[L appreciates and likely needs that added steadiness that Myr provides, leaning against the support as he sinks to submerge himself to his shoulders. He craves heat, and could absolutely stand more of it, but he's also ravenously hungry, exhausted beyond measure, faded and wilting after a long stretch of self-abuse. Not that it seems to impact his ability to converse to a devastating degree; L is accustomed to engaging in conversation and debate when the stakes, pressure and stress are actually higher. Although... this level of emotional introspection and examination are admittedly new and strange enough to perhaps balance out the difference.
Is this a challenge that can kill him? He wonders, as Myr willingly comes even closer, strong and handsome and committed to making things whole in spite of the twin holes in his face. L doesn't want to break anything about him, even as he begins to pick apart the ways he knows he could. He wishes he didn't know; maybe, then, it wouldn't seem prophetic and inevitable that he will break Myr and leave nothing but dust in his wake. Is genuine care just another term for deciding who gets to be the unstained meek one, surviving to inherit while the other swallows all the evil for their sake?
L does have a taste for stress. Also, perhaps, for evil. He's always been willing to confront it, but is it really to spare the good in the world, or to feed his own corrupted appetite to enact viciousness toward a societally acceptable direction?
He takes the soap, cradling it for a few moments in his long fingers as though gradually remembering the sweet-scented cake's purpose. Then there's an audible dip and murmur of the bathwater as he wets it and begins to form a biding lather. It does help, immensely, to have something to do with his hands while they have a serious conversation; he's grateful that Myr seems to have anticipated this, whether or not it was just a side-effect of a practical gesture.]
Isn't he a predator? One of the feline persuasion, even?
[He moves the soap toward his curved and knotted back, winces at the bundles of aches buried there. His wrist is still bandaged from his ironically damaging attempt at self defense, and he makes a conscious effort not to wet the hasty dressing. Torn from L's garment, he doubts that it's exactly sanitary, but his own healing magic leaves much to be desired, and he'd prefer not to even look at it, yet. He'll stitch it later when he's alone with the pain that is his.]
It's the reason I felt an allusion to the wild world was appropriate. To hurt me today wouldn't have been any fun, because I wasn't up for a fight. It wouldn't mean the same thing; it would be scored differently. His pride won't let him take out someone who's weaker than he is, so... he's waiting for that to change.
[L doesn't sound enthused about that changing. If it's a guarantee of safety, it actually benefits him to exist in a wan, anemic state of ill health.]
no subject
Is this a challenge that can kill him? He wonders, as Myr willingly comes even closer, strong and handsome and committed to making things whole in spite of the twin holes in his face. L doesn't want to break anything about him, even as he begins to pick apart the ways he knows he could. He wishes he didn't know; maybe, then, it wouldn't seem prophetic and inevitable that he will break Myr and leave nothing but dust in his wake. Is genuine care just another term for deciding who gets to be the unstained meek one, surviving to inherit while the other swallows all the evil for their sake?
L does have a taste for stress. Also, perhaps, for evil. He's always been willing to confront it, but is it really to spare the good in the world, or to feed his own corrupted appetite to enact viciousness toward a societally acceptable direction?
He takes the soap, cradling it for a few moments in his long fingers as though gradually remembering the sweet-scented cake's purpose. Then there's an audible dip and murmur of the bathwater as he wets it and begins to form a biding lather. It does help, immensely, to have something to do with his hands while they have a serious conversation; he's grateful that Myr seems to have anticipated this, whether or not it was just a side-effect of a practical gesture.]
Isn't he a predator? One of the feline persuasion, even?
[He moves the soap toward his curved and knotted back, winces at the bundles of aches buried there. His wrist is still bandaged from his ironically damaging attempt at self defense, and he makes a conscious effort not to wet the hasty dressing. Torn from L's garment, he doubts that it's exactly sanitary, but his own healing magic leaves much to be desired, and he'd prefer not to even look at it, yet. He'll stitch it later when he's alone with the pain that is his.]
It's the reason I felt an allusion to the wild world was appropriate. To hurt me today wouldn't have been any fun, because I wasn't up for a fight. It wouldn't mean the same thing; it would be scored differently. His pride won't let him take out someone who's weaker than he is, so... he's waiting for that to change.
[L doesn't sound enthused about that changing. If it's a guarantee of safety, it actually benefits him to exist in a wan, anemic state of ill health.]