Wispedream - Blog Posts

seldom   does   he   offer   genuine   concern   'pon   others.   it's   equal   parts   his   nature   —   equal   parts   resisting   attachment.   still,   the   other   looks   beaten   to   shit,   whether   physically   or   mentally;   he's   yet   to   prod.   there's   a   cadence   in   his   voice   expertly   honed,   a   mellifluous   and   compassionate   patchwork   of   sympathy.   ❛   that   so...   ❜ his   eyes   drag   themselves   over   their   stained   coat   and   linger   on   the   two-tone   coloring   of   their   hair.   if   he   notices   anything   out   of   place,   he   graciously   doesn't   insist   on   questioning   them.   it's   better   to   puzzle   over   things   like   this.   (   at   least   there's   fun   to   be   had   in   trying   to   solve   them.   )

❛   a   couple   bloodstains   usually   ain't   enough   to   get   people   to   make   faces   like   that.   ❜   at   least,   not   in   his   experience.   no,   no,   countless   days   of   wandering   gave   him   a   deadly   instinct   for   probing   the   truth.   sometimes,   he   can't   help   himself.   truth   can   cut   deeper   than   any   blade,   whether   the   sting   of   denial   or   bitter   acceptance.   assuming   he   had   been   unerring   in   his   questioning,   he   quietly   gauges   their   reaction.   noting   the   softness   in   the   features   and   wondering   if   that   gentleness   he   sees   could   merely   be   false.   those   marks   didn't   appear   defensive   —   not   to   him.   ❛   but,   you've   got   tired   eyes.   fishy   ones.   ❜

yeah,   that's   what   he   decides.   there's   a   deeper   melancholy   to   them   that   the   surface   permits.   all   bundled   up   in   that   coat,   something   is   twisting   and   writhing;   whatever   feelings   haise's   nursing   were   tricky   indeed.   some   of   his   tact   fails   him   as   he   stares.   for   a   moment,   he   thinks   about   himself   and   whether   he's   ever   felt   such   things.   if   the   sting   in   their   eyes   matches   the   one   that   greets   him   sometimes   in   the   mirror.   was   their   pain   similar?   or   was   he   so   desperate   to   see   himself   in   others   that   he   clings   to   the   tiniest   modicum   of   recognition? 

flashing   a   smile,   he   gingerly   picks   some   dirt   from   beneath   his   nail   —   his   troubles   quickly   forgotten.   ❛   ain't   always   gotta   be   the   tough   guy,   y'know?   older   i   get,   and   the   more   good-looking,   mind   you,   that's   what   i've   learned.   ❜   with   preening   done,   he   inspects   his   fingers,   framing   haise   with   them.   ❛   ...   lemme   see   if   i   can   get   some   of   those   stains   outta   that   coat.   you're   a   bit   of   a   mess,   my   friend.   damn   near   a   fashion   travesty.   now,   before   you   answer,   think   about   what   i   said   —   then   answer.   there   is   a   wrong   answer.   ❜

જ⁀➴        @amcssing   (  Bradley  )  finds  Haise  after  he  has  been  in  a  fight.

The sting of humilation lingered like a bitter aftertaste — the fact that he, the squad mentor, the one tasked with guiding and protecting the Quinx, had been the one roughed up like this during their latest investigation had Haise reeling. How could he possibly command respect, lead effectively, when he had so demonstrably lost control? 

It haunted him — their expressions as he had come to his senses again, each of his subordinates' eyes filled with a mixture of incredulity and unspoken judgment. He suspected harsh words lingering in the minds of even those who had never outwardly criticized him, silent doubts harbored by those who had come to trust him — and he didn’t even want to start thinking about those who questioned his authority, the ones who already bordered on outright insubordination.

This incident would undoubtedly worsen the already tense atmosphere within his barely held-together squad and further shake the fragile foundation of his team. His stomach churned at the thought of distrust and disrespect taking further root within those he so desperately tried to hold together — a sharp, unpleasant feeling, it mirrored the throbbing pain radiating from his battered body. 

And fate, it seemed, was determined to deny him even a moment's respite. The sound of approaching footsteps caused Haise to stiffen, to pull himself a little straighter, despite the protest of his aching muscles. The thought that someone was about to walk in on him while he was feeling sorry for himself — wallowing in self-pity with his coat stained in half-dried blood — only increased his burning shame, fueling its already stoking flames. His cheeks flushed with heat as he prepared himself to wave off the inevitable gaze of concern and confusion. 

❛ I’m okay. Just a rough mission. ❜ It was the kind of line he had perfected by now — light, casual, deflecting any kind of concern that could be directed at him. He hated this; the idea of causing anyone worry. Deeply rooted was his desperate desire to not be a burden to those around him, to prove his worth. 

With trembling fingers hidden in the folds of his stained coat, Haise looked up to give Bradley a smile — subtle, yet reassuring, the kind that was designed to convey a silent ‘Really, I’m okay’, despite it not quite reaching his eyes. 

concerned  roleplay  starters,  accepting  !