There were many times he had woken wrapped in a thread bare blanket off by himself in a barn or the back of the boat. When the worst injuries would put him on his ass and he'd hear the older men whispering about him being a tough little bastard, and muttering if he would live. He was to stubborn to give up. To stubborn to show weakness to those men, namely the balding blonde that would always be glaring at him, the silent order to get up, to get up and live.
Jo wasn't that army of dead men... though sometimes Thorfinn thought he heard the dead calling for him. A moment like this where he wanted to just curl into himself and shut the world out, her painful grip on his shoulders kept him grounded as the wide, almost to innocent for a killers, brown eyes peered at her from under messy longer bangs. Like a puppy kicked out into the rain, that same look he gave her from under the sunglasses when she first brought him upstairs, offered him a real home, a place to belong.
Her words hit him like a tone of bricks, he was trying so hard to hold it in. It was why he hadn't said anything despite the desire to open his mouth and speak the words he had felt for awhile, and promise never again. He couldn't afford to die, not when death could be forever here at the whim of whatever god governed. He had to figure out his father's words before he could go into the long night.
"Jo...Ugh."
A noise escaped him as he started to say something, but the shaking, the emotions and the overwhelming sickness all together pushed past his stubborn shield and everything within him started to come up he tried to shift away as soon as he realized he couldn't stop it, but her grip on his shoulders had kept him in place, to weak in the strange illness to rip away from her.
A moment of being told something he had searched for for so long.... and he gracelessly threw up on the person he cared for most.
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Date: 2016-11-30 01:47 pm (UTC)There were many times he had woken wrapped in a thread bare blanket off by himself in a barn or the back of the boat. When the worst injuries would put him on his ass and he'd hear the older men whispering about him being a tough little bastard, and muttering if he would live. He was to stubborn to give up. To stubborn to show weakness to those men, namely the balding blonde that would always be glaring at him, the silent order to get up, to get up and live.
Jo wasn't that army of dead men... though sometimes Thorfinn thought he heard the dead calling for him. A moment like this where he wanted to just curl into himself and shut the world out, her painful grip on his shoulders kept him grounded as the wide, almost to innocent for a killers, brown eyes peered at her from under messy longer bangs. Like a puppy kicked out into the rain, that same look he gave her from under the sunglasses when she first brought him upstairs, offered him a real home, a place to belong.
Her words hit him like a tone of bricks, he was trying so hard to hold it in. It was why he hadn't said anything despite the desire to open his mouth and speak the words he had felt for awhile, and promise never again. He couldn't afford to die, not when death could be forever here at the whim of whatever god governed. He had to figure out his father's words before he could go into the long night.
"Jo...Ugh."
A noise escaped him as he started to say something, but the shaking, the emotions and the overwhelming sickness all together pushed past his stubborn shield and everything within him started to come up he tried to shift away as soon as he realized he couldn't stop it, but her grip on his shoulders had kept him in place, to weak in the strange illness to rip away from her.
A moment of being told something he had searched for for so long.... and he gracelessly threw up on the person he cared for most.