#mihnerva

@mihnerva sent: “don’t just stand there, looking at me.”

"I don't think you understand how this works," he said, a snarl hide behind a smile, "but I call the shots around here. Okay? Not you. Me. You don't get to tell me to do anything."

He stepped forward. His hands were against his back, folded, shoulders pushed back and chest out: puffed up, like a territorial bird. Blue eyes peered down at the stranger, the woman, the one with the smart mouth.

"You just show up out of nowhere, no explanation and no invitation, and expect me to fucking kowtow to you?"

A sinister grin. Leather squeaked as he raised a hand from his back to point a single finger in the air as if to say no, nuh uh, not like that. The gap between them gets closer. Intimidation usually works for him, and there aren't many other cards in his deck.

                                        ❛   i   am   ready   to   try   again   ,   if   you   are   ?   ?   ?   ❜

it is a comorbidity of danger  —  their two figures in the half-dark of the throne room  —  this camaraderie of theirs reeks of calamity;    imagine an hourglass,    flipped,    foretelling destruction.       in the wake of that,    he thinks it’s so bizarre a thing  -  this dialogue  -  the act of engaging with her in this conversation here,    now,    neither nourished by the adrenaline of affray  —  nor stained red under a blood moon’s metaphor of massacre  —  not on the battlefield,    over a path paved of cadaver  —  this small talk that seeps to fill the space between the cracks of war,    where a moment’s peace is prolonged through light years,    does not suit him.    it does not suit her either.    they’re like weapons made idle.    he doesn’t know what to do with this.      (  @mihnerva​​​​​​​​ said :    let me tell you what you have told me,    speaking plain:    you could have killed me,    but didn’t.  )     the conviction in her tone first irritates him,    snapping his thoughts like twigs,    attention forcibly rooted back to existence.    it feels like an accusation,    something she can hold over him.    a gloved hand,    where it’s laid over the saber’s hilt on his belt  —  shakes  —  then stills  —  and then ren is looking to her.    the mask seems almost unnecessary for such occasion.   he doesn’t know what to do with that either.   

@mihnerva: "happy birthday! here's to surviving another year." 🎉🍻

Just barely in this standard year, Eron had wanted to say, but that'd put a damper on the cheerful mood everyone was in. His lips tugged into a smile, wholly and genuinely appreciating the gesture from Minerva. Half-full glass of pale amber liquid raised in the air, he added to her words, "And more years to come for both of us, I'm sure."

@mihnerva asked; ❝  i’m not a hero.  i can just do things and sometimes i wish i couldn’t.  ❞

Glancing over as the other spoke, since when did Gemma look like a therapist? Let alone someone who cared? Everyone had their problems, and it was not up to Gemma to fix them, even if she was working on becoming ‘better.’ Sighing, she glanced back to her drink. One Gemma desperately needed for hours. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she hissed a little as it found a cut that had only started to heal. ‘Shit.’ After letting the pain subside, she downed a gulp, letting it warm her from the inside out. What did the other want her to say? ‘Oh, but you are a hero? Don’t you see how great and how much of a change you make?’ If that was the case, then they came to the wrong woman. There were no such things as heroes. You did what you did because it was right either for you or a larger group but not for everyone. Gemma learned that the hard way. The military tells you that you are a hero. However, what they don’t say… Is only if you are fighting for their side.