[ kaveh's tone is desperation-made-form. alhaitham stops at the heel of the wall of it. the sound tears from a throat, reverberates across the marble of his room, and ends somewhere lodged in the narrow confines of his chest. kaveh's scent is like spring flowers in bloom. the scent is thick enough that alhaitham tastes it upon the tip of his tongue. the breath he holds is perfunctory; this far into a heat, alhaitham would need to stop breathing altogether to find himself unaffected. but it buys enough time for him to think. really think. the door closes. alhaitham leans against it, and engages the lock. he locks himself in on the wrong side as he surveys the sorry mess that kaveh has been made into.
kaveh, curled behind his divan. even from here, he reeks of scent and sweat and fear. it's the latter that alhaitham knows is the downfall of rationality. the heat strips an omega of self-control, replaces want with autonomy-denying need. it's an antiquated biological function that should not have persisted for so long in the gene pool, if it weren't for the societal functions it fulfills and the stigma that comes with it. the lokapalas, alhaitham recalls, as he moves step by step into the room, were the ones who invented birth controls beyond what nature and nurture would have provided. equality comes in more than one form. malice comes in another. alhaitham does not need to think far to conclude that this is azar's doing. the issue is what comes next.
kaveh's scent curls. alhaitham looks down, and notes that his hand has curled unconsciously into a fist. potent, he thinks, and takes his own measure. ]
This is my room. [ is what he says. ] I have no reason to leave.
[ and, obfuscated: no reason to leave kaveh alone, because the complications of that has the potential to send a message to azar in ways that alhaitham is not interested in handling. alhaitham's brisk steps take him to his desk where a small stack of his plumes sit. he takes one and engages the pneumatic tube.
deed done, he looks across the room. it is the crucible of his self control that keeps him from feeling ill. ]
HAHAH you know u love it β¨β¨β¨
kaveh, curled behind his divan. even from here, he reeks of scent and sweat and fear. it's the latter that alhaitham knows is the downfall of rationality. the heat strips an omega of self-control, replaces want with autonomy-denying need. it's an antiquated biological function that should not have persisted for so long in the gene pool, if it weren't for the societal functions it fulfills and the stigma that comes with it. the lokapalas, alhaitham recalls, as he moves step by step into the room, were the ones who invented birth controls beyond what nature and nurture would have provided. equality comes in more than one form. malice comes in another. alhaitham does not need to think far to conclude that this is azar's doing. the issue is what comes next.
kaveh's scent curls. alhaitham looks down, and notes that his hand has curled unconsciously into a fist. potent, he thinks, and takes his own measure. ]
This is my room. [ is what he says. ] I have no reason to leave.
[ and, obfuscated: no reason to leave kaveh alone, because the complications of that has the potential to send a message to azar in ways that alhaitham is not interested in handling. alhaitham's brisk steps take him to his desk where a small stack of his plumes sit. he takes one and engages the pneumatic tube.
deed done, he looks across the room. it is the crucible of his self control that keeps him from feeling ill. ]
Are you lucid?