[ - a traitor, and other things beside, but sylvain's tone is light and warm. a flame dancing at the edge of his grasp, burning bright. it seems impossible to snuff out his energy even as garreg mach seems to dampen his cheer, however genuine it was, and even if dimitri wanted nothing more than to smear him on the cobblestones in his hurt.
because that's what this is, he thinks, watching him spit out the words like he was learning them again, rehearsed so many times it must feel real to him: he was hurting, this was pain. things that he'd bottled up for far too long now threatening to spill like a flood. whereas when sylvain is in pain he lashes out, self-deprecation and cutting words to himself or to the other. dimitri lacerates himself, and it is poetic in the way he tries to keep his distance but fails. i am certain i was never a thought in your mind. ]
How much would you like to gamble on that? [ he has a smile on his face, almost inscrutable in the way he addresses him. when dimitri removes the horse's bridle, he ruffles the side of her face with a hand and leans forward to kiss her on the nose; he watches him.
the glance is brief. heavy.
sylvain pulls away. in the dark, and cold, he can smell the blood from his injured shoulder. ]
... we should do something about that wound, however, if you intend to make me pay for my crimes through the night.
You wouldn't want to die over something so paltry as a soldier's lucky hit, right?
[ it won't be appreciated, he knows, but sylvain gives him a charming wink, because he can. he's flirted with death all his life, this is no different and no less dangerous.
most of all, he mocks him. their differences in strength are considerable, sylvain will grant him that much, but it's not like he's not without teeth. dimitri's the one trapped here with him. either he ends his miserable life or spares him out of some misguided idea about strategy and tactics; and somehow sylvain thinks he'd be foolish enough to choose the latter. because his highness, cruel as he can be, can't think of him fully as an enemy.
you left me long ago for the empire, he accuses. he's correct on that, but sylvain has never plead guilty to accusations of love. you were cheating on me. not his first rodeo. nor would it be his last, unless he ends it all. ]
heh
[ - a traitor, and other things beside, but sylvain's tone is light and warm. a flame dancing at the edge of his grasp, burning bright. it seems impossible to snuff out his energy even as garreg mach seems to dampen his cheer, however genuine it was, and even if dimitri wanted nothing more than to smear him on the cobblestones in his hurt.
because that's what this is, he thinks, watching him spit out the words like he was learning them again, rehearsed so many times it must feel real to him: he was hurting, this was pain. things that he'd bottled up for far too long now threatening to spill like a flood. whereas when sylvain is in pain he lashes out, self-deprecation and cutting words to himself or to the other. dimitri lacerates himself, and it is poetic in the way he tries to keep his distance but fails. i am certain i was never a thought in your mind. ]
How much would you like to gamble on that? [ he has a smile on his face, almost inscrutable in the way he addresses him. when dimitri removes the horse's bridle, he ruffles the side of her face with a hand and leans forward to kiss her on the nose; he watches him.
the glance is brief. heavy.
sylvain pulls away. in the dark, and cold, he can smell the blood from his injured shoulder. ]
... we should do something about that wound, however, if you intend to make me pay for my crimes through the night.
You wouldn't want to die over something so paltry as a soldier's lucky hit, right?
[ it won't be appreciated, he knows, but sylvain gives him a charming wink, because he can. he's flirted with death all his life, this is no different and no less dangerous.
most of all, he mocks him. their differences in strength are considerable, sylvain will grant him that much, but it's not like he's not without teeth. dimitri's the one trapped here with him. either he ends his miserable life or spares him out of some misguided idea about strategy and tactics; and somehow sylvain thinks he'd be foolish enough to choose the latter. because his highness, cruel as he can be, can't think of him fully as an enemy.
you left me long ago for the empire, he accuses. he's correct on that, but sylvain has never plead guilty to accusations of love. you were cheating on me. not his first rodeo. nor would it be his last, unless he ends it all. ]