He says, "Oh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends.
i'm a king and you're a queen
Oh, good, he was wounded planting flowers. Of all the things- and I can't help it, I laugh, a little mocking and a little exasperated and a lot unimpressed. "Will I have to teach you how it's done?" I tease, turning my head to nip lightly at the finger he trails across my cheek. Following him into the kitchen, I go to procure the medical supplies I've stashed away, gathering gauze and some salves and a damp cloth, familiar supplies. Thread and needle, too, because that wound will need stitches, and this won't be the first time I've sewn him up.
And whiskey, of course.
He's sitting at the table, and it reminds me so much of Korofi I have to pause and catch my breath, a flood of memories hitting me like a tide. Weeks, it was weeks ago, except it wasn't for him. The way time has bent for us is strange, as strange as anything else in this place. Sometimes I feel used to it; other times it slices me upside the cheek, a sharp knife adding more scars.
I stop in front of him, handing him the whiskey and putting down the rest of the supplies. "Wait," I caution, dabbing the cloth on the strange black wound, frowning as the weird inky shit doesn't clean up. "What the hell bit you? A bear?" A person? I've never seen a wound like this, and I've seen a lot of shit. Frowning, I hand the cloth back to him, unapologetic as I thread a needle and put the silver length into a candle's fire. "Take a shot, then bite down."
It's only when he has the cloth in his mouth and I've begun sewing his skin together that I say the next part, because I'm not sure he'll take it well- he's grown too soft, too attached tothat blonde these people. "Maybe they should be caged," I mutter. "Or put down."
And whiskey, of course.
He's sitting at the table, and it reminds me so much of Korofi I have to pause and catch my breath, a flood of memories hitting me like a tide. Weeks, it was weeks ago, except it wasn't for him. The way time has bent for us is strange, as strange as anything else in this place. Sometimes I feel used to it; other times it slices me upside the cheek, a sharp knife adding more scars.
I stop in front of him, handing him the whiskey and putting down the rest of the supplies. "Wait," I caution, dabbing the cloth on the strange black wound, frowning as the weird inky shit doesn't clean up. "What the hell bit you? A bear?" A person? I've never seen a wound like this, and I've seen a lot of shit. Frowning, I hand the cloth back to him, unapologetic as I thread a needle and put the silver length into a candle's fire. "Take a shot, then bite down."
It's only when he has the cloth in his mouth and I've begun sewing his skin together that I say the next part, because I'm not sure he'll take it well- he's grown too soft, too attached to
and we will stumble through heaven"
LUSEA
