RolePlayGateway™

-Friends...-
Spyridon repeated after the boy, her voice was weak and she hoped he was still stunned enough to not notice her tears falling on his face.
-Is it possible... After so many time... I forgot how it feels like to have a friend...- her voice was weak, and she was trying to stay still, drawing one shuddering breathe, her good hand still on Dauragon's forehead, the burned one twitching, the back of the hand scratching in the dust, her body moving slightly as she sobbed softly, confused yet kind of relieved now that she understeand that she didn't had to die. Not yet.
And then, suddendly, for maybe the first time in the last years she could remember clearly something from before the accident.

Her big brothers,twins, big and black haired, looking down at the thin, annoying redhead that was their sister. Totally uncapable of human relationships, too weak to work with them, too clumsy even to help their mother at the houseworks, and, since their father died and couldn't home school her anymore, she was also very stressed and nervous because of school.
A little human faluire. And she knew that very well, depspise her big brothers always did their best to make her feel useful. They really did their best, but it wasn't enough. She had no friends, and she hardly even went out of their house, refusing to eat whenever she felt like this, and it was way too often.
Every day her brothers talked to her, trying to make her go outside the house.
"Would you really like to stay forever inside this house? Don't you want to have some friends?"
They kept asking her over and over till she just replyed "what are friends for if i'm going to die anyways?"
"even if you had to die tomorrow, if you had a friend, you would have made somebody else's life better." was the answer.
She trought nothing could make her forget this. But it happened... 'Till that moment.

Maybe because of a contact between burned nerves, her burned hand moved to caress the boy's cheek. A weak smile appeared on Spyridon's lips. -I won't be alone...- She muttered.

Closing that single eye of his, the lids also closing over the hollow socket on the right side of his face, his hand rubs softly at the back of hers upon his forehead. His head pounded like a drum, barely able to process her words as his free hand twitches upon the floor, palm facing the celing, his breath coming in small, ragged pants at the moment. It was slowly coming back to him as he lay still in the floor, unable to see straight. He was still shaken from the blow on the floor, his weapon lying useless upon the floor a foot away. The vials of glass inside his cloak had shattered upon impact, the boy's distraction weapons useless now.

"Frien's..."

He slurs the single word as he tries to speak it, the boy attempting to sit up just once, failing as he lay on the cold apartment floor, eyes opening just once. Dark brown and a hollow black socket stare up at the young woman, blood soaking his face, the boy probably looking quite pitiful at the moment with the massive scar from his forehead and over his nose holding so much blood. His forehead had stopped bleeding, but it was all still wet, likely soaking her palm as her hand rested upon his forehead, his breath almost fully returned as he relaxes back. He wasn't dead yet, so he figured that she wasn't going to attack him, turning his head slightly and leaning it against the hand caressing his cheek. Some would think it odd, but as her hand touched his disfigured cheek, his tongue slipped out of the slit there, the tip brushing over her burnt flesh, emitting a soft sigh as he tries to get control of himself.

After a few more moments, the boy slowly pushes her hand away, but not in a hostile manner, his own palms pressing to the floor and pushing up off of it to sit up. He groans in protest as his bones do the same, his head screaming at him to stop moving. He persists, however, for he wanted to sit up and turn to face her, doing just that after a moment. He pants as he regains his seat, the boy looking around blearily for a moment, still not spying his eye. It could wait, though, for he turns his single-eyed gaze back towards her, one hand extending slowly. The other moves to take one of her hands, which didn't matter to him, his palm pressing to her cheek, thumb brushing just under one eye as he speaks. It was odd how easily he could go from murderous rage to a calm, placid state around her, though the blow to the head likely had much to do with that.

"S'right...won't be...won't be alone. S'what I was sayin' from the start. So...you...wanna do that? Friends?"