mama bore a girl with a gun for a mouth
The admission garnered a proper incline of her head in a duplicitious manner, catching Flora’s blush with the shape of her grin and a delicate laugh; not to tease her, but to imagine that was an initial response. For sentimentality, and not the forthright longing to pierce someone on their own actions and words. Maybe Melita had spent far too long on the roads to perdition, for it to be glory and wounds first and foremost in her mind. “I bet he was all for that,” she winked, because Kai seemed the type to be enamored all over again and then wrap it back on eternity and infinity. “Do you guys have your wedding all planned out?”
The offer wasn’t expected though, and she nearly gulped down some of the hot water nearby on a sputtering effect, pretending it’d been the ningos nearby inspiring the movement instead of surprise. Partially due to her own inexperiences with said gushy performances – and because of how they’d gone about it immediately thereafter. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you,” she prolonged instead, because she wasn’t certain she’d want anyone in the nearest vicinity for that rolled back montage.
The shared ferocity landed though, and they could lament about how the world shaped individuals across Caido – to be either heroic and defiant or fallen apart and forgotten. Melita was determined to not be amidst the leagues of misplaced and ambivalent sorts; resolution to sedition and ensuring her footprints were embedded with chaos, destruction, and the promise of something potent, unhinged, remained firmly embedded in her soul. Neither of them were damsels, even if they sometimes found themselves in distress, but their prowess, their edges, could be different from the rest of the brawny sorts. Even if, a majority of the time, all Melita wanted to do was blow pieces up.
But as Flora persisted, she grew quiet again, letting the water sift against her in a soothing, mending, assuaging way, tending to the needles and nettles while her mind could be stoked. It's not a terrible thought, but that’s just it too,” she murmured, having never thought about it in that context before, despite having risked her own life many, many times. That others would be willing to jeopardize another’s in a fight they hadn’t asked for, in a stake where they had no gain, no foothold, nothing at all – her jaw clenched minutely, nostrils flaring, and she clenched her fist beneath the water, letting her fingers tighten before retracting. “I don’t think they even bother with that thought. Summoning people for a fight at the asscrack of dawn. Calling upon others for sieges they had nothing to do with. Why is it better for us to, potentially, die for their cause?” Maybe it’d be better if it was an agreed upon fragment beforehand, but in the Honeybee’s experience, they’d all been surprising manifestations. “I guess if you’re immortal, it’s fine, but still,” it didn’t mean there wasn’t suffering. “Being able to watch someone’s petty shit would be so much better – you’re right.”
Huffing a breath and releasing it long and low over the water, she rolled her eyes at the Hadama notions. “I wondered where he’d gone after all that.”
The offer wasn’t expected though, and she nearly gulped down some of the hot water nearby on a sputtering effect, pretending it’d been the ningos nearby inspiring the movement instead of surprise. Partially due to her own inexperiences with said gushy performances – and because of how they’d gone about it immediately thereafter. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you,” she prolonged instead, because she wasn’t certain she’d want anyone in the nearest vicinity for that rolled back montage.
The shared ferocity landed though, and they could lament about how the world shaped individuals across Caido – to be either heroic and defiant or fallen apart and forgotten. Melita was determined to not be amidst the leagues of misplaced and ambivalent sorts; resolution to sedition and ensuring her footprints were embedded with chaos, destruction, and the promise of something potent, unhinged, remained firmly embedded in her soul. Neither of them were damsels, even if they sometimes found themselves in distress, but their prowess, their edges, could be different from the rest of the brawny sorts. Even if, a majority of the time, all Melita wanted to do was blow pieces up.
But as Flora persisted, she grew quiet again, letting the water sift against her in a soothing, mending, assuaging way, tending to the needles and nettles while her mind could be stoked. It's not a terrible thought, but that’s just it too,” she murmured, having never thought about it in that context before, despite having risked her own life many, many times. That others would be willing to jeopardize another’s in a fight they hadn’t asked for, in a stake where they had no gain, no foothold, nothing at all – her jaw clenched minutely, nostrils flaring, and she clenched her fist beneath the water, letting her fingers tighten before retracting. “I don’t think they even bother with that thought. Summoning people for a fight at the asscrack of dawn. Calling upon others for sieges they had nothing to do with. Why is it better for us to, potentially, die for their cause?” Maybe it’d be better if it was an agreed upon fragment beforehand, but in the Honeybee’s experience, they’d all been surprising manifestations. “I guess if you’re immortal, it’s fine, but still,” it didn’t mean there wasn’t suffering. “Being able to watch someone’s petty shit would be so much better – you’re right.”
Huffing a breath and releasing it long and low over the water, she rolled her eyes at the Hadama notions. “I wondered where he’d gone after all that.”
Melita
of both beauty and battle cries
