[And again, she's quiet a minute, dwelling both on the sound of the unforced vowels and on the meaning that follows along behind them. It's hard to place, really, what it is she's just seen; it's not the fact that some of the mania seems to have faded from his demeanor, or the proof that he's not so far gone that he won't remember to speak Drachman to her. Or maybe it's a little of both, combined together into something else entirely — something that's brought back the simple recognition that he doesn't lie to her, and when he's given his word, he doesn't go back on it.
Even in this chaos, even with alchemy at his fingertips, even high on power and the thunder of battle, he's still Nietzsche. There's still...something.
Whether or not she's afraid of what he can do, she doesn't have to be afraid of him.]
You know what they'll say about you.
[Before she can think better of it, she darts forward, catching hold of the folds of his scarf just long enough to land a kiss on the corner of his mouth, and yet she doesn't stop moving, even then; as quick as she's there, she's gone, taking the last few steps to the edge of the ledge at full tilt and pivoting on the last so she careens over backwards with the ease and fearlessness of someone who's made that same dive a thousand times before.]
no subject
Even in this chaos, even with alchemy at his fingertips, even high on power and the thunder of battle, he's still Nietzsche. There's still...something.
Whether or not she's afraid of what he can do, she doesn't have to be afraid of him.]
You know what they'll say about you.
[Before she can think better of it, she darts forward, catching hold of the folds of his scarf just long enough to land a kiss on the corner of his mouth, and yet she doesn't stop moving, even then; as quick as she's there, she's gone, taking the last few steps to the edge of the ledge at full tilt and pivoting on the last so she careens over backwards with the ease and fearlessness of someone who's made that same dive a thousand times before.]