Hear those bells ring deep in the soul
Chiming away for a moment
Chiming away for a moment
Normally, Koa is all for a party. Put on some music, add food and booze, and the boy is there, dancing longer than anyone else, charming wallflowers from their perches, and generally being The Good Time.
Unfortunately, at present things are not normal, and Koa is become the wallflower he would oft try to save.
Don't get me wrong: he looks amazing, polished and shaved and wearing a dress uniform usually reserved for affairs of state. But for all the external poise and propriety, Koa can't shake a cloud of gloom. Once his greatest source of pride, the uniform's silver dragon insignia feels cheap and like a mockery, a joke on him and everything he's failed to be. There are no other Dragoons here, not that he's seen; nobody he recognizes from Stormbreak at all. He'd thought Mateo, at least, would come; hoped for Anju; feared for Dahlia. But so far, no faces of his homeland have appeared, and the young man feels his resolve falter.
He hasn't even seen Flora yet, an arrival he anticipates with both longing and dread.
Perched on the sidelines, he sips forlornly at his glass of wine, copper eyes casting over the crowd. It's still early, he tells himself. They'll come. Someone will come.
Unfortunately, at present things are not normal, and Koa is become the wallflower he would oft try to save.
Don't get me wrong: he looks amazing, polished and shaved and wearing a dress uniform usually reserved for affairs of state. But for all the external poise and propriety, Koa can't shake a cloud of gloom. Once his greatest source of pride, the uniform's silver dragon insignia feels cheap and like a mockery, a joke on him and everything he's failed to be. There are no other Dragoons here, not that he's seen; nobody he recognizes from Stormbreak at all. He'd thought Mateo, at least, would come; hoped for Anju; feared for Dahlia. But so far, no faces of his homeland have appeared, and the young man feels his resolve falter.
He hasn't even seen Flora yet, an arrival he anticipates with both longing and dread.
Perched on the sidelines, he sips forlornly at his glass of wine, copper eyes casting over the crowd. It's still early, he tells himself. They'll come. Someone will come.
Koa Carpenter
Feel your breath course frankly below
And see life as a worthy opponent
And see life as a worthy opponent
