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 Posted: Tue May 26, 2015 3:20 pm
"Jack won't kill me," she said assuredly. She had seen too much in the crystals, and despite every bone in her body telling her that
- it was a dream vision, it meant nothing
- she was not destined for love like her alternate self
- this universe's Jack had given her nothing but trouble
she still felt as though at this point, she could at least trust him. Not with the same sense of unerring loyalty to a fault (as that was something reserved strictly for Chris), but at least with enough to know he wouldn't kill her.
"Not that he could," she said softly, clearly joking but a slight edge to her voice in warning. "We need to find a way to cover your chest," she said, holding her head lightly and leaning back against Jack's bandaging hands. She was tired. "The shirt's too thin." She began unstrapping only the armor that was necessary to get her black tabard off. "You can take my- my armor."
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Posted: Wed May 27, 2015 1:21 am
He was quiet mostly because he was still trying to process everything that had happened and everything that was happening. Every look sent his way was met with something calm and contemplative, as per usual; it masked the undercurrents stirring in his head. You can't kill me. I'll kill him if he tries. As if he had ever been a harbinger of death. As if he was as resolute to destroy the darkness as he proclaimed he was. As if his life wasn't already forfeit.
(Did it have to be, though?)
He watched them and wondered, feeling his will waver just that much. Whatever Jacks lied in those other worlds, he wasn't them: not some hellbent warrior or self-destructive demon or comforting husband. No, here he knew what he was now: weak. Suctioning onto the most profitable; hadn't that been what had let him slide into his little battle group in the first place? It sickened him to think of it, but he had bound himself to this fate. What else could he do now?
Fight it? And how could he possibly consider that, let alone try to plan it?
(Well, if he was weak, he might as well embrace it.)
"You'll need the extra protection too in this state," Jack said, stopping Chel's hand. "Especially if his health is essentially tied to yours." He looked to Chris. "You can take mine if you want, height difference notwithstanding; armor tends to get in the way while working anyway."
Preserve. Healing. Salvation. Despite being an accomplished battler, his hands were made to stitch wounds, not make them. As a Great Knight he should have been more suspicious, more stern and resolute in destroying what had infected Chel—but he had been Jack Hawthorn long before he had been a knight. And with the visions still jumbled in his thoughts—
(Weak.)
The fact that he was still there despite their threats was a better answer than if he had vocalized it.
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