Just stepping outside seems to be a good enough strategy to calm the raging storm of disgust and anger circulating in Zelos's veins, at least, and within a few minutes of just standing under the blue sky and breathing in the air Zelos starts to find himself again, starts to rebuild the blank mask that the memory of the cannon fire shattered in the dining room. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clenches and unclenches his fists, releases the air in his lungs, lets it join the wind again. Feels his ether flow, feels the world's ether turn. Breathes. Once, twice, again and again, a little mantra, a little ritual, a little safety rope back from the land of memoria.
So it goes, so it comes.
It's okay.
At least Malos hasn't spoken, Zelos thinks as he opens his eyes again, and with that simple thought he then decides to stop caring about the blade and completely dismisses him from his thoughts. He breathes. Ignores the fact that Malos knew exactly what to do, and what that implies. But. It's fine, it's fine. Don't think about it now. Breathe. Zelos can probably bullshit his way out of the eventual embarrassment he's bound to feel about being babied through a simple history talk just because it mentioned something he doesn't like later. It'll be fine. He can do that.
Breathe in, breathe out. It's not long until Zelos gets sick of standing. Thoughts still whirling, but feeling less like a tornado and now more like a simple gust of wind picking up dirt, he walks off to a patch of grass and sits. Face carefully blank as he finishes stitching the mask back together, numb to the core after the boiling emotional outburst has somewhat passed, Zelos just... sits. Pulls his gloves off with little fanfare and sets them next to himself. Breathes. Lets the push and pull of the gentle wind play with his hair, feels the way it graces his bare arms, lets his mind focus on the motions of it as he leans back on his palms and stares at the early morning clouds, lets his naked fingers thread the grass.
He stays there, completely immobile, completely still. Tries to pretend that somehow, like this, he can feel peace. That it's not dangerous that he's showing his ether lines. That this is eternal, that he won't have to go back inside.
Breathes.
Breathes.
Breathes, until the ether in the air changes, until it carries close something ancient he's strangely starting to recognize.
Well, the good thing about the blank mask is he can paint it with whatever he needs any time, for whatever reason he requires. So as soon as Sheena's close enough Zelos runs a stroke of playful over the mouth, hardens his eyes with something that looks amused and annoyed, leaning back further on his palms and throwing his head back rather than twisting to greet her properly. It is all a show, after all, with him the pretty dancing doll.
Despite the clenching of his fingers on the grass, it's phantoms of decadence, nonchalance, and smooth aggravation that move his body, pull the little snort out of his lungs. And once Sheena speaks, he adds petulance to the mix. "Awwwww, so soon?" he drawls out, both eyebrows raised and a pout on his lips. "But it's so nice out here! How about you guys come here instead? Have a picnic like we're not a pack of wild criminals on the loose."
Hey you ever hear the quiet version of City Ruins
So it goes, so it comes.
It's okay.
At least Malos hasn't spoken, Zelos thinks as he opens his eyes again, and with that simple thought he then decides to stop caring about the blade and completely dismisses him from his thoughts. He breathes. Ignores the fact that Malos knew exactly what to do, and what that implies. But. It's fine, it's fine. Don't think about it now. Breathe. Zelos can probably bullshit his way out of the eventual embarrassment he's bound to feel about being babied through a simple history talk just because it mentioned something he doesn't like later. It'll be fine. He can do that.
Breathe in, breathe out. It's not long until Zelos gets sick of standing. Thoughts still whirling, but feeling less like a tornado and now more like a simple gust of wind picking up dirt, he walks off to a patch of grass and sits. Face carefully blank as he finishes stitching the mask back together, numb to the core after the boiling emotional outburst has somewhat passed, Zelos just... sits. Pulls his gloves off with little fanfare and sets them next to himself. Breathes. Lets the push and pull of the gentle wind play with his hair, feels the way it graces his bare arms, lets his mind focus on the motions of it as he leans back on his palms and stares at the early morning clouds, lets his naked fingers thread the grass.
He stays there, completely immobile, completely still. Tries to pretend that somehow, like this, he can feel peace. That it's not dangerous that he's showing his ether lines. That this is eternal, that he won't have to go back inside.
Breathes.
Breathes.
Breathes, until the ether in the air changes, until it carries close something ancient he's strangely starting to recognize.
Well, the good thing about the blank mask is he can paint it with whatever he needs any time, for whatever reason he requires. So as soon as Sheena's close enough Zelos runs a stroke of playful over the mouth, hardens his eyes with something that looks amused and annoyed, leaning back further on his palms and throwing his head back rather than twisting to greet her properly. It is all a show, after all, with him the pretty dancing doll.
Despite the clenching of his fingers on the grass, it's phantoms of decadence, nonchalance, and smooth aggravation that move his body, pull the little snort out of his lungs. And once Sheena speaks, he adds petulance to the mix. "Awwwww, so soon?" he drawls out, both eyebrows raised and a pout on his lips. "But it's so nice out here! How about you guys come here instead? Have a picnic like we're not a pack of wild criminals on the loose."