[It's the change in sounds that he picks up first. There's shouting and yelling in a way that doesn't read familiar. It isn't like the crowds that circle the fenced ring nor is it the orders shouted by men as they handled the fighters, forcing them into cells and cages alike. It's akin to panic. Something is going terribly wrong. He doesn't know if it's good or bad for everyone contained, but he can tell that everyone was also waiting with bated breath.
The next change he notes is the smells. Something mixed into the wet must of blood, sweat, and grime. It's something more fresh and sweet, but not like the stench of strong perfumes. It touches upon memories from long ago. Sun and bright skies. Of the outside.
Eventually, the chaos seems to settle, but the new scent comes closer. Eventually, the Maison Gardiennage start filing into all the rooms with holding cells filled with fighters and slaves alike. Some cower as far back as possible and other bare their teeth and growl, knowing nothing else but to retaliate by trying to protect oneself. He's no better, also baring sharp canines as he clenches his teeth. The darkness feels a little suffocating like this, even as personnel line up in front of his holding cell. People he can't see nor can he even guess what they look like.
It's been a long time coming. It was the largest underground ring and it being busted was huge news. Many aristocrats and those of the elite had found entertainment in these concrete walls. The blind man crouched low with a growl in his throat and muzzle tightly fitted around his face was the most popular fighter amongst the others in the cages. Cerberus.]
[ Despite his years working on dismantling these underground fighting rings— or perhaps because of his years— Neuvillette doesn't often venture in with the frontlines when the Maison Gardiennage start filing into the cells. He is aware of the horrors the handlers inflict on their fighters and the fear that permeates the cells, and the fights that break out. There are people trained in handling this, with better social skills than Neuvillette, better equipped to soothe the fears and break up the fights. But that night is different: one of the deputies is out sick, and something deep inside the man tugs at his gut, in a way he'd normally dismiss but feels familiar.
The cells are just as familiar, the the chaos the same. He ventures in once the handlers have mostly been subdued, the guards reassuring him the violence was contained out of some sense of loyalty and worry, as though they've forgotten his strength. And they are mostly good, handling the fighters with an admirable restraint, well-aware of why such men might lash out. Everyone fans out, knowing their jobs, and Neuvillette follows.
Meeting Wriothesley in each lifetime has always been something new, something unexpected, but the warning signs are always there. A tug in his gut, a sense of renewal on the air. He doesn't always pay attention to it, often too lost in thouht or too busy working to focus, so it's always a shock. And this is no less a shock than usual.
He peeks into the cage, a frown twisting his lips, ready to turn the fighter over to the hands of another guard. His lips part, orders on the tip of the tongue, and then it hits him: Wriothesley's scent. Beneath the squalor of the cells, the ripe, unwashed odors of the fighters and slaves, and the permeating fear, Neuvillette can smell him. He looks mostly the same, beneath his lank hair and the muzzle around his face. Neuvillette can feel his breath catch in his throat, his heart stopping for a second. Of all the places to meet his soulmate, this is not one he would wish on the man. ]
I will handle this one, [ he instructs the guards, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. They protest, of course; no one wants their benefactor to be injured on the job. But he's firm and steady in his dismissal, and eventually they leave him alone. He crosses to Wriothesley's side, studying his face. There's something wrong, though Neuvillette can't tell what. ]
We're not here to harm you, your— [ He catches himself, stopping before he can call Wriothesley "Your Grace." Hardly the title to use in the moment. ] We are setting you free.
It's no problem! I was busy over the weekend anyways.
[Neuvillette's words earn a low growl. Handle was it? Hasn't he heard those words so many times before? If his senses didn't feel like they were going completely haywire, he'd maybe pick up something soothing and familiar with Neuvillette's scent. Even their voice. The way that it would normally evoke comfort. Right now though, his guard is too high up and the cacophony of scents and noises is overwhelming.
He jolts a little when the other speaks, his head whipping to wear he thinks he heard the other. His glare is in Neuvillette's direction, but Neuvillette might pick it up then. His eyes aren't trained on them. They dart around, never quite landing on him nor lingering.]
