[... Right. He's still in Yuan's lap. Kratos shifts to let Yuan up, and accepts the help to his feet. He doesn't feel completely steady, but it's mostly in straightening up; he feels as though there's a catch in his centre. It makes his breath catch in turn, but it's a momentary thing, and with Yuan there it only takes a few moments to find his feet.
[Flamberge. Kratos's heart aches, and it takes a moment to realise that it's emotion, and not anything else; he reaches up to touch his face, just to make sure of his expression. A smile -- and tears. Good enough.
[He tracks the link, but only absently, as he moves toward the window. His step is a touch uncertain. He feels -- off-balance -- even more than before. Before, it had been a merely physical sensation of hanging which did, eventually, wear away; but now it's his mana confused, insisting things which are no longer true. Kratos leans on the sill, and gazes out at the broad ledge, and the sun just beginning to turn the tops of the mountain gold.
[When Sheena sits up Kratos shifts to watch her, only realising where she's going when he registers the smell of breakfast wafting in from the kitchen. He hasn't eaten yet. On top of everything else -- one sense at a time. He stays turned that way, frozen in a way only an angel can be when distracted by a long-running thought; but Yuan's arrival shakes him out of it, and Kratos's gaze is drawn immediately to the blade in his hand.
[Sprawled in his pile of blankets, Lloyd's eyes blink slowly open, and then widen, watching the flame-shadow appear to burn its way across the floor. He opens his mouth to shout a warning as it passes over Genis, but nothing happens when it does, save that it looks like Genis's blanket is dancing with flames. It's only after Yuan speaks that Lloyd's gaze snaps toward them, and then he stares in awe at the sword Yuan is giving his father.
[Kratos, for his part, doesn't notice. All his attention is for Flamberge, very nearly as dear a friend as Yuan, and just as old. It's with something near to reverence that he reaches out to take it, and it's as light as he remembers; he can feel the mana in it, a familiar signature which leaps to his touch.]
Thank you.
[His voice is rough. He must have said that a thousand times already, and yet he cannot say it enough. He doesn't need to ask whether Yuan is joining him; he turns, instead, toward the door at the back of the room.]
no subject
[Flamberge. Kratos's heart aches, and it takes a moment to realise that it's emotion, and not anything else; he reaches up to touch his face, just to make sure of his expression. A smile -- and tears. Good enough.
[He tracks the link, but only absently, as he moves toward the window. His step is a touch uncertain. He feels -- off-balance -- even more than before. Before, it had been a merely physical sensation of hanging which did, eventually, wear away; but now it's his mana confused, insisting things which are no longer true. Kratos leans on the sill, and gazes out at the broad ledge, and the sun just beginning to turn the tops of the mountain gold.
[When Sheena sits up Kratos shifts to watch her, only realising where she's going when he registers the smell of breakfast wafting in from the kitchen. He hasn't eaten yet. On top of everything else -- one sense at a time. He stays turned that way, frozen in a way only an angel can be when distracted by a long-running thought; but Yuan's arrival shakes him out of it, and Kratos's gaze is drawn immediately to the blade in his hand.
[Sprawled in his pile of blankets, Lloyd's eyes blink slowly open, and then widen, watching the flame-shadow appear to burn its way across the floor. He opens his mouth to shout a warning as it passes over Genis, but nothing happens when it does, save that it looks like Genis's blanket is dancing with flames. It's only after Yuan speaks that Lloyd's gaze snaps toward them, and then he stares in awe at the sword Yuan is giving his father.
[Kratos, for his part, doesn't notice. All his attention is for Flamberge, very nearly as dear a friend as Yuan, and just as old. It's with something near to reverence that he reaches out to take it, and it's as light as he remembers; he can feel the mana in it, a familiar signature which leaps to his touch.]
Thank you.
[His voice is rough. He must have said that a thousand times already, and yet he cannot say it enough. He doesn't need to ask whether Yuan is joining him; he turns, instead, toward the door at the back of the room.]