[ part of her wants to protest that's the point. her dullness, once the gilded shine of her powers wears off. but takeshi had never known her before. before, when she had been as quiet and overlooked as a mouse. when escaping notice had been less dangerous than drawing attention to the shape of her face or her mother's heritage, feared and distrusted on sight. she can't imagine the first army had looked at her differently, either: the half-shu girl cloaked in mud and dirt, scuttling through the camp like vermin they had learned to tolerate.
or had simply enjoyed kicking, at other times.
still, despite how she wants to argue otherwise, something floats in her chest. some stupidly elated bubble, to hear he doesn't look down at her and see her as drab and dreary, as unappealing and unwanted as a somberly gray sky. it dulls the edges of her (pretend) offense, a wrinkle to her twitching nose plucked there by his playful fingers. a huff leaves her and gusts over his cheek, though it sounds suspiciously like a laugh at her own expense.
after all, those aren't the worst things she's ever been called. ]
Yeah? Well, you're — [ she punctuates it with a tug on his ear, as if ensuring he hears her fully. a tap against his cheek, and then she's reaching to tug open the front of the book he's pulled away, frowning when she finds it to be a self-help guide, neatly blaring its title at them: F*CK NO!: HOW TO STOP SAYING YES WHEN YOU CAN’T, YOU SHOULDN’T, OR YOU JUST DON’T WANT TO. ] — One of those dark, brooding poetry books. The absolutely miserable ones you read on rainy days.
[ her voice lowers, a mockingly dramatic reciting of ravkan prose. ]
Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.” But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
no subject
or had simply enjoyed kicking, at other times.
still, despite how she wants to argue otherwise, something floats in her chest. some stupidly elated bubble, to hear he doesn't look down at her and see her as drab and dreary, as unappealing and unwanted as a somberly gray sky. it dulls the edges of her (pretend) offense, a wrinkle to her twitching nose plucked there by his playful fingers. a huff leaves her and gusts over his cheek, though it sounds suspiciously like a laugh at her own expense.
after all, those aren't the worst things she's ever been called. ]
Yeah? Well, you're — [ she punctuates it with a tug on his ear, as if ensuring he hears her fully. a tap against his cheek, and then she's reaching to tug open the front of the book he's pulled away, frowning when she finds it to be a self-help guide, neatly blaring its title at them: F*CK NO!: HOW TO STOP SAYING YES WHEN YOU CAN’T, YOU SHOULDN’T, OR YOU JUST DON’T WANT TO. ] — One of those dark, brooding poetry books. The absolutely miserable ones you read on rainy days.
[ her voice lowers, a mockingly dramatic reciting of ravkan prose. ]
Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.” But I say unto you, they are inseparable.