[ Even as he approaches, the change in John is immediately evident: he seems awake in a way he hadn't, before. There is a new, brighter energy to the way he carries himself, the way he takes in the beach and the sky and the people. He walks in her orbit, and she his, as though they are binary stars. When she veers towards some scrap of glass or metal, he follows; when he leads her, she goes. It is apparent to anyone looking that he loves her.
Of course this guy's here to ruin the honeymoon.
Lazarus approaches, and the real telling change is that John's expression does not ice over; it only closes a bit, with low-banked irritation. John takes Annabel's hand in his, smooths a thumb over the bumps of her knuckles, as though he could leash her by it. Or anchor himself. ]
We'd all hate to assume. [ As though Lazarus doesn't have a better idea than nearly anyone living; as though presumption isn't what John killed him for. ] Lazarus, meet Annabel. Properly, this time.
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Of course this guy's here to ruin the honeymoon.
Lazarus approaches, and the real telling change is that John's expression does not ice over; it only closes a bit, with low-banked irritation. John takes Annabel's hand in his, smooths a thumb over the bumps of her knuckles, as though he could leash her by it. Or anchor himself. ]
We'd all hate to assume. [ As though Lazarus doesn't have a better idea than nearly anyone living; as though presumption isn't what John killed him for. ] Lazarus, meet Annabel. Properly, this time.