That I might chisel a statue, line on line, out of a marble’s chaste severities
Pravda cannot remember the last time he met someone who smiled so readily, and laughed so easily. It unsettles him, a man accustomed to austerity. He nearly withdraws; steps back as the man steps forward; turns his face away. But something about the other’s honey-sweet voice, the way his humor seems barbed but not so barbed as to be painful. You think a complete stranger quite reasonable? he asks, and it takes Pravda too long to recognize he is joking.
“I would hope,” Pravda replies, attempting humor. His delivery of it, however, is far too dry, and his expression does not soften with anything aside from bewilderment.
Is that so, Pravda? He cannot remember anyone ever saying his name in such a way; and Pravda stills as Alecto draws nearer, nearer, until their cheeks brush and the other man’s lips are at his ear. I would so like to prove you wrong tonight, if you’d let me?
Prigovora seizes the moment to withdraw from them. Pravda’s attention is caught between his raptor’s sudden departure and Alecto’s sudden proximity; it makes him uncomfortable; and what makes him even more uncomfortable is the hot flush of warmth spreading from his stomach to his chest to his cheeks. He clears his throat. “And how do you intend to do that?” Pravda asks. He attempts to maintain a cool level of rationality, but his body betrays him yet again. His voice cracks.
Pravda, however, would be a liar if there was not some curiosity attached to his nervousness. If he did not want to know. This, as much as anything, is a part of his studies. How to simply be.
“I would hope,” Pravda replies, attempting humor. His delivery of it, however, is far too dry, and his expression does not soften with anything aside from bewilderment.
Is that so, Pravda? He cannot remember anyone ever saying his name in such a way; and Pravda stills as Alecto draws nearer, nearer, until their cheeks brush and the other man’s lips are at his ear. I would so like to prove you wrong tonight, if you’d let me?
Prigovora seizes the moment to withdraw from them. Pravda’s attention is caught between his raptor’s sudden departure and Alecto’s sudden proximity; it makes him uncomfortable; and what makes him even more uncomfortable is the hot flush of warmth spreading from his stomach to his chest to his cheeks. He clears his throat. “And how do you intend to do that?” Pravda asks. He attempts to maintain a cool level of rationality, but his body betrays him yet again. His voice cracks.
Pravda, however, would be a liar if there was not some curiosity attached to his nervousness. If he did not want to know. This, as much as anything, is a part of his studies. How to simply be.
