klarsynt

[klarsynt]

@klarsynt.

[klarsynt]

he gently reaches for the book when it is produced, fingertips ghosting over it with reverence when he realizes what it is. he thinks he can understand it, the need to try to keep track, to hold on to traces of humanity as the world itself becomes a wilderness of savagery and desperation. it is still such a human thing to do. such a normal sort of thing for a civilian thrust into becoming some kind of survivalist, a soldier really, to think to keep count. maybe others might find it unsettling, but emil doesn't. he understands it completely.

somewhere out there on a computer that will never start again is his body count, an entire file on his existence kept by an organization long-since crumbled to ash and ruin. even that file was probably incomplete. they could not tally every casualty. sometimes, he lied in debriefs. he wonders for a moment if it is something he would have ever liked to see. no, he decides quickly. he would rather not know the number. he is not sure he could bear the weight of it. he looks at carol and wonders how she does.

barely. clearly she is bending beneath the weight and it makes his heart ache.

a soft, tender smile touches his lips. emil shifts so instead of squatting before her he sits beside her instead. he moves an arm around her shoulder and looks down at the book again. ❝ that's alright, love, ❞ he murmurs ❝ maybe i'll take twenty odd years more to learn somethin' else, but i'll just be here to remind you. ❞ he takes the book, balances it on his knee so he can look over a page and trace his index finger over tally marks. for each bit of ink he touches, memory lingers. memory which could seep into him at any moment. her memories, what made her make the mark, what she felt and saw as she put pen or marker to paper. he feels the energy bubbling towards him but he tries to resist its call, to stay present for now.

❝ you saved me. ❞ his voice is quieter still, a low rumble. ❝ i was surviving out there alone, but i wasn't alive. not really. hadn't been alive for a long time. even before all this. meeting you, being part of something that feels like it actually matters. helping people who deserve it. it's...well i dunno if i can ever get back the pieces of my soul i sold or let rot, but whatever is left feels a bit cleaner because of you. ❞

he lets the book fall shut before it can give him stolen memories and leans in to press his lips to her temple. he remains there for a few moments, murmuring into her hair ❝ no one is only ever one thing. ❞ he draws back slowly to look down at her and then his gaze sweeps towards the rest of the bedroom. ❝ no one's all bad. or all good. we've all got equal capacity for both. and if you didn't have a lot of good in you, you wouldn't be sitting here like this right now. ❞

@klarsynt

               the   touch,   it   grounds   her.      it   brings   her   down   a   level,   the   threat   of   full   mental   breakdown   subsiding   a   little   more.      granted,   one   could   argue   the   destruction   of   the   kitchen   was   a   mental   breakdown,   but   for   carol   she   could   do   so   much   more   damage.      one   thing   she   is   pretty   good   at   is   leaving.      the   thought   had   crossed   her   mind,   high   tailing   it   out   of   here   and   leaving   these   people   to   cultivate   their   own   community.      they   didn’t   need   her,   that   is   what   she   told   herself.      but   truthfully,   she   couldn’t   bring   herself   to   leave   him.      after   choosing   to   leave   her   original   group,   emil   was   the   first   person   she   connected   with.      the   first   person   she   developed   a   deep   understanding   of,   the   first   person   she   actually   wanted   by   her   side.      leaving   without   a   trace   just…      didn’t   feel   right.

               wide,   sad   blues   never   leave   him   as   he   speaks.      he   attempts   a   joke,   and   it   does   cause   the   slight   upturn   of   the   corner   of   her   lips,   but   it   doesn’t   stay.      it   falls   as   quickly   as   it   had   appeared,   settling   back   into   the   frown   she   was   so   used   to   adorning.      surviving   was   constant   stress,   managing   people   was   constant   stress.      the   times   in   which   carol   smiled   were   seeming   to   be   more   and   more   rare   as   the   days   went   on.      it’s   a   wonder   those   who   chose   to   follow   her   weren’t   second   guessing   their   decision.      who   wants   a   leader   who   never   smiles?

