[ knowing Verso's been referring to him by his curse does indeed cause him a small twinge of shame, despite knowing full well that Verso's doing so without any of the negative connotations; after all, it's something he's spent his entire life resenting, trying in vain to get away from. Messmer would have accepted it without complaint nonetheless. Verso doesn't share his background or culture, after all. In this context, it's no more than an innocent nickname, free of malice.
It's when Verso explains it that his feelings change. Gone is that guilty pang, replaced wholly by a squeezing feeling in his chest, as if the winged serpents were suddenly trying to constrict his heart. Verso's paid him many a lofty compliment, but the others, perhaps, weren't quite so personal as this one - and so harshly juxtaposed against Messmer's own thoughts. The idea that someone could look at him, actions, attitude and all, and see hope -- it's beyond "foolish" or "mad" or any of the other reproaches Messmer's given him these past four weeks. It's enough to make him suddenly feel quite fragile. The same light he'd been chasing in Verso, Verso sees in him.
For once, Messmer's stony veneer cracks; he gazes down at Verso with an expression of modest disbelief, some tender emotion just beneath the surface. He has nothing left in this wretched shell to offer anyone, he'd thought - not hope, tears, or love - but for the first time -- for a moment, he feels like, maybe, he might be... ]
Verso... [ his voice is soft and slightly wavering; his grip on the spear loosens slightly so that he might sink down onto one knee, come to his level. The two serpents stretch out affectionately towards him, and this time, Messmer does, as well, extending a hand to rest at his hip. ] My dear Verso... For thee I will strive to burn.
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It's when Verso explains it that his feelings change. Gone is that guilty pang, replaced wholly by a squeezing feeling in his chest, as if the winged serpents were suddenly trying to constrict his heart. Verso's paid him many a lofty compliment, but the others, perhaps, weren't quite so personal as this one - and so harshly juxtaposed against Messmer's own thoughts. The idea that someone could look at him, actions, attitude and all, and see hope -- it's beyond "foolish" or "mad" or any of the other reproaches Messmer's given him these past four weeks. It's enough to make him suddenly feel quite fragile. The same light he'd been chasing in Verso, Verso sees in him.
For once, Messmer's stony veneer cracks; he gazes down at Verso with an expression of modest disbelief, some tender emotion just beneath the surface. He has nothing left in this wretched shell to offer anyone, he'd thought - not hope, tears, or love - but for the first time -- for a moment, he feels like, maybe, he might be... ]
Verso... [ his voice is soft and slightly wavering; his grip on the spear loosens slightly so that he might sink down onto one knee, come to his level. The two serpents stretch out affectionately towards him, and this time, Messmer does, as well, extending a hand to rest at his hip. ] My dear Verso... For thee I will strive to burn.