Re: quiet home garden: alyssa & damian
[Unblinking, Damian watched as the woman spat blood and splinter into the earth, like ancient seed. He continued to spectate as Alyssa took to her elbows, then peered up at him. Her own eyes, he saw, were pitch. There was nothing in her expression, at first, and he thought of the conversation on vulture brains and trepanation.—The fluent switch to Arabic did not surprise him, for reasons he could not name. He had had a compulsion to speak to her thusly, telling her he would come on the forums. That she could speak so in return... was confusingly expected.
He was not thinking upon it, but the fact remained that Damian's life had been steeped in madness. The al Gols, by most definitions, were insane, and the man's life had been drawn in extremes, like the white and black of Alyssa's gaze, but with more corners, sharper, more immediately deadly. Still, Arabic was his native tongue, and he did prefer it.] Yes. [He was, indeed, much younger than he looked. For all the flint in his gaze, he was a child. Of course, in other ways, he was much older. He was more amalgamation than person.
Her voice, he was surprised to find, was sweet. She rocked. He did not hesitate, though perhaps he ought have. She smiled, but that did not draw him, though he felt it attack him as bacteria did. It was her offer of showing him the truth that did it. Down, he sat upon his knees beside her, his black sneakers against his ass. Damian looked at Alyssa with his chin lifted.] I wish to know.