               the   more   he   speaks,   the   more   pronounced   her   frown   becomes.      he   looks   away,   and   she   knows   why.      he   looks   away   for   the   same   reason   carol   would   if   she   spilled   her   darkest   secret   to   him.      funny,   how   close   they   are,   yet   neither   have   shared   what   plagues   them   so   often.      perhaps   on   this   night   of   sorrow   would   be   the   time   she   finally   lets   it   all   out   in   the   open.      and   perhaps   this   night   is   the   night   he   realizes   she   truly   is   the   worst   kind   of   person.

               she   feels   for   him,   she   understands   that   struggle,   that   pain.      the   weight   of   a   life   taken   by   your   own   hand.      maybe   it’s   not   in   the   same   capacity   as   him,   but   she   can   still,   to   some   degree,   relate   to   his   emotions.      the   acknowledgment   of   his   pain   and   guilt   is   the   reason   for   her   frown,   not   distaste   or   disgust   in   his   actions   from   his   previous   life.      what   they   were   before,   it   wasn’t   who   they   were   now.      she   knows   it   shaped   them,   she   knows   how   easy   it   is   to   still   carry   the   burdens   of   their   life   before,   but   carol   is   the   definition   of   hypocrisy.      she   wants   nothing   more   than   for   him   to   absolve   himself   of   his   past   misconduct,   to   put   it   behind   him   and   focus   on   the   now.      when   it   comes   to   herself   though,   she   is   utterly   incapable   of   letting   the   past   be   just   that,   the   past.

               her   hand   moves,   coming   to   rest   over   top   of   his   which   lays   above   her   heart.      she   presses   ever   so   slightly,   like   she   wants   him   to   feel   the   steady   beat   beneath   flesh   and   bone.      it   also   brings   her   closer   to   steady   waters,   the   waves   of   intense   emotion   calming   the   longer   they   stay   connected.

               ❝   i   carry   the   weight   of   each   death   i   have   caused,   whether   by   my   hand   or   by   a   decision.   ❞      an   attempt   to   relate   to   the   words   he’d   spoken.      she   lets   go   of   his   hand,   reaches   into   the   bottom   drawer   of   the   dresser   next   to   her.      she   produces   a   small   black   book,   and   on   the   first   page   is   a   series   of   tally   marks.      there   are   numbers   written   on   the   side   going   downward,   all   scratched   out   save   for   the   last   number.      it   was   a   total,   and   it   represented   how   many   lives   had   been   ended   on   account   of   her.

               ❝   every   life   is   marked   in   here.      the   difference   between   us…      i   remember   numbers,   but   i   don’t   remember   faces.   ❞      the   only   faces   she   remembers   are   sophia,   karen,   david,   mika,   and   lizzie.      the   rest   are   all   a   blur.      ❝   i   was   trained   for   twenty   odd   years   to   see   only   the   bad   in   me,   emil.      even   after   all   this   time,   it’s   a   lesson   i   can’t   seem   to   unlearn.      so   you’ll   forgive   me   if   i   struggle   to   see   that   lives   have   been   saved   because   of   me.   ❞

[klarsynt]

i am completely absorbed in reading queen of the damned today but like this for memes later <3

[klarsynt]

❝ i would argue those who have been washed in blood crave gentleness more than anyone. ❞ who else could value tenderness more than those who have gone without? he has often tried long and hard not to desire it so deeply, not to seek warmth, not to thirst for affection and kindness so horribly that rends his very soul. but it is against his nature to not want it all, to not look for it even when it burns. he musters a small smile. fools. maybe she's right. yet he too prefers this companionship over being a lonely idiot on his own. he looks at where she cradles his hand and it makes new warmth bloom inside his chest all over again. her words make his heart bleed, a little crease between his brows. he feels like he can't properly contain the emotions she invokes in him.

