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Who| Dorian and Maxwell
What| Dorian is a touch Upset
Where| Just outside the DA Cast's Camp
When| After this
Warnings/Notes|
Dorian was, to put it mildly, upset.
Not the kind of upset that he could exactly put a finger on - not the kind that had a clear, rational, basis. But the kind of upset that twisted his insides into knots and made him want to retch, violently, or throw something at a wall, or cry with angry, wracking sobs. It was utterly ridiculous, of course. He had absolutely no reason to feel this way - should be elated, as Cullen so obviously was.
At the very least, he should be relieved.
But instead, it was just a depth of grief that he hadn't even realised he'd somehow been managing to avoid. Repress, elegantly and with poise, and ignore utterly the feeling that he had somehow lost everything, all over again. He found a large rock to perch on, just at the edge of the river, looking out at the smoke on the horizon. He had, ostensibly, gone for water, or whatever other pathetic excuse had managed to leave his mouth in time, but in reality he was just sitting there, trying to decide when that cavernous gulf between him and home had opened so deeply and so painfully after he had thought it closed.
After he'd forced it closed.
But then, he never had been all that good at running away, after all.
What| Dorian is a touch Upset
Where| Just outside the DA Cast's Camp
When| After this
Warnings/Notes|
Dorian was, to put it mildly, upset.
Not the kind of upset that he could exactly put a finger on - not the kind that had a clear, rational, basis. But the kind of upset that twisted his insides into knots and made him want to retch, violently, or throw something at a wall, or cry with angry, wracking sobs. It was utterly ridiculous, of course. He had absolutely no reason to feel this way - should be elated, as Cullen so obviously was.
At the very least, he should be relieved.
But instead, it was just a depth of grief that he hadn't even realised he'd somehow been managing to avoid. Repress, elegantly and with poise, and ignore utterly the feeling that he had somehow lost everything, all over again. He found a large rock to perch on, just at the edge of the river, looking out at the smoke on the horizon. He had, ostensibly, gone for water, or whatever other pathetic excuse had managed to leave his mouth in time, but in reality he was just sitting there, trying to decide when that cavernous gulf between him and home had opened so deeply and so painfully after he had thought it closed.
After he'd forced it closed.
But then, he never had been all that good at running away, after all.