Kaisel
Haters on my back like a backpack
Concern doubles down in the creases of his features. The more he looks at her, the more rattled she appears, as if not merely knocked over but stolen from standing, the landing different enough that an accident becomes trauma, a mistake becomes loss. It’s an abrupt vulnerability that she wears, as though someone close to her had yanked her down instead of just the impressively unbiased might of the world.
If there’s any doubt, it vanishes the instant she takes his arm. It’s so light, he has to glance down to confirm it’s there, little more than a feather instead of a hand. The frailty is something he at once wants to shelter, as if in her something good can still be guarded against the hostilities that abound. ”What?” he breathes, the surprise drawing his brows up, features tightening with fresh distaste. ”Thieves will find any opportunity they can,” he mutters, gaze following hers like he might see someone acting shady enough to target. ”What’d he look like? I can track him down. I’ll need a description of the purse too.”
His attention refocuses as she leans in more fully, and he brings his other arm around as added support to her shoulder. As she fumbles forward into him, alarm spikes anew, and he catches her with the brunt of his body. ”Eaaaasy,” he murmurs, speaking to her with the low reassurance one might a dazed dove that’s struck a window. His gaze traces hers to the ankle, and he figures the angle is too bad for him to catch a good view, because at first glance it doesn’t seem nearly swollen or crooked enough. With little reason to doubt her, he finds fault in himself, and quickly smooths out that wrinkle.
”Yeah, I got you.” He shifts, getting his legs better under himself in preparation to rise while he gathers her. He slings her arm around his shoulders, one hand slipping around her side, the other bracing beneath her knees. Hoisting her up as he stands, tilting her weight into his chest, he glances about. ”C’mon, we’ll get you some fountain water.” Surely someone had a bottle around here somewhere.
If there’s any doubt, it vanishes the instant she takes his arm. It’s so light, he has to glance down to confirm it’s there, little more than a feather instead of a hand. The frailty is something he at once wants to shelter, as if in her something good can still be guarded against the hostilities that abound. ”What?” he breathes, the surprise drawing his brows up, features tightening with fresh distaste. ”Thieves will find any opportunity they can,” he mutters, gaze following hers like he might see someone acting shady enough to target. ”What’d he look like? I can track him down. I’ll need a description of the purse too.”
His attention refocuses as she leans in more fully, and he brings his other arm around as added support to her shoulder. As she fumbles forward into him, alarm spikes anew, and he catches her with the brunt of his body. ”Eaaaasy,” he murmurs, speaking to her with the low reassurance one might a dazed dove that’s struck a window. His gaze traces hers to the ankle, and he figures the angle is too bad for him to catch a good view, because at first glance it doesn’t seem nearly swollen or crooked enough. With little reason to doubt her, he finds fault in himself, and quickly smooths out that wrinkle.
”Yeah, I got you.” He shifts, getting his legs better under himself in preparation to rise while he gathers her. He slings her arm around his shoulders, one hand slipping around her side, the other bracing beneath her knees. Hoisting her up as he stands, tilting her weight into his chest, he glances about. ”C’mon, we’ll get you some fountain water.” Surely someone had a bottle around here somewhere.
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
