time is so vicious

Jefferson Soul · 05-27-2011, 06:49 PM

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Was it that he was unlike the others, or was it only that he was unlike her?

She, like Geneva, had drawn herself in his gaze as a perfect picture of innocence, the quintessence of purity and all that was good — or, in other words, the scarred man's opposite: She, a blossoming youth in her curves and curls, versus he, worn with battle scars and years upon years of physical neglect. Jefferson had built himself up as a wall, immovable and unbreakable, but with predictable cracks within that persistent individuals like Geneva had managed to poke herself through. Jefferson recognized Alaine as a similar threat — and treated her as such, though doing so brought a rare weight of regret and deceit to his already-burdened shoulders.

Despite their differences and despite their still-faint knowledge of one another, she worried for him — and for some reason, he worried for her. She had been the first he'd thought of when his arm had become disconnected and burnt with infection, and yet the man had never mustered the courage to approach her pack, instead choosing to endure the pain and recover slowly through brute effort. A sigh — doing so had only given her more reason to worry.

"Alaine," he said, shrugging feebly as he turned his gaze to the distance, "you would lose nothing if I were to die." He breathed a moment, then turned his single eye to her once more, lightening his stiff expression with a smile as desolate as the pouring rain. "My days are numbered. There's nothing you can do about that except remember me when I'm gone."

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