ISKRA
I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
"Didn't you say you fought a landshark?" He feels like it's come up, but then at this point he wouldn't be surprised to discover she's bared her teeth at most all of Caido's creatures, especially its most fearsome. Every region has its landsharks too, he'd reason, but the underground nature of those does make them less desirable in his opinion. "Maybe she plans to turn them into a wagon team," he grins, the thought absurd and perfect for it. Halo uses so many luxere and dog sleds, but a corded off set of fins lurching underground and sailing over the dunes sounds exciting. Unreasonable, but then the world belongs to the gods and who knows what they might muster up.
The weight of her stare would be something he could feel if he didn't already have his vision locked to it. Her amber gaze pierces into his, and the horribly grotesque image of her, shit-covered and lolling around his house, is both fear-inspiring and hilarious. The former, because he absolutely wouldn't put it past her, and the latter because, obviously. "I'd move out immediately, condemn the whole place. Guess I'd have to crash with you from then on," he laughs, but he tosses out the option like he doesn't even register it. That if it came to it, moving in with her would be the next sensible thing over getting a new house, or just cleaning his shitty one.
With the sculpting though, her CSI level puns have started to stack up enough that at the next one he just groans, seemingly wounded by the continuation. "If you're trying to score points just off name alone, you still have stiff competition." It's a regular fixture to the carved displays, and it just might win popular favor if not that with the judges.
One brow lifts as she accuses him of the puddle, in so many words. "I'm distracting?" he scoffs, one mittened hand pointing at his chest as if there's another one here at fault and he needs to be sure they have the same meaning. "I didn't do anything!" he snorts. Shaking his head and her silly blame away he approaches her to go over it once more, this time together. "Okay, so have an idea of the image you're carving out before you begin," he instructs, positioned behind her and lifting her hands into line with his, ala Ghost and the pottery scene. "It's already in the ice, you see, and you're just freeing it by carving away the set portions, like so." Flame curls near the cup of his palm as together, he sweeps their hands down the side of the icicle, heat shimmering the ice into something with motion.
The weight of her stare would be something he could feel if he didn't already have his vision locked to it. Her amber gaze pierces into his, and the horribly grotesque image of her, shit-covered and lolling around his house, is both fear-inspiring and hilarious. The former, because he absolutely wouldn't put it past her, and the latter because, obviously. "I'd move out immediately, condemn the whole place. Guess I'd have to crash with you from then on," he laughs, but he tosses out the option like he doesn't even register it. That if it came to it, moving in with her would be the next sensible thing over getting a new house, or just cleaning his shitty one.
With the sculpting though, her CSI level puns have started to stack up enough that at the next one he just groans, seemingly wounded by the continuation. "If you're trying to score points just off name alone, you still have stiff competition." It's a regular fixture to the carved displays, and it just might win popular favor if not that with the judges.
One brow lifts as she accuses him of the puddle, in so many words. "I'm distracting?" he scoffs, one mittened hand pointing at his chest as if there's another one here at fault and he needs to be sure they have the same meaning. "I didn't do anything!" he snorts. Shaking his head and her silly blame away he approaches her to go over it once more, this time together. "Okay, so have an idea of the image you're carving out before you begin," he instructs, positioned behind her and lifting her hands into line with his, ala Ghost and the pottery scene. "It's already in the ice, you see, and you're just freeing it by carving away the set portions, like so." Flame curls near the cup of his palm as together, he sweeps their hands down the side of the icicle, heat shimmering the ice into something with motion.
I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free
that can set my soul free
