are you still cowering?

DATE & TIME: 1/15, 2PM   LOCATION: Advanced Weapons Facility, Eadu CLOSED FOR @ecroixx

As they crept along hurricane slick walls, down ill-lit hallways through the scent of mildew and rusting gears, they knew the mission was falling into place too easily. Fein could feel it itching along his skin like what Master Kenobi always called a disturbance in the Force; but instead of a padawan timing his attack too early, the disturbance revealed itself as two dogs of the empire and their blood red acolytes.

Noa didn’t wait. She and Jezha spun into action faster than Fein could register the fight had begun, and as the acolytes closed in a circle around them, as he prepared to leap to his Master’s side, Noa turned and told him to run. He stands frozen in the alcove her whisper screaming in his ears. He can’t leave her, he won’t leave her. She looks him in the eye and tells him to run, and superimposed over her form – fluid in battle, deadly in her grace – is another master, blood choking in her throat, along her chin. Noa’s whip flashes in the air as she dodges another attack, and Fein takes a step forward.

One solitary half step towards her (he’s made his choice he won’t leave another Master to die, another mother behind, another mentor to leave him alone and reeling) and then there’s a hand wrapped around his forearm.

“Let go,” he snarls, the Force rising up in his throat like bile, like an oil slick along his skin, but they don’t let go, they grip him tighter, hold him there. Fein looks back, and meets Xavis’ eyes, “Let me go to her.”

He wishes the words didn’t sound like begging. He wishes the words didn’t sound like they were meant for a ghost (of himself? Of her? He doesn’t know, doesn’t know if he’ll ever know).

he’s afraid. he can feel it washed through skin and pressed in, needle-injections racing through bloodstreams; thick and heavy with it. it feels both too hot and too cold when he sees the dark figures, when he sees noa fighting, when he stands still and does nothing, nothing, nothing -

- sees fein try to jump in, and moves out of instinct. hands clasp around forearms, pulls him back for selfish reasons. always selfish, childish, stupid.

needs a grounding. needs a lack of blood, needs something to hold onto to feel like he still can, needs to know that he can stop something from leaving him for the sake of him protecting him again. 

(what a train, trainwreck they make of trying to prevent what regrets plague them from happening all over again) 

and xavis is not above begging. 

“please.” he says, pulling him towards safety, eyes pleading. tries no to flinch too hard at how fein’s words feels like an animal-bite; untamed with too much teeth. tries to ignore how things you hold close will always be things belonging more to the wild than you. tries to ignore how things are meant to be pried away from you, with time. 

“she’ll be - they’ll be fine, fein. they both will. i promise. i promise, but i - we can’t guarantee the same. i can’t. please, let’s just go - this isn’t our battle, please - “ 

If there was a time Mathias held a blade the same way Xavis is now, he doesn’t remember it. Doesn’t remember a time he couldn’t hold a knife like an extension of his hand, like just another part of the body, it goes beyond memory, to places behind. When there is only the unknown, assumed as truth. He watches him still, could tell him everything he is doing wrong, takes note of it, for another time. 

All he does now is hold his hand out after a moment, an offering, not a taking, if Xavis doesn’t want it anymore. Mathias backing off, for the moment. His expressions don’t change, a laughing child, but not at the other. “The only one hurting ourselves here, man, should be me,” indirectly speaks of the trembling.

The next words are what make Mathias’ face fall, enough for him to turn away from Xavis to hide it, hide it by turning back to knives, by feeling something in his chest he beats down, before it can form, forget it was there at all. A fighter, yes. But he’s not a soldier. He’s not even that for hire. There’s regret on his face now for starting this conversation at all, see it in the way he holds Xavis’ gaze, a bit darker. See it in the way he stands, still tall, but like an animal growing taller. “Someone gave you the wrong damn idea if you think everyone here’s a soldier but you. Most people are here because they’d be dead anywhere else.” Himself included. Any of the Jedi. Anyone the Empire decided to fuck over. There’s a few here walking among them he was paid to find, once. Name recognition, the other getting away, or just a fucking whim to say why they’re still alive. “There’s fucking real babies here, Ryom, in the Creche. Don’t speak about pity unless you want it.”

he’s done something wrong, hasn’t he? 

hands mathias the knife the way one would in surrender - almost wants to put his hands up as if in declaration - begging - of mercy. says, i am an innocent, pathetic thing. spare me. 

it’s a dialogue he thinks he could say quite well. 

