( no, it's certainly not a strength he would have expected from the stranger — before him now he doesn't seem so much bigger than he is, but he must either have a wiry sort of toughness to him that is not so easy perceived in the dim light, obfuscated under yet more layers of clothing. makoto is brought to his feet with ease, though it takes him a few moments to place them with full confidence that his legs might not buckle out from underneath him once more. physically, he feels weak, exhausted; his vision fades and his ears ring, and he has to lean to dextera for an extended moment until this fades.
he feels half-starved. this body of his really has suffered in pulling itself back together, but it does still seem to be holding up, even with its shortcomings and weaknesses. even when dextera finally reaches out to speak to him by way of Communion — something which causes makoto to separate away from him immediately, eyes flying wide with surprise and alarm.
his response to Communion is the same as it had been in horos: knee-jerk negative, recoiling away as if he had been stung. had it been anyone else, he would have rejected them with immediacy and intensity — he hates the feeling of presence so close to himself, so nearby his shard, which radiates with the sort of horrible tenderness that anyone might feel when they harbor a wound, either internal or external, which might very well spell out their end. but dextera's, his... it is feather-light and unassuming, gentle, and there's something past the voice and into the very substance of that feeling of self that feels familiar. more than his face, than his silhouette, than his hands or his voice, it's that metaphysical shape of individuality that soothes makoto's wary fear. dextera touches his throat, and makoto understands intuitively: of course he could only respond like this. he knows this — or he should have known it. he knows it now.
he sways somewhat on his feet, his mouth forming a thin line; he regains his composure. he accepts the presence of dextera alongside himself, both physically and beyond that, on the credit of what he feels — what he knows had existed between them in a time which feels very nearly lost to him. )
...Lead the way, then.
( he is ready to follow, though... after a moment he reaches out to dextera, one hand clutching at his clothing near his upper arm to stabilize himself. as much as he hates revealing such weakness, the earth underfoot is uneven in these caverns, and it would be that much harder to get wherever they must go if he fell and further impaired himself. )
no subject
he feels half-starved. this body of his really has suffered in pulling itself back together, but it does still seem to be holding up, even with its shortcomings and weaknesses. even when dextera finally reaches out to speak to him by way of Communion — something which causes makoto to separate away from him immediately, eyes flying wide with surprise and alarm.
his response to Communion is the same as it had been in horos: knee-jerk negative, recoiling away as if he had been stung. had it been anyone else, he would have rejected them with immediacy and intensity — he hates the feeling of presence so close to himself, so nearby his shard, which radiates with the sort of horrible tenderness that anyone might feel when they harbor a wound, either internal or external, which might very well spell out their end. but dextera's, his... it is feather-light and unassuming, gentle, and there's something past the voice and into the very substance of that feeling of self that feels familiar. more than his face, than his silhouette, than his hands or his voice, it's that metaphysical shape of individuality that soothes makoto's wary fear. dextera touches his throat, and makoto understands intuitively: of course he could only respond like this. he knows this — or he should have known it. he knows it now.
he sways somewhat on his feet, his mouth forming a thin line; he regains his composure. he accepts the presence of dextera alongside himself, both physically and beyond that, on the credit of what he feels — what he knows had existed between them in a time which feels very nearly lost to him. )
...Lead the way, then.
( he is ready to follow, though... after a moment he reaches out to dextera, one hand clutching at his clothing near his upper arm to stabilize himself. as much as he hates revealing such weakness, the earth underfoot is uneven in these caverns, and it would be that much harder to get wherever they must go if he fell and further impaired himself. )