The first time that he ever saw her, she was seconds away from getting herself killed.
She'd taken on three bluebloods far too strong for her in some attempt to rescue a tiny white cat he later figured out was her lusus, and even if she'd managed to kill them all without incurring grievous harm... She'd surely die, in the end. Out in the wilds a green-blood might be able to get away with killing aristocrats even if there was a witness, though the idea made a flash of anger shoot through Equius, but they were in one of the few cities on Alternia and anyone who was watching would feel compelled to attack her for her crime. It wasn't fair, no. But who had ever said anything about this life they were born into was fair?
He wasn't thinking of pity when he stepped into the fight. Only that, distasteful though it should be to stand with someone of lower blood against others who were almost his equals, he preferred to be on the side of someone attempting to protect her custodian (or pet, as he'd thought at the time) over those who would harm a fragile creature.
He'd saved her then, snapped the three slightly-lowerbloods' necks and shattered their ribs and picked up the dirty ragged beast of a troll she was and carried her home with him despite all her protests. He couldn't save her, now.
After their first chaotic meeting, it took them over a sweep before they even whispered the word moirail.
For one, there were no pale overtures between them. It seemed strange to put voice to something that was as natural as breathing or eating or sleeping in sopor, unnegotiated and necessary as breathing and eating and sleeping in sopor were in the first place. He needed her, and she needed him, and it was as simple as that-- they belonged together, just as air belonged in their lungs.
Only there isn't any air in their lungs now, is there? Only ashes and a bitter, stinging smoke, because the world went up in flames long ago and they've taken refuge in this last little bastion of safety. The seas polluted, choking the seadwellers as they slept. The sopor grew foul with contagion, killing the indigobloods who relied on it and the lowestbloods who absolutely needed it to sleep. The land burned with acidic fires, killing everyone and anything, and Equius thinks he's the highest blood left-- it just doesn't matter anymore. Nightmares plague everyone now, and he thinks one of his is finally coming true.
She's curled in his arms, her fragile little body coughing up and choking thin olive blood. The medical drones went haywire long ago, and for all his expertise with robots, he can't figure out how to open her up and put her back together again without destroying her utterly in the process. His own chest is uncomfortably tight, and though he pretends not to notice, he no longer sweats or swallows because there's no moisture left to do so with.
When she coughs weakly once more and goes still, there are no tears left to cry.
(besides-- he follows her a few days later anyway)
FILL: TEAM Eridan <3< Vriska
She'd taken on three bluebloods far too strong for her in some attempt to rescue a tiny white cat he later figured out was her lusus, and even if she'd managed to kill them all without incurring grievous harm... She'd surely die, in the end. Out in the wilds a green-blood might be able to get away with killing aristocrats even if there was a witness, though the idea made a flash of anger shoot through Equius, but they were in one of the few cities on Alternia and anyone who was watching would feel compelled to attack her for her crime. It wasn't fair, no. But who had ever said anything about this life they were born into was fair?
He wasn't thinking of pity when he stepped into the fight. Only that, distasteful though it should be to stand with someone of lower blood against others who were almost his equals, he preferred to be on the side of someone attempting to protect her custodian (or pet, as he'd thought at the time) over those who would harm a fragile creature.
He'd saved her then, snapped the three slightly-lowerbloods' necks and shattered their ribs and picked up the dirty ragged beast of a troll she was and carried her home with him despite all her protests. He couldn't save her, now.
After their first chaotic meeting, it took them over a sweep before they even whispered the word moirail.
For one, there were no pale overtures between them. It seemed strange to put voice to something that was as natural as breathing or eating or sleeping in sopor, unnegotiated and necessary as breathing and eating and sleeping in sopor were in the first place. He needed her, and she needed him, and it was as simple as that-- they belonged together, just as air belonged in their lungs.
Only there isn't any air in their lungs now, is there? Only ashes and a bitter, stinging smoke, because the world went up in flames long ago and they've taken refuge in this last little bastion of safety. The seas polluted, choking the seadwellers as they slept. The sopor grew foul with contagion, killing the indigobloods who relied on it and the lowestbloods who absolutely needed it to sleep. The land burned with acidic fires, killing everyone and anything, and Equius thinks he's the highest blood left-- it just doesn't matter anymore. Nightmares plague everyone now, and he thinks one of his is finally coming true.
She's curled in his arms, her fragile little body coughing up and choking thin olive blood. The medical drones went haywire long ago, and for all his expertise with robots, he can't figure out how to open her up and put her back together again without destroying her utterly in the process. His own chest is uncomfortably tight, and though he pretends not to notice, he no longer sweats or swallows because there's no moisture left to do so with.
When she coughs weakly once more and goes still, there are no tears left to cry.
(besides-- he follows her a few days later anyway)