emil steps closer and leans in to press his lips to her cheek. he lingers there long enough to take in the scent of her. when he withdraws he only moves away enough to look into her amethyst eyes. his own are soft, brimming with fondness. ❝ you have me, ❞ he murmurs. he likes it—he likes the idea of being the one one allowed so close, the only one she desires for such comforts. he rubs his thumb against one of the palms which enclose his hand. ❝ i would so much more if you let me. ❞ he kisses her brow and then the corner of her mouth. a whisper against her lips ❝ let me hold you. ❞

her eyes close beneath the warmth of his hand, lashes trembling faintly like moth wings caught in still air. for a moment, genevieve says nothing, as if afraid that speaking might undo whatever spell has settled between them. his touch is gentle; she could grow used to that. but she shouldn’t. 'you speak of danger like it does not so much as frighten you,' she murmurs at last, voice dipped in something soft and sorrowful. 'i suppose i do the same. it is strange, is it not? to be fluent in violence and still crave gentleness,' a small pause, thoughtful, perhaps somewhat bittersweet. her fingers find his wrist, careful and cold as moonlight, but there’s nothing hesitant in her grip. she draws his hand down from her face but does not let it go, cradling it between both of hers like something sacred.

'then this is something we have done for each other. i do not know what that makes us, emil. fools, perhaps,' her lips twitch faintly at the edges, not quite a smile, but a ghost of one. 'but i would rather be a fool with you than whatever it is i am when i am alone,' she leans forward then, resting her brow gently against his, as if anchoring herself to him in the silence that follows. 'i am not used to being touched like this,' she confesses quietly. 'and yet . . . i want to be,' her voice falters just slightly. 'only by you,'

[klarsynt]

it's a reflex of sorts. he had been watching her for a few moments too long, perhaps. the thing about people in places like this is a stubbornness. asking for help is almost never a first choice. he himself could be accused of it. masking injuries, burying scars mental and physical alike. he always insists he can get by on his own. some of it is pride and some of it is distrust. he knows the only way to actually give aid to someone like them, is to do it without asking permission.

emil is silent at first, touching her mostly to make sure her reflexes don't win him a new scar. wordless even as he eases the sleeves onto natasha's arms, up over her shoulders. when she face shim he doesn't quite smile but his expression is a little soft and devoid of pity or judgement. ❝ cab? ❞ he lifts a brow. he reminds himself of the very thing that spurred him to help with the jacket. don't wait for her to ask for what she needs.

❝ that's the last thing you need after a day like...whatever put you in that shape. c'mon, grab your shit. i'll give you a ride. ❞

@klarsynt - [ DRESS ] sender without prompting helps receiver put on a jacket

the tank natasha wore barely hid the abundance of bandages that clung to her chest. she would heal. faster than most even, but it would still take time.  the medical staff had done all they could to patch her up, it was a matter of waiting it out. very difficult for someone as impatient as her. after being released, she'd been allowed down to collect her belongings from the lockers.  each step sent a flash of pain through her, even breathing was difficult. 

she stares into the locker, a mix of displeasure and frustration on her face. three hangers, only one occupied. her leather jacket, of all things. head drops with a grunt before inhaling deeply. her entire body clenches as arm is extended forward to yank the jacket from the hanger.  she fumbles barely briefly before hooking her arm through the shoulder hole. it's sudden, and the jacket begins to move almost on it's own.  maybe she was more injured than she'd thought.

the presence of another doesn't sink in until she feels the pressure on her shoulder from someone's hand.  " oh - "  if she'd possessed the ability to be embarrassed, she would have been. the kindness catches her off guard though, brow is raised as she turns her head to face emil. natasha wondered if he'd ask about the obvious injuries.   " thank you. it's right in this moment that i'm regretting having only the bike. i might just call a cab... " 

[klarsynt]

when tom reaches for him, emil gives no resistance. he turns to face him with an uncertain expression that quickly turns into something much softer upon his instruction. he knows there is no way for them to predict how this will go for the other man. it's why they're out here. part of it, at least. no one has tried to help him so no one knows his boundaries but emil can't help but think he is better fit to try than anyone else. he lifts a hand to tom's chin, lightly pinching it between his thumb and forefinger with a small smile. ❝ i'll be alright. ❞

emil lets go of his vampiric companion to hone in on his prey again. the man has dropped his cigarette on the pavement, which means he only has a little time to nab him. he moves with that swiftness which their unnatural state has provided. he comes around the back of the man, clamps a palm over his mouth and circles an arm around his waist before dragging him back into an alley. they melt into the shadows together. the man squirms and even tries to bite at his hand which would make emil laugh if he were more cruel of a man. these folks always fight. he never takes away their right or dignity to try. he merely turns this one so he can see him face to face, presses him up against the brick wall of the bar with one palm to his chest. it's all it takes really.

