"I know it may not feel like it," low tones providing the necessary cover for potentially intimate consolation as indigo hues silently search the other's features. "but you're not alone. If I have anything to say about it --- if things continue to unfold the way they have been --- you never will be. We're more than a team. We're a family."
“you?” lotor says this with a tiredness pressing into the lines of his mouth & slight slag to his shoulders, curious, but a film to his eyes; hard to grasp, hard to understand – a kindness born in the form of someone unfamiliar. “… family?” he knew the concept distantly in logs, notes, & books, knew the closeness from observation, knew it partially in trust he allowed but did not accept – knew it in the paladins with each other, but not the paladins with him. knew it in turned backs & clipped words, in sharp twinges of pain, in things ripped from him over & over until his claws twitched with distrust, with calculation, fangs bared. not alone, but he was always alone – he allowed people to trust him, but he did not trust them – he was & is an extended hand with closed eyes – an order, a servant, duty, trust in sufficiency not connection. ah, how many times had he lost everything?
it is a tremble, underneath the carefully smooth mask of his indifference that makes all the difference, cracks & cracking further. “believe me, paladin, it is not so simple as that.” there’s heat in his mouth, lining his words, anger pale against the pain. “thank you, but i –” he is a creature of faults, of mistakes, of blood staining the tips of his claws and seeping into his skin. no, they were hardly a team, hardly a family, & once he was not enough for them, not good enough for them, they would turn their back on him too. (again). his mind clicks, unkind. click, click. “it is hard to believe that,” he says, & it is all he relinquishes.
