[Couronne] A helping hand

[Arkash]

42nd of Frost, 4621

Long after the evening's events, Arkash was back in his clothes with most of the stains in his fine shirt removed. All the blood was easily manipulated and pulled away from the fibers it tangled with. Everything else? Not so much.

He stood at the edge of the piano with a Grafting Needle between his finger and thumb, weaving condensed Sinew Cloths in predetermined lengths and shapes. Occasionally, he had Degare show him the fingers of his whole hand as a reference for his current work. He had to be careful that the size, shape, and the like were all correct, else it would lead to complications with dexterity and coordination. He had to consider the muscles, flexor tendons, vessels, and nails.

When it really came down to the details of the task at hand, it almost felt like the Rathor was in over his head. Such self-doubt wasn't easily dismissed, but he focused on completing one task at a time. The first step was to complete the skeleton, then the musculature, vessels, tendons, skin, and finally the hair and nails. Before too long, he had the Sinew Cloth he needed in order to fashion the bones and promptly applied the appropriate Activators to each segment by pouring the silvery material from the Mortar he'd prepared earlier.

As each cloth began to assume the correct composition of calcium and lymphoid organ. With each segment laid out on the piano top, it was almost possible to imagine the fingers completed. Arkash did see them completed when he looked upon them, and a hopeful smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before he looked to the elf. "Yeah, I can finish before the night is done," Arkash said with a nod. "You'll be good as new in no time."

Briefly, his eyes did fall on the space where Degare's index finger, middle finger, and ring finger had rested, and frowned a little before he began to weave some more Sinew Thread. His eyes remained glued to his work while he fashioned the appropriate weave for the nerves and blood vessels that ran through each segment. "I wasn't trained as a doctor," Arkash began while he worked, pale eyes flitting from thread to thread while he fashioned the cloth. "Most of what I did under my Master was learn to take apart dead people, remake them into other shapes and such... I did treat some injuries but..." He trailed off, snapping the thread with a twist of the Grafting Needle.

"Well... I never took the vow to do no harm." A slight, apologetic smile was extended from his eyes when he next looked to the Veir, and bowed his head a little. "I am sorry I took it so far, for what it's worth," he said with a gesture to the man's hand, then began to wrap the bones in three Segments with the complex weave of Sinew Cloth. At points, he even appeared to push the Sinew Threads through the body of the bones with the aid of the Grafting Needle, thoroughly mapping the path of the vessels in each digit.

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[Degare]

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It was always jarring when one rips one of Mentalism’s five reveries away as the brain struggles to re-regulate emotions and the like. He wasn’t in much pain, at least, when he disabled it. His lung and his chest had been repaired, though he did feel the throb of pain in his right hand. It was at this moment when all the dots connected and it fully struck him what Arkash had done.

Trying to flex fingers that weren’t there, his heart rate picks up again as panic sets in. “I…I really hope you know what you’re doing in regards to fixing this,” his voice is still weak, but his distress is audible at this point. As he brings his right hand up and over his face, he audibly gasps, the visual turning his stomach now that his mind was functioning as normal.

Though he tried to maintain his composure, the myriad things he would no longer be able to do without those three functioning fingers flashed in his mind with rapid succession as his heart sank. Yes, remaking body parts was perfectly possible, but the lingering paranoia that the new pieces wouldn’t have the same precision, dexterity, sensitivity and overall function he was used to was haunting to him.

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As time ticked by, the two of them were now once again dressed and Degare had left to force himself to eat, bringing extra water back when he returned, should Arkash want any. He kept his right hand hidden within the pockets of his robes as he moved through the manor; several of the Valran did give him rather interesting looks as he passed, but none of them needed to know that what they’d done resulted in him losing fingers.

Once the Veir had returned to the room in which the Rathor was waiting, he would pace around the room anxiously unless he was asked to show the other his hand. Every time he looked at it he wore a grimace atop distraught features, unable to hide the worry knotting itself ever tighter in his chest.

He did stop his movements periodically to watch Arkash work, finding necromancy itself interesting, though it was proving exceptionally difficult for him to focus his thoughts on any one thing. Distracted while the smaller man set about making the bones, pointed ears perked when he heard him speak. Degare sighs, “There…needn’t be a rush, just please ensure quality construction…please…” speaking with a voice laced with worry with the second ‘please’ at the end being not much more than a murmur.

