Andrei turned and caught Irinarhov's wrist, with a minimal motion- swift and lightly committed, but his grasp firm and reforming.
Reassuring.
"Maybe it doesn't matter if it's true or not," Isaev said, voice flatly unmodulated, eyes artless as he gave Irinarhov leave to take his unstudied measure. "Maybe that's where I misapprehended matters."
He had been uncertain whether to take Aryol as a peer or a junior, but now he found himself unlikely to take him as anything at all. He wasn't sure the fickle little prick deserved his consideration beyond this introduction.
He believed Aryol was the blood of Kasya's loins, wouldn't even question it. But whether he was worthy of being a son to his lover-
Isaev's eyes narrowed uncharacteristically.
No, he wasn't seeing it as clearly now. Not in the sense that Andrei called family. Blood was epoxy between he and Ilarion. Not a curiosity- not a precious lapdog he would squeal over, examine and discard like a capricious whore.
Aryol seems to be his mother's son, thought the unkind, unmoderated corner of Isaev's mind.
Kasya, of course, could do as he would. Isaev had done his part in unifying silences.
"Do you know," he said coolly, "blood can just as easily run down gutters."
He paused, raising his eyes.
"As your wasted progeny runs rivulets down my thighs, your unrealized blood pools upon my stomach. But it isn't wasted on me, comrade."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-08-28 09:01 am (UTC)Reassuring.
"Maybe it doesn't matter if it's true or not," Isaev said, voice flatly unmodulated, eyes artless as he gave Irinarhov leave to take his unstudied measure. "Maybe that's where I misapprehended matters."
He had been uncertain whether to take Aryol as a peer or a junior, but now he found himself unlikely to take him as anything at all. He wasn't sure the fickle little prick deserved his consideration beyond this introduction.
He believed Aryol was the blood of Kasya's loins, wouldn't even question it. But whether he was worthy of being a son to his lover-
Isaev's eyes narrowed uncharacteristically.
No, he wasn't seeing it as clearly now. Not in the sense that Andrei called family. Blood was epoxy between he and Ilarion. Not a curiosity- not a precious lapdog he would squeal over, examine and discard like a capricious whore.
Aryol seems to be his mother's son, thought the unkind, unmoderated corner of Isaev's mind.
Kasya, of course, could do as he would. Isaev had done his part in unifying silences.
"Do you know," he said coolly, "blood can just as easily run down gutters."
He paused, raising his eyes.
"As your wasted progeny runs rivulets down my thighs, your unrealized blood pools upon my stomach. But it isn't wasted on me, comrade."