Wade { 2 } - Blog Posts
wadecalhoun:
Wade typically doesn’t have a penchant for silence but he finds himself at a loss for words in face of Robin’s rallying confessions. There’s a fragment of anger at feeling obsolete when it comes to aiding her in her peril and another sliver of guilt which jabs at the tender under carriage of his ribcage when he sees the anxiety that consumes her. She’d gotten past the dagger he’d placed to her throat when he once figured her to be a demon and she had taken a sense of pity on Wade to teach him how to better hone his pitifully human senses when it came to his own mission. Now, as she laid herself out for the wolves to metaphorically feast on her flesh he was left feeling useless once more; a typical pattern when it came to their dizzying back and forth. “Y’never told me about drows,” Wade conceals his concern with a vexed carapace as if annoyed by such a perilous detail that she’d left out. He understood is was likely for his own good in face of how overwhelming it all seemed, swallowing hard as his gaze averted down to her hands, watching as they jump from one distraction to the next, toying with her drink, her own hands; he was so utterly useless. “It’s not like you’ve got a gun to my head, I’m helping,” he sits up straighter, brows contorted as he sets his own demand to aid her through such troubles knowing Robin would refuse. “These drows… wearing loved ones faces,” his mind flashes back to his father and the empty shell he’d become as an abomination rattled inside his corpse and Wade became nauseous. “Sounds mighty familiar to me,” his jaw clenched, hand curled into a fist, and he couldn’t bear to look at Robin, he’d likely crack under the pressure, staring off behind her instead, “I’m helping.”
“I never told you because we were supposed to be safe from them,” Robin states, words bitten off with frustration as a hand raises to rub her face. She can’t get a good read of his answers, can’t get a confirmation of her worries and it is slowly killing her. She needs to know, needs to know if the man she considers a dear friend has joined hands with the people that massacred the Senate’s prison, needs to know if he has a hand on the growing disappearances. Robin cannot get the answer from her little birds, cannot gain the names of the members of the organizations and while her clairvoyance all but confirms her suspicions, she needs Wade to confirm them. She needs this, needs to know the truth from his lips, needs to know if she had armed the Eye by a moment of kindness. Needs to plan and prepare and ensure that the affection she has for her dear hunter will not cause harm to her people, because she doesn’t think she can forgive herself if harms them. She cannot forgive herself if Wade harms them. “I don’t want to put this on you, not when you have a mission you need to fulfill, not when you have mentioned your rising responsibilities,” she comments, a desperate attempt to get him to tell her the truth. But even in her desperation for the truth, she is kind, and she knows what Wade is thinking about. A sad smile is on her lips as she looks at Wade, an understanding one. Carefully, she reaches out and places a hand over his fist to squeeze reassuringly. “Yeah, I guess it would, but it’s a bit different than possession. And complicated. A lot more complicated really.”
wadecalhoun:
A low whistle leaves Wade, drumming his hands on the table as if it would aid him in formulating any response or retort of comfort. He’s at a loss, he’s not entirely familiar with fey business, never really had to concern himself with them before. Robin had dished out all he needed to know, how they were capricious but relatively harmless at the end of the day and merely, much like everyone, solely out for their own kinds survival. From what Wade had gathered, it seemed the fey simply wanted to be left to their own devices, but he knew such sentiment could not encompass the entirety of the species and that was where betrayal and shit became a dark and slippery slope. “Robin, you ain’t gonna have some target on your back for bein’ forced to take some chick’s job, are you?” Well, a larger target then the one she inherently created considering her own age and ability to meddle. “And how come you didn’t come to me about all that?” Being hunted, it allows him to recall the moment they first met when he’d almost jabbed her with his fucking iron switchblade under the false pretense that she was a demon. How far they’d come since then and though this was no time to condemn her when she appeared so emotionally wounded and fragile, Wade had felt almost offended at the idea that she would have rather faced such problem by herself. He can be a bit thick headed and even through his concern for Robin and his mild offense he still can’t rouse the obvious fact that she was trying to poke at the elephant in the room, his affiliations with a certain group that hunted all supernaturals.
...