Once again pacing around the room, his movements cease when he hears the Dranoch’s voice, standing not too far away as he turns to look at the other’s face. Arkash does genuinely seem to mean what he’s saying, but sentiment is of little comfort to the older elf. Biting the inside of his lip before he speaks, looking away as he does so, “I put myself in that position, you’d told me you were a dranoch– some of the blame falls on me as well.” There is the slightest twinge of regret audible in his words. He does mean this sentiment. The Ferrier wasn’t upset with Arkash; he was upset with himself, however. This would have been made somewhat evident in how quiet he had been and the fact that he didn’t lash out with any anger or malice in the other man’s direction.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

Quality construction... Arkash nodded his head a little and glanced to the pacing Veir, partway through the weaving of another Sinew Cloth. "Of course," he accepted quietly and continued his work. When he'd completed the next Sinew Cloth, he pulled at the fabric of threads to unravel it to some degree, then began to wrap a second digit with the pathways of nerves and vessels that would allow the flow of blood and control of motor functions.

By the time he was done with the third finger's veins, he'd already issued his apology, and Degare had shifted the blame to himself. The human-guised Rathor shook his head. "No... All you did was trust your surgeon. As much as I'd like to say it's your fault for being so... you, I was the one who threw discipline and restraint to the wind," a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before he returned his attention to his work. More Sinew Thread was woven, but this time around the existing bones near the joints of each digit, and each time he pulled and snapped the string, he formed Extensor Tendons on the back of the finger. The process was repeated on the underside to create Flexor Tendons, two of each on every finger.

After that, he began to weave a series of Sinew Threads that spun a cloth around the bones. He was careful with his measurement of the thickness in each digit, and ensured the flow was in the appropriate direction. He briefly inspected his own fingers, and the softer underside. After a nod, he collected the Mortar and pestle and created another two activators, which he poured with immense precision. The first activated a series of muscles that wove and flowed around each digit while the second activated the vessels and nerves, allowing a means of control for each digit. When he was done with that step, he set the mortar and pestle down, and resumed inspection of his finger, around the nail section.

With a deep sigh, he set the needle down and glanced to the Veir, wherever he was in the room. "Degare," he called after a brief pause.

"Could you come here for a minute?"

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[Degare]

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The Veir continued to pace around the room, walking with no particular pattern. Sometimes he’d move in circles, other times in lines. There was no order to it, and he stopped at apparently random intervals as well, as if he was caught up in his own thoughts. The only time the reason for his movements was more obvious would be when he’d stop near Arkash and loom over his shoulder, watching his work. He tried not to stand too close so as not to disturb him, but his own natural interest in the biological construction of the body drew him back over to watch the process with reasonable frequency. While he had no formal training in anything related to necromancy, he did have a reasonably competent working knowledge of biology due to personal interest and some experimenting related to his development as a Ferrier.

When he hears Arkash speak, he stops, looking away with a somewhat forlorn expression. “I didn’t even use very many of the tethers,” he says with a dry laugh. “I had a spouse once that loved it with quite a bit more than that, so I thought I’d retain some semblance of control with the amount that I used, and yet…” he’s speaking musingly and it’s clear he’s talking mostly to himself. As soon as he finishes talking, his breath catches, as if he’s said something wrong. With some amount of hesitation, he seems to recover, not acknowledging whatever mistake he may have made.

Standing on the far side of the room near the windows, the elven man’s ears perked at the Dranoch’s words. “Ah…sure,” spoken softly, voice lacking any distinct emotion. It only takes a few long strides to arrive at his companion’s side. Peering at his features inquisitively, “...yes?”

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

A discerning eye evaluated the fingers he’d put together on the piano top, which drew his brow to furrow. Something about their design didn’t sit right with the Rath, but he couldn’t be sure unless he measured them beside the originals.

Though getting his fingers fixed was Degare’s highest priority, Arkash found other points of interest while he worked. The older elf had been married at some point, as he was told. Arkash’s brows rose a little at the brief story, but he said nothing on the subject immediately. Instead, he watched with curious eyes as the man seemed to back-pedal and withdraw from his investment of knowledge. "Well..." Arkash started with a sly grin and a sort-of innocent shrug, "seemed like you were loving it too."

To make any more progress with the fingers, he needed something to base them off, something to shape them after. The young Rath nodded as he set the needle down, then invited the man over.

When Degare approached, he carefully collected the elf’s left hand and guided it to the Piano top. There, he pressed the Veir’s palm flat to the surface and splayed his fingers so that every edge was visible to his discerning eye. A gentle hand collected the index finger he’d crafted, then measured it beside the digit the elf was born with. Another furrow of his brow saw him move the prototype back in line with the others.

