[ over her years, yennefer has found a kind of satisfaction in meeting a man who has known the ferocity of a woman. it is different than respect, different than adoration, but altogether more efficient. it feels a bit like some part of her is able to relax, if only because that aspect of her life, of the way in which she has survived for as long as she has, does not need to be proven.
and she can sense that in him - that he knows. that he understands. it lingers somewhere around the edges of his scarred skin, of his dark eyes, and yennefer's smirk lingers.
it feels all too similar to unraveling a spool. as though there is some complicated lock, some intricate spell, that she has to work her way through. this entire exchange has been honest, a genuine statement - in a variety of ways - that there is nothing soft, or safe, or gentle about this. that the voice he hears is probably correct. that he should, perhaps, consider leaving. (if she had her chaos, she could probably hear it for herself - something that is not far from her mind, at every moment, especially here.)
he doesn't leave, and yennefer notices.
that is when he answers a question she hadn't really been asking, confirming that yes, perhaps she should be scared, and yennefer chooses then to step towards him, slowly closing that distance with every step. maybe it is because she, too, has lost track of who is reeling in who. or maybe it's because she simply wants to, maybe it's because she's growing tired of just how long this cat and mouse game is going on. with each step she is a little more out of the water, until she has finally closed the distance between them. until she is directly in front of him, the water back around her waist. she is close enough to see the rise and fall of each of his breaths, to catch the more subtle scars on his face, the tension in his neck and jaw. she is closer, now, physically - but there is still some of that remaining reel, even now. even when he's close enough she could reach out and touch.
when she speaks, her voice lacks the earlier entertainment or casual air. instead, it sounds a little more like a threat, or a promise. ]
no subject
and she can sense that in him - that he knows. that he understands. it lingers somewhere around the edges of his scarred skin, of his dark eyes, and yennefer's smirk lingers.
it feels all too similar to unraveling a spool. as though there is some complicated lock, some intricate spell, that she has to work her way through. this entire exchange has been honest, a genuine statement - in a variety of ways - that there is nothing soft, or safe, or gentle about this. that the voice he hears is probably correct. that he should, perhaps, consider leaving. (if she had her chaos, she could probably hear it for herself - something that is not far from her mind, at every moment, especially here.)
he doesn't leave, and yennefer notices.
that is when he answers a question she hadn't really been asking, confirming that yes, perhaps she should be scared, and yennefer chooses then to step towards him, slowly closing that distance with every step. maybe it is because she, too, has lost track of who is reeling in who. or maybe it's because she simply wants to, maybe it's because she's growing tired of just how long this cat and mouse game is going on. with each step she is a little more out of the water, until she has finally closed the distance between them. until she is directly in front of him, the water back around her waist. she is close enough to see the rise and fall of each of his breaths, to catch the more subtle scars on his face, the tension in his neck and jaw. she is closer, now, physically - but there is still some of that remaining reel, even now. even when he's close enough she could reach out and touch.
when she speaks, her voice lacks the earlier entertainment or casual air. instead, it sounds a little more like a threat, or a promise. ]
Tell me again what I should be.