#herfights

Hermes glances up from his paperwork and offers a smile -- a wobbly, uncertain one, but a smile nonetheless -- returning the quill pen to its inkwell.  “Ah -- not at all. Forgive me. I did not hear you come in.”  At his spot at the desk, his hands go to lace together. A thumb brushes overtop the other. A nervous habit Meteion had picked up on.

“No doubt you are wondering what I am doing,”  he gestures broadly to the paperwork strewn out in front of him.  “After a concept’s...retirement,”  the word is crumpled / cast aside / just as the creature from this morning was,  “it is my job to fill out the necessary paperwork for the Bureau so they might keep it in mind when approving similar concepts in the future. To be honest, it is not a part of the job that I enjoy much... so any distraction is a welcome one.”

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“You are aware you do not have to come to see me here.” The words were spoken with a small laugh. Bundled up as he was, it was clear that Alphinaud had not yet fully acclimated to the cold in Garlemald; his cheeks and the tips of his ears were a rosy red, and when he wasn’t trying to make some gesture or gesticulation the elezen could be found slowly curling into himself, hands twisting at his wrists as he pulled his arms tighter around himself. 

Normally his days weren’t spent out in the freezing cold, though true warmth wasn’t really felt until it was nightfall and he could retire to the rooms that had been offered to both himself and Alisaie. Currently, though, an attack from some of the local wildlife on the workers trying to repair the cerulean pipeline had him out, both to offer aid to the injured and to fend off further attacks. Alisaie had already run off in chase, leaving him as the sole guard. 

At least, that was until Anwen had arrived. 

That sharp twinge of guilt still rung its chorus within the stirs of his chest, and in that moment he scarcely found the courage to meet her eyes, to be looked at and perceived as a window laid bare in humiliation and remorse. Still, it read plainly all over him  — the meek hunch of his back, his still warm with flesh hand wringing out the crystal in his other wrist, his ears now freely perched were limp. The Exar-- G’raha Tia, read like an open book.

He sighs the worry and feels that weight turn to air and he’s convinced it alleviates him, even if nothing had really changed. It was how pained she looked when his failed plan left him beaten and battered, alive, his presentation of self-sacrifice all for naught and now he’s left with the consequence and the stinging memory of her distress. He blinks the image away and finally clears his throat of the boulder that lodged his words from coming free.

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      SOFT TAIL INTERTWINES ALONG THE RIDGES OF HERS — a closeness sought for, obtained && not wanting to part. oh, but how ever could they dare part their soulmate ? a harsh && harrowing journey they had made it through, their souls intertwined the same as their hands, as their tails as they sit amongst the scenery in old sharlayan at journey’s end. 

       it is a comfort earned, the sight && scent of the sea, the beauty all around them saved now. && through it all they earn their time together alone, time to take in each other so fully without the impending doom of every moment. she is worth the time to take, she is worth time slowing to inundate her with the love she deserves && that is what j’isu intends to do.