the man takes a swing at him and he catches his wrist gently before it can connect. emil moves closer, pins that arm against the wall as well with a shushing, comforting noise rumbling forth. as if he were bidding a child to cease crying. head dips low and he pushes his face into the side of his neck to sink his fangs in deep. they always stop fighting at this bit. he has never quite understood why. he hasn't the presence of mind to care the moment warm blood rushes into his mouth, trickles down his throat so sweetly. memory courses through him just as quickly, emotion which does not belong to him but that of a man realizing he is dying. it is a sensation he knows well. he knew it long before the vampirism claimed him. he endures, even as his cheeks grow wet with bloody tears, the taste of sorrow upon his tongue. he drinks until he feels the man's heart take it's last beat, then he pulls back, gently lowers him onto the ground with reverence. blown pupils flicker away from the corpse in search of tom.

“just a feeling.” he repeats, pondering it for a moment. he looks at the man and feels nothing. numbness. he has spent so long repressing his instinct and starting back up is not easy. emil is firm in telling him that they must go ahead and so he bites back the part of him that tells him to go. “i don’t feel him, but go ahead.” tom is in no position to judge his choice. the man is like any man to him, but he trusts emil must have more gut instinct than him. 

“we’ve come so far and don’t think my reaction is going be any different whether i watch or not.” maybe madness will strike him sooner if he sees blood before he tastes it, but the reaction, he reckons, will be the same. chaotic, uncontrollable. tom reaches for his arm again and tugs him closer to him, looking at him seriously, “go do it and remember that i may not be myself in a moment or two. don’t get hurt."

[klarsynt]

his features smooth out again as tom brushes his finger at the corner of his mouth. he is almost puzzled by the gesture. he takes on a half-sheepish expression because he can't think of any rebuttal. maybe that wasn't a very convincing way of reassuring him. it is the truth, however. he has survived on very little for a very long time. the warmth tom is giving him is more than he would expect. he thinks it is enough. he worries what it would mean if it wasn't, how far it would crack open the chasm of loneliness and hunger deep within him. it is better left untouched, he thinks. he watches as tom touches his chest, feels himself relax beneath the sweetness of the gesture while his heartbeat pulses into his palm.

there's a softening in his expression. ❝ do i? ❞ he murmurs. he reaches his hand to graze his finger along tom's chin. it's difficult to argue with him when he is looking upon him with the most adorable determination. he likes it. he likes that little flame in his eye.

he doesn't need to be commanded twice. emil grins softly and swiftly sits up. ❝ i think i like you bossy, ❞ he remarks as he takes tom's face into both of his hands now. he holds his jaw firm and presses his lips to his. he kisses him fervently, pressing his tongue to his and truly savoring the taste of him. he lowly trails one of his hands down from his face until he can snake an arm around his waist, holding them both secure. ❝ got any other orders for me? ❞

god there is that forwardness again that makes his head spin. that strangely blunt way of speaking that tom cannot replicate. and he tries to. perhaps he will learn it from him and become as foreign to the century as emil is. strange and delightful. tom hums contently against his lips as emil sneaks in another kiss before speaking. he smiles until he senses something shift in emil’s expression. he reaches out to touch the corner of his mouth where the smile has faltered. his brows knit together, “is that supposed to convince me?” he tries to play his concern off as something more light-hearted, afraid of ruining the moment if there is really nothing wrong. in any case he must know.

tom removes his hand from his face and places it on his chest instead. he closes his eyes as he locates his heartbeat. he rests it there only for a moment before letting it trail further down his abdomen, until his own body is in the way of it traveling further. “you may feel like you don’t need much, but you deserve it.” he looks into his eyes, determined to somehow change his mind. not that he is entirely sure how or why.

he shifts again, slightly lifting himself up and settling himself down closer to his crotch. “sit up,” he says, “come up here and kiss me.”

