[It's been so long since he's had invisibility used against him, and that strikes home harder than any physical blade ever could. And oh it hurts, because it feels so final, and so derisive.
Even with the slight shimmer of arc in the air, it's nearly impossible to keep his sights on the hunter's form, regardless of everything. He wants to, even makes a move as though to step forward, but indecision paralyzes him. He wants so much: to run forward, to deal with the reprecussions, to just reach out and wrap his arms around the hunter regardless of any protest, to make things better.
But it won't solve anything. And so he stands for a bit, staring blankly forward at the place where James' figure used to be.
It takes time, but eventually it's almost robotic the way that he turns on his heel and heads back in to the vanguard quarters. There's a dull noise as his helmet hits the table, and he just stares again for a moment, not processing. It's another dumb decision, one he's not even sure why he's doing, but rationality and good thought have temporarily taken leave. It's a few moments before he can force himself to move; his feet feel leaden, though it has nothing to do with weariness from travel.
Eventually he leaves, helmet left behind, doing his best not to look back, and certainly not meeting the gaze of anyone else that may pass by. Back to the ship then, and then...he has no idea. Tarlowe materializes and buzzes about worriedly, but he waves the ghost off with one hand after he's clear for transmat.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-10-12 10:02 pm (UTC)From:[It's been so long since he's had invisibility used against him, and that strikes home harder than any physical blade ever could. And oh it hurts, because it feels so final, and so derisive.
Even with the slight shimmer of arc in the air, it's nearly impossible to keep his sights on the hunter's form, regardless of everything. He wants to, even makes a move as though to step forward, but indecision paralyzes him. He wants so much: to run forward, to deal with the reprecussions, to just reach out and wrap his arms around the hunter regardless of any protest, to make things better.
But it won't solve anything. And so he stands for a bit, staring blankly forward at the place where James' figure used to be.
It takes time, but eventually it's almost robotic the way that he turns on his heel and heads back in to the vanguard quarters. There's a dull noise as his helmet hits the table, and he just stares again for a moment, not processing. It's another dumb decision, one he's not even sure why he's doing, but rationality and good thought have temporarily taken leave. It's a few moments before he can force himself to move; his feet feel leaden, though it has nothing to do with weariness from travel.
Eventually he leaves, helmet left behind, doing his best not to look back, and certainly not meeting the gaze of anyone else that may pass by. Back to the ship then, and then...he has no idea. Tarlowe materializes and buzzes about worriedly, but he waves the ghost off with one hand after he's clear for transmat.
Ship. At least he has a short term goal.]