[ Kaspar leans his cheek against Steinbeck's head, hold on him becoming a loose loop as the hand at his heart drops. He curls toward him ever so slightly, as if anyone might overhear some kind of secret. Like he's sharing something important and meaningful. Somehow, he still manages to seem so damn calm. ]
It, used to be about, the glow worms that gather and flourish overhead in the older, larger caverns.
Stars still remind me of what I used to believe was their vastness. Individuals take turns so the colony never fully stops flickering throughout the whole day.
It's nothing like this world, opened up by the sun.
[ why does he sound so happy about that? It dries his tears and has him sighing softly. He goes on, if Steinbeck has patience once again. ]
... But the song says that, even though they have no eyes, they hear everything that happens beneath them. So no matter who you are, poor or ugly, none of it matters. They'd keep all your prayers and secrets just the same. And if you're lucky, you may get a sign in their flickering. You feel it in your soul.
They added to it, later...
[ He stops it short. But it's otherwise hard to tell that the next part leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Comfort in the present wholly wins out over the complicated feelings about home.
He goes peacefully silent, all worded out for the moment. It's a comfortable, warm quiet on his end. His gaze drifts to the fire again. Ever changing, the flames and the controlled destruction playing out before them keeps catching his attention. It's a newer smell somehow, this close to the flames and feeling suddenly closer to him. Would he ever get used to the feeling? He hopes not, for it's as exhilerating as it is terrifying, every time. Like leaping into the dark, relying on equipment and your own reflexes to keep yourself alive. Your skill as a sharpshooter to know how much slack you and every man with you needed to safely descend.
On the island, there's no danger to either of them for openly embracing like this. Yet it still feels selfish. Even if he'd forgiven himself for the things he cannot change. ]
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ninetydegrees
no subject
2023-01-22 15:27 (UTC)It, used to be about, the glow worms that gather and flourish overhead in the older, larger caverns.
Stars still remind me of what I used to believe was their vastness. Individuals take turns so the colony never fully stops flickering throughout the whole day.
It's nothing like this world, opened up by the sun.
[ why does he sound so happy about that? It dries his tears and has him sighing softly. He goes on, if Steinbeck has patience once again. ]
... But the song says that, even though they have no eyes, they hear everything that happens beneath them. So no matter who you are, poor or ugly, none of it matters. They'd keep all your prayers and secrets just the same. And if you're lucky, you may get a sign in their flickering. You feel it in your soul.
They added to it, later...
[ He stops it short. But it's otherwise hard to tell that the next part leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Comfort in the present wholly wins out over the complicated feelings about home.
He goes peacefully silent, all worded out for the moment. It's a comfortable, warm quiet on his end. His gaze drifts to the fire again. Ever changing, the flames and the controlled destruction playing out before them keeps catching his attention. It's a newer smell somehow, this close to the flames and feeling suddenly closer to him. Would he ever get used to the feeling? He hopes not, for it's as exhilerating as it is terrifying, every time. Like leaping into the dark, relying on equipment and your own reflexes to keep yourself alive. Your skill as a sharpshooter to know how much slack you and every man with you needed to safely descend.
On the island, there's no danger to either of them for openly embracing like this. Yet it still feels selfish. Even if he'd forgiven himself for the things he cannot change. ]