Ah, they're only to be purposed when in a conjugal mood?
( There's easy, and there's easier. He smiles up at his husband, the warmth of an anchoring hand and the neck that won't bend, even for what one of them preferred, and the other man still enjoyed.
He strokes his thumb against the side of Lan Zhan's neck. A cost, to ask, a consideration, to listen. )
Thank you.
( The soft exhalation that stills even the rabbit in his lap, joined in that moment between heartbeats by the second rabbit, by a fullness of the heart in this carved out, chill earth
Then the shadows blush beneath his eyes, and he answers in what way he can. )
The awareness isn't so different from resentful energies been home, but her mind. There's a will, a wholeness there, that resentful energies never have. They're simplified in wants, caught up in why they couldn't move from the land of the living towards the river that flows through the afterlife and into the next. She's there, and aware, and I want no claim to that, so I don't. Beyond protect, because she, like the true dead turned chattel in the army outside, has no defense against a stronger necromantic power.
( He pauses, brow furrowing, hand on the rabbits stroking absently over their fur. )
Unlike the mermaids, who felt as inhuman as they were. She feels... death touched, not death constructed. Compelled? Retaining herself without the pain and horror those witches suffered, before I granted their final release in Taravast.
( She feels different from Hatisse, too, but he doesn't care to bring up their own undead witch under Wrath's reluctant hand in this fragile moment. Another time, then. )
If I had more experience, if this was my work and not my hope to keep us from being tied to and under the sway of whomever Master Scorpion would give our dead to so they might be forced to live again, she might be more completely her own. I don't know how to properly tie off that bond, only tamp down, not ask or order. Because she's not like the... the dead constructs with little mind or forced inhabitation by a spirit not native to them. It's all her in there.
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Ah, they're only to be purposed when in a conjugal mood?
( There's easy, and there's easier. He smiles up at his husband, the warmth of an anchoring hand and the neck that won't bend, even for what one of them preferred, and the other man still enjoyed.
He strokes his thumb against the side of Lan Zhan's neck. A cost, to ask, a consideration, to listen. )
Thank you.
( The soft exhalation that stills even the rabbit in his lap, joined in that moment between heartbeats by the second rabbit, by a fullness of the heart in this carved out, chill earth
Then the shadows blush beneath his eyes, and he answers in what way he can. )
The awareness isn't so different from resentful energies been home, but her mind. There's a will, a wholeness there, that resentful energies never have. They're simplified in wants, caught up in why they couldn't move from the land of the living towards the river that flows through the afterlife and into the next. She's there, and aware, and I want no claim to that, so I don't. Beyond protect, because she, like the true dead turned chattel in the army outside, has no defense against a stronger necromantic power.
( He pauses, brow furrowing, hand on the rabbits stroking absently over their fur. )
Unlike the mermaids, who felt as inhuman as they were. She feels... death touched, not death constructed. Compelled? Retaining herself without the pain and horror those witches suffered, before I granted their final release in Taravast.
( She feels different from Hatisse, too, but he doesn't care to bring up their own undead witch under Wrath's reluctant hand in this fragile moment. Another time, then. )
If I had more experience, if this was my work and not my hope to keep us from being tied to and under the sway of whomever Master Scorpion would give our dead to so they might be forced to live again, she might be more completely her own. I don't know how to properly tie off that bond, only tamp down, not ask or order. Because she's not like the... the dead constructs with little mind or forced inhabitation by a spirit not native to them. It's all her in there.