He's there a few moments later, lightly touching the trunk of the tree and whispering a request for permission at the bottom, then appearing beside Eris, levitating, not even bothering to try and appear normal.
He doesn't say anything. Just sits beside her, offering support should she need it.
I'm sorry. Such inadequate words. A soft golden flare conjures a blanket that he wraps around them, because while the storm is beautiful in its chaos, it's also cold.
They were said in anger, Eris. You have -- you both have -- a lot to bear, more than you rightly should. Perhaps it's easier for me to see that because I'm not a deity like you two, but it seems that you've both got far too much hurt, far too much fate.
He gently strokes her hair, like a father comforting a crying child.
The end of days will come. We see it every day, in Milliways. But why should you and he be tied to what is said will happen? I'm from a world of prophecy, dearheart, my life has taught me that you can't rely on what prophecy says will happen.
There are a multitude of worlds out there, according to what I've seen here. He thinks that to deny Ragnarok will turn the world on its side? Perhaps it will, I can't say for certain, nobody can. But nothing is inevitable. He and you and yours deserve the chance to at least try.
There is a choice I will make. I have always known this, Lochiel.
One choice leads to Greyface winning, and order taking over, and I'll go off to an 'honorable retirement' among the stars and the rest of the patrons of the bar will look up one day and I'll just be boiling off into the ultraviolet along with all the rest.
The storm doesn't stop, but it shifts away enough that most of the rain is falling not-on-them.
The other choice... I'll still be me, until whatever other end the universe reaches.
He doesn't say anything. Just sits beside her, offering support should she need it.
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Not... not unless you want to...
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He takes one of her hands gently.
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She will ask him how, later.
For now, she simply turns and buries her face in his shoulder.
If she is crying, the rain still hides her tears.
If she is sobbing... perhaps he can tell, now.
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I'm here, dear one.
If his mental tone somehow has a different timbre, perhaps she's not in the right frame of mind to tell.
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For now, the scenes are there, laid out for him to see, if he looks.
It is simpler this way.
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I am sorry, Eris.
I'm sorry. Such inadequate words. A soft golden flare conjures a blanket that he wraps around them, because while the storm is beautiful in its chaos, it's also cold.
I'll be here as long as you need me.
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I... don't know which words I believe, anymore.
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He gently strokes her hair, like a father comforting a crying child.
The end of days will come. We see it every day, in Milliways. But why should you and he be tied to what is said will happen? I'm from a world of prophecy, dearheart, my life has taught me that you can't rely on what prophecy says will happen.
There are a multitude of worlds out there, according to what I've seen here. He thinks that to deny Ragnarok will turn the world on its side? Perhaps it will, I can't say for certain, nobody can. But nothing is inevitable. He and you and yours deserve the chance to at least try.
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There is a choice I will make. I have always known this, Lochiel.
One choice leads to Greyface winning, and order taking over, and I'll go off to an 'honorable retirement' among the stars and the rest of the patrons of the bar will look up one day and I'll just be boiling off into the ultraviolet along with all the rest.
The storm doesn't stop, but it shifts away enough that most of the rain is falling not-on-them.
The other choice... I'll still be me, until whatever other end the universe reaches.
I don't know what the choice is.
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