Unfair, and he knows it. Because he should be permitted that, he shouldn't care, and doesn't care, but a weight shifts in his chest, discomfort in it, unable to settle. He shouldn't, doesn't, but he doesn't add what he would, Against me. More oozing than radiating, a crawling up his throat, compelling him to ask what would otherwise keep prominent and aching in the backdrop of this. ]
»Has it changed anything for you?«
[ It almost rushes, as though to swallow what he does not, does not, does not regret. In that rush, less control, and so in that rush, traces of emotion. Whatever describes the snap of muscles anticipating a blow, tight and cringing. Apprehension -- or fear. ]