Moonspear cadw addewid

arcturus had seen it before -- the way bad news settles in, like poison to the stomach.

first the drop in the tension held in their faces. the gradual o formed by their mouths. the way the lines below their eyes seem to draw up and then slacken, the way their ears pull and bundle the skin underneath.

then it sinks in, like stone to water.

the o closes.

the ears fall.

then the eyes darken with unfathomable emotion.

he looked away; he could not bring himself to see llewellyn's sunny features sorrowed. his stomach tightened. his jaws clenched and expression fixed hard.

he's sorry -- but what does sorry do? it wouldn't bring them back. it wasn't llewellyn's fault, but that didn't mean arcturus wasn't going to be okay. none of this was okay - none of it. not him being here, not him telling the news, not his parents being dead.

what is he supposed to say? it's okay? it'll be alright? you and your friend are here and now everything will be okay? it won't, and he won't.

arcturus was not gifted with enough eloquence to shrug off llewellyn's condolences. even if he was, it was a loss too great to hide and pretend things would be okay. he could not say anything without it cracking the mold of his composure, so instead he looked to cadogan expectantly, surprised to find himself thinking he'd much prefer that cadogan and llewellyn be dead and his parents still breathing.