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“Lyon?”
The priest shrinks into himself, the familiar voice snapping his string of consciousness back into the present. The palms pressed into the expanse of the table being the only thing holding him up as Lyon heaves.
“Drifter…” he wheezes, moving to leverage himself with his right hand as he turns to meet her gaze.
“Did I—Did I come at a bad time?” she asks, genuine concern swirling in the depths of her brightly rimmed eyes. Cast that sympathy well aside, he just itched to say.
“Ah, non,” he clears his throat, then straightens himself, “I was merely... occupied by my thoughts.”
He notices the silhouette of her Warframe—Dante, by the pews, somewhat obscured by the dimness of the cathedral and realizes in that very moment he’d been standing before the Drifter herself, and not the one in her usual fully kitted out glory during all her prior visits. He’s seen her in person before, just not any longer than fleeting glances when she’s seen speaking to Loid.
She’s silenced by his reply momentarily but doesn’t pry, thankfully, “I just got back. Wanted to check on how everything was doing here next but,” the Drifter gestures at the rest of the cathedral, “I didn’t expect to find you all alone.”
He held back a scoff. How kind of her to find time to pay a visit to the Sanctum, the levity in her words belying the gravity of most of her endeavors, whatever they were.
“My dear sister is helping Monsieur Loid with some archival duties. As for the devil,” he grits, caring very little to conceal the venom, “tending to the Cavia, so he says.”
“Weird, didn’t see him on my way in.” the Drifter shrugs, “Probably went for a walk after subjecting Bird 3 to one of his monologues.” she laughs, as if finishing what he left unsaid.
Lyon echoes her laughter with his own, and unbeknownst to him when he turns to tend to the strewn about texts before him, she smiles at the priest.
Her eyes sweep over the dip of the priest’s spine, Harrow veining the skin, not in its totality that some unblemished parts remained. He does not hear the sharp intake of breath from behind him, and certainly does not see the way her bottom lip rolled between her teeth, merely when she pads over to stand beside him.
The Drifter rests against the table, his table, “Is there anything you need help with?”
He tenses. Ordinarily he would have made nothing of the low tone of her voice, but ever since she made her… interest clear, Lyon is hyperaware that the Drifter is entirely the wolf Marie makes her out to be.
“Nothing of immediate concern.” the priest busies himself with flipping through the scriptures, retaining nothing from the texts, all but a mere act under her scrutiny.
“If so, I was thinking of stealing your attention for a bit,” he looks at her the same time she tilts her head, following the line from her throat to her lips, then her gaze. Lua, he hopes she hadn’t noticed, “Subject to your availability, of course.”
He watches some sort of clarity return to her and without skipping a beat, she adds, “Only because… we don’t get to talk as much outside of messaging.”
Oh. Lyon feels his resolve weakening ever so slightly, finding himself endeared to her sudden nervousness.
The considerable distance between them still remained, for everything to him was plain to see with her, but she left him a way out, keeping to her word. For as much as a good hunter she was, a single word from him could silence her for good.
Lyon wondered if she was bracing herself for the possibility of rejection, or would she simply take it in stride?
He opens his mouth, “I—”
“—Drifter?”
His sister, unabashed and so blissfully unaware of her brother’s newfound dilemma, calls for their companion from the cathedral’s entrance which effectively cuts the proverbial tension with a knife.
Marie beams at the Drifter, alight with everything that Sol was, “You’ve returned!”
“Fah, I’m sorry I was not able to greet you upon your return, there was much to do, j’en ai bien peur.”
“Don’t be silly, you’re here now.” The drifter chuckles. Lyon catches her gaze for a brief moment, heart stuttering when her disappointment was palpable. She mouths something to him which he catches with ease, moving away from his side.
“Ah! But I promised you something didn’t I?” he hears his sister continue as she returns to her station.
The rest of the conversation about the Artifact is heard in brief murmurs, leaving Lyon to deliberate in his thoughts once more. Had she noticed he’d been a reflection of her own disappointment?
Another time, she said. A thinly veiled promise, one he might hold her to, he thinks.