an unsto[p]pable force & and an immovable object.

Barrett · 01-02-2012, 01:37 PM

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She seemed unable or unwilling to flip the switch from 'interrogative' to 'conversational' mode, and he was running out of excuses for her inexplicably irate behaviour. It was a shame, he thought numbly — such ugly scowls on such a pretty face. Starved as he was for companionship, this strained interaction was proving too tiresome. Acting calm and submissive, staying congenial in the face of hostility, asserting his connections to the clan, readily divulging whatever secrets she desired ... nothing was helping. And when his best wasn't good enough, he gave up. Suddenly the humdrum of the garage seemed less unbearable.

To protect her, he replied simply. He gave up a lot for her, he added lowly, not particularly expecting her to hear him, care, or understand. Barry hardly understood it himself. Alacrity neither asked nor expected his grandsire to abandon Inferni or his bipedal form. The bronze hybrid didn't know why they couldn't conceive or why his mate would never experience the world as the Luperci did: upright with her head far off the ground; with paws capable of grasping, writing, and tooling. Frankly, he didn't care. He loved her. And he knew Inferni was no place for a gentle soul bound in a body that could not rise to defend itself.

I should go, he conceded quietly. His ears were flat as he retreated backwards another step, finally giving her what she'd likely desired all along. It felt strange not offering to write Anselm on her behalf or to formally bid adieu, but when he tried, he found no words would pass his thinly pressed lips. He could only grimace in farewell. For what it was worth, he wished her all the best — her Spirit clearly needed it.

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