“there’s lots of things that should and should not be.” he says, perhaps a bit too quietly. “i think we all hurt ourselves too much for it to be anything but a habit at this point.”

maybe even an addiction. a familiarity. maybe it is for him. 

and careful what you say next - the other is already a thing closer to being feral than what you are used to handling - in humans, humans only - see those darker gazes? see that expansion of space? the blade of teeth behind words? you are not equipped to handle dangerous things like this. be careful. be careful. 

he shrinks - almost flinches - at mathias’ words. defaults to curling into himself, as if in protection. makes eyes look down, only down, make him only a voice and not something too-real in front of him if he can’t see him. 

Fein blinks down at the sleepy little cat in his arms, and scratches just under her chin, “A pretty good thanks,” he grins as she curls into the crook of his arm. He sets off for the hangar bay, hardly needing to check if Xavis is following him. The other man towers above him in a way that’s only ever felt comforting. Xavis’ anxieties lead him to slump, bending and twisting his frame in a way that can hardly be comfortable, but leads people to underestimate his full height.

Sometimes Fein wonders what it would be like to be as tall as Xavis – to have a frame that very nearly brushes the stars with each step.

“Orion told me about a little planet she passed just one galaxy over,” Fein turns the corner and slips through the open blast doors into the comforting noise of the hangar bay, “it’s supposed to be a similar ecosystem to this, so you could bring some friends back if you like.”

He surveys the available ships, marking each that would be needed before they returned, before settling on a aging, stolen Lambda-class T-4a shuttle. It’d be comfortable enough for the two of them and have room for anyone else Xavis wanted to bring back.

Fein starts the departure routines and deposits the lot-cat into the back cargo of the ship. It meows slightly in protest and he pats its ears, “Once we’re in hyperspace, lil bud, then you can climb back on my lap,” he looks over at Xaivs, “Ready?”

he is all too much limb and quick-step, hunched-shouldered existing, but for the time being, around fein - it almost feels like it could be enough. he holds the loth cat closer to him, smiles into fur and follows. 

“really? well - i mean, even if i can’t, it’s okay - i wouldn’t want to steal someone away from their home, after all. only if they’re in need of a new one, really. i think just being able to see them would be enough.” something just short of a beam, but still bright enough. strides are almost longer now, out of excitement, happy humming under breaths. 

he scurries into the shuttle, folds himself into the seat and gets comfortable, heart still racing - no matter how many times fein’s snuck him out, he still - still has that heart-thumping feeling, adrenaline, of being caught. call it worry. call it excitement. 

xavis laughs a little at the smaller loth-cat’s protest, grouping the other with the one already on his lap as fein buckles up, petting its head to calm it down. it purrs contentedly and xavis can’t help but to smile fondly at the small bundle of fur.

“ready.” he confirms, looking back up at fein. “should i be holding onto something - is this is a race with the stars, or are we just swimming alongside them tonight?” 

nniedra‌:

DATE & TIME: 1/15, 7PM   LOCATION: Training Rooms, the Temple TAG: @ecroixx & @feinkomo

“We’ll do that again—Fein, switch arms, and this is practice for you as well, remember your back. We’ll speak more on it during break,” Noa instructs, circling the pair as she observes them, voice clear, nothing she says is a suggestion. And she is Fein’s Master, but for now, the focus is on the friend he brought into their training. She welcomed Xavis too. Her leading the mission to Eadu, it goes unspoken that those behind her would not go unprepared. Afraid, perhaps, but if we wait until we are unafraid, then we will wait forever. But they can be ready, she can make sure they’re ready. 

