If he notices now, most of a day later, he's not the first person to notice or the first person to ask. Comment on it. Jo shook her head, taking a spot on the side of his bed, about a third of the way from the end, at his first words. She hasn't said much to most all day. It's normal. She blows it off. She's busy. The Bar. Thorfinn.
"No, nothing like that. Gods had nothing to do with this." Jo looked down at her own, healed and unscabbed, unbruised, as would be normal after a fight like that, hands briefly. "Only myself and someone from very long ago."
There's a strange consternation, almost reluctant, not by choice but by habit. She never spoke of that place but once in The Apocalypse. Even when they all knew about it. "It's helpful, but it's not a blessing." And something she's admitted to no person ever, though she knows Merlin must know now. Merlin with her soul, her memories, the knowledge of whatever this was in his mind. "And I pay the price for it every minute of every day."
In the low pain that seared like a soft burn across all of her skin even now. A hum she could almost ignore. The soft, steady heated lick of fire. The scratch like fiberglass rubbed at ever rawed and ready skin.
"See." It's an odd offering. But Jo Harvelle has so little to offer in these universes, that is hers.
She scooted up, pulling the collar of her thin longsleeve shirt over her tanktop aside to show her shoulder and clavicle close and clear. Marks that are her sins and triumph in one. Violent and brutal, pride and shame. There on her skin, the faintest of nearly skin-colored sigils everywhere, all over her skin. Making it easier to see where they continued even beyond there, across the whole of the skin above her chest. They didn't move right now, but they weren't doing anything that she knew of right now.
If she pretend sfor her own sake this doesn't feel stupidly dangerous and too much. Things she's never been willing. Like a wager placed on a betting table, or on wildly unbalancing and balancing scales, she speaks without moving her shirt back. Giving him leave, but distracting her nerves. "Yeah. There are several of them. People who are ill, people in the jail. Beat up. A number who showed to help with cleanup regardless."
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Date: 2016-12-12 01:27 pm (UTC)"No, nothing like that. Gods had nothing to do with this." Jo looked down at her own, healed and unscabbed, unbruised, as would be normal after a fight like that, hands briefly. "Only myself and someone from very long ago."
There's a strange consternation, almost reluctant, not by choice but by habit. She never spoke of that place but once in The Apocalypse. Even when they all knew about it. "It's helpful, but it's not a blessing." And something she's admitted to no person ever, though she knows Merlin must know now. Merlin with her soul, her memories, the knowledge of whatever this was in his mind. "And I pay the price for it every minute of every day."
In the low pain that seared like a soft burn across all of her skin even now. A hum she could almost ignore.
The soft, steady heated lick of fire. The scratch like fiberglass rubbed at ever rawed and ready skin.
"See." It's an odd offering. But Jo Harvelle has so little to offer in these universes, that is hers.
She scooted up, pulling the collar of her thin longsleeve shirt over her tanktop aside to show her shoulder and clavicle close and clear. Marks that are her sins and triumph in one. Violent and brutal, pride and shame. There on her skin, the faintest of nearly skin-colored sigils everywhere, all over her skin. Making it easier to see where they continued even beyond there, across the whole of the skin above her chest. They didn't move right now, but they weren't doing anything that she knew of right now.
If she pretend sfor her own sake this doesn't feel stupidly dangerous and too much. Things she's never been willing. Like a wager placed on a betting table, or on wildly unbalancing and balancing scales, she speaks without moving her shirt back. Giving him leave, but distracting her nerves. "Yeah. There are several of them. People who are ill, people in the jail. Beat up. A number who showed to help with cleanup regardless."