[ Senan's breathing stops again, much as though the wind's been knocked from his lungs by a physical blow. His expression threatens to contort, so he clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, trying -
Trying.
He isn't a sentimental man, or prone to emotional reaction - except when it comes to Rin. Except when the conversation turns, as the conversation inevitably does, to these small comments that serve only to highlight his own fortune in having met them. (That they believe simply and wholly in the rightness of this, their home, being his home as well.) (It is his home. Simply and wholly and rightly.)
(Rather. Rin is his home. And they abide here. So will he.)
When Rin approaches, he has made several aborted attempts to reply (what on earth can he say? "Thank you"?) The weight of their presence behind him is relief - always. Never does he find them burdensome. (Troublesome, yes; particularly when he tries to shake them and vanish from Null Set to meet with doctors.)
He tilts his head to look upside-down at them, his smile gentle and eyes assessing, approving. Appreciative.
How he loves their grin. And the face that bears it. And the form that accompanies both face and grin, nearly as familiar as his own: an oft-regarded work of art. ]
Doubtless you have crossed oceans of time to be here, and endured more trials than even one such as myself might have words to describe. Not only is it your birthright, your privilege, to access more store of compliments than mere mortals, but you've striven to earn them. Faced all manner of horrors so that you may be here, in all your vainglorious radiance, to receive them.
They'll require some effort.
Let's see about stroking that vanity.
[ He extends a thin hand, and when they take it, he, in minimal and courtly manner, guides them to come around the sofa to a place he has come to conceptualize as accustomed (rightful) (perfect): at his side, perhaps leaning against him, with his arm wound casually around them.
(Friendly. Of course.) (His heart never beats faster or more erratically than normal in their presence.) (Granted, he is rarely not in their presence. And his heart has always beaten fast and erratically.) ]
One each for your birthright, your privilege, and to appease fate, then. The first compliment - birthright.
[ He looks at them for a long space of thought, and then inclines his head, having apparently decided what to say. ]
The world, in all its uniform monotony, has never seen the like of you. Your existence from first breath to last has been, is, and will be anathema to normalcy. What conservatives will deem obscene, what even the most liberal amongst us will eschew as theatric; in all its vivacity, you exude the radiance of technicolor where all else is monochrome. You are a starburst amid fireworks. No less fated to end, but longer enduring, brighter, more cataclysmically destructive, and by far more memorable.
And your eyeshadow is very clever today.
[ He holds up a finger with a smirk. ]
That was the first. How fares your vanity thus far, Pookie?
no subject
Trying.
He isn't a sentimental man, or prone to emotional reaction - except when it comes to Rin. Except when the conversation turns, as the conversation inevitably does, to these small comments that serve only to highlight his own fortune in having met them. (That they believe simply and wholly in the rightness of this, their home, being his home as well.) (It is his home. Simply and wholly and rightly.)
(Rather. Rin is his home. And they abide here. So will he.)
When Rin approaches, he has made several aborted attempts to reply (what on earth can he say? "Thank you"?) The weight of their presence behind him is relief - always. Never does he find them burdensome. (Troublesome, yes; particularly when he tries to shake them and vanish from Null Set to meet with doctors.)
He tilts his head to look upside-down at them, his smile gentle and eyes assessing, approving. Appreciative.
How he loves their grin. And the face that bears it. And the form that accompanies both face and grin, nearly as familiar as his own: an oft-regarded work of art. ]
Doubtless you have crossed oceans of time to be here, and endured more trials than even one such as myself might have words to describe. Not only is it your birthright, your privilege, to access more store of compliments than mere mortals, but you've striven to earn them. Faced all manner of horrors so that you may be here, in all your vainglorious radiance, to receive them.
They'll require some effort.
Let's see about stroking that vanity.
[ He extends a thin hand, and when they take it, he, in minimal and courtly manner, guides them to come around the sofa to a place he has come to conceptualize as accustomed (rightful) (perfect): at his side, perhaps leaning against him, with his arm wound casually around them.
(Friendly. Of course.) (His heart never beats faster or more erratically than normal in their presence.) (Granted, he is rarely not in their presence. And his heart has always beaten fast and erratically.) ]
One each for your birthright, your privilege, and to appease fate, then. The first compliment - birthright.
[ He looks at them for a long space of thought, and then inclines his head, having apparently decided what to say. ]
The world, in all its uniform monotony, has never seen the like of you. Your existence from first breath to last has been, is, and will be anathema to normalcy. What conservatives will deem obscene, what even the most liberal amongst us will eschew as theatric; in all its vivacity, you exude the radiance of technicolor where all else is monochrome. You are a starburst amid fireworks. No less fated to end, but longer enduring, brighter, more cataclysmically destructive, and by far more memorable.
And your eyeshadow is very clever today.
[ He holds up a finger with a smirk. ]
That was the first. How fares your vanity thus far, Pookie?