“Wade, dearest, I have had a target on my back for years, my new role has merely increased other parties’ interest,” she begins, voice slow and deliberate as she reaches for the warmth of her drink and raises it to her lips to take a long and silent sip. There is an eternity of legends and stories behind her worries, the fear of the dark that her kind carries woven into her very essence with the knowledge of the drows that will never stop hunting them. Worry circles her chest, weights her tongue as she speaks, even as fondness shines through. Even as she wants to reach and bring him closer, even as she wants to reach out and hope. He is worried, before all, he is concerned. And yet, Robin knows Wade. Has known him since he attempted to kill her, believing her a demon and nothing else. Dearest as he is to her, she knows him enough of his faults to know that he had not caught her indirect. The desire to reach out, the hope, does not fade, but her loyalty to her people prevails and tentative thoughts turn into tentative words. It’s like walking up to the precipice, the knowledge that if she pushes she might not get an answer that she wants. Robin doesn’t know if she can handle the truth for herself, doesn’t know if she can handle another betrayal. If it were for her and her alone, she would not continue. But the truth is not for her satisfaction, not for her peace of mind: the truth is to protect those she has sworn to defend. “If it’s not the Eye, it’s the drows, shadow creatures wearing the faces of those we once loved. My kind’s very existence is in danger, and I do not know who to trust. I cannot bring anyone I care for into this, I cannot bring you into this Wade, not when my kinds protection is not your cross to bear.”
wadecalhoun:
“Oh you’re freakin’ me out somethin’ mighty now,” Wade turned almost gravely serious for he’d never seen Robin be so caught up within herself. The tear threatens to fall from her and it glistens atop vivid irises though Wade says nothing, he knows better than to point out a vulnerability in someone unless you’re intending to wound. He’d always fought and remained tacit through his own trembling teeth and dampened eyes and he wouldn’t undress Robin so emotionally in the midst of some cheesy Roman cafe; it’d be wrong. He’s quite animated as his head pans down to look at her hand upon his then back up to her sullen mien, her idea of a promotion causing his brows to crease in confusion. “And did’y have a choice in that? ‘Cause if I had a fuckin’ promotion I’d be doin’ a lil’ dance yet you’re over there all curled in on yourself.” They were all licking their wounds, that much was true, but it was the only way Wade figured he could pose the question all whilst supporting her facade as an immovable and unwavering figure.
...
“I was voted in after our last Chancellor confessed to working with those hunting our kind to call those who would sooner kill us than let us live in peace,” she comments softly, unable to apologize for her odd behavior when at the end of the day she couldn’t. Masks were something well-used by those on the Fall court, capable of keeping a facade for sake of survival, and yet, Robin could not afford to keep such a thing going when Fen’harel had proved to be a liar amongst liars. It was time for honesty to triumph on her court, and she would lead by example so that her loyalty would never be questioned. Even now, she is using that truth to further prove her loyalty. She had tried to ignore her suspicions, the pull from her clairvoyance telling her that Wade was walking a path that she could only condemn but — He is a friend, a true one, and she cared for him. Cared for him enough to ignore the clues, cared for him enough not to pry. That had to end, though, for she would not allow for their friendship to threaten the people under her charge. “We are being hunted, and the leader the Fall Court chose over three millennia ago forsook us for power. Needless to say, I have been left to fill quite the big shoes while having to avoid their mistakes.”
wadecalhoun:
“Hell, I thought we were friends,” Wade snickered as a hand was held over his heart, as if Robin had uttered a moral offense that could not be remedied. “Just doin’ my obligated duties as bein’ a good friend an’ all that nonsense.” A smile laden with the shards of grief that he is incapable of swallowing down takes hold, matches the detachment in Robin’s eyes, but he’s good at deflecting, always has been. It’s how Wade has computed survival into himself, a prominent and almost primal sense as he has somehow survived things most humans would perish beneath. He’d battled supernaturals through grit teeth and broken bones, blood staining his clothes and flesh, only to come out stronger each time. Wade fiddles with the packets of sugar that are always automatically lingering upon the table, tearing open the brown packet and pouring it onto the napkin that sat in front of the position he now occupied, “Just haven’t seen ya’ since all that ruckus at the Pluto Palace,” he puts an obnoxious flair and emphasis on the destroyed palace’s name, flippantly disregarding all they’d lost.
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“That we are, my dear southerner,” Robin drawls, her smile turning smaller but gaining a soft twist as she raises her hand and swipes away a couple of strays tears before focusing her full attention back on the hunter. The grief is still settled upon her chest, and she is aware she must let it out at some point, but not right now, not in front of someone who would care. Silently, she wraps her hands around the mug in front of her and lets the warmth seep into her fingers as she feels a measure of fondness settle on her chest at his subtle concern. She takes another second or so to compose herself, pull back the tears but keep the grief on her eyes that match his. Then, carefully, she reaches forward to place a hand upon his and squeeze softly. It’s a small gesture, meant to comfort and to show her empathy, before she pulls her hand back and wraps it once again around the cup. “I have been rather busy, but I do apologize for not reaching out. My newest promotion to Chancellor might have me busy, but I should have made time.”