I've heard that a few times now. [There's a rasp in his voice. Talking isn't something he does too often. Rarely do those in captivity get to speak freely and he was no different.]
Even if it's true. What happens after? I get set free and end up on the streets? [It would be foolish to think he had a much better fate out there than in this place. He didn't know how to do anything but fight. He didn't know how to live in society because he never had the chance to before.
Should he be biting the hand that is technically feeding him? Is he being a little difficult? He can't help but want to know what's out there for him because he can't imagine anything outside what he knew all his life.</small.]
[ He does pick up on the way Wriothesley's eyes dart everywhere. Neuvillette wonders about that, but sets the thought aside for the moment. There are more things to worry about than Wriothesley's eyesight at the moment. Like removing the chains, and calming him enough to get him out of the cell, and away from this entirely. Neuvillette isn't the best at handling these moments, either too austere for most people or intensely disliked by them for who he was.
But this is Wriothesley, his soulmate. Even if he won't mention it, or give in to the desire to scoop him up and flee, there is no one else Neuvillette would let do this. Even after all these years, he tries to be fair and just, applying his judgement in equal measure to everyone. But this man has always been a weakness for him. ]
No. Nothing like that. We offer assistance. [ He's made sure of that over the years, otherwise everything he's worked for over the years would amount to nothing. And while these rings keep appearing, he likes to think they do something good for the people they free.
He steps closer, carefully setting down the cane he carries a few feet away from Wriothesley so he appears unarmed. ] Let me remove your chains, and I'll guide you out. There will be a place to stay, and assistance after this. [ There are government provided shelters for these people. But Wriothesley won't be staying there. ] I am here to help, I assure you. [ Low, and gentle, a whisper of love in his tone. He'd never sound so open to anyone else. ] I know you have little reason to trust me but I assure you, our offers are genuine.
[It's hard to take the man's words at face value. Body language isn't something he's able to take into account so he can only base his judgment on their voice and words. He scrutinizes every word and every cadence. Takes in whatever he can pull to try figure this man out. He's so focused that the sound of the man setting his cane down startles him a little.
So they had something on them, but put it down. He can't say if that matters or not, but he can at least start to take in that the man seems to be going out of their way to seem like an ally. Tension still so taut in his shoulder that it feels like it can snap, he tries to let out a breath and relax. It isn't relaxed, but it doesn't seem like the fighter was going to lash out.
He wants to reason that the other truly wanted to help, but it isn't just that. The way they talk and their words resonate in his chest in a way that makes him ache for more of it. Something about it envelops his thoughts gently as though it wants to ease all the tension out of his body. He's torn between being more worried about why that is and letting it happen.
Decidedly, the way the man speaks to him, as though they were baring their heart to him, wins out.] I don't trust you. [Because how can he trust someone immediately like that? It's impossible. Not when he has suffered by the hands of others for so long. However, he can-] But I can believe that you mean it.
[ Hearing those words in that familiar, beloved tone still feels like a gut punch, despite the knowledge that Wriothesley doesn't know him yet and has no reason to trust him. He inhales sharply and lets it out slowly, a reminder to keep his composure and settle his emotions. Neuvillette has dealt with worse situations between them, so this isn't even a mild setback. ]
You will find I am a man of my word, [ he reassures Wriothesley. ] But that is unimportant for the moment. [ He scans over Wriothesley, reaching for the chains holding him. Of course, they've secured keys, and he uses those rather than relying on the strength to break them. While he does that, he studies this new reincarnation of his old lover, marking the differences. The way Wriothesley doesn't track sounds with his eyes or seem to focus on anything strikes him as curious, and he asks about them as he drops the chains, moving around to Wriothesley's side. ]
Your eyes. Were they injured in the fights or before?
[ There's a whole history there, he knows, and the guilt strikes him at the danger his beloved has been in for who knows how long. It mingles with the guilt he feels every time Wriothesley dies, though he knows that is not what he wants.
