#thiefwithoutfaith

Shoulders

Viktor's hands clap down on Jackal's shoulders, giving him a playful shake.  "We get real beds tonight, Kal."

"It hasn't been that long," Jackal huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.  He gives his shoulders a little shake but Viktor, bastard drunk that he is, is like a leech--easily sated, but he won't let go until he's satisfied.

Dream

"I don't know," Jackal croaks, his head a pendulum swinging in his hands.  "He's gone.  I don't know.  It's all... dark.  Smoke.  The trailer tire, it popped... They came out of the brush.  My hand--it scraped the ground when I fell.  It's all dark." 

Nadege's hands rest gently on his, fingers light and frost-tipped.  A heart of gold to match.  Ice and warmth, indecipherable.  Her comfort is silent and enveloping, unceasing like the night skies--her hands weaving between his, pulling them into her lap, leeches away the panic; her calm, steady breath helps to blow away the smoke that burns acrid between his eyes when he thinks too hard.

That darkness is like a dream--the more he stretches to pull it back and remember what hid inside, the quicker it slips away.

Ocean

The ocean stretches before them, waves crashing, collapsing, consuming each other.  Bloodthirsty bastards, storming up and collapsing into themselves, stretching themselves too thin in their ambition.

"I like it here," Peni rasps.  "Sameness is peaceful."

"You think you're like the ocean?"

She turns to look at him.  "Of course I am. I am infinite... and misunderstood."

Feather

"Rhody--what's in your hair?"

"I found a feather!"  He bounces on the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth.  Onyx watches as Amaryllis tuts and plucks the feather from her brother's hair, urging him closer and combing through his hair with her fingers.  Rhody keeps talking, gesturing wildly with his hands in nonsensical addition as his high voice keeps spitting out.  Sometimes he turns over his shoulders, despite Amaryllis's gentle protests, to look at Onyx.  He manages to lamely twist his fingers to look like a bird, giving its wings a pathetic flap, which makes Rhody burst into giggles and bounce higher on his toes.

Heat

The heat of Viktor's glare--at least, that's what the quiet one keeps calling him--is searing, trying to make him catch flame from across the table.  The attempt is commendable.  It's a formidable look, dark eyes swimming, like the dark depths of the ocean; easy to fall into, impossible to escape from.  Oswald looks away, forming a polite smile as he brushes off the front of his scubs.  "This has been fantastic, but I think I will be on my way."