Re: The Icarus/The Fallen
Enlil was not deliberately making Nathaniel feel unintelligent with the things he shared. This was not to say he couldn't cut deep and draw desperate amounts of blood with his sharp tongue, but that was not the goal at present. He was interested, intrigued. He was a man consuming, cannibalizing human contact with elegant clothing and an artful array of limbs. He idly plucked at keys throughout this part of the conversation. Thoughtless little chords and scales and nothing worthy of notice. "How does one cease to be a terror, for I've never learned? Truthfully, I think it sounds dull to be completely devoid of terror." This was not hyperbole. Even with the day fading into the night's confusion, Enlil felt this truth with certainty.
"I know adrift," he admitted. "I was moored once. I had ties to keep me down. I remembered things in lines that went straight, and now they have a tendency to loop when I'm not looking. I don't care for adrift, but sometimes it's the price to be paid for flying too high. Though I think it cruel that there should be a limit to how high one can soar."
A smile then, a deeper one that cut even further into pale cheek and revealed a dimple that bore no sweetness in its display. "Burning is dreadful and wonderful. I recommend it," he said, his hand now upon the chest of the man sharing the bench with him. He was not certain what he felt. He had troubles with truth and lies and there was neither when reality was not a true thing. "I feel sparks, but I admit that I always do. I am a collection of uncovered nerve endings. Shall we see if you bleed?" he asked. "If you bleed, then there must be blood pumping through your veins. It need not hurt terribly."