07-23-2016, 05:04 PM
There was a pulse to the crowd. Like a heart beat throbbing within the boundaries of the Red Square. Elias pushed his way between the bodies such that it required actual force to open up the paths. Beneath the bulk of hair and clothes drenching him with weight, his body was actually quite lean and frail, comparatively. Yet stern glares met faces that resisted him, and he was permitted passage. Step by step. Shoulder against shoulder. Until he was within reasonable distance of the gates to the Kremlin.
A tug wrenched his arm, and he braced for retaliation. He spun, ready to wring power into his clutches, only to stop short prematurely. The face before him was familiar. Seeking. Pleasant. Even a tad relieved. Had she been looking for him? Or was it coincidence? Had to be the latter.
"Asha. What are you doing here? You know this might be dangerous."
What? Why did he warn her of something so obvious? Who was he to be responsible for her welfare?
Their circumstances pressed him closer, fully sharing personal space that made him uncomfortable. But he broadened his stance as best he could as some sort of shelter against the waves of emotion rippling over the crowd. Chants of protests and adoration were in competition with one another. Like the beating of his heart with the sharpness of his mind: one would eventually win out.
A tug wrenched his arm, and he braced for retaliation. He spun, ready to wring power into his clutches, only to stop short prematurely. The face before him was familiar. Seeking. Pleasant. Even a tad relieved. Had she been looking for him? Or was it coincidence? Had to be the latter.
"Asha. What are you doing here? You know this might be dangerous."
What? Why did he warn her of something so obvious? Who was he to be responsible for her welfare?
Their circumstances pressed him closer, fully sharing personal space that made him uncomfortable. But he broadened his stance as best he could as some sort of shelter against the waves of emotion rippling over the crowd. Chants of protests and adoration were in competition with one another. Like the beating of his heart with the sharpness of his mind: one would eventually win out.