[ Beyond Sen, everything has faded distant, the noise of the club turning muffled, the room itself seeming half a dream, unfocused. When Rin speaks, they begin, briefly, in French; easier to reach for a moment. Better-suited to the words they can’t quite find. ]
My heart overflows. You wretch of a man. You’ll undo me.
…Sen.
[ What can they possibly say? To all of this, to talk of grace - what would have seem so ill-applied until recently; what feels not-inapt, and absolutely gratifying to hear now - that settles warm within their chest. To praise from the one who matters most, and who has known them, always, deepest.
What can they say, or, what can they do, save to speak, and to follow what their heart tells, what their knowingness has always held? ]
You have ever been my strongest proponent. When all else swayed bleak. When all the world was teeth and fangs, still, you were there.
Here.
[ Rin presses Sen’s arm, brief and heartfelt, focus fixed still on his eyes, the worried and wonderful map of that intricately-known face, that compulsory, that necessary face. ]
Where would I have been, without Sen to rally my waning spirits and draw me back from peril, often by the scruff of my overzealous neck? Where would I be now, had forces cosmic - or less fantastic, but no less vital - not drawn our stars together, and taught me of the unsuspected harmonies this world can bear?
Assuming that our stars ever existed apart, which is a point I might hotly debate—
Another time. When I am less determined to pin you in my sights, Sen, most rambling philosopher, emperor of germinal space and wild confabulation.
[ There’s a finger lifted; a brow arched. Rin shifting straighter, half-admonishing, expression at once warm and wry. ]
Mein Dummerchen. Persist in these self-abnegations and I will be forced to compel your silence. Speak one word that paints you any less than dire - as anything less than, if not a monarch yourself, than a consummate, devastatingly dashing rogue equally matched in capability and right - and I’m afraid the floor for speaking will be all mine, and wholly dedicated to a lecture on the subject of your worth.
Yes, at the expense of receiving and reveling in my very own praise! Would you take that from me, Senan? Would you leave this null’s vanity only two-thirds attended, with one-third left to languish? Would you leave your null to wilt, Sen?
[ Their expression shifts a smirk, and their finger is withdrawn, their hand returned to its place on Sen’s arm. ]
I won't hear you speak so slightingly of your gifts. Your talents. These words you orchestrate with such elan.
Who could spin a world out of verbage, or spin my head, my amazement through a mere collision of sounds, hm? I am no easily dazzled creature, and yet you draw my notice unfailingly, and you entice my thoughts away from daily currents. From business, from anxieties, from each anticipation that fades before your fantastical breath.
Fantastical, and yet there is more reality within one glance of you or from you than in the whole of this wretched country.
So please, I implore you - I beg of you, in fact - speak well of my Sen.
no subject
My heart overflows. You wretch of a man. You’ll undo me.
…Sen.
[ What can they possibly say? To all of this, to talk of grace - what would have seem so ill-applied until recently; what feels not-inapt, and absolutely gratifying to hear now - that settles warm within their chest. To praise from the one who matters most, and who has known them, always, deepest.
What can they say, or, what can they do, save to speak, and to follow what their heart tells, what their knowingness has always held? ]
You have ever been my strongest proponent. When all else swayed bleak. When all the world was teeth and fangs, still, you were there.
Here.
[ Rin presses Sen’s arm, brief and heartfelt, focus fixed still on his eyes, the worried and wonderful map of that intricately-known face, that compulsory, that necessary face. ]
Where would I have been, without Sen to rally my waning spirits and draw me back from peril, often by the scruff of my overzealous neck? Where would I be now, had forces cosmic - or less fantastic, but no less vital - not drawn our stars together, and taught me of the unsuspected harmonies this world can bear?
Assuming that our stars ever existed apart, which is a point I might hotly debate—
Another time. When I am less determined to pin you in my sights, Sen, most rambling philosopher, emperor of germinal space and wild confabulation.
[ There’s a finger lifted; a brow arched. Rin shifting straighter, half-admonishing, expression at once warm and wry. ]
Mein Dummerchen. Persist in these self-abnegations and I will be forced to compel your silence. Speak one word that paints you any less than dire - as anything less than, if not a monarch yourself, than a consummate, devastatingly dashing rogue equally matched in capability and right - and I’m afraid the floor for speaking will be all mine, and wholly dedicated to a lecture on the subject of your worth.
Yes, at the expense of receiving and reveling in my very own praise! Would you take that from me, Senan? Would you leave this null’s vanity only two-thirds attended, with one-third left to languish? Would you leave your null to wilt, Sen?
[ Their expression shifts a smirk, and their finger is withdrawn, their hand returned to its place on Sen’s arm. ]
I won't hear you speak so slightingly of your gifts. Your talents. These words you orchestrate with such elan.
Who could spin a world out of verbage, or spin my head, my amazement through a mere collision of sounds, hm? I am no easily dazzled creature, and yet you draw my notice unfailingly, and you entice my thoughts away from daily currents. From business, from anxieties, from each anticipation that fades before your fantastical breath.
Fantastical, and yet there is more reality within one glance of you or from you than in the whole of this wretched country.
So please, I implore you - I beg of you, in fact - speak well of my Sen.