[Sex isn't a medicine for him, not in the way it is for Annie. It's a distraction, temporary at best. He has too much to do. He's too bound to duty to ever let himself slip through the cracks, despite the easy grin and the cocky attitude. There is no expanse for him. There's nothing of him that's being held back, ever.
What he is is only human. Twice now he's reminded of this.
He'd been absently running his fingers through his hair and the thin braids. The minds of many come down heavy, even more those in his brood.
And then it's Annie, breaking apart the continuous hum of good thoughts and bad thoughts and thoughtless thoughts. The scar and the bandage catch his eye. There's nothing really to be disgusted by it these days. He had his own enormous scar, treelike and spindly, spidering across his armpit, chest, and shoulder. Days when daemons and Nif soldiers were half as dangerous as he had last left them, when he was new to the fight. It had looked angry the day he was electrocuted. Not that he remembered much: pure electric shock tends to knock out a man for a few days.
He grins right back at her, wearing nothing more than the loose pants he'd found day one. The need for the overflow starts to settle into his mind, her need for excess. Yes, he has his own share of guilt and anxiety, reflected right back in a simmering undercurrent. He keeps to the present, to the future, to fix all of that. To ensure it never happens again. Unlike Annie, though, Nyx doesn't fight past it: he embraces it, and turns it into a weapon that keeps him alive.
That's for the battlefield. Could he be blamed for not wanting to think? What had it been, a week since Insomnia descended into madness, right up to this moment? He's done with thinking too hard for the moment. There's just Annie and her bandages and her slinky, encompassing darkness that could, and would, swallow him whole.
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Date: 2017-05-17 04:14 am (UTC)What he is is only human. Twice now he's reminded of this.
He'd been absently running his fingers through his hair and the thin braids. The minds of many come down heavy, even more those in his brood.
And then it's Annie, breaking apart the continuous hum of good thoughts and bad thoughts and thoughtless thoughts. The scar and the bandage catch his eye. There's nothing really to be disgusted by it these days. He had his own enormous scar, treelike and spindly, spidering across his armpit, chest, and shoulder. Days when daemons and Nif soldiers were half as dangerous as he had last left them, when he was new to the fight. It had looked angry the day he was electrocuted. Not that he remembered much: pure electric shock tends to knock out a man for a few days.
He grins right back at her, wearing nothing more than the loose pants he'd found day one. The need for the overflow starts to settle into his mind, her need for excess. Yes, he has his own share of guilt and anxiety, reflected right back in a simmering undercurrent. He keeps to the present, to the future, to fix all of that. To ensure it never happens again. Unlike Annie, though, Nyx doesn't fight past it: he embraces it, and turns it into a weapon that keeps him alive.
That's for the battlefield. Could he be blamed for not wanting to think? What had it been, a week since Insomnia descended into madness, right up to this moment? He's done with thinking too hard for the moment. There's just Annie and her bandages and her slinky, encompassing darkness that could, and would, swallow him whole.
Nyx saunters towards her, taking a deep breath.]
I'm tougher than that.