Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Melita shrugged again; incapable of pondering much further about rock naps and avoiding wars. She’d missed out on most of Helovia’s, save for the one where their land had been completely corrupted in the end, and her mother had sacrificed her life to get her daughters out of such a mess. Hopefully the gentle, kind soul looked down on her from somewhere and did more than just shake her head; but the Honeybee couldn’t quite ever stay out of harm’s way – took her part in it just like everyone else.
Danta’s inability to do anything covert made her snort, and then she had to quiet herself down so they didn’t attract too much attention from anyone else lingering by. “Weapons are delightful,” she mused. “Could do something with that gods damned Spire too.” Unaware, of course, that this was the armament he was referring to – having aimed at it herself in previous years. "Shelters in the underground...," she mused, thinking of the times they'd made bunker-like rooms in the Fingers. “Too bad the ol’ shitbags aren’t weakened by fire. Your lot would have a grand time.”
At the palm suddenly near her, she couldn’t help but laugh again – not great at introductions herself. Usually hers were done in a more violent manner; purely by happenstance, of course. But she took it just the same, shaking his hand in return, maybe thinking one day she simply wouldn’t need preambles and forewords – the world would know who she was at first glance. Either a shithead or some chaotic thing to be feared. Maybe both. Offering a Cheshire grin, she bobbed her head in greeting. “Melita.”
Danta’s inability to do anything covert made her snort, and then she had to quiet herself down so they didn’t attract too much attention from anyone else lingering by. “Weapons are delightful,” she mused. “Could do something with that gods damned Spire too.” Unaware, of course, that this was the armament he was referring to – having aimed at it herself in previous years. "Shelters in the underground...," she mused, thinking of the times they'd made bunker-like rooms in the Fingers. “Too bad the ol’ shitbags aren’t weakened by fire. Your lot would have a grand time.”
At the palm suddenly near her, she couldn’t help but laugh again – not great at introductions herself. Usually hers were done in a more violent manner; purely by happenstance, of course. But she took it just the same, shaking his hand in return, maybe thinking one day she simply wouldn’t need preambles and forewords – the world would know who she was at first glance. Either a shithead or some chaotic thing to be feared. Maybe both. Offering a Cheshire grin, she bobbed her head in greeting. “Melita.”
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