He briefly looked up to meet the elf’s eyes before he took the middle finger and measured it in the same way. His discerning gaze focused on the length and assured the difference was appropriate, which he continued to measure and feel with gentle presses. “…How long were you together?” He asked while he maintained focus on his work, then moved the middle prototype away and set it beside the other. “You don’t have to say, I just didn’t really take you for the type to get hitched,” he continued as he measured up the ring finger, then nodded at the proportions.

There was something off about the volume, Arkash determined as he turned the elf’s hand over. Gently, he began to press and pinch the skin beneath, then squinted while he tested the consistency of the flesh before he reached into the doctor's bag and drew a small sickle-like tool. "Keep your hand there?" He asked before he let the elf go, then began to shave away flakes of muscle from the prototypes that didn't quite belong. Degare's left hand served as the reference for his work, and Arkash mimicked the shape quite well despite the different compositions.

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[Degare]

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As the Veir continues to pace, he emits an amused scoff. “So I did...In the past, I’d not really…used it on myself to that extent or…in a context similar to this,” laughing a bit at the end. “In that relationship, at least, I was the one in your position. Apparently, I do enjoy the reverse– a lot more than I thought I would, actually…” he trails off, staring at his missing fingers with an ambiguous expression. He’s speaking honestly– he did enjoy himself, but it’s more that he can’t decide if it was worth it at the moment.

Approaching his necromancer companion with curious eyes, the elf stops beside him, a tilt to his head. “What do you need…?” When it appears that the other simply wanted a reference for his work, he allows Arkash to take it, eyes following their hands as he guides them to the piano. There is a mild amount of concern in his eyes as his hand is placed against the smooth wood of the piano lid, pondering over the look of the unfinished digits laying on the table. His knowledge of how they should look is only tertiary. Degare tries to push down his worry and instead focuses on watching Arkash’s weaving of flesh and bone.

The two of them stand largely in silence– Degare being in low enough mood to not really have anything to say for the moment, only catching the smaller man’s gaze when he looks up at him. Eventually, though, Arkash speaks. The Ferrier’s breath catches a bit at the question, biting the inside of his lip as he considers whether or not he should answer. He sighs, “Thirty-nine years.” Finding this subject particularly difficult to talk about, he gives a rather blunt answer in an unemotive voice. When the Dranoch speaks again, amber eyes appear almost wistful as a bitter half smile draws itself upon his face. “I was…different when I was younger…and he was…special.” His words are spoken slowly; it’s almost as if he’s not sure which are the right ones to say. “I don’t plan on doing that again,” he quickly tacks this on for sake of clarity.

The pale elf is trying to keep his face relatively even in expression, yet when he speaks about Averre, his features twist in discomfort; it would appear that he is unable to hide this. Pointed ears perk up a bit when the other gives him the instruction. Degare stays still, not really planning on moving regardless. His eyes shift back to the other man’s work now– watching with interest as he goes about his business with the tiny flesh sickle.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

Arkash couldn't help but grin at the revelation; Degare had enjoyed the encounter. Whether or not it was worth it was a different matter, he supposed. But with his diligent work, surely that sentiment was open to change? He could only hope...

With every thread, the fingers came closer and closer to completion. Every scrape of the sickle saw them assume a more natural-looking shape that wasn't sleek or even. He paid great attention to the detail of the musculature, ensuring it was thicker where it needed to be and threaded and flowed to the places he thought appropriate on each joint.

He delivered his question in hopes of learning more about the elf and nodded in understanding while he shaved away flecks of muscle before he paused, then looked up at the man. "...Thirty-nine?" Arkash asked with wide eyes. he did hesitate a little when he caught Degare's expression, but pulled a slight grin when he returned to his work. A pause was stretched before he spoke a quiet "...I didn't know you were so old." He wore a mischievous grin through the delivery of his lighthearted tone.

The opportunity to deliver another joke opened, but the time for jokes had passed, he recognized. A nod of understanding was offered by the younger Rath, who looked to the elf with a look of sincerity. "I'm sorry to hear that... I- Haven't even been alive that long, let alone been with anyone like that, but I can imagine it's hard to just... Not have them anymore." He paused again, a distinct frown pulling at his features while he stared at the digits, then shook his head and continued his work.

