[ Avenger smears damp trails across her neck and in retaliation, the careful hand she'd taken him to herself with transfers to the thickest part of his hair. She threads through it unthinkingly and does not stop for even a minute, stroking him well after the trembling has subsided, crying along with him.
Her cheek is on his head, has been for a while. That means his hair'll be almost as salty from the weeping as it was when he sailed regularly. ]
D'you want me to let you go? Nothing has to change.
[it's like behind his ribcage and inside his head has been scrubbed with a wire brush, left back in his body, and things feel so heavy. Dantes hears the question, but can only bring himself to make a soft, noncommittal sound. not truly a word, not a complete yes or a no. he doesn't know entirely what he wants, and can't even say that.
he wants to sleep, and also to never sleep again. he wants to slap himself for crying, and to simply bleed out everything he feels. once the emotions cracked through the dam, he could not stop them from flowing, in all their tangled up complicated mess that they always were.]
[ Paloma has some fluency in weak, grief-raw noise. It says that she could do almost anything and little would earn a pronounced reaction, short of biting or throwing him off. ]
Ignacito, pspspspss, c'mere. [ As she cajoles the kitten into lifting its pink nose from a croissant-shaped nap, a gentle strength draws Avenger and herself to the couch cushions. While her body is fairly smaller, he could weigh three times as much without becoming a problem to support. ] Come see your daddy. Ignacito...
[the kitten blinks sleepily, but understands sweet talk enough to stand up and stretch his little back. he sniffs the air before thinking it's odd that Dantes is like this on the couch, with someone else, and pads on over to investigate with sniffing and curious eyes. tail low, flicking occasionally, he's not the most sure, but he's near now, next to the couch and gazing up at them.
the father in question simply accepts the movement, feeling the aftermath of his emotion dry in tracks on his face. it won't kill him to leave it be for now, when he's enough of a mess otherwise that more doesn't matter. instead, he hears her words as if through a windowpane, and for once trusts himself to be simply supported.
(how he'd have some barbed comment about it, if he saw. laughing at the absurdity, some sly remark about the Count being a man after all, and no statue. not to mock him, but to crack open that new facet of the self for his own perusal.)]
[ One of those out-of-body moments numbs her to the present. She remembers a café without intense foot traffic and a table with an aloof, nearly monochromatic man sitting at it. The distance between then and now makes everything unreal for a confusing minute.
Ignatz’s furry face refocuses. From a few inches above Dantes’ leaden head, she tries to put on the sort of expression that might reassure a cat. Or entice one. ]
Up-up, pretty baby?
[ With or without a purring friend, the furnace from her enchanted ring feels as if the fireplace is much closer. Napping, should they fall asleep, is perfectly understandable. ]
[the little one seems to be considering the prospect, before he gets up, pausing on Dantes's back before he steps forward, seeking out the gap between Dantes's shoulder and Paloma's body. it's a small, warm spot. it cannot hold a full kitten, and it definitely has just been awkwardly filled by half of one that's purring away, completely content at this turn of events.
Dantes was going to simply soak in his grief. but now his face is full of vibrating fur, and he does have to shift a little to breathe. the words that leave his mouth are French, dredged up from the back of his mind as he's been teaching the little one to respond to it.]
[ Laughter is too big an ask just now. That tiny face headbutting into the coziest gap it could find (fur sticking up a grieving man’s nostrils, feet poking into a boob) would give her fits any other night. ]
Yeah, [ Though her wrist protests, Paloma endeavors to lightly caress both their heads. Bestial strength in these hands and only the desire to affirm connection with them. ] What he said, silly boy.
[ Two hearts. Two beating hearts, one regular, one rapid. Those are what lull her to sleep, in the end, more so than the heat. ]
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Her cheek is on his head, has been for a while. That means his hair'll be almost as salty from the weeping as it was when he sailed regularly. ]
D'you want me to let you go? Nothing has to change.
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he wants to sleep, and also to never sleep again. he wants to slap himself for crying, and to simply bleed out everything he feels. once the emotions cracked through the dam, he could not stop them from flowing, in all their tangled up complicated mess that they always were.]
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Ignacito, pspspspss, c'mere. [ As she cajoles the kitten into lifting its pink nose from a croissant-shaped nap, a gentle strength draws Avenger and herself to the couch cushions. While her body is fairly smaller, he could weigh three times as much without becoming a problem to support. ] Come see your daddy. Ignacito...
no subject
the father in question simply accepts the movement, feeling the aftermath of his emotion dry in tracks on his face. it won't kill him to leave it be for now, when he's enough of a mess otherwise that more doesn't matter. instead, he hears her words as if through a windowpane, and for once trusts himself to be simply supported.
(how he'd have some barbed comment about it, if he saw. laughing at the absurdity, some sly remark about the Count being a man after all, and no statue. not to mock him, but to crack open that new facet of the self for his own perusal.)]
no subject
Ignatz’s furry face refocuses. From a few inches above Dantes’ leaden head, she tries to put on the sort of expression that might reassure a cat. Or entice one. ]
Up-up, pretty baby?
[ With or without a purring friend, the furnace from her enchanted ring feels as if the fireplace is much closer. Napping, should they fall asleep, is perfectly understandable. ]
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Dantes was going to simply soak in his grief. but now his face is full of vibrating fur, and he does have to shift a little to breathe. the words that leave his mouth are French, dredged up from the back of his mind as he's been teaching the little one to respond to it.]
You have no shame, do you.
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Yeah, [ Though her wrist protests, Paloma endeavors to lightly caress both their heads. Bestial strength in these hands and only the desire to affirm connection with them. ] What he said, silly boy.
[ Two hearts. Two beating hearts, one regular, one rapid. Those are what lull her to sleep, in the end, more so than the heat. ]