Neuivellette reaches out to slide an arm around Wriothesley's waist to guide him out, only to pause, reconsidering. A dangerous man, in a chaotic environment, unable to see his actions— surprising him is not a good idea. ]
Allow me to guide you out of here. There are obstacles in the halls now.
[A part of him wants to scoff at those words. It's hard to think someone to be an honest man when your life is spent surrounded by anything but that. Yet, they pull at heartstrings and the words envelop him gently, as though to subdue the agitation that grips him.
He's tense, waiting as he hears the way that chains rattle against each other, feeling the way that it goes slack, no longer constricting him in anyway.
He considers Neuvillette's words, carefully turning them around and deciding what he's willing to say and what he rather keep tucked close to his heart. Eventually, he finds that it doesn't really matter. He has no reason to hide certain details like this.] I lost my sight in an altercation when I was a teenager. [Of course, at the time, it was more for sick sport at the time. No one was expecting the small teenager to crawl out of a fight with some beast alive nor did anyone think he'd live much longer after that. It just so happens that he were nothing but stubborn and there was a want to live that burned through his veins.
Though being stuck in complete blackness in an environment like this was somewhat maddening, he had managed this far. He'll continue to manage too. A want to refuse is heavy on his tongue, but they're right. He can tell the place is in disarray and maneuvering through it on his own would be difficult. So he relents, nodding his head.] Alright. [He waits for them to help lead him out.]
[ A teenager. Neuvillette winces. Ah, well, there is no point in dwelling on things from the past, especially when there are more pressing concerns. The guards seem to have most of the fighters handled, although he can pick up the sounds of scuffles, and angry yelling from other cells, and leaving the place is of paramount importance. So, at the agreement, he picks slides an arm around Wriothesley's waist and guides his arm over his shoulders so he can lead him out. Probably not the best way to lead someone outside, but he has a strong urge to be as close as possible to Wriothesley.
Neuvillette leaves his cane behind, sure one of the guards will pick it up later, and guides Wriothesley out of the cell, careful to weave his way around any bodies or debris from the fights. ]
Forgive me. I did not introduce myself earlier. [ He'll blame it on the chaos inside, the confusion of the night. An easy mistake to make. ] I am Neuvillette, and the organization here is a taskforce meant to clear up fighting rings such as this.
[ It will be replaced with a new one, of course. It might take a while, but in a year or two or three, they'll hear rumors of a new one. He will never entirely understand why or what drives these men to violence and gambling. ]
[His instinct is to resist, but as soon as he feels Neuvillette's arm around his waist, he immediately finds himself leaning into the other's touch. He doesn't know why, but something about this stranger's presence seems to offer him some kind of comfort. Like gentle waves slowly rocking his psyche into a sweet lull... They smelled liked the salty breeze, something that lingers in memories that have long since faded on their pages, but the man seems to be reminding him a certain yearning tamped down when he had been dragged underground.
He'll chalk it up to exhaustion for now. Perhaps things will make more sense once things around him calm down.]
Neuvillette... [It rolls off his tongue familiar. The tight feeling relaxes in his chest.] I don't really have a name to offer you in return.
[He doesn't remember the name he was born with and he doesn't think he'd want to keep it. The name they had given him for people to chant? He doesn't want that either, he thinks.] I suppose it doesn't matter. [He's, at least, under the impression that the two of them will part ways. Somehow, the thought of that is quite sad though.]
[ There's an answering feeling in Neuvillette's chest, one that relaxes when he hears Wriothesley say his name. He wants to offer up Wriothesley as his name, but winding their way through cells and halls in what is essentially a barracks building, with other people around, is hardly the place to do so. Already, Neuvillette is garnering looks from the other guardsmen, who are shocked to see him helping someone so directly, although none of them are casual enough to ask him directly. ]
You can figure out one later, [ is all he offers for now. ] As I said, there will be help after this to assist with settling into society. We would be remiss if we were to free you and then offer you nothing to help. [ A mistake he learned long ago.
They finally reach the entrance, and Neuvillette slows down his steps. He has no desire to let go. He's a dragon; there is something in him that desires to hoard, to cling to what's his, even when it is not his, and Wriothesley is the one person who has managed to stir up those emotions for him.
