Cheer up and dry your damp eyes and tell me when it rains
And I'll blend up that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins
And I'll blend up that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins
Sunjata sitting to show off his tattoos was like a signal that it was okay for Sohalia to look without being rude, and so she watched as he half-rose from the water to show them off. First was a set of wings that stretched across his back, a fuck-you to his father, apparently. Then came the compasses at his neck, a tribute to a lost love, and the fiery arrow on his chest for the same woman. At Safrin's tattoo, Sohalia winced; it was. a beautiful piece, of course, but she was sure that the memories it held for her friend were less than ideal.
She was transfixed by the artwork, by the symbolism of it all. She'd never considered a tattoo for herself before, but there was something about looking at pieces of Sunjata's life memorialized upon his flesh that made her wonder if maybe, someday, she might get one for herself. Maybe something symbolizing Stormbreak and the role that she played within it.
As Sunjata mentioned his scars, Soh shook herself from her stupor and met her friends' gaze again. "You do have a lot," she agreed, a frown pinching her brow. She thought of her own - the split eyebrow and the burn that coiled across her side and up her neck - and shuddered. She supposed that scars told their own story, and in a way that wasn't decided by the wearer. She much preferred the tattoos. "Do they bother you? The scars?"
She was transfixed by the artwork, by the symbolism of it all. She'd never considered a tattoo for herself before, but there was something about looking at pieces of Sunjata's life memorialized upon his flesh that made her wonder if maybe, someday, she might get one for herself. Maybe something symbolizing Stormbreak and the role that she played within it.
As Sunjata mentioned his scars, Soh shook herself from her stupor and met her friends' gaze again. "You do have a lot," she agreed, a frown pinching her brow. She thought of her own - the split eyebrow and the burn that coiled across her side and up her neck - and shuddered. She supposed that scars told their own story, and in a way that wasn't decided by the wearer. She much preferred the tattoos. "Do they bother you? The scars?"
the Luminary
'Cause your heart has a lack of colour and we should've known
That we'd grow up sooner or later 'cause we wasted all our free time alone
That we'd grow up sooner or later 'cause we wasted all our free time alone
code stolen from sky who stole it from odd
