[There's almost a tangible quality to Vanitas's moods. The ebb and flow of his temper has an almanac of its own making, one that Bruce is learning how to read, taking one page at a time. Here he watches the tension build inside his hands and shoulders, in his arms. There's almost a flinch, where his head could bow if it tipped just a few centimeters more, became more than just a suggestion. His gaze isn't simply guarded and distrustful, it sharpens. The moment that a knife moves from flat edge to a point.
Bruce wonders what he must be seeing, because surely it's a hallucination of his own- for the precise place that his attention lands. But maybe it's a voice. Bruce has heard many already and not a single one from the people he misses most.
Instead of looking in the same direction, Bruce carefully tugs the fabric of his sleeves, one at a time, until his wrists are bared.]
Don't you want to try it?
[It's framed and phrased very deliberately. It leaves both bottles in Vanitas's possession and makes him, and his participation essential to the process. It presents whatever they do as an extension of Vanitas's power.]
I'd pour this one first, but it's supposed to float on top.
no subject
Bruce wonders what he must be seeing, because surely it's a hallucination of his own- for the precise place that his attention lands. But maybe it's a voice. Bruce has heard many already and not a single one from the people he misses most.
Instead of looking in the same direction, Bruce carefully tugs the fabric of his sleeves, one at a time, until his wrists are bared.]
Don't you want to try it?
[It's framed and phrased very deliberately. It leaves both bottles in Vanitas's possession and makes him, and his participation essential to the process. It presents whatever they do as an extension of Vanitas's power.]
I'd pour this one first, but it's supposed to float on top.