[ Maybe, once, he'd have thought the same thing β that not making too much of a mark might make it easier to leave. But as he looks down the paths set out before him, that particular lead disappears into darkness. There's no leaving for him, not really. Justβ a more permanent end. (Only Jinx knows that. He hasn't brought it up with anyone else, hasn't made any allusions toward his death, but it hangs like an anchor from his neck, turning this place not just into a prison but a final lease on life.)
As Shadowheart sits, Silco picks out a garter, fingers running over the little bow that serves as its focal point. Her words don't stop him cold β though his ear strains after the whisper-silk of her voice β but they're a call back to earth, back to something warm and vital after the glance he'd spared toward the cold of death. ]
How funny, [ he says, deliberately lightly, as he turns back toward her. He doesn't move quickly, per se, but he moves without hesitation, dropping to one knee (demanded, given the context β it'd be more ungainly for him to try this any other way, craning down in some futile attempt to preserve his dignity) in front of her, the garter clip coming loose in his hand.
His touch is a little more certain this time β has to be, when putting on something so snug in fit β looping the garter around her thigh, making sure he's not pinching her skin as he pulls it closed.
Then, catching her gaze as he completes the thought: ] I thought of you, too.
[ But he doesn't stay on his knee for long, instead rising to his feet and casting a nod toward the nearest mirror. ]
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As Shadowheart sits, Silco picks out a garter, fingers running over the little bow that serves as its focal point. Her words don't stop him cold β though his ear strains after the whisper-silk of her voice β but they're a call back to earth, back to something warm and vital after the glance he'd spared toward the cold of death. ]
How funny, [ he says, deliberately lightly, as he turns back toward her. He doesn't move quickly, per se, but he moves without hesitation, dropping to one knee (demanded, given the context β it'd be more ungainly for him to try this any other way, craning down in some futile attempt to preserve his dignity) in front of her, the garter clip coming loose in his hand.
His touch is a little more certain this time β has to be, when putting on something so snug in fit β looping the garter around her thigh, making sure he's not pinching her skin as he pulls it closed.
Then, catching her gaze as he completes the thought: ] I thought of you, too.
[ But he doesn't stay on his knee for long, instead rising to his feet and casting a nod toward the nearest mirror. ]
Well? What do you think?