[ Their thoughts pass through each other like there's only the thinnest veil separating them. It becomes harder to sort which are his, and what he's hearing from Toko—the paranoid delusions on both ends start to sound very much the same, just a mire of white, terrible noise.
She knows. How? What else does she know? What if she's working with them?
The only small blessing is that he's used to ignoring this. The burgeoning thoughts, the insecurity and paranoia—he isn't immune to them, but he has practice gathering them, folding them up very small, gritting his teeth and wishing he didn't hear it at all. Why is he like this? Kill her, crush her skull before—
He sounds a little distant when he finally draws himself out of the mire of emotions they've gotten sucked into. ]
Curse...?
[ What she's talking about doesn't spring to mind immediately. He'd only recently learned of this 'curse' himself. It was all connected to the business with Miklan—the professors pulled him aside, swore him to utmost secrecy, lest the foundations of their noble houses be rattled by the reality of crests: that their strength is monstrous, not holy.
Can she be trusted, if she somehow knows this? Can he trust anyone? He can't, but he will, and steels himself again. ]
...No.
[ He swallows, mouth dry, hoarse but sincere. ]
That is my personal blade. No more than ordinary steel. It does not discern whether you carry a crest or not.
[ Why tell her this? She just wants to know if she can draw that sword of yours. She'll betray you. You promised. You swore to me. To us.
The thoughts in his head crackle, resonating like a multitude of voices. There is a scream in his head, pitched and pained. The light glows as he glances back toward her, catching against the lip of a cauldron, not too far ahead. ]
Toko... [ And there is something more fraught to his voice now, without polish or pretense. He can't get through this alone. No—the whole point is that they're supposed to do this together, their hands interlocked tightly. ] I can trust you, can't I?
no subject
She knows. How? What else does she know? What if she's working with them?
The only small blessing is that he's used to ignoring this. The burgeoning thoughts, the insecurity and paranoia—he isn't immune to them, but he has practice gathering them, folding them up very small, gritting his teeth and wishing he didn't hear it at all. Why is he like this? Kill her, crush her skull before—
He sounds a little distant when he finally draws himself out of the mire of emotions they've gotten sucked into. ]
Curse...?
[ What she's talking about doesn't spring to mind immediately. He'd only recently learned of this 'curse' himself. It was all connected to the business with Miklan—the professors pulled him aside, swore him to utmost secrecy, lest the foundations of their noble houses be rattled by the reality of crests: that their strength is monstrous, not holy.
Can she be trusted, if she somehow knows this? Can he trust anyone? He can't, but he will, and steels himself again. ]
...No.
[ He swallows, mouth dry, hoarse but sincere. ]
That is my personal blade. No more than ordinary steel. It does not discern whether you carry a crest or not.
[ Why tell her this? She just wants to know if she can draw that sword of yours. She'll betray you. You promised. You swore to me. To us.
The thoughts in his head crackle, resonating like a multitude of voices. There is a scream in his head, pitched and pained. The light glows as he glances back toward her, catching against the lip of a cauldron, not too far ahead. ]
Toko... [ And there is something more fraught to his voice now, without polish or pretense. He can't get through this alone. No—the whole point is that they're supposed to do this together, their hands interlocked tightly. ] I can trust you, can't I?