[klarsynt]

emil leaning on the shoulders of shorter muses but like he stands behind them so he can rest both forearms on each shoulder. if he's feeling really obnoxious he'll also put his chin on top of their head.

[klarsynt]

@allhunts charlie sent: ❝ we saved the world. i say we party. ❞

amusement crosses scarred features as he registers her words. despite the exhaustion in his eyes he manages to muster a smile. emil swipes a palm over his forehead, coming away with sweat and...something else. he really does not want to examine what it is. after the day they have had it could be any number of creature's guts or weird shit. he needs a goddamn shower. ❝ i could definitely use a fucking drink, ❞ he mutters. emil wipes his hand on his pants. it's not much cleaner but at least the sticky thing is off his skin. ❝ if i don't clean up in the next hour i'm gonna get so manic you'll never ask me for help again. ❞

[klarsynt]

he feels the man's close observation and emil does not shy away from it. any bashfulness he might possess ends the moment it comes to flirtation and knowing his strengths. he's got nothing to hide or be ashamed of when it comes to the type of observation he's receiving right now. in fact, he rather likes it and would encourage it if he didn't think it might further fluster the man too much. he settles instead for enjoying the warmth of his palm. he doesn't let go either, just feels him, feels how his energy seeps into himself, flashes of his very poor date running through his system quickly. he forces himself to let go of his hand before he sees too much, gets too lost in it all. ❝ tom...it's a real pleasure. ❞

he grins and almost laughs at the idea of leaving the girls up there after his cue, waiting for him to come do his number then scrambling to cover if he doesn't show up. no, staying is out of the question as much as he would like to look at this man beneath the moonlight a little more. ❝ trouble is right, ❞ he murmurs, dragging his eyes up and down tom, lingering on his mouth, purposefully. ❝ i hope i rise to the occasion, ❞ emil chuckles. ❝ though if the show turns out to be shit, at least i'll have an excuse to make it up to you. ❞

tom smiles as he watches the man smoke his cigarette. it feels like they have both let themselves get unknowingly caught up in a strange ritual. fascination has seized him and while there is quiet, he simply studies the face in the dim light. he unconsciously wets his lip when the man turns his face away and reveals the sharp line of his jaw. his neck. it makes him a little flustered when he realises, but he does not look away. “someone? sure.” 

he takes back the cigarette and brings it to his lips. he lets it dangle there when the man extends his hand to him and he takes it. being told his name feels almost like being told a secret. tom holds his hand still while he removes the cigarette again with the other - not very far from his lips and only long enough for him to respond with his own name: “i’m tom.” he laughs when emil talks about people wanting to kiss their asses. he can easily imagine that. he takes a drag of the cigarette then raises his eyebrow at the other, “it’s too bad you have to go in there. i’d ask you to stay here but i imagine that’s trouble for you. guess i’ll just be your critic for tonight then, emil.”

[klarsynt]

teeth grit together, muscle in his jaw pulsing as he glances down at her hand. a crease forms between his brows the more he takes in the sight of that warm glow. ❝ wasn't exactly trying to invite them to dance, ❞ he mutters. he knows they're right. it isn't like he hasn't been scolded before by doctors, by his own damn handler, for how reckless he is. it's expensive for a weapon as valuable as himself to be so damn accident prone. his grows more still at the added comment. ❝ it's fine. ❞ it's a lie. of course it sticks with him. everything and everyone he touches sticks with him. he knows exactly what it felt like to be the bastard who tried to tear him apart, the anger, the desperation. but he's used to it. he tells himself he's used to it even as he shudders. ❝ uh-huh. i feel real lucky right now. after this i'm gonna go buy a scratch ticket. i'll give you half the winnings. ❞ the dry remark leaves him all too quickly. he forces himself to add more meekly. ❝ thanks...i mean it. could probably use one less scar. ❞

sera pressed her hand to the wound just below his ribs, grace flickering like soft static beneath her skin. the light that spilled between her fingers wasn’t blinding, this time around; it pulsed gently, blue and warm, like a heartbeat trying to steady his. they focused on the torn flesh knitting back together, the subtle way pain would begin to drain from his body. 'you shouldn’t let people get this close,' her voice was calm but edged with something sharper; concern disguised as critique. 'not when you feel everything the way you do. some of it has to stick with you, right?' finally, her eyes met his, the being giving him a close lipped grin. 'you're lucky i found you first,' @klarsynt ; liked.

