09-07-2021, 01:49 AM
Ryatah
She is not sure what she had expected his answer to be, and truthfully it likely wouldn’t have mattered either way. What would she have done if he wished her dead? Begging for her life was never her first instinct, because what good would it do? If someone wants to kill her they would kill her whether there is a plea on her tongue or not; she knows they have made up their minds, and that she is beyond saving. And usually being alive was far more unbearable than the prospect of being dead—it is only now, because of Atrox, that she finds her mind clawing for what she would do should Gale tell her yes.
But, he says no, although the coldness to his voice tells her it’s not meant to be a reassurance. Her empathy is still new, but she thinks she can feel something similar to dislike radiating from him. Dislike for her? Dislike for anyone in general? She is not adept enough yet to untangle whatever she thinks is coming from him—is not sure she could even if she had been proficient, though she does not know it is magic he possesses. She just knows that whatever power he wields is stronger than anything she has, and she is wise enough to not search for ways to unleash it.
A lesson that has finally seemed to sink in, after all these years of seeing how far she had to push someone before they shattered her to dust.
The way that he visibly recoils makes her flinch, unsure of what triggered the sudden movement from him. She had not felt his magic touch her, had not felt the way it slipped beneath her skin and found the history carved there. There is not a single part of her that has not been touched by Carnage; her body that he has revived, the eyes that he has taken away only to return, the piece of her soul kept locked away. The way he has hollowed out pieces of her and filled it with himself is something that could never be undone, but save for the brand on her hip, their story was mostly only for them.
It wouldn't surprise her to find that was the reason Gale had pulled back so abruptly, but even if she had known, she would not have had an answer to any of his questions. Carnage was unpredictable, even (especially) to her. Whether or not he decided to respond should Gale kill or use her in some other fashion would depend entirely on how bored he was at the moment.
She regards him carefully after his demand, her dark eyes blinking, watchful. His frustration is palpable, and despite all her earlier restraint, there is an innate need to press into it—to see what his reaction will be if she were to push back, to find his limit of patience. How fast would Gale snap if she, a virtual stranger, did not bend to his whim?
She reminds herself though that this is not her game to play, and so instead she only obliges, reaching for him with her healing. She wraps him in the warmth of it, just as careful yet efficient as she would be for anyone else, stepping back only when she is done. “Do you get headaches often?” she ventures to ask cautiously, unable to resist the urge to pry into him just a little.
But, he says no, although the coldness to his voice tells her it’s not meant to be a reassurance. Her empathy is still new, but she thinks she can feel something similar to dislike radiating from him. Dislike for her? Dislike for anyone in general? She is not adept enough yet to untangle whatever she thinks is coming from him—is not sure she could even if she had been proficient, though she does not know it is magic he possesses. She just knows that whatever power he wields is stronger than anything she has, and she is wise enough to not search for ways to unleash it.
A lesson that has finally seemed to sink in, after all these years of seeing how far she had to push someone before they shattered her to dust.
The way that he visibly recoils makes her flinch, unsure of what triggered the sudden movement from him. She had not felt his magic touch her, had not felt the way it slipped beneath her skin and found the history carved there. There is not a single part of her that has not been touched by Carnage; her body that he has revived, the eyes that he has taken away only to return, the piece of her soul kept locked away. The way he has hollowed out pieces of her and filled it with himself is something that could never be undone, but save for the brand on her hip, their story was mostly only for them.
It wouldn't surprise her to find that was the reason Gale had pulled back so abruptly, but even if she had known, she would not have had an answer to any of his questions. Carnage was unpredictable, even (especially) to her. Whether or not he decided to respond should Gale kill or use her in some other fashion would depend entirely on how bored he was at the moment.
She regards him carefully after his demand, her dark eyes blinking, watchful. His frustration is palpable, and despite all her earlier restraint, there is an innate need to press into it—to see what his reaction will be if she were to push back, to find his limit of patience. How fast would Gale snap if she, a virtual stranger, did not bend to his whim?
She reminds herself though that this is not her game to play, and so instead she only obliges, reaching for him with her healing. She wraps him in the warmth of it, just as careful yet efficient as she would be for anyone else, stepping back only when she is done. “Do you get headaches often?” she ventures to ask cautiously, unable to resist the urge to pry into him just a little.
EVEN ANGELS HAVE THEIR WICKED SCHEMES
@Gale
you do things VERY FAST so if you dont like Gale being in 100 different timelines you are absolutely welcome to close the thread and I will only cry a little bit.