She looked down. "The healer did a fine job. Besides, if I did scar, I fear my entire body would be marred for how frequently I am wounded." She flexed her ghostly arm, brows furrowed. "Some linger regardless."
He touched his right cheek, with a wry smile. "Mine is."
She has only ever seen him in full armor. Not only had every battle left its mark on his skin, even the surgeries to make him what he was had left scars. One problem with the Astartes organs that promoted fast healing was fast meant scarring.
He reached out to touch the arm--not fast, and slow enough for her to pull away or signal she didn't want it. "My brother Chairon had an augment for his right hand. Lost it to the Orks." The arm did not bother him.
"You wear them well. Marks of a warrior." No shame in that. And not all were blessed to be gods obviously.
Melinoë did not pull away. Her arm felt the same as the one with flesh still upon it, despite the ghostly glow and visible bones.
"Mine is a reminder of my arrogance, when I tried to help a friend and did... too much. Tried something I should not have. But we learn, we grow, and we carry on."
"All scars are a sign of failure." A parry not perfectly executed, a strike that did not strike home. "We wear our failures until they overwhelm us." And then they are dead. There's no romanticizing the Astartes.
"But not arrogance." He trailed his fingers down the arm, and then pulled away. "It is never arrogance to push oneself beyond one's abilities to aid a bro--friend." One day, 'brother' would not be his default word.
"You sound a lot like Nemesis." Said with a fondness perhaps one would think was odd, given how she and Nem often spoke to one another, and the topic at hand. "I find myself inclined to ask if you are always so bleak, as I might ask the same of her."
She let her hand fall to her lap. "I would have been dead if I did more than this — then I would have failed in my true task."
"Then I am glad you did not do more." He had seen too many die young and full of promise, when just a little more tempering would have made them stronger. A tragedy. A waste. "It is not still painful, is it?"
"I am not bleak. Merely realistic. We accept the burden of becoming what we are knowing that there is only one way that it ends, and the path may be either short, or long, but it always leads to the same destination, and it is always paved with suffering." But someone had to step into the breach, or else humanity would have fallen long ago.
And look at what she had become — a diligent, undying titan slayer. For the best, obviously. Melinoë shook her head and smiled up at him. "No, it does not hurt."
That sounded a touch too familiar. "Always suffering?"
"Sometimes, those with augments say it hurts, and that they can feel their original limb." It was not something Gadriel had experienced, thank the Emperor, but he had seen enough.
"For my kind, yes. Suffering strengthens devotion." Straban's words, not his, but true enough. "When you are willing to sacrifice all that you have, all that you are, you become a purer instrument of His will."
"Magic may work a bit differently than augments. This feels as if I never lost my arm at all." Which was convenient. "But I kept the reminder regardless, so I would never forget."
Melinoë pulled her knees to her chest, chin resting atop them. "And what is your kind, exactly? I had assumed you were mortal, at first, but you suggested otherwise. And who is he, whose will you serve?"
"Sorcery is very different, yes." At least in his experience. Thousand Sons sorcerers resurrected their dead in the middle of combat, seemingly without effort.
Eerie to watch. He'd rather deal with things the non sorcerous way.
"The Adeptus Astartes. We begin as baseline humans but are...adapted. In many ways." The height, obviously. Less obviously, the things like Betcher's Glands and Iron Sinews. "We serve the Emperor, whose genius was behind our creation."
"Yes. Of course. Who does not dream of becoming one of the Emperor's own Angels, the best of his blade against those that seek to destroy humanity?" It was better than the hivesprawls, it was better than the idle and corrupt life of his family, safe on Talassar.
"From the way you speak of it, I suspect many walk this path?" She turned her attention down briefly, reaching over to pet the top of Elion's head. "What ways have you been adapted for your station?"
"My Chapter has a thousand brothers. And many more die in the attempt to become what I am." So, elite, but not unique.
Elion, of course, being the attention whore that he is, butts his head into her hand.
"We undergo many surgeries to implant organs that aid us. We also have hypnomat sessions that teach us to control functions about our bodies. We are immune to human diseases and can endure pain or injury that would kill a baseline human." Which was not to say they were indestructible, or could not feel pain. They could simply handle a lot more of it.
"It sounds as if you are mortals made more like gods, save many of the boons." Like immortality, for one, and the lack of scarring, for another. "That seems trying, but you have endured and you serve a cause greater than yourself."
