. (euphie) wrote in warrantlogs, @ 2016-02-18 21:09:00 |
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The lines of her palm were easy to trace with a thumb and quiet admiration. A pilot's hands were naturally more inclined to be rougher than a navigator's, though not by much. They were soft without being too much so — the right balance of gentle but having known hard work. The weight and grip of a handgun, they had grown thin, tracing spidery trails along skin(there was an odd sort of hesitation now, not fear per se - just a delayed reaction). Jude didn't want to be the first to say something more substantial than the croaked Hi that had first been offered; he'd leave that opportunity to the other two occupants of the bed as he continued to follow Euphie's heartline, more content to dissolve into the anchoring feeling of her skin. She draws his injured hand closer, examining Winston's handy(pun not intended)work. Soon she would pry his secrets out, would bring their game to an end. "I have never seen you two so quiet." The observation is delivered with open curiosity, sitting up because she is no longer sure of her place(when you are in two places at once, half awake). In the comfortable expanse of her bed, three bodies have comfortable room to tangle and untangle; happiness bubbles somewhere inside due to this simple moment, a steady companionship, and unwavering loyalty. Mathias shrugs, reaches to brush gentle fingers just shy of the bruise on her face, “Is there something you needed to talk about?” She leans a little against the touch, her free hand tapping his knee lightly. There is an incredible vulnerability in them, shielded from the world by companionship they gave one another. By the moment they had created within these four metal walls. "No, not in particular. I was just wondering why you were both so silent. No complaints about Pluto, no talks of ghosts?" A feeble attempt at conversation: both topics that ought to be left alone. Events best contained within the pages of the reports she had to give Kajal. Upon her palm, Jude's fingers pause. "I don't…" It's an awkward start. "I'd rather not talk about Pluto," he tries again, the words as distant as the dwarf planet itself. "If that's okay." A sympathetic sound of agreement comes from Mathias as he lifts himself to look at Jude, “Pluto hasn’t been the kindest to us. Is that what’s been bothering you, Euphie?” She draws her hands back a little, finds a different way to arrange her body so that all three still comfortably fit. What has been bothering her? Nothing. E V E R Y T H I N G. The unexplained incident, the breakout, the murder. Jude still looks good in red. "No, everything is fine." Mathias gave Jude a look, that was not how someone sounded when they were fine. And though there's no glance to meet that, it reads in the navigator's frown that he agrees. (And wasn't it easier to focus on someone else to detract from one's own issues, when that weight was surely heavier?) With a slow turn of that hand in his, he settles a kiss to one of the lines there, murmuring, "But it isn't, is it?" She averts her eyes, a butterfly pinned by Jude's soft gesture(her wings flutter madly). "I didn't think red was your colour." And he pauses, suddenly incredibly aware of the attention on him, but most importantly what that means. Red, red, blood red. Crimson, drying darker, sticky. His mouth feels full of sand, without warning. "It wasn't supposed to be." Blood smells to her of rust, but only a tinge of it(the rest is a combination that boils down to: blood, just blood). Distinct smell not to be confused with something else; inevitable decay, death, end. A dry kiss alongside his jaw; she reigns in her affections so firmly or maybe it is just the blankness that eats everything she does into nothing but marionette gestures. It is too late now, red is a colour for Jude, her eyes trail back to Mathias, a vacant sadness sitting inside. "I wonder if it is yours too." Mathias shrugged, the meaning behind the words not lost on him. It was a testament to how much he’d grown, that this alone did not cause him to freeze and tense up. Instead he smiles, tries to redirect, “I look better in blue, don’t you think?” The redirection causes a flicker of surprise that melts into a genuine spark of affection. "Yes, matches your eyes." Euphie feels it for a split second before it folds under layers of white: Mathias would always look better in blue. Mathias smiles, glad that the conversation seemed to have shifted into a lighter mood, “By that logic, Jude should wear more green.” Euphie's laugh is warm, one hand moving to draw Mathias, the other to pull Jude close. "Or maybe pink for you both." And later when they had arranged themselves into an orderly tangle of limbs, pillows and sheets — there were no ghosts between. No place for them aboard the ship. |