COLT
He doesn't just wear his scars like things he's earned, emblems of survival, reminders that tug when the skin stretches. He talks about them like they're easy too, like they didn't hurt, like they didn’t change him in ways that still mark the body, let alone the places unseen. It doesn't belittle the experiences, she can still feel the weight in his tales, still sense the agony that once lived there when her fingers trace the edges of what’s healed. He carries it differently though, and she envies that. There’s a grace to it, something settled. Her own scars, even after all these years, still feel like they’re dragging her down—anchoring her somewhere she doesn't want to be. She’s not sure how many more she can bear before she becomes fully leaden.
Her breath is quiet but steady as he speaks, her eyes on him the whole time, tracing all the different ways the memories trail along the edges of his features. Moments of happiness tangled in all the misery, regret and accomplishment, lessons learned and edges worn to something strong yet equally brittle. She shivers at the tragedy of it all as much as the mild touch he keeps against her skin, a way to keep them both present, to avoid slipping into memories too deeply. All the while the rain sinks in, slow and uncaring, because the world always carries on despite everything.
When he finishes, she exhales heavily, as if that simple breath could expel all that past pain. "Seems you barely made it out of something terrible yet again," she remarks, voice low like the fire that never quite dies in banked coals. There were some similarities between his homeland and Safrin's leash, like all anyone had ever done was try and mold him to their whims. She can appreciate his refusal on both counts, whatever the cost.
She glances down at the flowers that whirl along his skin, blooming where water marks him. A faint smile settling, amazed by all the ways he's had a right to turn cold and hard and yet remains this person that grants warmth and laughter to so many. It's part of why she can so firmly say, “then I reckon you won’t.” Not because the odds are good, but because she knows what people like him are made of.
A slight smirk lifts one corner of her mouth. “You'll have to show me what scar you earn from it though.” A small tease to break the tension she's accidentally built up delving into heavy things like gods and aliens. She leans forward, one palm cupping his cheek, affectionate for him in a manner that doesn't burn, but spreads through her all the same. He is good and she admires him, and every bit of him she learns more about only proves it to her again and again. "C'mon Flood, maybe you can stay out in the rain all night, but I'm going to turn into a prune soon." She slips off him, glancing around for her soaked clothes.
Her breath is quiet but steady as he speaks, her eyes on him the whole time, tracing all the different ways the memories trail along the edges of his features. Moments of happiness tangled in all the misery, regret and accomplishment, lessons learned and edges worn to something strong yet equally brittle. She shivers at the tragedy of it all as much as the mild touch he keeps against her skin, a way to keep them both present, to avoid slipping into memories too deeply. All the while the rain sinks in, slow and uncaring, because the world always carries on despite everything.
When he finishes, she exhales heavily, as if that simple breath could expel all that past pain. "Seems you barely made it out of something terrible yet again," she remarks, voice low like the fire that never quite dies in banked coals. There were some similarities between his homeland and Safrin's leash, like all anyone had ever done was try and mold him to their whims. She can appreciate his refusal on both counts, whatever the cost.
She glances down at the flowers that whirl along his skin, blooming where water marks him. A faint smile settling, amazed by all the ways he's had a right to turn cold and hard and yet remains this person that grants warmth and laughter to so many. It's part of why she can so firmly say, “then I reckon you won’t.” Not because the odds are good, but because she knows what people like him are made of.
A slight smirk lifts one corner of her mouth. “You'll have to show me what scar you earn from it though.” A small tease to break the tension she's accidentally built up delving into heavy things like gods and aliens. She leans forward, one palm cupping his cheek, affectionate for him in a manner that doesn't burn, but spreads through her all the same. He is good and she admires him, and every bit of him she learns more about only proves it to her again and again. "C'mon Flood, maybe you can stay out in the rain all night, but I'm going to turn into a prune soon." She slips off him, glancing around for her soaked clothes.
I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