A short stretch of silence accompanied his work before he glanced to the elf to try and gauge his mental place based on his expression. "...What happened, if you don't mind my asking? Was he your Arlaed?"

Again, he turned the elf's hand over so that the nails were face up. Gently, he collected the hand, then inspected the nails just a few inches from his eyes with a focused squint. He turned the hand in a few different directions, none of which were too uncomfortable, but to see every angle. Satisfied, he began to weave another layer of Sinew thread around the fingers and began to form a web of Sinew Cloth. Great attention to detail was paid toward the tip of the finger so that he'd have to do less work with the Sickle when the time came.

When all three fingers were wrapped, he created skin Activators for all of them with the mortar and pestle, then poured a trickle of the pale fluid onto each digit. Quickly, they grew their skin layers, though they were smooth and without definition. Again, he looked up at the elf with an attentive gaze.

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[Degare]

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The tight binds of worry that had woven their way through his organs began to loosen as he saw the fingers progress. As far as he could tell, Arkash was taking great care to build them, giving each aspect special attention to make sure they were identical to his own. Given the fact that he’d mentioned little experience in actually performing necromancy for sake of healing, his diligence in this regard was…sweet, almost; it was endearing to him.

A slight flash of what could be construed as embarrassment passes over the Ferrier’s features when the younger Rathor looks up at him with eyes wide and bright, asking his rhetorical question. Degare grimaces, but laughs a bit at his comment. “Yes…I’ve recently passed my first century if that sates your curiosity at all.” His eyes close with a sigh, reopening when he speaks again, “By standards of my people, I wouldn’t even be considered very old, yet. Being surrounded by humans sure makes me feel that way, though,” his tone is notably lighter here than it had been.

When his companion looks up at him again, the Veir notes the sincerity of his expression, acknowledging it with a light tilt to his head as the other speaks. A soft, melancholic smile pulls at his lips. “Mmm…really? That young, huh?” The question is asked musingly, the tone is more of a joke than anything because Degare could tell by the man’s features he was likely in his twenties– though he wasn’t entirely sure how Rathor in their human forms aged. “...But yes. My reaction to losing him was poor even by normal standards. Wasted a lot of time as a result.” There’s a jab in his stomach after he says this, feeling that even those two sentences were too much. Physically, he seems to have flinched at his own words.

To some degree, the lingering silence was of some comfort to the Mentalist, finding the quiet to be peaceful after the chaos of the earlier evening. “Hm?” His ears perk at the words that break the silence, looking down again at Arkash with gentle curiosity. The next question, though, resulted in what little color the pale elf’s face possessed appearing to drain away. His jaw tightened and amber eyes immediately looked away, staring off into the distance at nothing in particular, though his head stays stone still. Degare blinks a few times, as if both caught off guard by the question and simultaneously upset by it.

Degare had not admitted to the mistake he’d made in regards to the Arlaed since it happened. Anyone that lived in his estate knew better than to ever bring that up. For that matter, most he socialized with knew better as well, Daravin natives or not. There was enough gossip around that matter to sate the curiosity of most around the subject and thus, there was largely no need to poke the man himself about it. However…Arkash knew nothing about his past. He didn’t know any better; it wouldn’t be fair to be upset at him. Plus, given their interactions thus far, the smaller man is the curious sort– can he really be blamed for asking such a question, especially when he’d mentioned how long the two of them had been together?

The Veir’s face has cooled, eyes almost empty as his gaze sets upon the necromancer’s work again, staring in silence while the other weaves skin around the unfinished digits. They really are starting to resemble that which adorns his other hand. Though it would not be abundantly obvious, if the Rathor was a particularly astute observer of body language and facial expression, he would be able to detect the slightest amounts of ease to the man's stress when he's touched. There must be something comforting about having the necromancer's hands on his own-- perhaps, even, in touching him in general.

“You know about that, huh…?” The first thing he says after a rather uncomfortable amount of time has passed. Much as Degare is usually happy to talk on and on about himself, this particular subject dries his throat and makes him feel ill more so than anything else. In addition to the emotional turmoil, it’s physically difficult to actually force the words out.

A deep inhale is followed by an equally dragging exhale as the Veir shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how much the Arlaed is worth to a human noble in Daravin?” Degare’s voice is cold as ice, waves of bitterness rolling underneath, anger in their wake. He asks in an attempt to get the other man to understand the context under which he’d made his choice. “When I was younger, I told myself I’d never undergo that ritual with anyone. Ever. I kept that promise to myself, and in the end, the winds of time won.” His words are pointed, maybe delivered a bit harsher than he really wanted them to be. This is, perhaps, the shortest way to imply what happened– he figures that if he does allow Arkash to know the actual answer, he’d understand the sheer gravity of the mistake the older elf had made.

