only explanation that makes sense when, by some sick twist of fate, he keeps circling back into ephemera's space even when his intention is to keep his distance. they find each other repeatedly, like the gravity of the sun pulling them into endless orbit. no fighting it. like attracts like. they're on a cyclical collision course that can't be diverted to a less catastrophic path.
but he truly isn't expecting to find ephemera skulking around the down at close to 5 in the morning. definitely isn't expecting to find him in a full rig, either, covered head-to-toe in steely gray. he knows who he is, even before he spots the spout of flame, even before he speaks. ephemera moves with purpose, viciously efficient. brutal in ways that remind him of ortez sometimes, but less controlled, not as eerily graceful.
he lingers in the shadows, out of sight, earbuds dangling loosely over one shoulder. the motherfucker had a rig the whole fucking time – or one already in reserve, judging by the distinct lack of cosmetics imperfections. he's running diagnostics, testing for flaws or weaknesses, feeling out how it operates and moves. no other reason he'd be out here in the dark, by himself.
fully-functioning hud, too. felix rubs his thumb into his eye, and ephemera catches the movement. no hiding from a man with motion sensors. he hears the hiss of gas, ephemera readying his flamethrower.
fine, he thinks. he could've turned around and gone back the way he came. not really his style.
he steps out of the dark, dressed down in joggers and a t-shirt. barely armed except for a switchblade in his pocket given to him by a fucking vampire, nestled next to his device and a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a matchbook with a bar logo embossed in gold print on the front. )
Well. You've been keeping secrets. ( loose and offhand, though he keeps his distance, far out of reach of ephemera's flamethrower if he decides to kick it on. plenty of interesting ways to die. being set on fire isn't one of the ways he wants to go.
he forks his hand through his hair, combing sweat-damp strands from his face. they haven't talked since the festival, an encounter that felix has run through his head exhaustively, more times than he's willing to admit. his eyes flit down, slowly scanning the full length of ephemera's rig. back up again, holding on his face, hidden by the helmet. )
no subject
only explanation that makes sense when, by some sick twist of fate, he keeps circling back into ephemera's space even when his intention is to keep his distance. they find each other repeatedly, like the gravity of the sun pulling them into endless orbit. no fighting it. like attracts like. they're on a cyclical collision course that can't be diverted to a less catastrophic path.
but he truly isn't expecting to find ephemera skulking around the down at close to 5 in the morning. definitely isn't expecting to find him in a full rig, either, covered head-to-toe in steely gray. he knows who he is, even before he spots the spout of flame, even before he speaks. ephemera moves with purpose, viciously efficient. brutal in ways that remind him of ortez sometimes, but less controlled, not as eerily graceful.
he lingers in the shadows, out of sight, earbuds dangling loosely over one shoulder. the motherfucker had a rig the whole fucking time – or one already in reserve, judging by the distinct lack of cosmetics imperfections. he's running diagnostics, testing for flaws or weaknesses, feeling out how it operates and moves. no other reason he'd be out here in the dark, by himself.
fully-functioning hud, too. felix rubs his thumb into his eye, and ephemera catches the movement. no hiding from a man with motion sensors. he hears the hiss of gas, ephemera readying his flamethrower.
fine, he thinks. he could've turned around and gone back the way he came. not really his style.
he steps out of the dark, dressed down in joggers and a t-shirt. barely armed except for a switchblade in his pocket given to him by a fucking vampire, nestled next to his device and a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a matchbook with a bar logo embossed in gold print on the front. )
Well. You've been keeping secrets. ( loose and offhand, though he keeps his distance, far out of reach of ephemera's flamethrower if he decides to kick it on. plenty of interesting ways to die. being set on fire isn't one of the ways he wants to go.
he forks his hand through his hair, combing sweat-damp strands from his face. they haven't talked since the festival, an encounter that felix has run through his head exhaustively, more times than he's willing to admit. his eyes flit down, slowly scanning the full length of ephemera's rig. back up again, holding on his face, hidden by the helmet. )
I'm a little hurt.