The eye she watches him with is scrutinizing, but not judgmental. If another time, if a mission wasn’t tomorrow, there would be more patience. And after it is over, he can know again that she has all the time in the world to help them, to be ready. For now, the luxury is lost. “Xavis, I will ask you to fight as if you will not get to have Fein beside you tomorrow.” She’s telling him to give them more of a fight. They all know that’s possibly impossible. Take an army to get her away from their backs, their sides. But we train for the worst, it makes everything else seem easier when it happens. 

When Fein learned that Xavis was going to Eadu, he’d practically insisted they spend time training, preparing. Jedha had taught them all that the worst was not a just a possibility, but a probability, and he would not lose the first person he’d come to care about on Yavin to a stray saber or blaster fire.

He watches Noa, instinctually adjusting his stances at her words, flowing into the routine they’d come to find in their training over the last few weeks, but always keeping Xavis in his sights. He would train to cover Xavis’ weakness, watch him to know where he needed to be on Eadu to keep him safe - to make sure they both came home to their menagerie of beings in their room.

“Master,” Fein protests without thinking, “I can fight beside him. Its better for him to start off relying on me, is it not?” Better to have him rely than to stand alone, better to let him find comfort in the reliance than to land on enemy lines terrified and alone.

He knows now is not the time for questioning, but as he stands in their little practice ring, he can’t help but ask for as much detail as he can. He was too afraid to question on Jedha, too intimidated to clarify the things he should have known, and all three of them know where that left them.

Fein will not be the cause of another death for the rebellion. Not this mission.

it looks easy, even, how the other two move - in tandem, with grace, light-footed and sure. even as a student, fein is quick and sharp; holds an element of the grace that underlies noa’s every move. next to them, he is pitiful at best. 

he tries to hide how tired he is, body aching and mind berating. he wonders if it’s worth it if it’s that obvious.

when the two of them speak, he merely shuffles on the spot, white-knuckled with how tightly he grips at his own hands, nails digging into palms, feels it through the exhaustion that courses through bodies. 

“i can - well, i can try. see how it goes, right?” he offers, tries to keep that smile from slipping, make it something of a reassurance against fein’s words. knows the other means only well but still winces at how small it makes him feel, shoulders slumping. “it’s fine - i mean, i’ll only slow you down. it’s better you go at your pace so that you can improve instead of watching me play catch up.” 

he turns to smile at noa, bows his head a little. “i’ll work harder - sorry for taking up so much of your time. i promise - promise  i’ll try.”

Kal smiled as soon as he saw the small creatures in the the other’s hands. He didn’t that the animal was there, but he always had a soft spot for cute little creatures. He nodded his head, not saying anything at all, and walked over to take a seat across from Xavis. 

He sat in silence for a few moments, watching him and the tiny porg, and he leaned back on his hands, glancing up at the sky. This was certainly the last thing he had expected to encounter when walking through the farmlands, and it was certainly a nice surprise. 

Kal glanced up as he spoke again. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he said, scooting over a bit closer to him and holding his hands out. “I’m good with animals, or at least I like to think that.” He chuckled softly as the little animal came over to him and he held it in his hands, slowly petting it. “I grew up on a farm with a lot of animals, and I was kinda the one in charge of taking care of the animals.” 

he smiles softly, letting the other hold the small animal in his hands, speaking softly to the creature to soothe it into his touch. laughs a little when the porg squeals slightly, cooing lightly to ease it into the new stranger’s hands. 

“see, you’re a natural.” he grins, petting the porg happily. “where did you grow up, if you don’t mind me asking? what kind of animals did you have?” 

maybe he’s stepping over too many lines, but the boy is too excited to think much of it. “i didn’t grow up with much animals at all, to be honest with you - you might actually be more qualified to be the wildlife expert than me, to be honest with you.” 