Wetting his lower lip in tandem with a slow exhale from his mouth, his gaze reconnects with Arkash’s. “I understand your curiosity…I’m much the same way. But please…try and consider the weight of the questions you ask.” His tone is still akin to frosted steel; the look in his eyes is one of seething pain. Degare genuinely does empathize with the younger man’s curiosity; he really doesn’t want to snap at him. One thing he’d gained over his years of life, at least, is a fairly strong control of his emotions and reactions. Having done his very best to avoid confronting this subject at any point since it happened, the weight of it when brought up is crushing, but he’s holding himself together remarkably well.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

“A century…? You’re a hundred?!” Arkash called in shock and turned his head at break-neck speeds. His widened eyes settled a little when he thought for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I’m thinking too much like a human,” he shrugged and turned over both hands.

That young, huh? Arkash’s lips pursed hard at the turn of the tables. “Well, no. Like-,” he briefly met the elf’s features and read that smile, which darkened his cheeks a touch. “Shut up, don’t look at me like that,” he spoke quickly as he looked away as an involuntary smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “Twenty-four,” he said after a deep breath of relent. “I… Actually could have told you that I was five-hundred-something, but then you might try talking to me about some stuff that happened eighty years ago and I’d be lost.”

His gaze lingered on the elf as he explained his grief. Though he raised his brow at the description of the time Degare had wasted in the process, he didn't flinch. "I don't think there's really a productive way of getting through something like that," Arkash said simply as he returned his gaze to his work, and began to weave the skin. "You did what you had to; it wasn't wasted," he assured with a brief smile.

Alas, he delivered the fateful question. Though Arkash had mostly been inspecting the contours and wrinkles of Degare's fingers when he began to inspect the man's hand, the long silence that followed his question didn't go unnoticed, and Arkash paused in his examination to look up at the elf with an inquisitive, almost concerned lining to his eye.

From the various waifs and vagrants that wandered through Lower Nivenhain, the swathes of broken souls that seemed to flow in and out of his life, Arkash had learned a great deal about the Sil’Norai, including the existence of the Arlaed. The full extent of such a thing wasn’t completely clear to him, at least not until after that day. "A bit..." Arkash elaborated. "It's like marriage for your soul, right?" Though he'd made a good bit of progress on those fingers, it was abundantly clear that most of Arkash's attention was on the elf as he answered the question. There was a sort of weary concern about him, lips pulled into a slight frown while he occasionally glanced to the budding rage in the Norai's warm eyes.

The Rathor remained quiet as the elf delivered his next question, and he all but put the needle down to focus his attention on the man. The young Rathor looked all about Degare's features as he spoke in anger, he was fully alert, torn in his expression. There was confusion, hesitance, and, to some degree, fear in his eyes. For what he feared wasn't entirely clear, but he didn't once break eye contact where it was initiated and had yet to yield even a step.

Once he'd been informed of his folly, Arkash put the needle down and turned his whole body to fully face the elf with an upward tilt to his gaze. A slight tilt of his head preceded a frown with a look that could scarcely be read as anything but pity took his misty eyes. A gentle exhale accompanied a slight shake of his head as his eyes fell upon Degare's shoulders and trailed down his arms. He swallowed, then took a single step toward the elf and reached for both his hands. "You're right, I'm sorry," he said while he gently ran his thumbs over the back of the elf's larger hands. "I don't mean to be insensitive, I'm just- I'm bad... At talking," he began to explain with a very slight, brief smile that reflected some degree of pain. "I just... I wanted to get to know you better. I'm really interested in you, and I wanted to show you that by... Well, by showing interest in you."

"My intent isn't to hurt you, Degare, but I'll real back my curiosity a bit," he finished with a slight smile, followed by a deep exhale. If the elf had yet to pull out of his hands, Arkash would guide him to the piano's bench, then reach up to gently pull down on his shoulder, and guide him to sit there. With one hand holding the elf's and the other on his shoulder, Arkash asked "do you want me to forget I asked?" while he watched the man's expression and read carefully.

Image source.

