( that's maybe the first time felix has heard him say his name out loud. almost a novelty, the way the syllables roll off his tongue. he slants his brow, glancing back at ephemera's raised arm. fighting stance. still ready, as if felix is an active threat to be fielded instead of a fleshy fucking human with no useful weapons on him.

felix has gone against worse odds, he supposes. smart to be prepared, like it was smart knocking the shit out of his head or ripping his throat open with his teeth. healed up now, but he'll have the mark as a reminder for a while. first fucking thing he sees when he rolls out of bed every morning and looks in the mirror. the mark. the memory. his blood in ephemera's teeth, and –

everything else that came after. )

Of course you didn't. ( a simple acquiesce. ) Why would you?

( the distance is a tentative courtesy more than anything born out of a wise sense of self-preservation. the rig is different ⁠— a customized perfect fit, someone clearly built it for him, and he thinks of crais, effortlessly patching felix's armor as he sat and watched him do it — but he moves faster than felix would be able to dodge or outrun.

he stays where he is and scuffs the dirt with his heel.

what does he want. he makes a soft, indignant sound low in his throat, dropping his hand from his hair to circle his throat and absently thumb the mark ephemera left on him. what does he want. what doesn't he want. )

Like, in general, or right now? Dude, I don't fucking know. I was just out for a run. You set up shop right in my last stretch.