salvation à la mode

Jefferson Soul · 08-30-2010, 09:31 AM

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Fading out and closing this now! :3

His features softened. This was the Geneva he knew, whose hands held a delicate quality he found nowhere else; it was as if just the slightest touch of her fingers had a healing effect, easing the mist in his mind and calming him to a peace known only to she. He sunk a little into his shoulders, an apologetic smile at his lips, ashamed that he had even suggested a concept in the first place. Jefferson trusted her like he trusted no one else. She had been different, her own opposite perhaps, after the accident; Jefferson feared she would become like he, brooding and dark for the things he had done to himself and the physical problems he had to live by, but the olive-eyed Whilom had endured and survived. She was herself again, despite his worries she never would be. He breathed relief, for she was clearly so much stronger than he.

Scarred fingers raised to meet hers on his face and he nodded, understanding. Things would return to the past when life was easier between them, but bridges had to be rebuilt and habits changed. He glanced briefly at the blue-eyed beside them—Pripyat was the foundation on which they were to build, and Jefferson could not have desired anything more. He moved cautiously, bending down beside the boy and looking him eye-to-eyes. "Hello, Pripyat," the Patriarch said gently, smiling. "My name is Jefferson. I, uh... I'm your dad. I'm sorry I haven't been able to see you until now. Will you take a walk with us?"

Whether or not the boy agreed, Jefferson gingerly scooped him up and propped the boy on his shoulders, raising him a good eight feet in the air when the scarred man straightened. He next looked at Geneva, nodded his head, and began walking. Now was the best time as any to catch up.

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