09-08-2020, 12:52 AM
so make your siren's call and sing all you want, I will not hear what you have to say --
He had not disappeared after that night quite in the way that he had promised. He had known, even as he spoke the words, that he had no intention of dropping entirely out of her life. It had been guilt that had driven him away after their night together; guilt that he had used his powers to persuade her into being with him. It struck him as something his father would have done, and Varick had no interest in being like Ivar. He had left, not because he had wanted to, but because it had seemed right. Maybe he wasn’t quite as good as he liked to think himself, and he knew the girl with the sharp teeth and even sharper tongue deserved better.
But when he had come back and seen the swell of her barrel, he knew, then, that he could not leave again.
He kept his distance, though, despite how much he did not want to. He watched her carefully, but he did not bother her. Not even once he could see that her time was growing nearer, and he could feel his own nerves tying themselves into knots.
She disappears, and though he knows he absolutely shouldn’t, he looks for her.
It is purely by chance that he stumbles across her den, and he is thankful that he had been stepping quietly and carefully and he hopefully does not startle them.
Them.
His eyes are immediately drawn to the colt curled on the ground, still damp and new, and he can feel his chest begin to clench. The colt has his blue – his blue coat, his blue eyes. But he is also his mother, too, and Varick, having never been a father before and never witnessing this beautiful melding of two individuals on this level, is immediately taken.
“Sabbath,” her name feels stuck in his throat, finding her sage-green eyes but not daring to step any closer to the pair. His jaw clenches, looking again at the colt, and the surge of pride again rises in his chest and floods across his face and into his eyes. “May I come closer? Please,” he asks her, his voice unusually quiet and soft, his head lowering to better look at their son. “I just want to meet him.”
But when he had come back and seen the swell of her barrel, he knew, then, that he could not leave again.
He kept his distance, though, despite how much he did not want to. He watched her carefully, but he did not bother her. Not even once he could see that her time was growing nearer, and he could feel his own nerves tying themselves into knots.
She disappears, and though he knows he absolutely shouldn’t, he looks for her.
It is purely by chance that he stumbles across her den, and he is thankful that he had been stepping quietly and carefully and he hopefully does not startle them.
Them.
His eyes are immediately drawn to the colt curled on the ground, still damp and new, and he can feel his chest begin to clench. The colt has his blue – his blue coat, his blue eyes. But he is also his mother, too, and Varick, having never been a father before and never witnessing this beautiful melding of two individuals on this level, is immediately taken.
“Sabbath,” her name feels stuck in his throat, finding her sage-green eyes but not daring to step any closer to the pair. His jaw clenches, looking again at the colt, and the surge of pride again rises in his chest and floods across his face and into his eyes. “May I come closer? Please,” he asks her, his voice unusually quiet and soft, his head lowering to better look at their son. “I just want to meet him.”
VARICK
@[Sabbath]