[Hayame has never in her life held another person's hand.
She had tumbled to the hay from the body of a mother whose arms had been flensed from her shoulders to make of her a broken broodmare, and it had been humans that raised her in full knowledge that she was a well-bred investment, a tool that would only find a semblance of respect and personhood in a world dominated by their species if she were obedient, strong, and easy to use. And to do that... to succeed the most she was capable of in a system such as that...
Weaknesses such as a need for comfort, sympathy with others, or a desire to feel another's heat were unnecessary. It wasn't as if her culture was particularly free with touch in general, human or jinba, especially where anyone else could see, but... beyond a few mistakes in fillyhood, the one time her brother had placed his hand gently over hers when he swore to assist her in making sure she proved herself and was sold as a warhorse instead of a mare... the one time Matsukaze had grabbed her wrist to haul her back up from death at the base of an icy waterfall as if she needed saving and hadn't just tried to kill him...
Is this what it was supposed to feel like?
Estinien's hand is warm. It is calloused, much like hers is, from gripping weapons tight with determination and rage from youth. Her palm feels unjustifiably sweaty, for reasons she cannot explain. Her fingers wants to tighten their grip and not let go only just a bit more than she wants to run away from the scandal of their bare skin touching in such an intimate way. But mostly... she understands shamefully in that moment that she wants to know if it would be different if he squeezed back. Wants him to be alive enough, awake enough, to be able to.
- Something happens, when she presses his knuckles up against her shard in the soft valley between the breasts she usually bound down as tightly as she could to minimize her femininity beyond what was necessary for an archer attempting to keep draw arm unhampered. The firebrand flares to life, like recognized like, and the torch she hoped to be to guide him out of the darkness he'd found himself glows bright and desperate...
And his eyes open. She honestly thinks it might be some sort of hallucination, at first. It couldn't be actually happening, because if it was... it might meant that she was succeeding. That this bizarre, magical, instinct-driven something technique of hers had actually worked... and it renders Hayame frozen as he blinks and tries to reorient himself in the land of the un-crystallized, as if words or movement from her, even an attempt to hide the emotional (anxious, hurt, angry, sad, lonely) look on her face or hide the fact that she is clutching his hand might ruin it.
But then he speaks, and she has to believe it. It truly is you, he says, and Hayame struggles to force the words half-swallowed and trapped in her throat back out again, part of her river of inky hair sliding over a shoulder as she leans in just an inch under the excuse of being able to hear his voice in the crystal cavern where the peaceful silence is almost oppressively loud. Was it really her?]
... Who else would it be?
[She thinks she means it physically, to say that of course it is her because no one else among the aions could be mistaken for her- not with her centaurine form, her distinctive coloring... let alone that now he lays in the bony cradle of her forelegs. It truly is Hayame, no matter how disappointing that should be... and yet all she feels through the bond is happiness and relief. (Happiness-)]
... And you? What of Estinien?
[He had spoken of the Innocence entity as something capable of stealing away his sense of self, of robbing him of memories and bonds, and so now, only able to assume that the same entity is to blame now... did he remember all he needed to? Was he yet himself, the same man that had put that hunting knife in her hands what seemed like so long ago despite it being but the pass of a single season?
She needs to know the answer from his own tongue, before she can let herself even begin to feel that same sense of relief and maybe... maybe...]
no subject
She had tumbled to the hay from the body of a mother whose arms had been flensed from her shoulders to make of her a broken broodmare, and it had been humans that raised her in full knowledge that she was a well-bred investment, a tool that would only find a semblance of respect and personhood in a world dominated by their species if she were obedient, strong, and easy to use. And to do that... to succeed the most she was capable of in a system such as that...
Weaknesses such as a need for comfort, sympathy with others, or a desire to feel another's heat were unnecessary. It wasn't as if her culture was particularly free with touch in general, human or jinba, especially where anyone else could see, but... beyond a few mistakes in fillyhood, the one time her brother had placed his hand gently over hers when he swore to assist her in making sure she proved herself and was sold as a warhorse instead of a mare... the one time Matsukaze had grabbed her wrist to haul her back up from death at the base of an icy waterfall as if she needed saving and hadn't just tried to kill him...
Is this what it was supposed to feel like?
Estinien's hand is warm. It is calloused, much like hers is, from gripping weapons tight with determination and rage from youth. Her palm feels unjustifiably sweaty, for reasons she cannot explain. Her fingers wants to tighten their grip and not let go only just a bit more than she wants to run away from the scandal of their bare skin touching in such an intimate way. But mostly... she understands shamefully in that moment that she wants to know if it would be different if he squeezed back. Wants him to be alive enough, awake enough, to be able to.
- Something happens, when she presses his knuckles up against her shard in the soft valley between the breasts she usually bound down as tightly as she could to minimize her femininity beyond what was necessary for an archer attempting to keep draw arm unhampered. The firebrand flares to life, like recognized like, and the torch she hoped to be to guide him out of the darkness he'd found himself glows bright and desperate...
And his eyes open. She honestly thinks it might be some sort of hallucination, at first. It couldn't be actually happening, because if it was... it might meant that she was succeeding. That this bizarre, magical, instinct-driven something technique of hers had actually worked... and it renders Hayame frozen as he blinks and tries to reorient himself in the land of the un-crystallized, as if words or movement from her, even an attempt to hide the emotional (anxious, hurt, angry, sad, lonely) look on her face or hide the fact that she is clutching his hand might ruin it.
But then he speaks, and she has to believe it. It truly is you, he says, and Hayame struggles to force the words half-swallowed and trapped in her throat back out again, part of her river of inky hair sliding over a shoulder as she leans in just an inch under the excuse of being able to hear his voice in the crystal cavern where the peaceful silence is almost oppressively loud. Was it really her?]
... Who else would it be?
[She thinks she means it physically, to say that of course it is her because no one else among the aions could be mistaken for her- not with her centaurine form, her distinctive coloring... let alone that now he lays in the bony cradle of her forelegs. It truly is Hayame, no matter how disappointing that should be... and yet all she feels through the bond is happiness and relief. (Happiness-)]
... And you? What of Estinien?
[He had spoken of the Innocence entity as something capable of stealing away his sense of self, of robbing him of memories and bonds, and so now, only able to assume that the same entity is to blame now... did he remember all he needed to? Was he yet himself, the same man that had put that hunting knife in her hands what seemed like so long ago despite it being but the pass of a single season?
She needs to know the answer from his own tongue, before she can let herself even begin to feel that same sense of relief and maybe... maybe...]