One might expect it to be a natural state for him. After all, what are years spent in a dark place good for if not perfecting a man's ability to be idle? To say nothing of Ralston's habit of depositing himself in chairs for hours at a time or his practiced disdain for anything resembling being made to romp through the countryside.
But this is a different thing. Sitting at the foot of that bed, watching the tension ease of out Kirigan's body, he is aware of some prickling of irritation—a sulky resentment that is so childish that it's difficult to master. Jealousy for the thing that Kirigan is reaching out to. Balking resentment for being told what to do. Restlessness, in the way that caged animals often are. A long time ago, he had been that prone creature looking out and someone else had been in this role he keeps now. How loathsome it is to slip so easily into the space left behind by her.
He waits, his foot in a soft shoe rocking quietly from heel to toe and back again in a quiet restless rhythm. And looking closely as he does, there is something which creeps at Kirigan's edges that he can nearly parse. A dull shape. A point of pressure which slowly extends from the general to press like a thumb somewhere at Ralston's awareness.
no subject
One might expect it to be a natural state for him. After all, what are years spent in a dark place good for if not perfecting a man's ability to be idle? To say nothing of Ralston's habit of depositing himself in chairs for hours at a time or his practiced disdain for anything resembling being made to romp through the countryside.
But this is a different thing. Sitting at the foot of that bed, watching the tension ease of out Kirigan's body, he is aware of some prickling of irritation—a sulky resentment that is so childish that it's difficult to master. Jealousy for the thing that Kirigan is reaching out to. Balking resentment for being told what to do. Restlessness, in the way that caged animals often are. A long time ago, he had been that prone creature looking out and someone else had been in this role he keeps now. How loathsome it is to slip so easily into the space left behind by her.
He waits, his foot in a soft shoe rocking quietly from heel to toe and back again in a quiet restless rhythm. And looking closely as he does, there is something which creeps at Kirigan's edges that he can nearly parse. A dull shape. A point of pressure which slowly extends from the general to press like a thumb somewhere at Ralston's awareness.
"Kirigan," is a soft call. Can he hear him?