There's nothing terrible about silence and stillness save Lahabrea favors neither and had little to focus himself upon beyond the moons' inevitable weight upon his actions and interests. It leaves a constant undercurrent, more tangible with the constant steady contact, to the quiet. Soothed somewhat, but not entirely by the presence of another at least; whether or not the bars were useful - and the seed of doubt planted as to whether they would hold or not, rendering that sanctuary of certainty utterly useless and setting up for problems in the future perhaps - they at least allowed for a smaller, more closed off space.
Intimate, even if disturbing in its way.
"I don't have the means to render myself unconscious for that long," is the reluctant response. "Else I would use it." He would, whether or not Elidibus wanted to talk. It would not calm the storm but it would render it utterly ignorable, and that was as far as he was concerned, a perfect ideal. The risk remained, for all that it was for the moment dampened a bit even without the soothing rub of fingertips on scale; what might get said or done that would spike smoldering fury into blind wrath and lead him to lash out with terrible consequences?
The thought sat uncomfortably alongside the vague sense of security that bled through their bond. He could so easily betray that trust, without ever intending to.
But he'll still be there when Elidibus wakes. If he himself dozes off at any point it's not really easy to tell, but in the passage of hour upon hour in quiet and warmth, the Emissary remains for the most part undisturbed and unawoken.
Save perhaps a silent monitoring of temperature, and if the room grows too hot for what Lahabrea knows mortals tolerate easily, do something about that without actually untangling enough to get up ... and maybe the tinge of red to dreams that might otherwise not be there, like fires on the distant horizon.
no subject
Intimate, even if disturbing in its way.
"I don't have the means to render myself unconscious for that long," is the reluctant response. "Else I would use it." He would, whether or not Elidibus wanted to talk. It would not calm the storm but it would render it utterly ignorable, and that was as far as he was concerned, a perfect ideal. The risk remained, for all that it was for the moment dampened a bit even without the soothing rub of fingertips on scale; what might get said or done that would spike smoldering fury into blind wrath and lead him to lash out with terrible consequences?
The thought sat uncomfortably alongside the vague sense of security that bled through their bond. He could so easily betray that trust, without ever intending to.
But he'll still be there when Elidibus wakes. If he himself dozes off at any point it's not really easy to tell, but in the passage of hour upon hour in quiet and warmth, the Emissary remains for the most part undisturbed and unawoken.
Save perhaps a silent monitoring of temperature, and if the room grows too hot for what Lahabrea knows mortals tolerate easily, do something about that without actually untangling enough to get up ... and maybe the tinge of red to dreams that might otherwise not be there, like fires on the distant horizon.