DATE & TIME: 01/19, 1100H LOCATION: Yavin IV, rebel base, laboratory FOR: @ecroixx

It surprises her, how alive they all are. (She is not a part of that all, and she’s intent to keep it that way – but sometimes, those lines fade a little, and there is no one there to police her, except she herself.) To survive her higher Siblings and whatever Acolytes they took along is no small thing, and she’s felt unpredictable hints of simultaneous disbelief and euphoria at that amongst the Jedi.

So when she watches Xavis watch a few pieces of a lightsaber’s hilt, something about it is puzzling. For someone so comfortable with nature, she thinks he looks at the metal like it’s a rabid animal, liable to take his fingers or his hand, and even if she doesn’t know him to be consciously brave (yet), he made an impression of unflappability on her.

“What’s wrong? You get stuck?”

he smiles, laughs a little when he hears the girl’s voice, tries to brush off the unease with the crinkle of eyes around curved lips. it is almost sheepish, boyish, how he scratches the back of his head, if not for how intently he had been staring at the parts in front of him just moments before. 

boy is not that good of an actor and girl is not that easy to fool.

“no - well, a little bit, i guess? i don’t know, it just - it doesn’t feel... natural? right?” he tries, fumbling on his words. typical. 

hands do the same, afraid to touch the metal, afraid of what it makes him if he does.

“not sure if this is really fit for me - i’m really more of a fur kind of guy, you know?”

The shifting hands—Rishla had seen his father performing the motion once, years ago when she was still a Knight. She sees pieces of the both of them in Xavis, but so much of himself too. Apologies spill from his lips, over and over again. Her head tilts. Motion saying, you don’t need to apologize. You don’t need to apologize to me. 

“You don’t,” She tells him, “But certainly the other Padawans would be happy to see your face. It could help.” 

It’s his right to build a Jedi’s weapon. Unless, he doesn’t want to. 

But something about the way Xavis is holding himself, his fumbling, speaks more than what he’s actually saying.

Careful to avoid stepping on the tiny, feathered creatures running about the stone floors, she closes the space between them. Leaning against a pillar, the Woolamander still propped on her hip, she asks, “That isn’t what I heard. You faced the Inquisitors and their Acolytes and returned to tell the tale. Not many within the Rebellion’s ranks can say the same.” 

(Woman born and bred to rise to the occasion by her people, their people.) 

“So I ask you, what makes you think you don’t belong?”    

eyes cinch for a second, as if confused - there’s too much racing across minds to decide what exactly is the source for this acidic aftertaste left behind - perhaps a cumulation, even - but he swallows it, fixes smiles haphazardly to be something as close to normalcy as it can become.

they all know it is but a poor guise. there has always been shame in how he wasn’t a better liar. 

“maybe.” he says simply, eyes half-crinkled with a half-smile. “next time, then - we’ll see. i guess it doesn’t hurt to show some spirit.” 

any mask of careful regularity cracks at her words, eyes automatically falling onto hands, onto floors. heads bowed with embarrassment, hands knotting and unknotting, teeth breaking skin of lip. 

repeat it in heads: pity. pity. pity. nothing more, nothing less. don’t forget. 

“it was just luck.” he hates how words are too close to a whisper. hates how he feels too small, how he can’t look at her. “the others did more - i was - i was just there. nothing else.” 

he hesitates, perhaps for too long. knows that answers are half-tries at best, can only draw eyes up to shoulders. 

“Team.” Nimm echoes with a nod, offering a small and nervous smile that pairs easily with Xavis’s uneasy one. It wasn’t even a question. (She was afraid the hurricane winds howling just outside of the blaster doors would’ve blown him away.) She removes the seeing goggles from her eyes, lowering them so that they’re hanging around her neck. The slate gray poncho she’d been given is still dripping wet from the intense rain; if Nimm listens hard enough, she can still hear it pounding on the outside of the facility’s walls.