But he also wishes to be away from the building, and whatever horrors Wriothesley endured there, so he doesn't stop. ] Until you are ready, you will be staying with me. There are assistants assigned to people.
[ Neuvillette is the absolute worst one to assist in reintegration into society, but that's never bothered him. And while they have assigned caseworkers to help the former fighters, no one else will go to someone's private house. ] Provided you do not mind.
[OOC: No problem! Take your time and take care of yourself. o7]
[While he couldn't see, he could feel eyes on them. It's a different gaze than what he feels during a match. It isn't the leers of those that only see him as some product meant to entertain. Still, it feels more awkward to be under such gazes. He feels they're less on him and more on the other man. Is what Neuvillette doing that surprising?]
What happens...What happens if I can't settle in? [What can he do as he is? He isn't exactly pessimistic, never really had the luxury of lamenting over his life, but he also knew that what he could do was limited. Or at least, many were going to underestimate his potential.
He also just...didn't know what to do now. He only knew how to fight and he had never though of a life existing outside of it. He guesses he had time to think about it though. Instead, he's distracted as they step out. There's a few things that he notices immediately. The cacophony of sounds that fills his senses gently and the clear air instead of the musty stench he had known all his life and...
Rain.
It touches on his skin, cold, but somehow the feeling of rainfall is so different than being hosed down or having buckets of ice cold water tossed onto you. This was gentle, like a caress. Something about it was a little sad. He does remember a little rhyme one of the others had once recited.] Hydro dragon, Hydro dragon, don't cry...
[He realizes after a moment of being distracted that Neuvillette had spoken. The idea of being separated churns in his stomach and he's not going to question it. He merely thinks it because Neuvillette is the one helping him right now.] No, I don't mind. I...it would be preferable.
[ What does happen? Privately, in the depths of his soul, Neuvillette doesn't care if Wriothesley never integrates into society, and stays with him for the rest of his life. It is a selfish desire that has remained with him for generations, and he's grown used to the hungry possessiveness over this man. He keeps it quiet, especially now, when expressing his own desires would only be a hurdle. ]
You can take the time you need to figure it out. And if it doesn't happen, then. [ A shrug, likely something Wriothesley can feel. ] There is no point in lamenting about the future now.
[ The rain isn't surprising. It still reflects his moods, his connections still intact, and Neuvillette knows his mood is dour and stressed, even if it has brought him Wriothesley.
But the spoken lines make him startle. He's graceful enough not to stumble but does freeze, turning his head to look at Wriothesley. ]
How do you know that rhyme?
[ He doesn't always reveal his nature in their combined lives, but the times he has, the little rhyme became a joke between them, gentle teasing whenever Neuvillette was sad. He didn't expect Wriothesley to remember it this time, although it is still sung among the kids, so it shouldn't be too surprising.
[OOC: Augh, it's my turn to apologize. I'm finally catching up after my last work trip for the year.]
[How strange... He wonders what is motivating the man against his side. He cannot imagine that they aren't going into this without some personal interest. But why? What personal motivation does Neuvillette have in this for a blind man he had just met?
It has his curiosity piqued to say the least.
He wants to assume that it is merely the whims of a bored man, but Neuvillette doesn't strike him as someone who'll toss him aside once bored. Strange, since he knows only the man's name, but just the idea of considering such a thing feels bitter in the back of his throat.
Instead, he focuses more on the question presented to him.] One of the others once sung it. She had arrived that night and had mentioned it was raining when she came. For some reason, it just stuck with me all this time.
[Nostalgia. Nostalgia for a rhyme he hadn't heard until that moment, yet it stuck to him all the same.] It made me sad to think that the dragon in the rhyme was sad. [Something else he can't explain, but he can't help but comment on it.]
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armwriostle) wrote2024-09-15 05:33 pm
I.
The next change he notes is the smells. Something mixed into the wet must of blood, sweat, and grime. It's something more fresh and sweet, but not like the stench of strong perfumes. It touches upon memories from long ago. Sun and bright skies. Of the outside.
