Snippet #1926278

Zenith supposed that this was to be his end. He had already proven that he was no better than the Perfects. He had nearly struck a woman...something that compromised the entire integrity of his being as a gentleman. True, necessity made him hard, bitter, and cold; but he would rather die than to admit that he had failed as a gentleman of heart.

Before he could grasp the humming fence, though, a shout cut through the air, causing him to pause for a moment. It was only mere moments later that he was pummeled, she pulling him away from his death, assuring a dominant position above him so that his struggles would be in vain. She simply looked into his eyes for a while, before he heard her whisper:

"You don't deserve to die...your life is worth so much more."

His eyes met hers in a moment of confusion. Worth? He would hardly call his death anything effecting. But her eyes revealed a belief in what she said, his own emotion unsure of what to be. Muddled was the only appropriate term. He didn't really believe it himself, but it was enough to make him think and reconsider his actions, lulling him away from the want of death.

Being Human--whether Perfect or Deviant--there were certain things that caused the mind to wander. The position they were in certainly was one of them. He looked to his hands, which were held firmly to the ground, and then down; his intention had been to see how she had placed herself in so that his legs were firmly stuck as well, however, he caught an eyeful of cleavage instead. He instantly looked away as a small blush arose to his cheeks, a small line of blood running from his nose. "I...believe you can get up now."