⠀⠀

He doesn’t argue.   Doesn’t scoff or roll his eyes.   He just looks at her—calm,   unreadable,   and frustratingly composed.   `I know you could’ve.`   A beat.   His gaze lingers a second too long before he finally adds,   low and matter-of-fact:   `I still wasn’t going to let you.`   Then,   as he turns away,   just loud enough to be heard:   `You’re allowed to be capable and not alone,   you know.   It’s not mutually exclusive.`
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@rebiirths⠀⠀⠀,

`  Tch.    Didn’t say they were to win you over.  `  He tosses them on the table anyway,   like their presence has nothing to do with the conversation—like he didn’t spend twenty minutes picking them out.    `  They’re just there.   In case your anger gets..   productive.  `   He finally looks at Rafayel then,   eyes steady,   smirk in place but softened at the edges.   `  You want me to say I’m sorry?   Fine.  ` A pause—then he tilts his head.    `  But I figured you’d appreciate a gesture that stains your fingers instead of wasting your time.  `
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@lemuriangods⠀⠀⠀,

@syluaes      ⟢    protective custody? please, sylus. don’t make me out to be the villain here. we both know that between us, i’m the favourite.      [as though the figurine’s had a mind of their own. a scoff escaping past his lips, an incredulous grin tugging against it as he let’s the silence stretch again between them.]      you’re really confident. you’ll be knocked down a step or two at some point, you know? i can’t wait to be the one to get you off your high horse.      [olive skin flushes, embarrassment flooding his complexion. red hue sinking into his cheeks, arms finally crossing against his chest as they’re standing closer to one another again. forearms brushing against the black, dress shirt  the leader wore.]      fuck off,      [and suddenly he’s the first to take a step back. hand thrown up, a not—so—nice finger shooting up afterwards as he sneers.]       give me back my children, reptile.

He should’ve ignored it.    Walked away,    like always.     But Emélie had that look—like he’d won something—and that alone made Sylus stay.    He tilted his head,    eyes skimming the agent with cool detachment that barely masked his curiosity.    He felt the pull in his chest,     sharp and familiar,    and ignored it.   `  You’re dramatic,  `   he said dryly.   `  They’re not hostages—they’re under protective custody.  `   Truth was,    he hadn’t meant to keep the Smiskis.    Not really.    But Emélie cared,     and that made it worth every second.    He stepped in just enough to match Emélie’s lean,    voice low and smug.   `  if I wanted your gun,    I’d already have it.     But let’s be honest—this is way more entertaining.  `    Then,    eyes narrowing just slightly-   `  Cute of you to pretend I’m the difficult one.  `    He brushed past with calculated ease,    lips twitching into a near-smirk.   `  Keep begging.    It suits you.  `
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@evolus⠀⠀⠀,

@syluaes      ⟢    [maybe he needed to stop pressing against the other’s buttons. the leader had no means to spare the agent, and yet, here he was. standing in front of one another, playing in this dance that the platinum—blonde set up for the both of them. it made the hairs at the end of his neck stand up, make his heart involuntarily quicken when he’d beg it to slow down.]       so you have more of them hostage? you cannot be serious, that’s a new low even for you.      [emélie’s own voice lowers, as if sylus had just committed a crime that could never be undone. with his own pride on the line, the brunette leans in as well. eyes flickering down, and then back up before a smug look crosses his face.]       those smiskis are my most prized possession, i’d rather you have taken my expensive gun that i got from training.     [a light scoff, head tilted.]      ‘gaaaaagh—do you have to be difficult?

@syluaes      ⟢    [the increase in numbers had been a pleasant surprise. any amount of hidden excitement disguised by his nose scrunches, hand cowering against emélie’s lips to hide the rising smile.]      okay, sixty then. just for good measure, right?      [a teasing lilt in his tone, the brunette’s dark orifices flickering up to stare into a swirl of maroon. a thoughtful, quiet hum escaping past his mouth as his head cocks towards the side.]      emotionally instability? i don’t know. financial stability won’t determine    /that/. i’m kidding—but seriously, don’t put that energy out there. alright?      [fingers dig into dark tresses,]     we’re not getting any duplicates, but maybe we can give them to kieran and luke. i’ve seen them eyeing my series one secret smiski..    /lord/.

He doesn’t respond immediately.   Just stares—expression unreadable,    arms folded loosely across his chest as he processes the comment like it’s a serious tactical proposal.    His gaze lingers on Emélie a beat too long,    like he’s trying to decide whether this is a joke or a revelation.   `  Sixty,  `   he finally says,   voice smooth but unmistakably serious.   `  Sixty would be safer.    Less room for misinterpretation.    Statistically,     a well-stocked shelf of blind boxes communicates stability…    maybe even ambition.  `    He turns slightly,    as if already calculating the shelf space it’ll take.    `  We can’t have people thinking I’m emotionally or financially unstable.     Not over a lack of glowing figurines.  `   Then,    as if conceding something deep and painful,    He exhales slowly.    `  …And fine. The evil duties can wait.  `    He glances back,     expression dangerously close to amused.    `  But if I pull a third duplicate ballerina,    I’m blaming you and the entire economy.  `
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@syluaes⠀⠀⠀,

@syluaes       ⟢    [emélie was a lot more perceptive then most would think. the slightest tug of his lip was made note of, and he wondered if he had made a mistake in what he had said.]       no, but wouldn’t buying fifty—(one) smiskis give them more of a reason to not make the wrong assumption? i’m just saying, it sounds smart to me. imagine the amount of blind boxes we’ll have to open.      [bottom lip tucking underneath his teeth momentarily.]      it’ll take you away from your evil,    /EVIL/    duties.

*   Yeah the good kind of sickness

*   Pwease

*  heyyy..

He glances at the outfit,    then at her,     lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh.   `  Yeah,   yeah.  `   Congratulations,   fashion icon.    You nailed the color wheel.  `    He steps in just close enough to make the air shift,     eyes glinting with amusement.   ` What do you want—applause?     Or should I frame it and hang it in a museum:   ‘The Day You Were Right’?   Very rare piece.  `   A beat.   Then a grin,    sharp and boyish:   `  Admit it,    you just wanted me to look at you.  `
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@rebiirths⠀⠀⠀,