reflections

[Animus]

Animus sits at the kitchen table, nervous. Thoughts of Triquetra still brought up memories of wedding, of her death. And knowing the truth behind the memory ould do little to erode its power, the instinctual expectation that it would be a ghost walking down those stairs. And what would they think of the drawing?

Eyes flick to the ring, seemingly placed on the farthest point possible. He'd been through too much, and the idea of claiming an object formed of a piece of another's soul as somehow belonging to him ... now the thought just sickened him.

With a sigh, he forces his eyes back to the drawing, trying not to fidget too much from nervousness.

[Lesingnon]

Triquetra half-skipped down the stairs in her usual careless/graceful manner. Which probably made more than enough noise to alert Animus that she was on her way down to the kitchen long before she ever reached it. If she didn't see a need for it, she really wasn't the least bit subtle.

She pauses a bit once she actually reaches the kitchen, what looks to have been a beeline for the fridge interrupted as she notices Animus sitting at the table. And her head cocks to the side slightly as she notices the ring, his dedicated tool, placed at the far side of it. After a few seconds pondering the scene she pads over to him, chin resting on his shoulder as she gazes down at the piece of artwork. "Ooh...that's a great drawing. Are you trying to come up for a banner design or something?"

[Animus]

Animus' heart races at the clamor down the stairs, tensing up as the memory of a kiss and searing pain flash through his consciousness. But all that is forgotten as the physical contact sends an electric spark through him, burning away all doubt.

He half-turns, arms wrapping around Triquetra and pulling her into a tight embrace as he buries his face in her hair. That scent, just the barest hint of pine. This was his love, and no matter how confused the past might be, he could still have the present.

A bare murmer, directly in her ear as a few small tears leak from his eyes. "Don't ever let me lose you."

[Joshua Morris]

Elsewhere, the sound of a door being solidly shut. Keys jangle, a closet creaks open and snaps closed, approaching footsteps; then Joshua lumbers into the room, face flush. Sweat streaks his shirt and plasters his hair to his forehead. There's a hitch in his step--first as he pauses to say hello to his friends, then as he skips the greeting and instead ambles on as if they weren't there: his typical reaction to any displays of affection in the vicinity. He instead busies himself at the cabinet and sink, trying to get a glass as quietly as he can, then filling it up as slowly as possible.

[Lesingnon]

She seems slightly surprised, not expecting quite that much of a reaction. Her arms return the embrace almost reflexively, wrapping around him just a bit awkwardly due to the twisted position of his body in relation to her. "Of course." Concern mingles with confusion in her voice, and she finds her gaze temporarily drawn to Josh as he enters the room. "Umm...was there anything I missed, or something?"

[Animus]

He pulls back just a bit, seeming to lose himself in his lover's eyes. He tries to speak, but his voice catches. Would recounting it give it more reality?

Finally, he pushes on. It wasn't fair to keep what had happened from her. "I -- it was another ghost. ... She played with my memory, convinced me I was her lover. But then, she tried to ... claim my soul."

The effort of speaking becomes too much, and he falls silent, helplessly. His body practically melting against Triquetra. She was here, she was true. Surely that would make everything alright?

[Joshua Morris]

Joshua slowly turns, now that it was a conversation and not an intrusion. "It was my fault," he tells the Guardian, voice soft and contrite. "I needed his help examining a spelled ring and handed it over to him. It was specifically made to trap Thyrsoi; I didn't realize it was going to affect him because I hadn't thought it through. I didn't think," he repeats, more to himself. "We got rid of her, but... it was rough for him." One hand absently rubs his chest, as though it might massage away the guilt he feels like a hollow where his heart should be.

[Lesingnon]

"Oh..."

She isn't sure how to respond to that at first. It wasn't exactly a conversation you pictured yourself having all that much. Though, being a mage and all, it probably wasn't something that should surprise her too much.

And she can tell that it was something she'd probably have to talk to them both about. Neither seemed to be taking it all that well. Which was, probably understandable, even if it really wasn't either of their faults. But first things first, Animus was obviously the one more torn up about it. Or at least seemed to be, at least. Josh was probably the better of the two at hiding those sorts of emotions.

She pulls back ever so slightly from Animus's embrace, hands rising to cup his cheeks and hold his head steady as she made gentle eye contact. "But it wasn't real, and she didn't...and you beat her. She tried to break you, maybe she came close. But she didn't, she couldn't. Because you're strong. Stronger than she was, stronger than that ghost from Parks and Rec, and stronger than Mr. Slippers from that hotel." She leans forward, planting a soft kiss on his lips that drops her voice to a muffled murmur. "And I know going through all that must hurt, but that kind of thing always makes a person stronger. And you always pull through, no matter what. It's one of the things I love about you."

[Animus]

For a long moment, the Thyrsus is silent, losing himself into his lover's kiss as her words echo through him. Memories flare from the hotel, pain slamming through his body. But somehow, it focuses him, giving something concrete to latch onto, in the face of the nebulous uncertainty Scarlet had left behind.

Arms squeeze tighter just for a moment, before relxing again. "I know, and I'm holding together, but ... I'll need time to heal, and make sure of who I am."

Eyes flicker toward the drawing, even while his face is mostly held immobile. "You were right; it's meant to be our banner. But also it's because I needed some sort of physical anchor. Some of my memories are still jumbled, and ... I need something tangible outside that."

[Joshua Morris]

The Moros turns away from the kiss, but smiles to himself; they'd both thought to tell Animus the same thing. He hoped the repetition, the confirmation, would help the man hold on. He pours himself another glass of water

(and pauses, his smile fading until it's just clenched teeth, some savage unbidden thought rising: look at the love she shows him! look at how quickly he abandons it when some dead tart wags a finger! you can't bear to watch them because you have nothing, and somehow he's the strong one? The virulence of the idea is so strong and unsettling he nearly gives voice to the words, but bites them back at the last second)

but seems to forget it, setting it aside after a few quiet moments. He turns back to the other two, rubbing his face as though wiping away his exhaustion. "There's a banner now?" he asks, forcing some extra cheer into it, trying to distract himself from having another thought like that. "May I see?"