"What." Flat, furious, frustrated- the trifecta that usually serves as a warning of a lit fuse before the inevitable explosion but there's no one here to stab, no figure to rage at, no bone and flesh to rend until her anger has burned away clean. Only a too quiet sibling that's too young for so much of what's on his shoulders, an inability to talk to him (she's never known what to say, what to do), and the truth laid bare with all his usual nonchalance.
For a moment rage flares bright, roiling in her gut with vodka and visceral intent- the grip around her obsidian blade going tight enough to shatter in one pained instant before she swallows it down.
Not a problem she can stab.
Dismissing the remnants of her weapon Hela drops to Klaus' level, one hand on the sofa behind him, eyes flicking over his face, taking him in. "I suppose..."
She's- not good at this. She's never been good at this. "I'm not killing you. You're not allowed to kill you either." That's not useful. She rocks back onto her heels, smoothing her hair out of her face with a grimace. "You don't feel like you should be alone."
Not a question. That's- understandable. That she can get her head around.
no subject
For a moment rage flares bright, roiling in her gut with vodka and visceral intent- the grip around her obsidian blade going tight enough to shatter in one pained instant before she swallows it down.
Not a problem she can stab.
Dismissing the remnants of her weapon Hela drops to Klaus' level, one hand on the sofa behind him, eyes flicking over his face, taking him in. "I suppose..."
She's- not good at this. She's never been good at this. "I'm not killing you. You're not allowed to kill you either." That's not useful. She rocks back onto her heels, smoothing her hair out of her face with a grimace. "You don't feel like you should be alone."
Not a question. That's- understandable. That she can get her head around.