#constantwar

with all the back and forth,  she has to wonder whether or not her words are genuine.  she never thought she would see her again,  and she had found a way to accept that  ----  but now that she was here,  back in her life somehow,  she doesn’t know how to feel about anything.  she doesn’t know what to think,  what to trust,  what to expect  ----  and it’s getting under her skin.  ❝  getting used to it,  ❞   she mumbles,  arms crossing over her chest as she looks back up to her.  she’s tired of the act of deflection from her  ----  ironic,  since she’s usually so good at it herself.  ❝   -----  so?  what about now?   ❞

but he doesn’t, he can’t, a rigidity like rigor mortis tensing his shoulders at the blinding red thought:  i can’t.

along the cobblestone roads of new rome, purple-hued lares float; in pinched expressions, felix can see disapproval, but there’s nothing hateful spat at them. demigods give a cursory bow of their head in acknowledgement; some with equally strained features, though some with lighter, breezy smiles, the kind you can’t really fake. felix drops his hand, attention shifting from his wrist to hers, fingers curling together rather naturally. he gives a comforting squeeze, moreso for his sake than hers.

disdain is circumvented by necessity,  but mistrust still burns like his fire in his dark eyes,  as harsh and deadly.  across fingers,  a minuscule flame dances,  too inattentive to be threatening;  something like a compulsion,  its presence offering comfort.    ‘    i don’t wanna be here,  dude,    ’    he starts;  it’s dull,  befitting his admission.  franco’s hand curls into a fist,  the flame stretching to surround it---  it burns bright for a beat before extinguishing itself,  reduced to curls of smoke.    ‘    but all my fr-riends are preoccupied,  so.    ’    “friends” is synonymous with siblings,  each of whom are busied with prior engagements;  there’s a sour look in his eyes at the thought.

four’s teeth are gritted so tightly, he fears they might crack. he’s glad tris is at the rear of the train, watching from the open doors the city below. he doesn’t want to remember the gun to her head. instead, his attention directs to ace - unwillingly, he pictures him in the training center, snickering with eric. four’s jaw clenches even more, somehow, an ache springing to life in the hinge.