my ears can hear my mouth can speak my spirit talks my soul believes
Dark eyes flick between Jack’s sardonic expression and the cigarette that drops ash onto the ground. He reminds her of a cat: either entirely useless or capable of far more than he might like to seem. “Deepfrost,” is the answer to his spoken question, the unspoken one left to the suppositions of idle minds. Chaele tries to ignore his other implications as well, turning the hunting knife’s hilt consciously in her hand.
“There. The tired one in the back. Keep an eye on it.” A long, weathered finger juts out toward a smaller specimen, which she can safely assume is the same one that she had cursed earlier. The wild woman does not look back at Jack as she crouches instinctively, perhaps a touch too close. “We will need to get that smell off of you. Do you have a weapon?”
“There. The tired one in the back. Keep an eye on it.” A long, weathered finger juts out toward a smaller specimen, which she can safely assume is the same one that she had cursed earlier. The wild woman does not look back at Jack as she crouches instinctively, perhaps a touch too close. “We will need to get that smell off of you. Do you have a weapon?”
Base code by Odd • Art by Krakenkatz
