[ The pain he'd given Gaelio, ricocheting deep in his bones as newly shared knowledge. It will be remembered, a deeper understanding past imagination and troubled sleep. New haunts will evolve along with this.
If he survives to learn them.
To his understanding, and because it would follow with utmost clarity, Gaelio has done this purposefully and with conviction. As a man who respects power, uniquely so when wielded with justice and righteousness against the deserving, he finds that all he can muster for it and towards it is respect for the act that he could not counter and which has felled him so. Despite the agony of his flesh tearing and his bones constricting, cracking, there is respect for Gaelio and for his achievement, along with fear and despair.
An incredible feat, so quick and so complete without any tangible weapons used, and incredibly poignant. It has beauty to it. It has rhythm, the fall, the rise, the fall, synchronizing across the beating heart of history.
If he has to die, far before he'd ever planned to and without accomplishing the dreams he'd devoted his life to, at least it was by this man's hand, in this way. He would have preferred to say more first, perhaps. For their confrontation prior to have been longer, perhaps. And for it to have happened somewhere more familiar to them.
His vision remains dark, darker still as he begins to lose consciousness. He begins to sway in his low crouch. Only then -- he hears the voice he knows best, a command, but directed towards whom? Sharp confusion, followed by the clearing of the wounds and still more confusion. McGillis gasps, fighting to keep himself upright, but before long he has been hoisted back to standing by a violent hand, the other yanking at his chin.
That shade of blue, the essence of a dark and stormy sky. The wild flame in them, whether he is crazed with hurt and fury or, as in the past, giddy with enthusiasm, lit with bright emotion, has always served as a direct contrast to the calming color. Warm, warming, heating all his surfaces, none safe to touch.
Below the surface of McGillis's eyes, movement. His features warped from dregs of phantom pain, still shaken from it, he allows gloved fingers to handle him as roughly, to swipe at and taste the blood that was not his own or Gaelio's. The drag of a thumb straight over his lip quickens his pulse. Blood --
The boar, then the failed encounter, then Gaelio's attack. Which, cottoning on, he is starting to understand was some sort of illusory effect. Gaelio seems as perturbed about its origins and effectiveness both.
He did not know? He didn't intend it?
Shoved back, McGillis staggers into straightening and continues to step back. He catches his breath, fingertips wiping at his mouth in an unconsciously mimicking gesture. ]
Ah, I'd wager it is your new power, and not a dream.
[ With a safe distance achieved, facing Gaelio, he stops. A smirk, slightly unhinged, twitches at corner of his mouth -- the back of his hand swipes at his face again, and with that, not as much blood left except as scarce, haphazard patches. The expression abates. One final trembling exhale escapes, before the steady calm of his low voice recovers in full and returns. ]
no subject
If he survives to learn them.
To his understanding, and because it would follow with utmost clarity, Gaelio has done this purposefully and with conviction. As a man who respects power, uniquely so when wielded with justice and righteousness against the deserving, he finds that all he can muster for it and towards it is respect for the act that he could not counter and which has felled him so. Despite the agony of his flesh tearing and his bones constricting, cracking, there is respect for Gaelio and for his achievement, along with fear and despair.
An incredible feat, so quick and so complete without any tangible weapons used, and incredibly poignant. It has beauty to it. It has rhythm, the fall, the rise, the fall, synchronizing across the beating heart of history.
If he has to die, far before he'd ever planned to and without accomplishing the dreams he'd devoted his life to, at least it was by this man's hand, in this way. He would have preferred to say more first, perhaps. For their confrontation prior to have been longer, perhaps. And for it to have happened somewhere more familiar to them.
His vision remains dark, darker still as he begins to lose consciousness. He begins to sway in his low crouch. Only then -- he hears the voice he knows best, a command, but directed towards whom? Sharp confusion, followed by the clearing of the wounds and still more confusion. McGillis gasps, fighting to keep himself upright, but before long he has been hoisted back to standing by a violent hand, the other yanking at his chin.
That shade of blue, the essence of a dark and stormy sky. The wild flame in them, whether he is crazed with hurt and fury or, as in the past, giddy with enthusiasm, lit with bright emotion, has always served as a direct contrast to the calming color. Warm, warming, heating all his surfaces, none safe to touch.
Below the surface of McGillis's eyes, movement. His features warped from dregs of phantom pain, still shaken from it, he allows gloved fingers to handle him as roughly, to swipe at and taste the blood that was not his own or Gaelio's. The drag of a thumb straight over his lip quickens his pulse. Blood --
The boar, then the failed encounter, then Gaelio's attack. Which, cottoning on, he is starting to understand was some sort of illusory effect. Gaelio seems as perturbed about its origins and effectiveness both.
He did not know? He didn't intend it?
Shoved back, McGillis staggers into straightening and continues to step back. He catches his breath, fingertips wiping at his mouth in an unconsciously mimicking gesture. ]
Ah, I'd wager it is your new power, and not a dream.
[ With a safe distance achieved, facing Gaelio, he stops. A smirk, slightly unhinged, twitches at corner of his mouth -- the back of his hand swipes at his face again, and with that, not as much blood left except as scarce, haphazard patches. The expression abates. One final trembling exhale escapes, before the steady calm of his low voice recovers in full and returns. ]
It's quite the impressive one.