the presence of the destroyed god
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When Klavier found him again (really found him, Daryan thought, running the words over in his mouth again and again like a pick your poison kind of routine—found him without the protection/knife-in-back of the law, found him without the promises he’d tucked himself behind and into), it was ten years later in a prison cell.
(Of course, Daryan thought in the pick your poison way again—more and more the only words he could think of tasted like blood, hot and sweet—it hadn’t really been ten years. Maybe half a year. He’d stopped counting when it’d stopped mattering. He was careless but not stupid; the centuries tore between them the moment that Justice kid opened his mouth.)
(If Klavier saw Daryan smile, lips yanked back and teeth bared, he did not say.)
Series
- Part 1 of the presence of the destroyed god
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Klavier’s habit of going after what he wanted was almost annoying and unnecessary in and of itself, but even that did not compare to his habit of getting what he wanted. (Or maybe, Daryan thought, fingers itching around his cigarette, it wasn’t really a habit of Klavier’s, but an expectation. Klavier was a jump-how-high kind of guy.)
Series
- Part 2 of the presence of the destroyed god
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Everything seemed to lead back to Klavier. Everyone seemed to lead back to Klavier. He groped around for the edges of whatever deep resentment he had buried under his fingertips, finding nothing but the beginnings of an ugly emotion that made his throat and ribs collapse in on themselves. For a moment, he was falling.
(For a moment, he’d forgotten that he already had.)
Or: Klavier and Daryan share a moment.
Series
- Part 3 of the presence of the destroyed god