[ in Juno's defence: it's been a long day. it's been a long fucking year, honestly, which is the reason he'd give for how little attention he pays the person speaking to him, even when something at the back of his mind is clamouring for his attention. he feels fragmented, moving on auto-pilot and so far from his body it's like operating a puppet. he only focuses just enough to parse what she actually wants, and his scarf — sure, why not. he can do that. ]
Pretty rude to ask a lady to just hand over his clothes like that. [ but he's pulling it free to give her, because it's hardly going to matter when they're all shapeless, veiled figures; and as soon as he actually gives her his attention, feels something bright and new on the edges of his awareness, he freezes.
he'd avoided the pull he felt in the chamber because he's had enough of a bad experience with telepathy not to let it lead him anywhere, despite the magnetism of it. told himself that there's only one kind of bait he's still stupid enough to take and without that — the cologne and the velvet laughter and the long, lean silhouette — he's not that much of a sucker. there's been some educating done since then. on the Nest and the Brood, the information that some people will feel different, closer. he wouldn't have known what he was looking for, but this is definitely a different feeling to all the others wandering around bleary-eyed and confused when they woke up fresh, every loud, rough-edged collection of thoughts he's collided with so far. this one feels like it clicks.
oh, absolutely not.
Juno bristles, and while it might only show on his face by the way his eyes narrow and his mouth tightens, on the inside the deep dark pit of his mind grows spikes at its distant bottom. clusters of shrapnel, broken glass, barbed wire — a mess of sharp and keep out. he doesn't think he can actually extricate himself from the way the symbiote seems to want to spill over into her, open him up like a dog showing its belly, but he'll make it fucking unpleasant. even though a place in Juno Steel's heart is worth absolutely nothing at all, he only has so much of it to ration, and nobody else is getting in.
he shoves his rich purple scarf at her as if he didn't just get hit with that nauseating realisation. his head trying to reel in on a line he hadn't even known was there and his heart clawing to get away from it; what a fun reversal of things. ] Purple's not really my colour, anyway.
2!!
Pretty rude to ask a lady to just hand over his clothes like that. [ but he's pulling it free to give her, because it's hardly going to matter when they're all shapeless, veiled figures; and as soon as he actually gives her his attention, feels something bright and new on the edges of his awareness, he freezes.
he'd avoided the pull he felt in the chamber because he's had enough of a bad experience with telepathy not to let it lead him anywhere, despite the magnetism of it. told himself that there's only one kind of bait he's still stupid enough to take and without that — the cologne and the velvet laughter and the long, lean silhouette — he's not that much of a sucker. there's been some educating done since then. on the Nest and the Brood, the information that some people will feel different, closer. he wouldn't have known what he was looking for, but this is definitely a different feeling to all the others wandering around bleary-eyed and confused when they woke up fresh, every loud, rough-edged collection of thoughts he's collided with so far. this one feels like it clicks.
oh, absolutely not.
Juno bristles, and while it might only show on his face by the way his eyes narrow and his mouth tightens, on the inside the deep dark pit of his mind grows spikes at its distant bottom. clusters of shrapnel, broken glass, barbed wire — a mess of sharp and keep out. he doesn't think he can actually extricate himself from the way the symbiote seems to want to spill over into her, open him up like a dog showing its belly, but he'll make it fucking unpleasant. even though a place in Juno Steel's heart is worth absolutely nothing at all, he only has so much of it to ration, and nobody else is getting in.
he shoves his rich purple scarf at her as if he didn't just get hit with that nauseating realisation. his head trying to reel in on a line he hadn't even known was there and his heart clawing to get away from it; what a fun reversal of things. ] Purple's not really my colour, anyway.