She paused, still idly petting Elion, her expression growing somber. "Do you ever regret it? Being put on such a path since you were young, it being all you know. Do you ever wish you had more of a choice?" And who was she asking, truly? Him... or herself?
"We have many gifts baseline humans would envy us for." The fact they don't age, the height, the nigh invulnerability. "It is the highest purpose I can imagine." Admittedly, his imagination may not be that great.
Elion is out of his helmet, so Gadriel began toying with it, idly, for something for his hands to do. "I would not make a different choice." A sigh. "But there are things I have come to realize...I regret that I cannot have."
Melinoë scooped Elion into her arms and plopped him onto her lap as she readjusted, skeletal hand scratching between his ears and down his back, careful of the wings.
Was he going to have to frisk her when she left to make sure she wasn't catnapping Elion?
The tressym flitters his little wings against her, purring with happiness.
Meanwhile yeah wow this helmet is really suddenly interesting to look at. Never mind Gadriel had worn it for over a century. Because there was nothing like having to explain, uh, this to a beautiful woman. But she had asked. "We can never sire children," that was the easy part to explain, now for the more difficult one. "Nor can we...well, do the act that would result in that." VERY diplomatically put.
The mention of not siring children was not so shocking — not because she assumed that was the case given what he was or anything, but merely because it just did not seem like something someone of his order might concern hismelf with. Doing his duty over all else likely left little time for childrearing. The second half, however, made her cheeks pinken slightly.
"You can't?" Well that wasn't fun for him, was it? "If you have never laid with someone, could you truly miss it?" Again, she didn't sound accusatory, it just made sense — why miss something you never had.
Ah, but isn't that what she did all the time? She pursed her lips. "It is not something that need be done to enjoy the company of another. I am enjoying this just fine."
He did not want children, though little Elion had made him feel that there was definitely some reward in raising a thing from helpless to competent he enjoyed.
"It is...complicated." Really complicated, and stupid and embarrassing and he hated all of it. "I can," what's the delicate 'you're talking to a refined beautiful creature' way to say this? "experience things. I just cannot participate. As I should." SURE that was super clear, right?
"This place makes one expect, well, otherwise." He shrugged. He was trying to accept it and move past it.
Melinoë fumbled a bit, unsure what to say. Which was odd — she usually just spoke her mind regardless of what her conversation partner thought. This was clearly delicate, though.
"Is the experience not enough, then? There is no right way to physically indulge."
Stop trying to make a space marine cry, please. This was mortifying enough to admit.
But at least she understood what he had been talking about? Around? In the general vicinity of?
He cleared his throat, wishing it were as easy to clear absolute mortification from his brain at the same time. "It has proven a disappointment to my, er, partners during my...experiences." Turned out Gadriel was fine--more than fine--with perpetually edging, but his partners had a different view.
"Did they tell you as much?" She asked. "And were you disappointed, up to that point?" She needed a little more information — not that she was a bastion of knowledge in the topic, but still.
Well now Gadriel would have to mansplain sex...to a woman. Surely, this will go well. Surely he is the BEST to explain this.
"It is." Wow the sunset sure isn't sunsetting fast enough to be a distraction. "When there is a lack of a. A certain response." Do not make him draw a picture. "Women feel that it means they are undesirable." That was something he did not have the skill with words to overcome. "I was not disappointed because I had no expectation or understanding of what was normal."
Connecting a lot of dots right now. Your cat is really fun to pet, Gadriel. Made for a great thing to stare at, too.
"I do not know about most women, but there are plenty of ways others have made me feel desirable that did not involve a physical response." And, yes, she would have taken it as a sign of interest, obviously. "But if they know beforehand, I fail to see how they could be disappointed."
She looked up finally, cheeks still flushed. "Normal? Please. No one is 'normal.' What does that even mean?"
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She looked down. "The healer did a fine job. Besides, if I did scar, I fear my entire body would be marred for how frequently I am wounded." She flexed her ghostly arm, brows furrowed. "Some linger regardless."
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She has only ever seen him in full armor. Not only had every battle left its mark on his skin, even the surgeries to make him what he was had left scars. One problem with the Astartes organs that promoted fast healing was fast meant scarring.
He reached out to touch the arm--not fast, and slow enough for her to pull away or signal she didn't want it. "My brother Chairon had an augment for his right hand. Lost it to the Orks." The arm did not bother him.
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Melinoë did not pull away. Her arm felt the same as the one with flesh still upon it, despite the ghostly glow and visible bones.
