Private Everyone's A Critic

[Petra Darthinian]

"There's a saying I was raised with. The hateful who is ruled by your friend, serves the friendship despite itself."

Petra took a moment to blink a thoughtful expression at Valborast, pleased by the meaning of it—the words were noble even, but there was a part of her that absently wondered at the hate he must have been raised with to warrant such a sentiment, and how it shaped the hard man in front of her.

She huffed a laugh as she accepted the bottle back, taking a generous swig. The taste of black currant mixed with the lingering of honeyed smoke at the back of her throat.

“Well—yes and no.” She licked the wine from the corner of her mouth. “How hard is it for you to keep parts of yourself separate from the rest?”

She paused, lips pursing faintly before the next thought came, "I've never really had to explain this before. And while I know it must be a little strange to understand, it feels even more so to try and explain when I just kind of know...? Especially since Norvyk and I are so indelibly bonded. And because of that, we're always with each other." Her talons idly tapped against the wine bottle. "But from what I've gathered these past couple of years, distance doesn't really seem to be an issue? Although we each are capable, if we concentrate, of pushing the other out. At least for a time, it's rather exhausting trying to pick out and keep the entirety of his consciousness out of my own. It's definitely easier for him to give me privacy and space than the other way around."

Another pull of wine. A buzzing had begun beneath her skin, soft and pleasant. The familiar warm presence in her chest, her bond with Norvyk, thrummed in kind— the way a campfire heralds the long stretch of night. She scoffed inwardly at herself. Hells, she was getting sentimental.

The elf glanced sidelong, smile curling faintly and with no small amount of fondness. “It might not be ideal for most. But I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

The expression she turned to Valborast then was softened beyond her usual guard. A rare honesty glinting behind the gold coins of her eyes, brow touched with something wistful. “For no matter what happens… I never have to feel alone again. We’ll always have each other. And I think... that was worth any price I had to pay."

@Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast did stay silent, allowing the silence mark that he had indeed listened. No quick word to summarise, no quick wit to seal it with his remark upon. Even the cigarette within his finger remained still, the embers did simmer with it's dancing ribbon.

Pitter patter that showed hint of slowing, still loud in the ebbing crashing. The hope of pavement to maintain it's rivers flowing away by want of more from sky.

A small slide of heel against the dry ground, no change in posture, more made for the sound and sensation of the grinding than to shift himself.

Words emerged, hands still, framed in the thin banner of his smoke, words issued as if they were worlds apart in their realised wants, yet still able to see the other's horizon in their own place.

"May you own the bonds that become yourself."

A diligent hand did take smoke within, held and gripped by lung, the tobacco did snap in the sharp call to consumption, released slow in thin jet. An assault of luxury, as if reminding himself of what it was to spend so much within a single breath.

"May your decision to engage in symbiosis with the mysterious remain vintage. And should it turn to vinegar, I am here should you need, having shattered and replaced cellars of it myself. Though perish the thought of setting to waste good things."

Another inhalation, slow, enjoyable, with the proper timing. An exhalation through the nose, further words tempting to say, but nothing more emerged but smoke, consignment of his further comment helped along by the favourable mood.

@Petra Darthinian