![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
certainproclivityOOC: Written for trollopfop for the prompt, "Exactly what am I supposed to do, now that I have allowed you to beat me?"
It wasn't that different, at first. At the surface, maybe no one would notice it was different at all, but anyone with the sense to check body language and vocal cadence might notice the subtle nuances of the change to the point where they were glaring. Sark held himself a little straighter in Suzie's presence, tilted his head up when he spoke to her, despite being the taller of the two, and when they touched, there was an almost painful amount of respect and reverence in it.
The truth was he had shattered and the pieces came back together, built up and patched with care and hands that weren't so much skilled as determined. The end result was a treatment of a single symptom, but not the whole disease. What he was wanting, but not what he was actually needing. It wasn't enough, but it would do.
And the alternative was just that unthinkable.
He remembered that he was once broken, but often contented, because he had someone who understood him, someone on even ground, but then it all fell apart and she made it good enough again, and there really wasn't much left over to regret or recall all the details of what existed before. He never argued her decision and he couldn't hate her for it.
All he could do was stare at her, like a soldier awaiting orders, and ask one single, damning thing of her.
"What happens now?"
trollopfop for the prompt, "Exactly what am I supposed to do, now that I have allowed you to beat me?"It wasn't that different, at first. At the surface, maybe no one would notice it was different at all, but anyone with the sense to check body language and vocal cadence might notice the subtle nuances of the change to the point where they were glaring. Sark held himself a little straighter in Suzie's presence, tilted his head up when he spoke to her, despite being the taller of the two, and when they touched, there was an almost painful amount of respect and reverence in it.
The truth was he had shattered and the pieces came back together, built up and patched with care and hands that weren't so much skilled as determined. The end result was a treatment of a single symptom, but not the whole disease. What he was wanting, but not what he was actually needing. It wasn't enough, but it would do.
And the alternative was just that unthinkable.
He remembered that he was once broken, but often contented, because he had someone who understood him, someone on even ground, but then it all fell apart and she made it good enough again, and there really wasn't much left over to regret or recall all the details of what existed before. He never argued her decision and he couldn't hate her for it.
All he could do was stare at her, like a soldier awaiting orders, and ask one single, damning thing of her.
"What happens now?"
Muse: Julian Sark
Word Count: 239
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-11-22 02:23 am (UTC)Just... AUGH.
I can't be coherent about this. It's awesome. And sad.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-22 05:14 am (UTC)...yes, my comments are becoming less coherent. Hush. :|
no subject
Date: 2009-11-22 06:38 am (UTC)