Eventually, the chaos seems to settle, but the new scent comes closer. Eventually, the Maison Gardiennage start filing into all the rooms with holding cells filled with fighters and slaves alike. Some cower as far back as possible and other bare their teeth and growl, knowing nothing else but to retaliate by trying to protect oneself. He's no better, also baring sharp canines as he clenches his teeth. The darkness feels a little suffocating like this, even as personnel line up in front of his holding cell. People he can't see nor can he even guess what they look like.
It's been a long time coming. It was the largest underground ring and it being busted was huge news. Many aristocrats and those of the elite had found entertainment in these concrete walls. The blind man crouched low with a growl in his throat and muzzle tightly fitted around his face was the most popular fighter amongst the others in the cages. Cerberus.]
sorry for my delay!!
The cells are just as familiar, the the chaos the same. He ventures in once the handlers have mostly been subdued, the guards reassuring him the violence was contained out of some sense of loyalty and worry, as though they've forgotten his strength. And they are mostly good, handling the fighters with an admirable restraint, well-aware of why such men might lash out. Everyone fans out, knowing their jobs, and Neuvillette follows.
Meeting Wriothesley in each lifetime has always been something new, something unexpected, but the warning signs are always there. A tug in his gut, a sense of renewal on the air. He doesn't always pay attention to it, often too lost in thouht or too busy working to focus, so it's always a shock. And this is no less a shock than usual.
He peeks into the cage, a frown twisting his lips, ready to turn the fighter over to the hands of another guard. His lips part, orders on the tip of the tongue, and then it hits him: Wriothesley's scent. Beneath the squalor of the cells, the ripe, unwashed odors of the fighters and slaves, and the permeating fear, Neuvillette can smell him. He looks mostly the same, beneath his lank hair and the muzzle around his face. Neuvillette can feel his breath catch in his throat, his heart stopping for a second. Of all the places to meet his soulmate, this is not one he would wish on the man. ]
I will handle this one, [ he instructs the guards, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. They protest, of course; no one wants their benefactor to be injured on the job. But he's firm and steady in his dismissal, and eventually they leave him alone. He crosses to Wriothesley's side, studying his face. There's something wrong, though Neuvillette can't tell what. ]
We're not here to harm you, your— [ He catches himself, stopping before he can call Wriothesley "Your Grace." Hardly the title to use in the moment. ] We are setting you free.
It's no problem! I was busy over the weekend anyways.
He jolts a little when the other speaks, his head whipping to wear he thinks he heard the other. His glare is in Neuvillette's direction, but Neuvillette might pick it up then. His eyes aren't trained on them. They dart around, never quite landing on him nor lingering.]
I've heard that a few times now. [There's a rasp in his voice. Talking isn't something he does too often. Rarely do those in captivity get to speak freely and he was no different.]
Even if it's true. What happens after? I get set free and end up on the streets? [It would be foolish to think he had a much better fate out there than in this place. He didn't know how to do anything but fight. He didn't know how to live in society because he never had the chance to before.
Should he be biting the hand that is technically feeding him? Is he being a little difficult? He can't help but want to know what's out there for him because he can't imagine anything outside what he knew all his life.</small.]
no subject
But this is Wriothesley, his soulmate. Even if he won't mention it, or give in to the desire to scoop him up and flee, there is no one else Neuvillette would let do this. Even after all these years, he tries to be fair and just, applying his judgement in equal measure to everyone. But this man has always been a weakness for him. ]
No. Nothing like that. We offer assistance. [ He's made sure of that over the years, otherwise everything he's worked for over the years would amount to nothing. And while these rings keep appearing, he likes to think they do something good for the people they free.
He steps closer, carefully setting down the cane he carries a few feet away from Wriothesley so he appears unarmed. ] Let me remove your chains, and I'll guide you out. There will be a place to stay, and assistance after this. [ There are government provided shelters for these people. But Wriothesley won't be staying there. ] I am here to help, I assure you. [ Low, and gentle, a whisper of love in his tone. He'd never sound so open to anyone else. ] I know you have little reason to trust me but I assure you, our offers are genuine.
no subject
So they had something on them, but put it down. He can't say if that matters or not, but he can at least start to take in that the man seems to be going out of their way to seem like an ally. Tension still so taut in his shoulder that it feels like it can snap, he tries to let out a breath and relax. It isn't relaxed, but it doesn't seem like the fighter was going to lash out.
