One Phantom at Your Window
Who: Jing and Cissnei
When: At night/ Several hours after Cissnei returned home from being revived.
Where: Cissnei's place
What: Jing is checking in on Cissnei.
Warnings: Angst and if anything romantic happens I'll change the warning.
He was leaning against the wall in silence. Gray eyes watched the sleeping figure in the bed. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. His eyes traced whatever curve the blanket wrapped around. Acute sight memorized the shape and placement of any scar they may possibly see. His face was completely unreadable. His body was relaxed and yet, simultaneously he was wound up like a coil. Everything about him seemed tense and at ease. But he had always prided himself on being a contradiction. He had seen to it that barely anyone ever understood him at all times. Being predictable got you caught. Being readable made it easier to kill. So Jing made sure he was never truly understood.
Which made him wonder why he was here now in Cissnei's bedroom watching her sleep. He had intruded on her often enough. Never in the same way, never at the same time of day. When the fancy held him he literally invited himself into her company. The whim had become less frequent for several months and he knew exactly why. In his peripheral vision he watched the curtain sway as soft moonlight streamed in.
How romantic.
Jing would be amused by such a cliche if he wasn't subscribing to it as thoroughly as he was. Only Cissnei broke the cliche. She was certainly no maiden, no damsel in distress. No, he supposed in that key element the story was shattered. So here he was, Bandit King in the middle of the night in a woman's room watching her sleep. The voyeuristic aspect was not lost on him. Another minor crime on his long criminal record.
She looked... frail. And he hated that. Perhaps not frail. She could never be frail. Not her. But she looked easy to kill. She looked easy for him to kill. She wasn't that either. But she looked it. And so many subscribed to "seeing is believing." Even her. But he knew she was not defenseless, she was not weak. But he could still kill her.
And that fact was that hitch. That fact was a grating unreachable itch. It was a nail sticking up through the carpet.
And that one fact held everything at a standstill. He could kill her. In fact, he had killed her.
When: At night/ Several hours after Cissnei returned home from being revived.
Where: Cissnei's place
What: Jing is checking in on Cissnei.
Warnings: Angst and if anything romantic happens I'll change the warning.
He was leaning against the wall in silence. Gray eyes watched the sleeping figure in the bed. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. His eyes traced whatever curve the blanket wrapped around. Acute sight memorized the shape and placement of any scar they may possibly see. His face was completely unreadable. His body was relaxed and yet, simultaneously he was wound up like a coil. Everything about him seemed tense and at ease. But he had always prided himself on being a contradiction. He had seen to it that barely anyone ever understood him at all times. Being predictable got you caught. Being readable made it easier to kill. So Jing made sure he was never truly understood.
Which made him wonder why he was here now in Cissnei's bedroom watching her sleep. He had intruded on her often enough. Never in the same way, never at the same time of day. When the fancy held him he literally invited himself into her company. The whim had become less frequent for several months and he knew exactly why. In his peripheral vision he watched the curtain sway as soft moonlight streamed in.
How romantic.
Jing would be amused by such a cliche if he wasn't subscribing to it as thoroughly as he was. Only Cissnei broke the cliche. She was certainly no maiden, no damsel in distress. No, he supposed in that key element the story was shattered. So here he was, Bandit King in the middle of the night in a woman's room watching her sleep. The voyeuristic aspect was not lost on him. Another minor crime on his long criminal record.
She looked... frail. And he hated that. Perhaps not frail. She could never be frail. Not her. But she looked easy to kill. She looked easy for him to kill. She wasn't that either. But she looked it. And so many subscribed to "seeing is believing." Even her. But he knew she was not defenseless, she was not weak. But he could still kill her.
And that fact was that hitch. That fact was a grating unreachable itch. It was a nail sticking up through the carpet.
And that one fact held everything at a standstill. He could kill her. In fact, he had killed her.