[Degare]

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The younger man’s enthusiastic shock at the admission of his age created a half smile that was more of a grimace than anything, but the rest of his features displayed amusement, and a slight laugh can be heard in his exhale. Degare doesn’t generally think about his age and often loses track of time as he wanders through life. This results in him being often uncomfortable in conversations where the subject actually comes up, especially if the other party is much younger. He nods in understanding at the other’s comment– it’s very easy to think like that when you’re still well within a human’s lifespan.

As Arkash’s face blushes with a diffusion of deep purple, the other half of the Ferrier’s smile pulls on his lips. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” speaking with a bright expression as the smile reaches amber eyes, narrowing his gaze just a bit. “True– when I meet people my age or older than me, I do tend to reminisce with them about varying points in history. Your honesty is always appreciated,” punctuating the sentence with a playful wink.

One thing of note is the level of carelessness on the ends of both parties regarding eye contact. Though Degare was a new Corvo, he nonetheless possesses a weakened form of beguiler. It is clear this is not on the forefront of either Vandikar's mind.

His expression has been thoroughly drained and darkened from the subject change. After the other speaks, he responds to his companion’s sentiment in regards to periods of mourning. “I suppose you’re right…” trailing off with words drenched in sadness. When his eyes reconnect with Arkash’s misty gaze, the slightest flutter of appreciation pulls at the edges of his lips.

Much as it still pained him, he would rather answer questions about the Arlaed as a concept than speak about the one he had lost. “Yes…the effects of it are many. It’s a bond of blood and soul; it is one that cannot be undone. It syncs and improves vitality for the bonded pair– among myriad other benefits, both parties typically live longer, even if both are Sil’Norai, as well.” Degare explains the concept a little bit further, trying to avoid talking about his previous partner for just a moment longer. If the Rathor is good at parsing emotion from the tones within another’s voice, the slightest notes of admiration can be heard when he speaks about it, woven alongside much brighter threads of pain, radiant in their grief.

At this point he had to actively reign in his emotions; this process took most, if not all of his focus, so he barely noticed that Arkash had stopped working until he next looked at the smaller man. The Veir’s expression softened just a bit…he wasn’t mad at him. He was upset at the circumstance, the reality and gravity of the situation, and most of all, himself. It wouldn’t be difficult to come to this conclusion given his lack of outward displays of anger directed towards the young Rath.

The pair stood in silence for a moment when the necromancer set down his needle. Degare was frozen in a state of emotional turmoil, unmoving. His expression softens further, cracking just a bit when Arkash takes his hands in his own. A feeling akin to the movement of butterflies’ wings pulses through his chest as the other’s smaller thumbs glide over smooth skin. Glassy crimson irises flit around the room a bit when his companion next speaks, clenching his eyes shut and shaking his head. Swallowing hard before heavy lids reopen, “Honestly…I really should work on making this less difficult to talk about. It’s been long enough…” The last few words are barely more than a whisper.

Once again making eye contact with Arkash, the softest of smiles appears on lips lightly quivering, “Is that it…?” A question asked, musing in tone, as soft pink spreads over his cheeks, eyes casting off to the side. There’s confusion on his features at the sentiment the other had expressed, though it’s also evident he’s flattered. “You really are sweet…” words barely more than a murmur. Before he can think of anything else to say, the younger man continues. Degare allows him to guide his movements, sitting down as his shoulder is gently pressed in that direction.

For reasons unapparent, the last question seems to have broken him, finally. Eyes of red amber drift closed again, squeezing tighter as the man shakes his head with more force than before. His exhale is naught more than a shudder; when his eyes reopen, a few tears slowly roll down his cheeks. He’s trying to blink them away as his gaze strays further from the other’s face. At the same time, his expression is a fair bit brighter than it had been. The pale elf’s breathing is uneven, often quick, deep gasps, for a few moments as he recollects himself. Reconnecting their gazes, genuine vulnerability would be visible in his eyes– an expression he’d yet to wear any time prior, even when he’d bled in the other’s presence.

His face still wears a heavy blanket of pain, but there’s a warmth of affection beginning to bloom now. “No…” lips drawing into a shaky smile. “Your sincerity’s earned my honesty. Even if it’s difficult.” Though it is strained, his voice resembles the soft velvet timbre it usually has. However, it is a fair bit warmer than normal.

The slightest glimmer of playfulness bounces off glassy eyes before he speaks again, “Come to me, will you?” He speaks with audibly clear pleading elements, red irises shifting over Arkash’s features, lingering ever so briefly on his lips, before drifting back to his eyes.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"