it is not his place to judge. let us not forget: this is achilles. soldier of soldiers, patron saint of winning wars and losing tempers. this is a punk dressed in a spiked jacket and torn jeans, the reincarnation of all the world's violence. this is a threat.
he gives the other a once-over. his eyes trail down the other man's figure then skirt 'round the silhouette, then fix not on the eyes but on the bridge of the nose. on what new soldiers call the button ( put a godly bullet there, and they're dead before they hit the ground ). it's a good way to avoid eye-contact. close enough that the average person might even mistake it as such.
ā nice arm, ā begins the disaster pretending to be a person. ā bet it hurts like hell to get hit by it. ā a pause, then a question - ā ever get phantom pains under that thing while you have it on ?? ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā inĀ hisĀ lifeĀ thereĀ wasĀ manyĀ whoĀ wouldĀ surpassĀ him:Ā Ā thoseĀ withĀ stormsĀ heldĀ inĀ theirĀ fingertips,Ā thoseĀ withĀ theĀ powerĀ ofĀ darkness,Ā andĀ thoseĀ willĀ theĀ weightĀ ofĀ rageĀ hangingĀ aroundĀ theirĀ necks.Ā jamesĀ wasĀ intimatelyĀ familiarĀ withĀ thatĀ typeĀ ofĀ noose,Ā heĀ woreĀ itĀ everyĀ day.Ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā headĀ inclinedĀ slightlyĀ asĀ theĀ oppositeĀ tookĀ himĀ in,Ā eventuallyĀ settlingĀ forĀ peeringĀ rightĀ throughĀ him.Ā inĀ poolsĀ ofĀ emeraldĀ heĀ sawĀ curiosityĀ andĀ theĀ eternalĀ youthĀ ofĀ aĀ manĀ stuckĀ inĀ time.Ā agoniesĀ shared,Ā evenĀ amongĀ strangers.
Ā Ā Ā anĀ attemptĀ atĀ informality,Ā heĀ lookedĀ downĀ toĀ theĀ sparklingĀ silverĀ ofĀ hisĀ arm.Ā illusivelyĀ beautifulĀ inĀ moonlight,Ā theĀ platesĀ shiftedĀ asĀ heĀ turnedĀ palmĀ upward,Ā examiningĀ itĀ withĀ theĀ airĀ ofĀ aĀ manĀ whoĀ oftenĀ preferredĀ toĀ pretendĀ itĀ didĀ notĀ exist.Ā āĀ Ā iĀ betĀ itĀ does.Ā Ā āĀ
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā aĀ low,Ā distantĀ laughĀ andĀ heĀ turnedĀ toĀ findĀ theĀ gazeĀ ofĀ theĀ blondeĀ onceĀ moreāĀ theĀ figureĀ wasĀ statuesqueĀ inĀ hisĀ defiance,Ā aĀ qualityĀ jamesĀ couldĀ admire.Ā āĀ Ā itĀ hurtsĀ constantly.Ā Ā āĀ there is humanity beneath the metal. theĀ smileĀ thatĀ cutsĀ acrossĀ hisĀ lipsĀ isĀ likeĀ aĀ crackĀ slicingĀ throughĀ glass,Ā itĀ doesĀ veryĀ littleĀ toĀ impactĀ theĀ restĀ ofĀ hisĀ weatheredĀ features.Ā theĀ metalĀ arm:Ā anĀ eternalĀ engravingĀ dedicatedĀ toĀ theĀ handsĀ thatĀ hadĀ takenĀ himĀ apartĀ countlessĀ timesĀ andĀ doneĀ veryĀ littleĀ toĀ preventĀ pain.Ā theĀ agonyĀ ofĀ theirĀ invasionĀ wasĀ aĀ purgatoryĀ createdĀ toĀ atoneĀ forĀ theĀ riversĀ ofĀ bloodĀ thatĀ onceĀ paintedĀ it.Ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āĀ Ā haveĀ youĀ comeĀ toĀ inquireĀ onlyĀ ofĀ myĀ phantomĀ pains?Ā Ā āĀ