He wants to reason that the other truly wanted to help, but it isn't just that. The way they talk and their words resonate in his chest in a way that makes him ache for more of it. Something about it envelops his thoughts gently as though it wants to ease all the tension out of his body. He's torn between being more worried about why that is and letting it happen.
Decidedly, the way the man speaks to him, as though they were baring their heart to him, wins out.] I don't trust you. [Because how can he trust someone immediately like that? It's impossible. Not when he has suffered by the hands of others for so long. However, he can-] But I can believe that you mean it.
[A slow exhale.] Alright.
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You will find I am a man of my word, [ he reassures Wriothesley. ] But that is unimportant for the moment. [ He scans over Wriothesley, reaching for the chains holding him. Of course, they've secured keys, and he uses those rather than relying on the strength to break them. While he does that, he studies this new reincarnation of his old lover, marking the differences. The way Wriothesley doesn't track sounds with his eyes or seem to focus on anything strikes him as curious, and he asks about them as he drops the chains, moving around to Wriothesley's side. ]
Your eyes. Were they injured in the fights or before?
[ There's a whole history there, he knows, and the guilt strikes him at the danger his beloved has been in for who knows how long. It mingles with the guilt he feels every time Wriothesley dies, though he knows that is not what he wants.
Neuivellette reaches out to slide an arm around Wriothesley's waist to guide him out, only to pause, reconsidering. A dangerous man, in a chaotic environment, unable to see his actions— surprising him is not a good idea. ]
Allow me to guide you out of here. There are obstacles in the halls now.
no subject
He's tense, waiting as he hears the way that chains rattle against each other, feeling the way that it goes slack, no longer constricting him in anyway.
He considers Neuvillette's words, carefully turning them around and deciding what he's willing to say and what he rather keep tucked close to his heart. Eventually, he finds that it doesn't really matter. He has no reason to hide certain details like this.] I lost my sight in an altercation when I was a teenager. [Of course, at the time, it was more for sick sport at the time. No one was expecting the small teenager to crawl out of a fight with some beast alive nor did anyone think he'd live much longer after that. It just so happens that he were nothing but stubborn and there was a want to live that burned through his veins.
Though being stuck in complete blackness in an environment like this was somewhat maddening, he had managed this far. He'll continue to manage too. A want to refuse is heavy on his tongue, but they're right. He can tell the place is in disarray and maneuvering through it on his own would be difficult. So he relents, nodding his head.] Alright. [He waits for them to help lead him out.]
no subject
Neuvillette leaves his cane behind, sure one of the guards will pick it up later, and guides Wriothesley out of the cell, careful to weave his way around any bodies or debris from the fights. ]
Forgive me. I did not introduce myself earlier. [ He'll blame it on the chaos inside, the confusion of the night. An easy mistake to make. ] I am Neuvillette, and the organization here is a taskforce meant to clear up fighting rings such as this.
[ It will be replaced with a new one, of course. It might take a while, but in a year or two or three, they'll hear rumors of a new one. He will never entirely understand why or what drives these men to violence and gambling. ]
no subject
He'll chalk it up to exhaustion for now. Perhaps things will make more sense once things around him calm down.]
Neuvillette... [It rolls off his tongue familiar. The tight feeling relaxes in his chest.] I don't really have a name to offer you in return.
