( AN OPEN POST #3 )

[charmlessness]

 
 
 

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[counterpole]

[ wells moves forward, placing both his palms protectively on the armrests of felicity's chair. he watches her eyes, the frantic movements of her hands — he could take her pulse as a precautionary measure, but he can already average the rate at which its spiking. fear has taken place of her curiosity. like the yellow blur, it moves in and out, passes through felicity in a thick haze.

he wonders idly of the theories she's dispelling, wading through. the human mind is incredible; when provoked, it works at a speed faster than its generalized sum. again, fight or flight — in her remaining, she chose fight. smart girl — he feels somehow proud. the bravery she harbored might have been instilled in her at a young age, but moments such as these, they would remind her of who she really was. ]

The Reverse-Flash.

[ after placing a gentle pat (the goal is to explore a gesture of consolation) to her fingers, he sets back to his chair, adjusting his glasses. ]

It's what Cisco calls the Man in the Yellow suit.

[ he folds his fingers at their knuckles, his glance still focused on felicity's expression. the name's stuck; it's a step in the right direction. every move they make brings them closer to the truth, to correcting the course of human history. (his past, their future) ]

We've met before. [ a pause. ] If you consider pulling me from my chair and beating me half-to-death a good first impression, he certainly left one.

[ concern crosses his expression. he leans forward, reaching out carefully to adjust her chin. ] Did he hurt you?