[ what a night they had, full of table-flipping and throat-stabbing and voids opening in heads--or maybe just one void in one head, under those lobster crackers in clarke's hand. the piece de resistance of the evening. he did mean to come here to talk and offer aid for future encounter and maybe try to brainstorm a little about what to do for a next attack because yes, he's flighty like wind but he was a part of that resistance against a tyrant god back home. something of rebellion runs in his veins and newly ignited after seeing the captain. like laying eyes on the once-unknown enemy.
but that belief from her was so dizzyingly potent it made him reel. the way she kneels as if offering prayer to an idol, it claws onto the primal part of him that was a god for thousands of years. he never made or even really truly wanted people to pray to him but he can't deny who he is--wind deity, and faith gives him power, the rush of boldness and wind in his ears. he once had so much more power than he did now, even if he was weak among the pantheon, he once could throw mountains out to sea...
his hand runs lightly into her hair; the blue-green of his eyes nearly glow. the fixation of a deity to a mortal of interest. ] Clarke, you smashed open the Captain's head. And you brushed it off, like it wasn't the most substantial wound any of us had dealt to him. [ whether the captain is man or immortal or god or a god-wannabe, it doesn't even matter at the moment. it was kiiind of a turn on if he really had to admit it. ] Could I reward you for it? For working so hard all this time, for everything--and for even offering to believe in me, however you might...
[ he hadn't a hint of belief until now; he had offered his name to jinx, his aid to her. he did so to clarke just now, pledging his wind and stormeye. he'd told clarke how faith empowers gods so she may as well just want to pique him but if so, mission succeeded because just the taste of it, just this much, practically stunned him how much he'd missed those prayers to him. no matter how much he'd fly away from the responsibility of godhood, no matter how he lives incognito he is divine or ex-divine, it runs through his veins like ichor.
his other hand drifts down to the collar of her shirt, fingertips brushing over bare skin and hem of fabric. the cool of his touch like spring wind and the breeze seems to intensify around him. in the back of his head he knows he should think of mizuki, should think of... but the image of her on her knees, that promise of belief washes over him like the buzz of the strongest liquor or ambrosia. ]
Can I? [ in exchange for belief--some kind of reward, for the girl who said his god's name. the first time he'd heard it since coming to this ship. people had prayed to him for freedom; she might be the first to think of praying to him for power, but something of that ambitious faith feels punch-drunk. ]
no subject
but that belief from her was so dizzyingly potent it made him reel. the way she kneels as if offering prayer to an idol, it claws onto the primal part of him that was a god for thousands of years. he never made or even really truly wanted people to pray to him but he can't deny who he is--wind deity, and faith gives him power, the rush of boldness and wind in his ears. he once had so much more power than he did now, even if he was weak among the pantheon, he once could throw mountains out to sea...
his hand runs lightly into her hair; the blue-green of his eyes nearly glow. the fixation of a deity to a mortal of interest. ] Clarke, you smashed open the Captain's head. And you brushed it off, like it wasn't the most substantial wound any of us had dealt to him. [ whether the captain is man or immortal or god or a god-wannabe, it doesn't even matter at the moment. it was kiiind of a turn on if he really had to admit it. ] Could I reward you for it? For working so hard all this time, for everything--and for even offering to believe in me, however you might...
[ he hadn't a hint of belief until now; he had offered his name to jinx, his aid to her. he did so to clarke just now, pledging his wind and stormeye. he'd told clarke how faith empowers gods so she may as well just want to pique him but if so, mission succeeded because just the taste of it, just this much, practically stunned him how much he'd missed those prayers to him. no matter how much he'd fly away from the responsibility of godhood, no matter how he lives incognito he is divine or ex-divine, it runs through his veins like ichor.
his other hand drifts down to the collar of her shirt, fingertips brushing over bare skin and hem of fabric. the cool of his touch like spring wind and the breeze seems to intensify around him. in the back of his head he knows he should think of mizuki, should think of... but the image of her on her knees, that promise of belief washes over him like the buzz of the strongest liquor or ambrosia. ]
Can I? [ in exchange for belief--some kind of reward, for the girl who said his god's name. the first time he'd heard it since coming to this ship. people had prayed to him for freedom; she might be the first to think of praying to him for power, but something of that ambitious faith feels punch-drunk. ]