What a lovely way to burn
A scowl tugs on her lips at his demand for her to stop. Perhaps, if she weren’t quite so bull-headed, she might have listened. Instead her chin notches up slightly as her own wings flare to match his. As if illness had ever given her pause before. She’s not a fucking child scared of phantoms. She could put her big girl panties on for a moment and deal with things like a normal adult.
Like she does every damn day.
We’ll try not to delve too deeply into that. Honestly, one could almost counter that such stubbornness is childish. If they wanted to be kicked in the teeth that is. Play dumb games, win dumb prizes, right? Right. Who knows, maybe she’d even win the plague?
She snorts derisively at his continued protestations. “What the hell makes you think I’m scared of some stupid cold?” she scoffs, her eyes rolling briefly in exasperation. But when her gaze finally fixes on him, her dual-hued eyes narrowed, there is no hint of that irritation.
“You look like shit,” she observes a bit wryly as she steps closer, her wings buckling as she tries to avoid snagging them on reaching limbs. Much like his had done. Honestly, at this point, he’d gotten her curiosity up. And there is no tearing her away from an object of her curiosity. As he’d no doubt soon learn. When one is as stubborn as she is, it seems there is some advantage to being rather large and immoveable. “What happened to you anyway?”
She cringes slightly as the cough wracks his frame once more. That sounded truly god awful, but he’d need to do a helluva lot more to frighten her off. Besides, it’s not like she’d be any safer if she took off now. She’d already been exposed, hadn’t she? Safe has never really been in her vocabulary anyway. The closer to death she comes, the more exhilarating. And so far, this feels pretty damned ordinary. Hardly a rush at all.
Except that he does sound rather terrible. And hell, the cold couldn’t be helping. Freaking aaaaa, why did she even have to think of these things? She would’ve been perfectly happy pestering him for information then heading the other direction. But now she’s actually feeling. Thinking how miserable that must. Every goddamned time.
With a sigh, she uses a thin lick of flame to banish the chill air, warming a small bubble of space to a temperature comfortable enough one might actually be able to relax.
She'd deny it if he asked, of course. Couldn't have him thinking she actually has a heart, could she?
