KOA
There's something about having a loved one die that forces things into perspective, isn't there?
That's what Lena's death has done: forced some perspective into your thick skull, made you realize just how pointlessly stubborn you'veboth been. So you put down your dick and picked up a pen and wrote to your cousin to come the fuck home. And yeah, part of you still feels some kinda way about his actions and attitude and the things that have been said, but you're more than ready to grow the fuck up and move the fuck on.
Turns out it's a helluva lot easier to swallow your pride when mortality is blaring siren in your mind.
It's fairly early when you reach the monster hill that overlooks the meeting point, but somehow Kaisel's already there, a speck of manic energy shadow boxing with the sky. The sight makes your heart catch in your throat, a surge of indefinable emotion threatening to bring tears to your eyes. You bite it down, though you can't quite quell the crooked smile that tugs like a reflex against your mouth, hidden by the scarf wrapped around most of your face. But you school yourself, tugging the fabric down to whistle sharply, the sound clear and piercing in the quiet morning light. It's as good an announcement of your presence as anything, though you still feel compelled to follow it up with a customary, "Hey, Little K!"
And then you're skid-walking down the side of the hill, coattails flapping like a deranged bird's wings as you scramble down the oh-so-familiar path. By the time you reach the bottom you're feeling good and warm, enough to shrug off the jacket and reveal the all-black workout gear underneath. You've foregone your bracers and rings leaving only boxing wraps to cover most of your arms, black and white broken up by a visible swathe of bronze skin where your hair stands on edge in the cold.
Raising an eyebrow, you extend a hand toward your cousin in a distinct come hither move. "You ready to get your ass kicked?" There's no malice or hard edges in your voice or face, only a lilting, inviting smirk that Kai will hopefully recognize for the olive branch it is, rather than reading as another line in the sand.
That's what Lena's death has done: forced some perspective into your thick skull, made you realize just how pointlessly stubborn you've
Turns out it's a helluva lot easier to swallow your pride when mortality is blaring siren in your mind.
It's fairly early when you reach the monster hill that overlooks the meeting point, but somehow Kaisel's already there, a speck of manic energy shadow boxing with the sky. The sight makes your heart catch in your throat, a surge of indefinable emotion threatening to bring tears to your eyes. You bite it down, though you can't quite quell the crooked smile that tugs like a reflex against your mouth, hidden by the scarf wrapped around most of your face. But you school yourself, tugging the fabric down to whistle sharply, the sound clear and piercing in the quiet morning light. It's as good an announcement of your presence as anything, though you still feel compelled to follow it up with a customary, "Hey, Little K!"
And then you're skid-walking down the side of the hill, coattails flapping like a deranged bird's wings as you scramble down the oh-so-familiar path. By the time you reach the bottom you're feeling good and warm, enough to shrug off the jacket and reveal the all-black workout gear underneath. You've foregone your bracers and rings leaving only boxing wraps to cover most of your arms, black and white broken up by a visible swathe of bronze skin where your hair stands on edge in the cold.
Raising an eyebrow, you extend a hand toward your cousin in a distinct come hither move. "You ready to get your ass kicked?" There's no malice or hard edges in your voice or face, only a lilting, inviting smirk that Kai will hopefully recognize for the olive branch it is, rather than reading as another line in the sand.
With each love I cut loose, I was never the same
Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame
Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame
