Purpose

Guinevere Fouroux's smile deepens when she feels his fingers wrap around hers. It's a small, quiet triumph, a victory, made even sweeter by the ghost of a smile--a real one, however shadowed--quirking his lips.

 

"I don't suppose I could talk you into dialing down the inspiration, when it comes to keeping you safe, can I?" She sighs, dramatically. "I would guess not, but a girl can dream..."

 

Eamon Cale's small grin deepens into something genuine. A rare smile, this, one he shows few, but it smooths the harsh lines from his face, and even the bruises and lacerations are softened by it. "Not a chance," he says, and suddenly leans forward, clasping her hand in both of his. His elbows rest on his knees, his back is bowed, but his head is up and his eyes are suddenly alight. "Do ye know what they said to me, in the Leviathan gaol? That Dr. Asbrink, the one who gets his jollies 'experimenting' on the hybrids. He said I'd been put there because I dared to bring hope to Midian. Because I preached freedom." His grin flashes again, boyish and oddly triumphant. "Best fecking compliment I'd ever received."

Done