[klarsynt]

JOEL KINNAMAN as TAKESHI KOVACS    ↳ ALTERED CARBON, EPISODE TWO - FALLEN ANGEL.

[klarsynt]

❝ it ever occur to you that sometimes i'm just here for a drink? ❞ he questions her dryly, coming to rest his forearm against the countertop. he isn't, of course. he never is. there's always business for him to chase down. it's a nonstop cycle: track, torture interrogate, kill. it's one of the three. sometimes, all of them at the same time. that's life. he does, however, order his own drink. he can multitask. when the bartender steps away he turns his atention back to bela. ❝ wanna tell me which kind of your messes you think i'm here for? ❞ he asks with a lifted brow.

she watched his reflection in the bar’s dusty mirror, sipping at her drink and waiting until he got close enough to hear her sigh. 'you always show up right after things get messy, emil. it would almost be amusing. if it wasn't infuriating,' she turned on the stool, crossing one long leg over the other, eyes flicking up to meet his with a smirk. 'let me guess — someone hired you to kill the man i just robbed? again?' she chuckles, taking another drink from her glass. 'if you're here to finish the job, at least buy me a drink first. it’s rude to assassinate someone mid gin and tonic,' @klarsynt ; liked.

[klarsynt]

❝ all that magic and they haven't figured out the art of the assembly line, ❞ he chuckles, genuine amusement dancing in his eyes at the thought. he never would have considered the lack of industrial revolution on other planets could have such fascinating consequences. his smile lingers as he observes her thoroughly enjoy the strawberry. gaze flickers down to her lips for a brief moment before he forces himself to return his focus to the task at hand. his knife is set aside and he moves back to the oven, carefully slotting the brief just inside. he sets a short timer with a satisfied nod. when he returns to the counter—and loki's side—he sets about finishing his arrangement of pristine fruit on their little platter. ❝ watch out for my cat, he'll try to swipe the cheese. greedy little fucker. ❞ the culprit in question was sitting on the other side of the island counter, acting perfectly well behaved on a barstool. for now. ❝ tell me, of all the things you've tasted here on earth, have any favorites? ❞ he asks out of genuine curiosity, but he also wants to know for future reference. make next time loki needs cheering up he will know the exact comfort meal to produce.

❝  i'll be sure to flatter plenty. ❞ she says, watching as he fetches a tray for the snacks. she hadn't expected him to prepare something so fancy to go along with their wine - cutting the fruits up into little shapes for the two of them. she could do nothing but watch in the matter, accustomed to seeing this very sight in the kitchen on asgard. ❝  you don't think so? it may be a sign of technological advancement - something that my world lacks in greatly. ❞ she commented, knowing that he was making a good point regardless. there was an over abundance for certain; and the fruits might not have been as fresh as they should have been. though, it was still impressive to her that they didn't need to wait for a specific season to enjoy certain fruits. ❝  consider me impressed by it. ❞ she smiled, reaching out for the strawberry. taking a bite of it, her mouth was filled with a pleasant taste. it hadn't the feel of something that was grown differently than as they were in her homeland. it tasted amazing. she was fond of berries, her favorite snack. ❝  perfect. ❞ putting the stem with his scraps, she was eager to share the food with one another - a first to have someone prepare something personally for her.

[klarsynt]

just watched a snake crawl up under my car so 🧍

[klarsynt]

also i know i'm behind on ooc interactions! just know i'm mentally kissing all of your foreheads and will respond when i have time/energy <333

[klarsynt]

i am completely absorbed in reading queen of the damned today but like this for memes later <3