Hollow Matryoshka
"Russia. It is a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, boxed in a mystery."
--Winston Churchill (somewhat paraphrased)
Renne had never heard of a place called Russia but if he'd had a chance to say something about it, he'd have probably said 'Pavel'.
Cold, swirling and searing-hot, the man was a storm on the move.
It was however, illogical to deny that somehow, the man had drawn Renne in -- Pavel had, both Scotts had and Harold had. They had drawn him in as flame to a moth and he hadn't run like his instincts had told him. He hadn't run. He had stayed.
Like an idiot, he had stayed, worse, made a vow he was bound to keep. It hurt to do it, now that he really tried to think about it and yet the pain wasn't the entirety of it, no. It was part of something else he could only define in roaring winds, a raging sea and a blazing inferno he couldn't stop. The question was, did he want to?
He couldn't answer that.
Renne lay on the second floor landing of the Red Dragon's stairs staunchly reminded how much of an idiot he just tried to be. It wasn't that he'd never been hurt before; he certainly had, many times and much worse than this. What troubled him was that the trance didn't work beyond Analysis.
That gave him a bit of a fright.
-Renne sat on a picnic blanket in the marketplace and smiled as he found his plan for Oobie so far a success. He'd made her happy. He'd gotten her mind off of the nightmares she'd had, remembering the knee-jerk reaction that had caused them.
As Oobie returned to his pocket for a sleep, Renne smiled upon hearing the voice of a storm.
He was a storm, wasn't he, mesmerising and frankly, that riddle-enigma-mystery. He was calm, inviting, strong and a little weak in some ways. The man was a Human.
All Human and Renne was drawn, despite the instincts in his mind that screamed to *run*.-
He shivered, remembering the small-talk, the laughter, the playful nudging. It had been innocent and uplifting and then it had spiraled down into a maelstrom. It had been simple questions, questions that could have been inocuous. They had touched nerves on the man and Renne had forged ahead. It was either that or run, go back on a vow made right then on Pendrell's name.
Renne had made that vow and held Pavel as the Russian wept. He said he'd not go away and held himself to that.
When he and the Russian parted for the night, Renne's face had twisted into an expression of burning pain.
"Russia. It is a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, boxed in a mystery."
--Winston Churchill (somewhat paraphrased)
Renne had never heard of a place called Russia but if he'd had a chance to say something about it, he'd have probably said 'Pavel'.
Cold, swirling and searing-hot, the man was a storm on the move.
It was however, illogical to deny that somehow, the man had drawn Renne in -- Pavel had, both Scotts had and Harold had. They had drawn him in as flame to a moth and he hadn't run like his instincts had told him. He hadn't run. He had stayed.
Like an idiot, he had stayed, worse, made a vow he was bound to keep. It hurt to do it, now that he really tried to think about it and yet the pain wasn't the entirety of it, no. It was part of something else he could only define in roaring winds, a raging sea and a blazing inferno he couldn't stop. The question was, did he want to?
He couldn't answer that.
Renne lay on the second floor landing of the Red Dragon's stairs staunchly reminded how much of an idiot he just tried to be. It wasn't that he'd never been hurt before; he certainly had, many times and much worse than this. What troubled him was that the trance didn't work beyond Analysis.
That gave him a bit of a fright.
-Renne sat on a picnic blanket in the marketplace and smiled as he found his plan for Oobie so far a success. He'd made her happy. He'd gotten her mind off of the nightmares she'd had, remembering the knee-jerk reaction that had caused them.
As Oobie returned to his pocket for a sleep, Renne smiled upon hearing the voice of a storm.
He was a storm, wasn't he, mesmerising and frankly, that riddle-enigma-mystery. He was calm, inviting, strong and a little weak in some ways. The man was a Human.
All Human and Renne was drawn, despite the instincts in his mind that screamed to *run*.-
He shivered, remembering the small-talk, the laughter, the playful nudging. It had been innocent and uplifting and then it had spiraled down into a maelstrom. It had been simple questions, questions that could have been inocuous. They had touched nerves on the man and Renne had forged ahead. It was either that or run, go back on a vow made right then on Pendrell's name.
Renne had made that vow and held Pavel as the Russian wept. He said he'd not go away and held himself to that.
When he and the Russian parted for the night, Renne's face had twisted into an expression of burning pain.