[ it isn’t as if he needs a name, where he’s from. no one is lucky enough for it to mean anything—they’re all designated by their baroques instead, and in dextera’s case, his anonymity has taken layers according to all the people who need something from him.
but everyone has to be called something, and this is what he has to offer. his mouth twists like he’s going to say something to defend himself, but his voiceless throat tightens and he has no choice but to look down at the reply in the earth. the same method, mirrored back at him, placed like ownership.
he draws an unhappy breath and curls his fingers around the opposite wrist. ]
…
[ then, he fully turns his head to makoto, finally allowing himself to take in this mysterious stranger instead of observing him from the periphery with fleeting glances. his eyes, his smile, even his posture—it all indicates distortion, and dextera has his questions too about what it all amounts to.
he stares as long as he’s allowed, until some satisfactory answer comes to him and he looks back down at their names.
no subject
but everyone has to be called something, and this is what he has to offer. his mouth twists like he’s going to say something to defend himself, but his voiceless throat tightens and he has no choice but to look down at the reply in the earth. the same method, mirrored back at him, placed like ownership.
he draws an unhappy breath and curls his fingers around the opposite wrist. ]
…
[ then, he fully turns his head to makoto, finally allowing himself to take in this mysterious stranger instead of observing him from the periphery with fleeting glances. his eyes, his smile, even his posture—it all indicates distortion, and dextera has his questions too about what it all amounts to.
he stares as long as he’s allowed, until some satisfactory answer comes to him and he looks back down at their names.
‘M.’ it carries its own implications. ]