If you feel like night is falling
"As opposed to fake sick?" he wonders with a shit-eating grin rapidly racing free. He tilts his head up to give such illness-inspiring clouds a once over, the light of a fresh shriek shuddering through the skies and decorating the cloud cover in varying opacities of scream. His one hand is held at his chest, the crook of his elbow out a bit and guarded by the curl of her. He tries not to glance sidelong at her every time she starts at the electric squeals, but he does always shuffle in a touch closer for a bit, as if he could shield her through body alone.
Lanterns for his own parents swing in his other hand, the faint glow bobbing along with them as they route towards the lantern deposit area. The pulse of the celebration carries on around them, uniquely lighthearted for a day of the dead more or less, although this one does feel tighter than he recalls them usually being, as if the very air has been pulled taut. Thinking it nothing more than the storm's pressure, he pays it little mind, instead incliding towards her in consideration. "Hmmm, I feel like we need a fresh target."
Lanterns for his own parents swing in his other hand, the faint glow bobbing along with them as they route towards the lantern deposit area. The pulse of the celebration carries on around them, uniquely lighthearted for a day of the dead more or less, although this one does feel tighter than he recalls them usually being, as if the very air has been pulled taut. Thinking it nothing more than the storm's pressure, he pays it little mind, instead incliding towards her in consideration. "Hmmm, I feel like we need a fresh target."
Iskra
I wanna be the one you're calling
