[ the rain is never truly cold. on a body that lacks warmth, it is simply wet, and that, he finds, is enough. it's always about the meaning behind an action, the analogy, the metaphor. it's about the play which has a script penned by himself, starred by himself, and seen by himself only. the premise is as such:
punishment is on the eyes of the beholder. in a dry land that has created a ritual for the gods in search of their favor, rain is a blessing. in a green, wide forest that relies on droplets of water to keep itself alive, rain is a necessity. to a creature that cannot feel it the same way others do, it is simply there, and he gives it purpose: to punish. it is, if only, a curse. willingly inflicted upon himself.
a curse that has, without his consent, been removed. kaveh looks up, and finds a familiar face, and a less familiar gesture. the towel, before eyes of a color that kaveh has learned to despise, almost seems like a foreign object. he takes it, eventually, and knows not what to do with it.
it is, at the very least, soft. soft, and warm. it feels wrong on his fingertips. ]
Um. Yes. [ in spite of his hunger, after all. kaveh is nowhere new to the feeling. the madness that follows starvation hasn't caught up to him in a while. ] I can't take this. I don't have anything to give you in exchange, so just keep it.
[ the towel, that is. it's not as though the rain would kill him, or make him sick. after all, who has ever heard of a cold being harmful to vampires? ]
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why must u spoil me
Date: 2023-07-03 09:56 pm (UTC)punishment is on the eyes of the beholder. in a dry land that has created a ritual for the gods in search of their favor, rain is a blessing. in a green, wide forest that relies on droplets of water to keep itself alive, rain is a necessity. to a creature that cannot feel it the same way others do, it is simply there, and he gives it purpose: to punish. it is, if only, a curse. willingly inflicted upon himself.
a curse that has, without his consent, been removed. kaveh looks up, and finds a familiar face, and a less familiar gesture. the towel, before eyes of a color that kaveh has learned to despise, almost seems like a foreign object. he takes it, eventually, and knows not what to do with it.
it is, at the very least, soft. soft, and warm. it feels wrong on his fingertips. ]
Um. Yes. [ in spite of his hunger, after all. kaveh is nowhere new to the feeling. the madness that follows starvation hasn't caught up to him in a while. ] I can't take this. I don't have anything to give you in exchange, so just keep it.
[ the towel, that is. it's not as though the rain would kill him, or make him sick. after all, who has ever heard of a cold being harmful to vampires? ]