Moira Tonnerre
i will burn and burn and burn again, and you will come home safely
Stardust fringes of the world narrow, pull together, are sewn thread by thread until he is the only planet in her orbit. She is a meteorite going in for a crash landing. She burns through his atmosphere, breathes the air he breathes for but a moment as he turns. Shock ricochets through his eyes, through his spine; but there is more, more she cannot decipher and wants to.
He does not realize that every breath he takes, every step closer, every word draws her in. He does not realize that the way his voice drops sends butterflies flitting through her stomach, sends shivers racing down her spine. Valiant is the attempt from the phoenix to suppress them, to hide his affect on her. The phoenix can only hope she burns bright enough, hot enough, that his eyes will not stray to intoxicating side effects from simply being near him, basking in the glow of him, the glory of him. And she can see the memories floating like corpses on the surface of the sea in his eyes, the troubles and woes and hardships he's gone through - difficulties they've both faced.
They stole his smile. She will bring it back.
There are walls being built and turrets defended, there are arrows of formality and manners flying so quickly at her that it should be a challenge to dodge them all. Ah, but she bats them aside, pushes past as water flowing through every crack and weak point. Moira is a selfish thing, a jealous thing, and she does not want to know what it feels to lose again, not when the stakes are so high. When he would retreat, she moves next to him. His shoulder against her own reminds her of the snow, of that fateful day when he left and she'd shattered him.
Moira does not mean to be a wildfire, she does not mean to be a tornado of flames and emotions and uncertainties. The damage she causes is purely accidental, a consequence of a girl learning to be a woman. A punishment of a heart still learning how to love. "Give that gift to those who look to you for guidance. You need not hide in front of me - there are so many masks I'm tired of," and I'm so tired of my own façade she thinks. Slowly the phoenix tips her head back, long neck and throat exposed, and repositions her hair so that the splatters of pale paint (the white of him on the paper they make their way to, the dreams and clouds reflected in his gentle and sad eyes) are hidden and tucked away. Her hair is free of her face so she is all angles in the firelight; angles and sleepless nights and hopes for the future (for their future perhaps?). "Give me your honesty with your smiles and solemn faces, and I offer the same respect to you."
As she picks up her brush and the palette underneath her easel, as she looks to the face with a half hidden smile on the page that is so similar and dissimilar to the man before her now, she wonders what he'll ask of her. Slowly she dips the tip of her brush in the white, returning to the stars she'd abandoned for one much brighter than she'd ever portray. "My family once had me paint their portraits when I was not tending the wounded. Theirs are faces I've committed to memory. Bright eyes and sad eyes and angry eyes. Flat mouths and smiling mouths. There is a wall of them in all colors and shapes and sizes, and any mistake I'd made was punished and then the pictures and their flaws burned only for me to start again." A piece of her past she hadn't offered before, an opening into the world he'd never been a part of at last revealed. Caine knows more of her horrors and shame, but that is not something to simply spout out when you are still learning to trust.
Oh, and how she flares brightly, Tonnerre blood rising to the challenge as Moira swallows and meets his eyes at last! "We've much to discuss, you and I. Ask and I shall answer as best I can. Ask and paint whatever your heart wants - I do not command you," but you command me, she almost whispers as her brush dips into a pale gray, as she looks to the man on her paper and seems to attack it with ferocious intent. Trepidation sits in waiting, curiosity and nerves a painful mix alongside the alcohol in her belly.
Moira Tonnerre will be honest no matter what it costs her tonight. She does not smile back at him now, not when so many dark things (living things, shadow things, nightmare things) crawl out to play and taunt and torment her where he cannot see, where he cannot reach.
And so she paints. And so she waits.
He does not realize that every breath he takes, every step closer, every word draws her in. He does not realize that the way his voice drops sends butterflies flitting through her stomach, sends shivers racing down her spine. Valiant is the attempt from the phoenix to suppress them, to hide his affect on her. The phoenix can only hope she burns bright enough, hot enough, that his eyes will not stray to intoxicating side effects from simply being near him, basking in the glow of him, the glory of him. And she can see the memories floating like corpses on the surface of the sea in his eyes, the troubles and woes and hardships he's gone through - difficulties they've both faced.
They stole his smile. She will bring it back.
There are walls being built and turrets defended, there are arrows of formality and manners flying so quickly at her that it should be a challenge to dodge them all. Ah, but she bats them aside, pushes past as water flowing through every crack and weak point. Moira is a selfish thing, a jealous thing, and she does not want to know what it feels to lose again, not when the stakes are so high. When he would retreat, she moves next to him. His shoulder against her own reminds her of the snow, of that fateful day when he left and she'd shattered him.
Moira does not mean to be a wildfire, she does not mean to be a tornado of flames and emotions and uncertainties. The damage she causes is purely accidental, a consequence of a girl learning to be a woman. A punishment of a heart still learning how to love. "Give that gift to those who look to you for guidance. You need not hide in front of me - there are so many masks I'm tired of," and I'm so tired of my own façade she thinks. Slowly the phoenix tips her head back, long neck and throat exposed, and repositions her hair so that the splatters of pale paint (the white of him on the paper they make their way to, the dreams and clouds reflected in his gentle and sad eyes) are hidden and tucked away. Her hair is free of her face so she is all angles in the firelight; angles and sleepless nights and hopes for the future (for their future perhaps?). "Give me your honesty with your smiles and solemn faces, and I offer the same respect to you."
As she picks up her brush and the palette underneath her easel, as she looks to the face with a half hidden smile on the page that is so similar and dissimilar to the man before her now, she wonders what he'll ask of her. Slowly she dips the tip of her brush in the white, returning to the stars she'd abandoned for one much brighter than she'd ever portray. "My family once had me paint their portraits when I was not tending the wounded. Theirs are faces I've committed to memory. Bright eyes and sad eyes and angry eyes. Flat mouths and smiling mouths. There is a wall of them in all colors and shapes and sizes, and any mistake I'd made was punished and then the pictures and their flaws burned only for me to start again." A piece of her past she hadn't offered before, an opening into the world he'd never been a part of at last revealed. Caine knows more of her horrors and shame, but that is not something to simply spout out when you are still learning to trust.
Oh, and how she flares brightly, Tonnerre blood rising to the challenge as Moira swallows and meets his eyes at last! "We've much to discuss, you and I. Ask and I shall answer as best I can. Ask and paint whatever your heart wants - I do not command you," but you command me, she almost whispers as her brush dips into a pale gray, as she looks to the man on her paper and seems to attack it with ferocious intent. Trepidation sits in waiting, curiosity and nerves a painful mix alongside the alcohol in her belly.
Moira Tonnerre will be honest no matter what it costs her tonight. She does not smile back at him now, not when so many dark things (living things, shadow things, nightmare things) crawl out to play and taunt and torment her where he cannot see, where he cannot reach.
And so she paints. And so she waits.
@asterion | "moira" | notes: <3
