[ somehow she manages not to buckle under the weight of his stare, curling in only as much as the artificial chill around them prompts her. but there is no making herself small here, no shrinking in to hide under his unspoken inquiry. (but if she still works hard to avoid his eye? well, not all habits can be so easily broken.)
he brings the flame up, and for a second it looks fragile, ready to wisp away with the cold. together? he asks, and she watches the flame hold strong. ]
Together.
[ once more her hand encircles his, but this time he's the one to guide her, destruction feeling at home at his fingertips. ]
To ends and beginnings.
[ she says it like a prayer, just as the first spark catches and pulls, till eventually both dolls become engulfed in the fire, soon indistinguishable where one begins and one ends.
she squeezes his hand before pulling back, curling in around her knees to watch the fire grow. ]
[ her fingers meet his again, and it's in this that it becomes more obvious that the air isn't actually as cold as it falsely pretends to be, feeling her skin warm on his, either naturally or by way of the flame lit near their hands working to add a heat that hadn't been there before.
to ends and beginnings.
he leads her and the flame to the dolls symbolic of their pasts, appropriate to be doing so hand in hand to bid farewell to yesterday as the threaded sticks upon the rock seem to gaze into tomorrow. when they light with a brighter fire, kovacs can't help but find himself amused by the tragic poetry of it, of burning his past, knowing that this new day spells something else for him ā it'll be the loss of a memory as a result of his deal with the orb.
has he lost it already? impossible to tell, of course, since he wouldn't remember the lost detail anyway. but he had presumed he'd go into it alone, that losing his memories would simply be a mirror image of those sticks becoming ash, watching himself fall into nothing but dust as he gradually losing fragments of himself piece by piece.
it'd be easier, to close himself off, to go on by himself, but he's never liked loneliness, despite what grimaced looks might often suggest. and when marta squeezes at his hand, he looks again to her for a moment and finds himself foolishly hoping that, even if he's fated to lose everything, doomed now to fade into nothing, someone might remember him as he is before it's all gone.
turning to the fire, he sighs a soft breath, taking a puff from the cigar before he holds it to her once more. ]
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he brings the flame up, and for a second it looks fragile, ready to wisp away with the cold. together? he asks, and she watches the flame hold strong. ]
Together.
[ once more her hand encircles his, but this time he's the one to guide her, destruction feeling at home at his fingertips. ]
To ends and beginnings.
[ she says it like a prayer, just as the first spark catches and pulls, till eventually both dolls become engulfed in the fire, soon indistinguishable where one begins and one ends.
she squeezes his hand before pulling back, curling in around her knees to watch the fire grow. ]
Feliz aƱo nuevo, Kovacs.
no subject
to ends and beginnings.
he leads her and the flame to the dolls symbolic of their pasts, appropriate to be doing so hand in hand to bid farewell to yesterday as the threaded sticks upon the rock seem to gaze into tomorrow. when they light with a brighter fire, kovacs can't help but find himself amused by the tragic poetry of it, of burning his past, knowing that this new day spells something else for him ā it'll be the loss of a memory as a result of his deal with the orb.
has he lost it already? impossible to tell, of course, since he wouldn't remember the lost detail anyway. but he had presumed he'd go into it alone, that losing his memories would simply be a mirror image of those sticks becoming ash, watching himself fall into nothing but dust as he gradually losing fragments of himself piece by piece.
it'd be easier, to close himself off, to go on by himself, but he's never liked loneliness, despite what grimaced looks might often suggest. and when marta squeezes at his hand, he looks again to her for a moment and finds himself foolishly hoping that, even if he's fated to lose everything, doomed now to fade into nothing, someone might remember him as he is before it's all gone.
turning to the fire, he sighs a soft breath, taking a puff from the cigar before he holds it to her once more. ]
Akemashite omedetou, Marta-chan.