sleither
His eyes were gold. That was the first thing he noticed. The only thing, really. He could not see the color of his clothes or the greenery around him. It was all a myriad of formless shapes and impressions to him. He did not understand color or emotion, but he noticed the stranger's eyes. They were gold.
He repressed the memory along with so many others. If he didn't remember, it never happened. If it never happened, there were no scars. If there were no scars, he wasn't broken. He was fine. Fine.
He swallowed dryly and looked away from the mirror. He was fine. Nothing happened.
It was a selective process, this.
Too young and they were liable to break, too old and they wouldn't let themselves be molded.
To strong and they looked beyond what was good for them, too weak and they wouldn't survive. Too passive and they were overrun but too stubborn and they'd never get anything done.
It was a selective process, finding a new host.
High-strung and hot tempered. That was the core of his personality. One of them, at least. He was a god and as such his temperament was decided by his followers. People saw the danger of fire, the way it greedily ate all in its path and snapped at anything in its path and said he must act so. Others saw the way fire warmed chilled hands and crackled merrily at the hearth and decreed him even tempered and mellow.
It was a taboo amongst their kind. Even in a society where anything goes, there were still limits. This was one of them, though many did not understand. It made sense to those who were raised in the following, though. If words and symbols controlled magic and all it was associated with, a tattoo held danger to everyone who saw it and even more to the one who's skin it was on.
"-And I will ensure that the proper amount of chaos will ensue from the organization's private--" Ethan tuned out the presentation with a yawn. Surely there was more to government work than this? He had signed up for so much more. Where was all the political intrigue? The backdoor deals? The whispered secrets?
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, but sometimes there is comfort in knowing that one person or one group is your enemy and always will be. It's a constant in life, knowing you'll always be pitted against them and they will always be pitted against you. It's a mutual relationship based upon hatred and suspicion and it is something that you never want to change, no matter how difficult things may get or who gets caught in the crossfire.
A mumbling voice interspersed with coughs and wheezing gasps.
A mumbled confession of something not quite friendship, but not quite anything less.
The mumbling grumble as the engine started up and decided it wasn't quite worth the effort.
The sweet, silence that remained after they had finally parted.
He was her anchor. He was that one bit of stability that kept her from flying away and disappearing. He was the one thing that kept her alive and willing to keep trying. He was everything to her. He was everything. And she kept him sane.
The welfare of the people was the highest priority. The welfare of the needy was their main target. This was a society where everyone got the help they needed. Where everyone deserved the help they got.
Where everyone was equal, though some were more equal than others.
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