[ And that... John's first impulse is annoyance, shaped through a low, rumbling growl that doesn't last any longer than a huff. But his sense of self is important, and names do carry meaning (the name he's carved himself out of never to be repeated). His name is his own. It doesn't have to be direct. They don't need to contain, only be owned.
And somewhere under that is the thought to move entirely too close, give up the more human aspects of his carriage in a fit, but it... what use is that here? He's alone in this place, he doesn't have anything approaching an ally if this is one of Kayne's bullshit tricks even after taking his fucking deal. And for all the swell in his chest, he's of two minds—but the effective tack is... ]
Maybe, if a box is how you treat a name. [ The even-tempered option wins. ] And a moniker doesn't describe the whole—nor should it. That would be impossible to achieve, unless you went for something... [ He tilts his head, mask seeming to arch a brow with the way the shadow settles. ] Poetically vague enough to account for what's left unseen or expressed all at once. [ Like some of his. Seriously, who fucking calls a god "Thing in the Lake" and thinks that tells anyone anything other than "don't go there"?
And that thought of abandoning humanity pops like a soap bubble as John leans, crossing his arms with his left shoulder braced against the wall, entirely and thoughtlessly casual—a very human gesture maybe incongruent with the shape he's in. ]
Fuck boxing you in. It's just something suitable enough that isn't a mouthful to call you other than— [ Hah. ] —"you". [ Maybe the smarter play would've been "friend", but John's pretty fucking sure this guy wouldn't lean into it the way Arthur did. Panic versus contempt meant for very different reactions. ]
not me being done with this for days and failing to hit post—
And somewhere under that is the thought to move entirely too close, give up the more human aspects of his carriage in a fit, but it... what use is that here? He's alone in this place, he doesn't have anything approaching an ally if this is one of Kayne's bullshit tricks even after taking his fucking deal. And for all the swell in his chest, he's of two minds—but the effective tack is... ]
Maybe, if a box is how you treat a name. [ The even-tempered option wins. ] And a moniker doesn't describe the whole—nor should it. That would be impossible to achieve, unless you went for something... [ He tilts his head, mask seeming to arch a brow with the way the shadow settles. ] Poetically vague enough to account for what's left unseen or expressed all at once. [ Like some of his. Seriously, who fucking calls a god "Thing in the Lake" and thinks that tells anyone anything other than "don't go there"?
And that thought of abandoning humanity pops like a soap bubble as John leans, crossing his arms with his left shoulder braced against the wall, entirely and thoughtlessly casual—a very human gesture maybe incongruent with the shape he's in. ]
Fuck boxing you in. It's just something suitable enough that isn't a mouthful to call you other than— [ Hah. ] —"you". [ Maybe the smarter play would've been "friend", but John's pretty fucking sure this guy wouldn't lean into it the way Arthur did. Panic versus contempt meant for very different reactions. ]