When did I start caring about that? Ven Oriz never had a problem with getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. Nor did he have any trouble finding someone to give it— —mostly. His breath shuddered and something tugged at him, pressing into the back of his neck until he lowered willingly. There was nothing strong enough in his mind to make him question what was happening when every ounce of effort went into asking himself again and again when his feelings had become irrelevant and why. On trying to figure out what he was contradicting himself with. He was Ven Oriz! Any number of women in the city would love to shoot their shot with him, synth or not! He was happy to oblige as long as they kept it casual and their issues neatly stowed away in their baggage. So why. Wasn’t. That. Enough? Gentle hands stroked down between the orange synth’s shoulders, dancing around the place where a cable could connect to hard charge, knowing it was a sensitive spot for most Old Worlders. In her lap, face buried against her thighs, was the one person she’d never expect to crumple like he had, let alone in front of her. But something had finally given way after weeks and weeks of ignoring the snapping cables holding him together. It took everything she had to keep her heart from beating out of control as his pain radiated outward, dousing her skin with pinpricks and ice.
Evil. It had been a joke, but one rooted in truth. Kilais Nossun was an evil, evil man. That, he knew in every wire and fiber of his being. And evil people did not deserve happiness. Did not deserve to fantasize about coffee dates and theater popcorn with someone that never asked to be part of his life. Did not deserve to wish that one day, the warmth in her greetings would mean more even though he did nothing to earn such luxury. Did not deserve to imagine himself in the place of his friend, holding the one human—the one girl—the one person that so perfectly embodied what he’d been needing for years. If she’d wanted him, surely she would have sought him out? She was kind. Smart. Funny. She made the stress fade and the urges went with it. The violence became quiet. The violence she knew about. There was no dancing around his other self with her. No lying about where he’d been and what he’d been doing. She knew, and she could still greet him with softness. Still ask him if he was well. Show concern for him. Jenyl deserves better than me.
Her breath came ragged from shock, but once the pain ebbed away she offered a tight smile. “S-sorry,” she uttered, nursing her wrist. “I, um—” Instantly, he was there, looming with his hands on the glass, close enough she could feel her breath on his dermal layer. “What. Happened?” the tycoon bit out, warning her against lying. Jenyl backed herself into the glass, the cold, solid surface cutting through her thin daydress like a knife. “I got a burn. It’s nothing terrible. Kilais got it taken care of. I promise.” From where she stood, he looked furious, as if her injury somehow offended him personally, but when she went to slip under his arm he shot back like touching him was worse than that. It took all of his effort not to hammer his fist into the wall, just to drown out the whirlwind inside calling him a monster. He’d hurt her. Not even on purpose. It hadn’t been what he wanted— —but it’s all he ever did. “Just,” Locke started, the tension in his throat making his voice small and stern, “just go sit down. You don’t need to go outside.” She was not allowed to be. She knew that. “I figured since you were right there—” “I am working.” The accusation came suddenly, the half-chained temper boiling beneath the waves finally disturbing the surface. “What makes you think I’d want to sit here and watch you stand outside?” Jenyl’s head dropped as she tugged her sleeve down to cover the bandage, face red with shame.
Except for his eyes. Small, bright and set against black scleras that never changed hue, his gaze was hard to miss and harder to meet, the cyan blue color of his irises standing out so sharply they felt illuminated even in broad daylight. That made it so interesting to watch them change, the shade shifting a half tone darker as they dilated upon seeing something he liked. Or she assumed as much, given humans did the same. If there was another answer, she didn’t know what it was, but at least his irritation was relieved somewhat. “Please don’t hold it against him,” she started once he’d gotten a few bites in, “I swear, he’s not being more difficult than usual. This is on me.” Ambere paused for a moment, staring at her with a silent demand to explain before returning to his meal. Jenyl thought for a moment, debating if she should confess the whole truth of her sleep problems—but then she recalled how it wouldn't matter if she did. They couldn’t stop her from dreaming. Medication only made it worse, robbing her of the ability to wake up at all but not of the contents themselves. Dreams fell outside the bounds of their agreement, and so it was no one’s responsibility to bear but hers. Further, she didn’t think he’d want to listen to her complain. Ambere already did far too much by being the one synth in residence she didn’t have to pretend to be alright around. He let her have her tantrums without judgement, but she did what she could to not interrupt his day with them. Dropping her burden on his shoulders felt like crossing a line she had no permission to approach in the first place. Ambere Anterre did not know fear, thus he wouldn't understand, and that alone could be frustrating enough.
Little snippets from each to set the mood~
#venoriz #kilaisnossun #locketyro #ambereanterre