She glances side to side, the corridor arching off into a circle—left, or right? “Let’s start left.” The commlink wrapped around her wrist glows, highlighting the schematics Fulcrum had been able to provide them with. 

Xavis’s anxiety is rolling off of him in waves, mixing with her own. She bites down on the inside of her cheek. “You—you okay?” Asked while leaning closer, struggling to keep her eyes on him. (He’s a friend. Still, the motion of avoiding gazes is long-practiced.) 

“This feels… different from Jedha,” Spoken quietly in already quiet corridors, everything brightly-lit and pristine. They approach the first room, locked with a keycode. She interrupts herself to ask him, “Do you have one of the security spikes?” 

you have been to worse places, boy. he tries to remind himself of this, tries to remember the crevice of the basement he hid in for one too many hours - days - years - how he never left, even now. how someone’s head might be the worst place to be and how he’s lived in it ever since the world became a crueler thing than a boy raised on make-believe hope and dreams could handle.

the rain outside, no matter how threatening - it is still better than the silence. he will hold on to it, to her - life, or just signs of it. he’ll do his best to not let it become a clinging again.

xavis follows the smaller girl readily, steps matching hers and eyes already sweeping the area, careful not to miss corners - one job, he reminds himself. this is easy enough, right?

her voice startles him out of his concentration, jumping a little before trying to cover it with a sheepish grin.

“yeah, i - i’m fine.” a blatant lie. “it is, i - it’s too still in comparison to jedha. i’m not sure what i should be trying to get used to.” something closer to the truth.

he stops in his tracks, eyes the room and te lock. “i... i don’t think so - i’m sorry. we could - we could ask someone, or - do you?”

is the shaking just from the wind? he’ll say it is so, that hands are merely trembling from the cold air, from the ride, from anything but him - try and call himself a rebel and the word tastes too strange in his mouth; stranger still on his skin. he doesn’t know what to do with it other than to hold it in his hands, shaking. 

it doesn’t belong to him, this title. bodies reject it and won’t stop trembling. 

but he finds her easily, presence calming - close his eyes and they’re just sitting down for lunch, on dirt for cloud gazing, on beds for daydreaming - use the smaller girl as a grounding, try to take steps steady when he follows the team into the palace. 

remembers the mission, tries to breathe. smiles uneasily at her when they’re told to start looking. 

“team?” he says, as if there was ever a question of it. “i’ll look up and you’ll - well, you can take the lower ground. if we go around the space together we won’t have to come back again to double check for the areas we can’t quite see.” 

DATE & TIME: 1/17, 1500H   LOCATION: The Temple TAG: @ecroixx 

The Temple—a Sith monument created thousands of years before her—is peaceful compared to what she saw on Coruscant. (To think she knew that place as well as her own bones, as well as the veins that carry through to her stubborn heart. It’s polluted now. Something else is weathered away; you’ve stayed like a stone for so long, General, you know there is a price to pay for it.) 

The sounds of birds and various animals guides her through the Temple until she reaches one of the outlying courtyards, the stones cracked by thick vines, slowly being reclaimed by Yavin IV’s jungles. 

She stands at one of the entryways, hands folded behind her, eyebrow quirking as she surveys the mass collections of fauna. A nearby Woolamander parts from the others and slowly makes its way to her leg. Rishla looks down at it; it looks up at her. She tilts her head; it tilts back. Eventually, it wraps its arms around her leg and clambers up her side until she reaches around it with her arm, keeping it propped on her hip.

There’s no surprise at who she finds at the center of the menagerie. “Master Niedra told me you attended the mission to Eadu,” It’s obvious information. Rishla says it more as a way to alert Xavis that she’s here. 

