05-01-2009, 11:10 PM
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500+
Why? That single, uttered word was quiet, distant, and yet it cut through the air with the potency of a white-hot blade. It struck the woman and she fell quite still—her soul fell still. That voice was strange, the inflexion was strange—foreign as it was utilized by that voice. Such specific tones she had never heard from that male’s song, but she could not recognize why it impacted her so. And then she thought, perhaps she had heard something other than the voice, something she could actually recognize. Perhaps she had heard the pain and the confusion, the hurt and the dying. And perhaps it was this, this presence of something beyond the mere words, that struck her. Onus was a male that displayed very little; indeed he had expressed to her that he did not get emotionally involved, even in his work. There may have been anger and perhaps even hate, but she knew that for this man, such emotions were not the same as those felt by others. She herself was almost incapable of extreme emotion, and yet she suspected that what he felt was different from her own as well. And yet she had heard otherwise in that whispered question.
She though, Perhaps he sleeps, for the tensed movements did not initially resemble the movements of one awake—not quite anyway. Such differences were subtle, but the woman knew how to see them. When she was about to withdraw, he called her by name. The black fae paused, but his voice drew her in. Silently she entered the room, closing the door carefully behind her as if in doing so she would keep out that which may trouble him. Her fluid movements were slow, an instinctive response to the wounded creature she approached; the wolf within her knew that sudden movements could be taken as a threat, and that subconscious wolf did not wish to be recognized as such. The black claws clicked occasionally upon the surface upon which she walked, unused to treading upon the floor. At last she came to the bedside, lowering herself to sit upon its edge—not too close, not too far—the woad tipped tail wrapping about her hips.
Tentatively, a hand reached for his wound. The fingers that lingered above it could feel the heat of that painful, angry tear, could feel the pain that pulsed beneath it. Many things passed over those white orbs, dull in the darkness, for there was much that could have been said to the male and yet the woman could not express that which she now thought. Finally, that hand simply fell to his shoulder, her fingers almost cold against his fur. "Onus, I..." The alto melody faded for a moment as her orbs moved from the wound to his face, searching for that hidden gaze. "I wondered if you required anything," she said instead, but there were many things that hid behind those words, hiding like the light from the clouds. The eyes flickered to the torn sheets and she said quietly, "What horrors haunt you?" her voice almost indiscernible from the silence. But she could not penetrate the darkness of this man on her own.
500+
Why? That single, uttered word was quiet, distant, and yet it cut through the air with the potency of a white-hot blade. It struck the woman and she fell quite still—her soul fell still. That voice was strange, the inflexion was strange—foreign as it was utilized by that voice. Such specific tones she had never heard from that male’s song, but she could not recognize why it impacted her so. And then she thought, perhaps she had heard something other than the voice, something she could actually recognize. Perhaps she had heard the pain and the confusion, the hurt and the dying. And perhaps it was this, this presence of something beyond the mere words, that struck her. Onus was a male that displayed very little; indeed he had expressed to her that he did not get emotionally involved, even in his work. There may have been anger and perhaps even hate, but she knew that for this man, such emotions were not the same as those felt by others. She herself was almost incapable of extreme emotion, and yet she suspected that what he felt was different from her own as well. And yet she had heard otherwise in that whispered question.
She though, Perhaps he sleeps, for the tensed movements did not initially resemble the movements of one awake—not quite anyway. Such differences were subtle, but the woman knew how to see them. When she was about to withdraw, he called her by name. The black fae paused, but his voice drew her in. Silently she entered the room, closing the door carefully behind her as if in doing so she would keep out that which may trouble him. Her fluid movements were slow, an instinctive response to the wounded creature she approached; the wolf within her knew that sudden movements could be taken as a threat, and that subconscious wolf did not wish to be recognized as such. The black claws clicked occasionally upon the surface upon which she walked, unused to treading upon the floor. At last she came to the bedside, lowering herself to sit upon its edge—not too close, not too far—the woad tipped tail wrapping about her hips.
Tentatively, a hand reached for his wound. The fingers that lingered above it could feel the heat of that painful, angry tear, could feel the pain that pulsed beneath it. Many things passed over those white orbs, dull in the darkness, for there was much that could have been said to the male and yet the woman could not express that which she now thought. Finally, that hand simply fell to his shoulder, her fingers almost cold against his fur. "Onus, I..." The alto melody faded for a moment as her orbs moved from the wound to his face, searching for that hidden gaze. "I wondered if you required anything," she said instead, but there were many things that hid behind those words, hiding like the light from the clouds. The eyes flickered to the torn sheets and she said quietly, "What horrors haunt you?" her voice almost indiscernible from the silence. But she could not penetrate the darkness of this man on her own.