MEANT TO DIE

Ah–he has a filthy mouth. Unexpected but unsurprising.

“Ulterior motives don’t suit me.” She says honestly, “I want to help because it fascinates me. There’s nothing you can offer me that I don’t already have.” Probably. But she’s not going to follow the tactics of her mother and try to squeeze something useful out of the boy, “Helping you is the same to me as completing a difficult puzzle.” Albeit with more real-life ramifications. 

A light hum–His eyes changed. Is his affliction affected by his mood? “More power and resources of course.” She figured that was obvious, but she forgets that not everyone grew up around such things, “The same reason you need an army and not an assassin to win battles.”

                                                             ✕  ✕ Furthest from aggressive, he’s near tempted to snap anyhow and bark a response, but he didn’t. Luckily. The more she explained the why, the more he could find it within himself to comprehend, at least to a certain extent. Sure, it wasn’t ideal━ to be compared to a puzzle ( although a difficult one. ) And yet, it didn’t offend him as it might’ve another. Just because his sadness runs through flesh and bone, doesn’t mean he’d be excused from being ignorant, self-centered, or an asshole in general. They weren’t friends either; Yami wasn’t expected to be so compassionate. 

I guess I never noticed, how it came creeping in My enemy emotion, but I can't sink or swim I say I'm feeling hopeless But no one's listening 

                                                             ✕  ✕Although unable to see, the black dog could sense his girlfriend’s enthusiasm through her guidance. It was contagious. Lips quirked and jokes being cracked ( e.g. potentially being kidnapped to be sold on the black market // lured to get his heart eaten out ) was a constant throughout the entirety of their walk, as was a sense of timidity. Upon being stopped, granted back his sight, the smile momentarily ebbs in silently absorbing the scene before him. 

                                                     Kayla’d done all this for him? 

Gleam arises again, but differently this time━ more honest, oozing of a tenderness reserved for only a few. “Thanks,” he spoke hushed whilst pulling her into his arms. Swaying some from side to side Francis hugged her closely, pausing only to press a hard yet quick kiss upon her lips. “Y’know I love you, right?” 

          “You brought color into my black and white life.”

Ah. Yami is all confrontation. She has no time to beat around bushes when there’s days to be seized.

She takes little note of his lack of family name (files it away for later), and returns his shake firmly. “Now, with that out of the way, what else would convince you that I am just the person to try and help you? Would you like to know the stars I was born under? My mother’s name? The Gods I have aligned myself to?” It’s not sarcasm, these are all important things to know, depending on what you’re after, but no one would blame him if he took it to be satirical. It’s so hard to tell with her straight face, “You’re shy of answering my questions again, so I can only assume you’d prefer an even playing field between us; very well, I will concede: ask your questions, if you have any.”

                                                             ✕  ✕ Aloof gaze shifted elsewhere. Anywhere that could serve as a distraction to the ever dauntless lady, who so easily penetrated the walls to his isolated, relatively safe ( but lonesome ) world. The questions suggested all sounded like mockery, but he wouldn’t bite back━ he couldn’t bite back. 

Francis looked to his bony fingers. Fidgeted more. “What’re you plannin’? With the shit I tell you.” A simple enough inquiry, he reckoned. Something he deserved knowing, or at least deserved to be able to cast her way. “If you can’t help, if I need some fuckin’ coven... Why?” Finally he tilted his head again, swept stray hairs from shielding his eyes... 

She allows her amusement to show on her face, just a hint of it, of course. The corner of her lips twitches upward, her hand rests against her cheek, 

“Does it matter?” A real question. Does knowing her name help him in any way? “Will knowing my name help ease you? Will it make us cease to be strangers?” If she comes off as condescending, she doesn’t mean it. Not on purpose. 

Her mother always told her she was too detached. Not human enough. She approaches serious matters with the logic of a machine.

Her hand reaches out, ready to shake if he’d like, “Yami Acarya.”

                                                             ✕  ✕ Francis wasn’t a confrontational person━ not really, not anymore. Raised amid the chaos of his mother’s deteriorating mind and imperious conceit, he’d become accustomed to silence. Oftentimes only half-listening to further avoid hostility. Once he’d have seethed quietly, abiding when he could be by himself before exploding. Nowadays he couldn’t even muster that. It was just too fucking tiresome, as it was this time, with this person he’s hardly known for longer than 10 maybe 20 minutes. 

Keep reading

                                                             ✕  ✕