What she reads from him: anxiety, indecisiveness. More—frenzy. She takes a few steps forward (the Woolamander places both hands on her scalp and begins to closely inspect her tattoos.) “Xavis, why haven’t you joined the others?”  

it safe here - soft sounds of life, leaves brushing cheek and water bubbling, animals rustling and fur wrapped around ankles in lazy passing; the occasional claw tracing arms and burning bright eyes. 

there is a familiarity, you see. there has always been a known fact - with kindness, even the most ferocious of creatures will yield, if only slightly. no malice and easier forgiveness. they are things only trying for a surviving, and boy cannot say he doesn’t understand. wishes he didn’t, still. 

he jumps slightly at the arrival of the woman - perhaps heard it coming, knows footsteps in the leaves too well to know when it is that of a human - flinches all the same at her words, perhaps out of habit. self-defense, when it becomes automatic to hurt first.

“i did.” he bites his lip and tries to hold shifting hands still. squeezes the body of feathers in his hands a touch too tightly and hears a squawk before quickly letting go, apologies already falling from lips. 

lets them linger, as if for her. as if he leaves them there, she’ll take them go.

he has no such luck. we all know this by now. 

“i - i didn’t think i had to.” lie. she can see right through him, these damn quiverings. try again. “i don’t think i need to.” better.

It would be easy to assume that Fein avoids the little room he shares with Xavis, with the amount of time he spends away from his bunk; but that assumption couldn’t be further from the truth. Fein loves the freedom that room affords him, the options it gives to sleep or not, to be there or be anywhere but. Xavis never takes it personally when Fein doesn’t come home at night, and always greets him with a smile and new discovered pet when he does.

This night was no different. Fein smiles slightly at the puddle of loth-cats currently occupying his puddle and wonders what the particularly fuzzy thing slumped half on his bed and half on the trunk that functioned as his dresser is exactly. He’s about to ask, when Xavis’ voice, faltering in a way that’s beyond his usual nerves, asks him something new.

“I hadn’t really planned on going anywhere,” Fein tells him as he slides his feet into his pilot’s jumpsuit and slips his X-Wing helmet under his arm. “But you’re always more than welcome to come along.”

He grins, holding the door open, “Hope you’re up for a little noise.”

are movements too slow? he shuffles slowly, as if unsure that he had heard the other right - though he knows well fein has yet to say no, knows that maybe the other is too nice to. sympathy or camaraderie, he’ll take it. 

he unpiles the various animals lounging on him away, sets them back on the bed in the space he’s leaving behind; carries a loth-cat with him and picks up another along the way. company, he thinks. 

“of course.” he smiles gratefully at him, nodding his thanks before slipping past the door and into the dimly-lit hallway. “here, for you - “ he hands fein one of the loth-cats, watches her curl into his arms while he cradles the other in his own. “ - for company. or a thanks for it, sort of. whichever one you prefer most.” 

he pads down the hall, slumps down to be closer to fein’s height; knows already how to match paces to shorter legs. it’s easy, almost. we could almost call it normalcy. 

“if you haven’t got any plans then we don’t have to go anywhere. nowhere is fine too.” he says simply, curve of lips sweet, if not for the fluttering. “we can always save everywhere for another time, no?” 

Against all odds, Xavis pets the animal, a complacent smile on his face. Between the two of them, Sorin would name himself as the warrior, but he still feels better now that Xavis’ lanky form stands between him and the rancor. Especially when the rancor—Jer? Truly?—doesn’t immediately rip off any of Xavis’ limbs. 

“You’ve been bitten by that thing?” Sorin says, and there’s a newfound respect for Xavis dawning in his expression. Sorin’s been sliced and shot and electrocuted, he’s felt the unwelcome intrusion of someone’s Force abilities turned against him, he’s run out of fuel and food and energy—but he’s never faced off against a rancor, and he’s certainly never had one bite him. 

Xavis is almost unfairly tall, but this beast is taller still, and yet Xavis is still calm. If anything, Xavis’ soft tone of voice and maternal coos towards the rancor would be nearly endearing if the animal in question wasn’t made of teeth and drool and claws.

