mama bore a girl with a gun for a mouth
Taking a sip herself and humming as the butterscotch flavor hit her tongue, she didn’t mind it one bit. But then again, she also didn’t have the Halovian palate for hot cocoa and all its potential decadence – though she had to hide the faint snort as he seemed almost disappointed by the result. An unfortunate side effect of the trick – she hadn’t yet mastered an ability to replicate the potential taste of lava and its waters. That he hadn’t caught on yet surprised her, but she kept it tucked in the back of her mind for future upheavals.
The lecture about her cannons instigated another childish roll to her eyes. “I do. Like, most of the time.” Though she was almost one hundred percent certain there had been some pop rocks added to the sanction, because there were some sticky pieces in there, tucked right against fire residue.
“Well, sorry it lacks the fancy Halo efforts,” she winked, not one bit apologetic in the least. Settling down upon the soil, she watched Sila fly and hover along the thermals, snatching at the patches of sea breeze, Fangorn plodding over towards her lap with a bundle of fertile loam in his viney clutches. “Eh. Port doesn’t have these views though.” Plus sometimes all the hustle, bustle, and noise wasn’t something she wanted to hear – not after every day of every year.
The lecture about her cannons instigated another childish roll to her eyes. “I do. Like, most of the time.” Though she was almost one hundred percent certain there had been some pop rocks added to the sanction, because there were some sticky pieces in there, tucked right against fire residue.
“Well, sorry it lacks the fancy Halo efforts,” she winked, not one bit apologetic in the least. Settling down upon the soil, she watched Sila fly and hover along the thermals, snatching at the patches of sea breeze, Fangorn plodding over towards her lap with a bundle of fertile loam in his viney clutches. “Eh. Port doesn’t have these views though.” Plus sometimes all the hustle, bustle, and noise wasn’t something she wanted to hear – not after every day of every year.
Melita
of both beauty and battle cries
