[It's the finger at his lips that grounds Eridanus, and keeps him from completely exploding into the geyser of emotions that Lucius is no doubt unprepared for. Light bless him, for he had more patience than Eridanus would have ever expected of him, and were he in the right frame of mind he likely would have appreciated it far more. Instead, the attempt at reason is met with knife-sharp claws and the dangerous edges of them that threaten Lucius' flesh yet as he pushes him back by the shoulders.]
You don't understand it is different, we— [A hitching breath interrupts him, and like the wilting leaves of a dying plant, his ears and shoulders wither.] We had an agreement, that I would tell her about these things, and then I did the opposite... she is furious for my lying, Lucius.
[It's unconscious the way his talons dig into cloth and skin, his emotions leaving him unrestrained and unthinking of their risk. His eyes are desperate as they search Lucius' confused expression, as if trying to find answers that he could grasp for in those knotted brows and slim smile. The guilt that eats his conscious, goading his imagination into vivid coca-fueled imagery of a grieving Rosefica, also selfishly seek forgiveness in Lucius—as if it were even his place to gift it.]
How am I to fix this? [A foolish question, for he already knows the answer. He knows that Rosefica will expect him to cut off their burgeoning relationship, denounce Lucius' stake in his eternity, and claim Rosefica as his one and only. It's selfishness that keeps him from admitting it to himself, and instead his denial tenses his arms rigid once more.] Should I... even fix this?
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You don't understand it is different, we— [A hitching breath interrupts him, and like the wilting leaves of a dying plant, his ears and shoulders wither.] We had an agreement, that I would tell her about these things, and then I did the opposite... she is furious for my lying, Lucius.
[It's unconscious the way his talons dig into cloth and skin, his emotions leaving him unrestrained and unthinking of their risk. His eyes are desperate as they search Lucius' confused expression, as if trying to find answers that he could grasp for in those knotted brows and slim smile. The guilt that eats his conscious, goading his imagination into vivid coca-fueled imagery of a grieving Rosefica, also selfishly seek forgiveness in Lucius—as if it were even his place to gift it.]
How am I to fix this? [A foolish question, for he already knows the answer. He knows that Rosefica will expect him to cut off their burgeoning relationship, denounce Lucius' stake in his eternity, and claim Rosefica as his one and only. It's selfishness that keeps him from admitting it to himself, and instead his denial tenses his arms rigid once more.] Should I... even fix this?