Sorin shakes his head almost automatically when Xavis turns back to him. “No, that’s fine,” he says, tone wary. Xavis unleashes a barrage of words at Sorin, and it takes him a moment to catch up. Evidently, he’s too used to the silence of space by now. Used to being alone with his fake name on a ship full of smuggled goods. The Rebellion is many things, but quiet is not one of them. “I can say hello to him from here, really,” Sorin says, resisting the urge to take a step backwards. “I don’t, uh. I’m not too good with animals. Even the tookas on Coruscant used to scratch at me. You’ve got something I don’t, frankly.”

“hm? well, it was really more of a nibble than anything, really. they’re carnivorous sometimes, but not poisonous, so it’s all fines. besides, jer’s sorry - aren’t you, jer? hmm?” he speaks, turns back to the rancor, smiling at him fondly. “it was just an accident, hm? no hard feelings, nope, he’s a good boy. promise.” 

he beams at the creature before patting him away from sorin, turning back to the other fully. 

“maybe another time, then. everyone’s good with animals, really - you just don’t know it yet. it’s really just like making friends with anyone else, ‘cept some of them have fur and scales and feathers and you don’t.” he cocks his head slightly. “the most i’ve got that you don’t is maybe an extra foot of leg.” he laughs, eyes crinkling. 

he wipes his arms on a spare towel before nudging sorin lightly, grin widening. ruffles his hair like he would fur to one of his animals, almost coos at him. does a little, if only to annoy him. 

“come on, don’t be scared. tookas scratch everyone, it’s not like they have something against you. how about we start with something small, hm? how about that? we can start with whatever you like - what do you prefer? fur? feathers? maybe not scales, you didn’t seem too fond of jer, but it’s okay, he won’t take it personally.” 

He laughs with Xavis’ words, any of them, an easy sound, “Prove that sometime for me, yeah?” At the other drinking, and if it’s an invitation for a night, Mathias will wait for Xavis to decide. “And I wouldn’t speak so quickly anymore,” he saunters over, flipping the butter knife to be presented hilt first, for the other to take if he wants, all half a joke. Half. 

Xavis has had an easier life than him, than most of them. Matt might not stick around to compare it, won’t stick around to question which life makes someone weaker. The same way Nimm can’t remember the day the stars fell, the same way it makes her better than any of them, if you weren’t around for it at all, like Xavis, you were the better off. Look at Mathias’ smile, an easy thing, maybe almost mad, just as it is proud, just like that cocked brow. Think he could be comfortable in volcanoes. Think he’d be comfortable as a child facing that same diner scene he described. Those that don’t know how to spot blades, or teeth, are more comfortable around him too.

“Stay in a place like this and you might not have a choice about it,” it’s not a threat. It’s a warning. It’s a warning from a child that didn’t have the choice either. “You don’t get one once some big bad thinks you can lift a few rocks with your head.” Then, out of place now: "If someone might have a monkey lizard, you’re just gonna ask. Common sense, Ryom.“

he takes the knife, trembles a little. holds it without knowing what to do with it, fingers pressed along the shallow ridges of it. thinks it would be hard to kill someone with it, kill in general. thinks it would be hard to look at mathias in the eye if he thought about it too much. 

so he doesn’t. boy knows best the magic of ignorance. hold on to it, gripping too tight to handles of knives and swallows it. 

(is it easy? to be glassy-eyed, to force yourself to see things blind? does the truth choke you too much to say it out loud; gravity of its own that has you tied to a reality you’ve only ever been afloat in? does it scare you, this grounding?) 

“that’s why we have - soldiers. fighters. like you, i - don’t think i could be a line of defense for anything.” he laughs, more to himself. “i’m sure i’m only here because there’s too many good people who take pity on me. i couldn’t - “ 

it’s too long of a list, what he couldn’t - can’t do. 

“well - well what do you want to know about my monkey lizards? they’re real, yes. but - but you can’t borrow them or anything!” is he too defensive? well, they’re still teething and someone has to care for them. “they’re still babies, so... you can’t. sorry.”