Finally her song of a voice flew into his ears further ushering in a sense of peace within him as she addressed him by the nickname she wanted for him. A smile escaped his lips even though the mental stresses that had been brought on earlier still lingered in his mind. The clockwork of cobwebs, past memories and the storms that swirled around in his head almost always could make him irritable, cranky and not at all unbearable to be around. But as she forced him to sit and he reluctantly did, not feeling must like resisting her touch he sat and noticed her attire. She was fumbling around with his sword and he honestly didn’t care much as his eyes enjoyed the sight of it, mixed with her red top and blue jeans. Saluce was never much for wearing clothing, fur for him was enough but at least she had picked something nice for his eyes to gaze upon. Her questions though where almost shrugged off not wanting to re-live the past but if this where to continue maybe she should know a little more about him… at least if he truly was honest with himself for once, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let himself settle down.
Scooting closer to her, letting his hands reach out and take the sword from her hands he sat it down nearby but soon his hands returned to hers, thumbs softly running over her soft velvety fur. “Such a Weapon is not meant for such soft hands Maîtresse Sombre.” A smile crept across his lips but only last for a moment “I meant to start with some regular training but my mind wandered. You see dear Layla I am no honorable Saint, no Knight in shining armor. I was and still am a Habinger of Death, My trade was and is one of bloodshed. The movements you observed where ones of a battle I recalled. One that in the end tore my soul apart. Never had I ever taken so much life, but it wasn’t the volume that haunts me. It’s the eyes of one recipient that still burn into me.” Saluce didn’t feel like explaining much further than that, the wound still ate away at him much more than any physical wound could have.
Hoping she was still listening his eyes drifted downward recalling so many scenes of death. “Sometimes I crave battle; sometimes I wonder if my soft demeanor, my talents with blacksmithing, all my pleasantries are just a means that I came up with to cope with peace while waiting for the inevitable call to arms to be sounded. I have no idea what man I am; sometimes I feel I am both, sometimes neither.” Those orbs lifted back up but instead of the expected pain that anyone would assume would be written across them, only emotionless voids lifted up. Her top came into view once again, that red playing tricks on his mind as he envisioned the top itself bleeding red onto her fur staining her. What scared him the most about the thought wasn’t that he thought it, it’s that he actually enjoyed the imagery. Should he let her go to keep her safe? Or continue to try and fight his nature, rather fight himself for what his nature was.
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