He would've been exposed, if he did, and he would have lost you. [ You can't cover up dead, after all, and the blood magic practiced by the Kindred is an imperfect mask for it at best—it never lasted for long before needing to be fed again. Paloma, despite her too-human want to be wanted, would have surely noticed something were amiss if she and Carlos lingered in more than movie-poster kisses, their silhouette cast into artful shadow by the fixtures of light overhead. A fierce hatred for the Kindred quite nearly burns through the link of their Bond at the sight (stifled and blocked off in the instant it teems in his chest, because Paloma needs no further reason to press her lips and constrict her grip upon Asura's hand), because this is the reason why Asura fights. This is why he accepted Summer's damn diadem and the length of chain which came along with it: to allow for humans to live, infringed upon by no one. No undead charlatan and no True Fae nightmare. ] Drinking enough blood to sustain the blush of life isn't easy, and this Ginger...
[ Who had signed up for a drawing class. Who took time to woo and court a human. Who read as someone absent to any duties toward Clan and Prince. ]
He seems like a lone wolf, without much of anyone to keep him in check or to assist with landing that kind of meal on the regular.
[ And more and more, this story which Paloma's just begun to illustrate which such finesse and nuance that Asura can hardly believe that this is her first time commanding the skeins of a dreamscape, starts to veer toward an ending (and beginning) which no human deserves, least of all Paloma. Paloma, who still can't see that none of this is her fault. ]
Is he— [ It's a difficult question to pose, one he's purposely chosen to avoid out of respect for the sole exception to Asura's revulsion toward Kindred-kind. Even before the dream, they'd skirted past this mention many times, because even if the pain's old, being ripped away from who and what you were before is a wound which doesn't go away. It never heals. And Asura, he knows this for himself. ] —responsible for embracing you, Paloma?
[ Responsible, he says. Because Paloma is not. It's his turn, now, to tighten his hold upon the link of their hands, talons grazing just so against her skin in a unspoken reminder that he is here; that his body is that of a weapon. He can be used in any way she needs him to be (that is his choice, his promise to her). ]
no subject
[ Who had signed up for a drawing class. Who took time to woo and court a human. Who read as someone absent to any duties toward Clan and Prince. ]
He seems like a lone wolf, without much of anyone to keep him in check or to assist with landing that kind of meal on the regular.
[ And more and more, this story which Paloma's just begun to illustrate which such finesse and nuance that Asura can hardly believe that this is her first time commanding the skeins of a dreamscape, starts to veer toward an ending (and beginning) which no human deserves, least of all Paloma. Paloma, who still can't see that none of this is her fault. ]
Is he— [ It's a difficult question to pose, one he's purposely chosen to avoid out of respect for the sole exception to Asura's revulsion toward Kindred-kind. Even before the dream, they'd skirted past this mention many times, because even if the pain's old, being ripped away from who and what you were before is a wound which doesn't go away. It never heals. And Asura, he knows this for himself. ] —responsible for embracing you, Paloma?
[ Responsible, he says. Because Paloma is not. It's his turn, now, to tighten his hold upon the link of their hands, talons grazing just so against her skin in a unspoken reminder that he is here; that his body is that of a weapon. He can be used in any way she needs him to be (that is his choice, his promise to her). ]