[ He had been about to argue that it wasn't fear of death, that he didn't fear anything β but instead exhaled, a hiss of air forced through clenched teeth from pain β his thoughts are kept on the moment, instead of deceiving either himself or Vergilius. Of course, he feared death. What human did not? Why hadn't he been fighting, tooth and nail to survive to the end of another world's inevitable destruction, preserving not just himself, but that one, most important thing? If he'd have died fully, what would have happened to her? Even now, he worries, what would happen, should he die?
His teeth gnash, pain in his ear, but it's almost distant because the question doesn't have an easy answer either. Why doesn't he fear him? His power was great, it was true, he could have cut him down where he stood β but he hadn't β what had possessed him to gamble foolishly like this? Over-confidence? No, he was not that foolish. Trust? Even more unlikely.
There Was a truth buried somewhere in there, isn't there? Vergilius licks at the blood welling at the injury. Does he shiver?
His teeth scraped against his cheek β ] Would you kill me?
[ It is perhaps foolish to turn it back on him, when he asks a specific question, but he continues, instead of giving him the chance to respond, fangs sharp enough to leave an indent but not drawing blood. It is pointed, the way he makes sure to press it in with speech, never quite breaking through. ]
I think you wouldn't. You're just like me, aren't you? [ Monsters, lurking in the guise of a man. He didn't bite him, but he let the promise of it β fangs pressed to cheek, his scar and skin pressed up against his. If he tipped his head slightly, Vergilius would see that burning pit of an eye, orange and glowing (always glowing) staring at him. ] Would anyone else understand you β all of you β like I would?
[ He was right, when he'd said that he didn't know him, but he knew enough of him. He'd seen the pieces, and Silco was a smart man, perhaps only when he saw what he understood, but that he did understand. ]
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His teeth gnash, pain in his ear, but it's almost distant because the question doesn't have an easy answer either. Why doesn't he fear him? His power was great, it was true, he could have cut him down where he stood β but he hadn't β what had possessed him to gamble foolishly like this? Over-confidence? No, he was not that foolish. Trust? Even more unlikely.
There Was a truth buried somewhere in there, isn't there? Vergilius licks at the blood welling at the injury. Does he shiver?
His teeth scraped against his cheek β ] Would you kill me?
[ It is perhaps foolish to turn it back on him, when he asks a specific question, but he continues, instead of giving him the chance to respond, fangs sharp enough to leave an indent but not drawing blood. It is pointed, the way he makes sure to press it in with speech, never quite breaking through. ]
I think you wouldn't. You're just like me, aren't you? [ Monsters, lurking in the guise of a man. He didn't bite him, but he let the promise of it β fangs pressed to cheek, his scar and skin pressed up against his. If he tipped his head slightly, Vergilius would see that burning pit of an eye, orange and glowing (always glowing) staring at him. ] Would anyone else understand you β all of you β like I would?
[ He was right, when he'd said that he didn't know him, but he knew enough of him. He'd seen the pieces, and Silco was a smart man, perhaps only when he saw what he understood, but that he did understand. ]