#hopedancing

       his knee is tarnished to the point where it barely even hurts anymore . panic has lodged itself in his throat , sticky and ice cold in his chest . if he could just go one fight without looking death in the eye he’d be satisfied - just one , that is all he is asking . one altercation that doesn’t end with him tethering on the edge of conciousness . unrealistic , of course , because by some joke of the gods he’s apparently a turkey - shoot on legs . or , well , concidering his inury that’d be in singular at the moment . he’s about to say something stupid along the lines of ‘leave me’ or ‘hurry, you can still make it’ , both of which would be a waste of breath given that joy doesn’t exactly have a track record of leaving people behind . they’re a good person like that , which is why he doesn’t say anything , even though the words are right there on his tongue .          he is limping , and absolutely useless . a rogue isn’t much when their agility is taken out of the equation ,  especially not one with a skillset as narrowly niched as his . in short , there’s little he can contribute to the fight other than desperately attempt to get out of it before he’s rendered unconcious . joy appears at his side so suddenly he nearly flinches at the flurry of motion , their words only just registering before he’s lifted off the ground . relief washes over him as the strain of his weight is taken off his leg , momentarily clearing his mind of the pain induced haze enough to squawk a grateful ‘ thank you ‘ as joy makes their escape . 

it still feels good to hear the same type of sentence about the group she’s part of, though. it’s satisfying, it’s gratifying.  she knows this type of thing can be said about anyone. it can be said without the meaning behind it but she still appreciates it. it feels good, to be working towards something with others. and to have that recognized. it’s a good connection, that she values it immensely. “that’s a great way to put it.” her smile carries into the tilt marring her voice.

THANK YOU for putting up with my bullshit!! ; ; *smooches ur cheek* 

          ‘ ribs, rippen, ribs, please - ‘ rushed words uttered in a frenzy, as if that isn’t exactly why they came for him. he clings to the first available piece of fabric on their person anyways, trying to pull them closer. and while his perfect memory knows exactly how many times they’ve saved him in the past, something in the back of his mind still wonders how dead he’d be if he didn’t have them around at this point. 

     Which part was she referring to, exactly? The world may never know. Either way, it was true.   

             there  is  a  wonderful  familiarity  in  being  surrounded  by  the  low  light  of  a  near empty library ,  nestled in the quiet murmur of old wood complaining into the silence . they had arrived at the records at the break of dawn , the archivist greeting them at the door with the touch of suspicion in her aged gaze . it hadn’t stayed for long , bastion had trusted her to be too old to keep up with city gossip , or at least too old to care . he had been right , and they’d been given a back room to utilize to their heart’s content . occasionally , the heavy oak door would creak open and a cart of more books , more delicate scrolls depicting a world he doesn’t recognize , would wordlessly be wheeled in . hours pass and they work together in silence , peering through years and years of maps and tales from all over the world , a blind search but still their best bet .      bastion could not tell when he fell asleep , probably at some point while flipping through a book of wild stories from a travelling bard from some hundred years ago , only realizing his drowsiness after he’s startled awake by the sound of squeaky wheels once again entering the room . sleep clings to him like a warm embrace , gaze foggy as his eyes struggle to stay open despite the pull of heavy lids .      momentarily disoriented , he looks around , and in the cover of darkness a smile spreads across his face at the sight of joy curled up in their seat , knees pulled high and a lock of hair swinging with the soft rhythm of their breath . they’re fast asleep , and bastion sees no reason to wake them up . instead , he pulls his seat closer , walking cautiously on the tip of his toes mindful of the creaky floors . when their seats are close , side by side , he soundlessly sinks back into the comfortable cushions . he can’t remember last time he had this , the gentle presence of company through the night . he gives the half - elf one last glance , a gentle motion with his hand moving the stray lock of hair from their face as his tail dexteriously moves his discarded coat to lay across the both of them . ‘ sleep well , ‘ he mouths , scared to break the moment with his voice that is too often too loud , ‘ sweet dreams . ‘