"Mine is a reminder of my arrogance, when I tried to help a friend and did... too much. Tried something I should not have. But we learn, we grow, and we carry on."
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"But not arrogance." He trailed his fingers down the arm, and then pulled away. "It is never arrogance to push oneself beyond one's abilities to aid a bro--friend." One day, 'brother' would not be his default word.
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She let her hand fall to her lap. "I would have been dead if I did more than this — then I would have failed in my true task."
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"I am not bleak. Merely realistic. We accept the burden of becoming what we are knowing that there is only one way that it ends, and the path may be either short, or long, but it always leads to the same destination, and it is always paved with suffering." But someone had to step into the breach, or else humanity would have fallen long ago.
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That sounded a touch too familiar. "Always suffering?"
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"For my kind, yes. Suffering strengthens devotion." Straban's words, not his, but true enough. "When you are willing to sacrifice all that you have, all that you are, you become a purer instrument of His will."
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Melinoë pulled her knees to her chest, chin resting atop them. "And what is your kind, exactly? I had assumed you were mortal, at first, but you suggested otherwise. And who is he, whose will you serve?"
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Eerie to watch. He'd rather deal with things the non sorcerous way.
"The Adeptus Astartes. We begin as baseline humans but are...adapted. In many ways." The height, obviously. Less obviously, the things like Betcher's Glands and Iron Sinews. "We serve the Emperor, whose genius was behind our creation."
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Elion, of course, being the attention whore that he is, butts his head into her hand.
"We undergo many surgeries to implant organs that aid us. We also have hypnomat sessions that teach us to control functions about our bodies. We are immune to human diseases and can endure pain or injury that would kill a baseline human." Which was not to say they were indestructible, or could not feel pain. They could simply handle a lot more of it.
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She paused, still idly petting Elion, her expression growing somber. "Do you ever regret it? Being put on such a path since you were young, it being all you know. Do you ever wish you had more of a choice?" And who was she asking, truly? Him... or herself?
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Elion is out of his helmet, so Gadriel began toying with it, idly, for something for his hands to do. "I would not make a different choice." A sigh. "But there are things I have come to realize...I regret that I cannot have."
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"Like what?" She could guess a few things.
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The tressym flitters his little wings against her, purring with happiness.
Meanwhile yeah wow this helmet is really suddenly interesting to look at. Never mind Gadriel had worn it for over a century. Because there was nothing like having to explain, uh, this to a beautiful woman. But she had asked. "We can never sire children," that was the easy part to explain, now for the more difficult one. "Nor can we...well, do the act that would result in that." VERY diplomatically put.
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The mention of not siring children was not so shocking — not because she assumed that was the case given what he was or anything, but merely because it just did not seem like something someone of his order might concern hismelf with. Doing his duty over all else likely left little time for childrearing. The second half, however, made her cheeks pinken slightly.
"You can't?" Well that wasn't fun for him, was it? "If you have never laid with someone, could you truly miss it?" Again, she didn't sound accusatory, it just made sense — why miss something you never had.
Ah, but isn't that what she did all the time? She pursed her lips. "It is not something that need be done to enjoy the company of another. I am enjoying this just fine."
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"It is...complicated." Really complicated, and stupid and embarrassing and he hated all of it. "I can," what's the delicate 'you're talking to a refined beautiful creature' way to say this? "experience things. I just cannot participate. As I should." SURE that was super clear, right?
"This place makes one expect, well, otherwise." He shrugged. He was trying to accept it and move past it.
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"Is the experience not enough, then? There is no right way to physically indulge."
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But at least she understood what he had been talking about? Around? In the general vicinity of?
He cleared his throat, wishing it were as easy to clear absolute mortification from his brain at the same time. "It has proven a disappointment to my, er, partners during my...experiences." Turned out Gadriel was fine--more than fine--with perpetually edging, but his partners had a different view.
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"It is." Wow the sunset sure isn't sunsetting fast enough to be a distraction. "When there is a lack of a. A certain response." Do not make him draw a picture. "Women feel that it means they are undesirable." That was something he did not have the skill with words to overcome. "I was not disappointed because I had no expectation or understanding of what was normal."
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"I do not know about most women, but there are plenty of ways others have made me feel desirable that did not involve a physical response." And, yes, she would have taken it as a sign of interest, obviously. "But if they know beforehand, I fail to see how they could be disappointed."
She looked up finally, cheeks still flushed. "Normal? Please. No one is 'normal.' What does that even mean?"
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