[ worick? nicholas? his brows crease slightly into a frown as he turns his gaze back to her. ]
You got the wrong person.
[ she laughs, a strange thing, but heine doesn't pay much attention to what she's saying, not caring enough to ask questions as to who she's referring to - figures, maybe, she's still half delusional, though her voice sounds steady enough, the clarity returning to what was a discordant, nauseating noise earlier.
the crowd dissipates slowly, and heine relaxes slightly - people weren't exactly his forte at the best of times, and here in this city, there was all the wrong things to be had for getting too much attention. he is about to move away - but that's when she catches him, fingers curling into his shirt. In that moment, turning his gaze back down to her, there's a flicker of a myriad of expression across heine's face; surprise, annoyance, something very much, but not like, pain.
( thin pale bone white fingers in his shirt. tears standing out in pale blond lashes. I'm scared, brother. )
his first reaction is to jerk away, to step out of the reach of her fingers, to let her fall. but he isn't who he used to be, and his body is slower still, to move, not having fully adjusted still to the changes to who (what) he's become here. someone weaker.
there's not so much difference, now.
after a brief moment where he stands there, frozen, heine reaches down. carefully pulls her grip free of his shirt, his gloved fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist, an anchor, of sorts. ]
no subject
You got the wrong person.
[ she laughs, a strange thing, but heine doesn't pay much attention to what she's saying, not caring enough to ask questions as to who she's referring to - figures, maybe, she's still half delusional, though her voice sounds steady enough, the clarity returning to what was a discordant, nauseating noise earlier.
the crowd dissipates slowly, and heine relaxes slightly - people weren't exactly his forte at the best of times, and here in this city, there was all the wrong things to be had for getting too much attention. he is about to move away - but that's when she catches him, fingers curling into his shirt. In that moment, turning his gaze back down to her, there's a flicker of a myriad of expression across heine's face; surprise, annoyance, something very much, but not like, pain.
( thin pale bone white fingers in his shirt. tears standing out in pale blond lashes. I'm scared, brother. )
his first reaction is to jerk away, to step out of the reach of her fingers, to let her fall. but he isn't who he used to be, and his body is slower still, to move, not having fully adjusted still to the changes to who (what) he's become here. someone weaker.
there's not so much difference, now.
after a brief moment where he stands there, frozen, heine reaches down. carefully pulls her grip free of his shirt, his gloved fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist, an anchor, of sorts. ]
Then sit.