( harrow is in the process of rolling her eyes at her cavalier's feeble, sapphic excuses, but by the time she finishes her point, her gaze flicks back to rivet on her. her eyes fly wide with shock, and though it's virtually impossible to see under a thick layer of alabaster and charcoal, the color drains from her face in a dizzying moment of horror and fury. of course from her own perspective, she has never met God, but even in his many attempts at fostered familiarity, harrow had ever maintained her fervent zeal for their Resurrector.
so the thought of God becoming intimate with those, his Hands and Gestures, she β
might have honestly preferred passing out herself in this moment, or screeching shrilly for her to be more mindful of her sacrilegious comments, but instead she pinches at her nasal bridge, squeezing her eyes shut again. ) Griddle, if you insist on any further pulverizing blows to my psyche, you will only have yourself to blame for any injury to my brain.
( she could accuse of her of lying, certainly. at this moment, she is enshrouding her thoughts in a delicate, gauzy veil of suspension of disbelief, though one where she also quarantines any disrupting thoughts (such as the fact that God, apparently, Fucks) before she loses all coherence. as boorish and unbearable as gideon can be, she has to believe that she would have no reason to lie to her β not unless she has found one in the nine plus months temporal disparity between them, but if that's the case, it is a bridge that will be burned when it is gotten to.
and as for being grateful that she's there, well... appreciate it while it lasts, because it certainly won't (not without caveats, anyway).
harrow wouldn't have been able to pay witness to the aborted gesture, still having her eyes closed as she forcibly shoves everything she has seen and been told in the last five minutes through mental compression. she opens them when she senses the far more impactful movement of gideon stepping back and dropping into a bow β though the image of such a thing being wrought out of her own flesh and bones was an appalling one to her. where it seemed apt for other cavaliers, proper chivalry is woeful and ill-befitting of gideon nav, all because she knows that to be the case and milks it for all it's worth. lady nonagesimus, eugh... she would almost prefer the "tenebrous overlord" nonsense β
but then she collapses face-forward onto the cracked linoleum, causing a small sound of alarm to catch in harrow's throat before she lurches forward, ) βNav?! ( for the moment forgetting the two burly skeletons that stand guard at both entry points to the area. for a split second she hesitates in reaching out to touch her β her own body, though otherwise spiritually occupied. the situation is awkward as all hell even without a vague worry that the universe might peel away at the seams and crumple inwards if she reached out to touch her, but she does it anyway, at the very least endeavoring to roll her onto her side so she can get a clear look at the tell-tale crimson ribbon of blood flowing from her ear. though momentarily unconscious, she is stable and as far as harrow can tell, there is no cranial injury; therefore she is abjectly useless in anything but trying to narrow down what the hell is happening. the hemorrhaging again? it happened again earlier, also β when she had called her by name...
at the dawn of a more complete understanding of what she had meant, harrow raises the trailing end of one of her sleeves to dab the blood away, murmuring under her breath, ) So, this is what I had done to myself. But, why... ( she trails off, turning it over in her mind. there are the obvious, mortifying, sentimental reasons, to be certain, but... surely there was more to it. does it have to do with the soul...?)
no subject
so the thought of God becoming intimate with those, his Hands and Gestures, she β
might have honestly preferred passing out herself in this moment, or screeching shrilly for her to be more mindful of her sacrilegious comments, but instead she pinches at her nasal bridge, squeezing her eyes shut again. ) Griddle, if you insist on any further pulverizing blows to my psyche, you will only have yourself to blame for any injury to my brain.
( she could accuse of her of lying, certainly. at this moment, she is enshrouding her thoughts in a delicate, gauzy veil of suspension of disbelief, though one where she also quarantines any disrupting thoughts (such as the fact that God, apparently, Fucks) before she loses all coherence. as boorish and unbearable as gideon can be, she has to believe that she would have no reason to lie to her β not unless she has found one in the nine plus months temporal disparity between them, but if that's the case, it is a bridge that will be burned when it is gotten to.
and as for being grateful that she's there, well... appreciate it while it lasts, because it certainly won't (not without caveats, anyway).
harrow wouldn't have been able to pay witness to the aborted gesture, still having her eyes closed as she forcibly shoves everything she has seen and been told in the last five minutes through mental compression. she opens them when she senses the far more impactful movement of gideon stepping back and dropping into a bow β though the image of such a thing being wrought out of her own flesh and bones was an appalling one to her. where it seemed apt for other cavaliers, proper chivalry is woeful and ill-befitting of gideon nav, all because she knows that to be the case and milks it for all it's worth. lady nonagesimus, eugh... she would almost prefer the "tenebrous overlord" nonsense β
but then she collapses face-forward onto the cracked linoleum, causing a small sound of alarm to catch in harrow's throat before she lurches forward, ) βNav?! ( for the moment forgetting the two burly skeletons that stand guard at both entry points to the area. for a split second she hesitates in reaching out to touch her β her own body, though otherwise spiritually occupied. the situation is awkward as all hell even without a vague worry that the universe might peel away at the seams and crumple inwards if she reached out to touch her, but she does it anyway, at the very least endeavoring to roll her onto her side so she can get a clear look at the tell-tale crimson ribbon of blood flowing from her ear. though momentarily unconscious, she is stable and as far as harrow can tell, there is no cranial injury; therefore she is abjectly useless in anything but trying to narrow down what the hell is happening. the hemorrhaging again? it happened again earlier, also β when she had called her by name...
at the dawn of a more complete understanding of what she had meant, harrow raises the trailing end of one of her sleeves to dab the blood away, murmuring under her breath, ) So, this is what I had done to myself. But, why... ( she trails off, turning it over in her mind. there are the obvious, mortifying, sentimental reasons, to be certain, but... surely there was more to it. does it have to do with the soul...? )