[He doesn't remember the name he was born with and he doesn't think he'd want to keep it. The name they had given him for people to chant? He doesn't want that either, he thinks.] I suppose it doesn't matter. [He's, at least, under the impression that the two of them will part ways. Somehow, the thought of that is quite sad though.]
no subject
[ There's an answering feeling in Neuvillette's chest, one that relaxes when he hears Wriothesley say his name. He wants to offer up Wriothesley as his name, but winding their way through cells and halls in what is essentially a barracks building, with other people around, is hardly the place to do so. Already, Neuvillette is garnering looks from the other guardsmen, who are shocked to see him helping someone so directly, although none of them are casual enough to ask him directly. ]
You can figure out one later, [ is all he offers for now. ] As I said, there will be help after this to assist with settling into society. We would be remiss if we were to free you and then offer you nothing to help. [ A mistake he learned long ago.
They finally reach the entrance, and Neuvillette slows down his steps. He has no desire to let go. He's a dragon; there is something in him that desires to hoard, to cling to what's his, even when it is not his, and Wriothesley is the one person who has managed to stir up those emotions for him.
But he also wishes to be away from the building, and whatever horrors Wriothesley endured there, so he doesn't stop. ] Until you are ready, you will be staying with me. There are assistants assigned to people.
[ Neuvillette is the absolute worst one to assist in reintegration into society, but that's never bothered him. And while they have assigned caseworkers to help the former fighters, no one else will go to someone's private house. ] Provided you do not mind.
no subject
[While he couldn't see, he could feel eyes on them. It's a different gaze than what he feels during a match. It isn't the leers of those that only see him as some product meant to entertain. Still, it feels more awkward to be under such gazes. He feels they're less on him and more on the other man. Is what Neuvillette doing that surprising?]
What happens...What happens if I can't settle in? [What can he do as he is? He isn't exactly pessimistic, never really had the luxury of lamenting over his life, but he also knew that what he could do was limited. Or at least, many were going to underestimate his potential.
He also just...didn't know what to do now. He only knew how to fight and he had never though of a life existing outside of it. He guesses he had time to think about it though. Instead, he's distracted as they step out. There's a few things that he notices immediately. The cacophony of sounds that fills his senses gently and the clear air instead of the musty stench he had known all his life and...
Rain.
It touches on his skin, cold, but somehow the feeling of rainfall is so different than being hosed down or having buckets of ice cold water tossed onto you. This was gentle, like a caress. Something about it was a little sad. He does remember a little rhyme one of the others had once recited.] Hydro dragon, Hydro dragon, don't cry...
[He realizes after a moment of being distracted that Neuvillette had spoken. The idea of being separated churns in his stomach and he's not going to question it. He merely thinks it because Neuvillette is the one helping him right now.] No, I don't mind. I...it would be preferable.
no subject
You can take the time you need to figure it out. And if it doesn't happen, then. [ A shrug, likely something Wriothesley can feel. ] There is no point in lamenting about the future now.
[ The rain isn't surprising. It still reflects his moods, his connections still intact, and Neuvillette knows his mood is dour and stressed, even if it has brought him Wriothesley.
But the spoken lines make him startle. He's graceful enough not to stumble but does freeze, turning his head to look at Wriothesley. ]
How do you know that rhyme?
[ He doesn't always reveal his nature in their combined lives, but the times he has, the little rhyme became a joke between them, gentle teasing whenever Neuvillette was sad. He didn't expect Wriothesley to remember it this time, although it is still sung among the kids, so it shouldn't be too surprising.
Simply hearing it from him was startling.
He clears his throat, looking skyward. ]
no subject
[How strange... He wonders what is motivating the man against his side. He cannot imagine that they aren't going into this without some personal interest. But why? What personal motivation does Neuvillette have in this for a blind man he had just met?
It has his curiosity piqued to say the least.
He wants to assume that it is merely the whims of a bored man, but Neuvillette doesn't strike him as someone who'll toss him aside once bored. Strange, since he knows only the man's name, but just the idea of considering such a thing feels bitter in the back of his throat.
Instead, he focuses more on the question presented to him.] One of the others once sung it. She had arrived that night and had mentioned it was raining when she came. For some reason, it just stuck with me all this time.
[Nostalgia. Nostalgia for a rhyme he hadn't heard until that moment, yet it stuck to him all the same.] It made me sad to think that the dragon in the rhyme was sad. [Something else he can't explain, but he can't help but comment on it.]
Perhaps they are sad right now.