MELITA
Melita might have blabbered or carried on about anything or everything had she been comfortable or around someone she enjoyed; consistently loud, exuberant, and wild. Here though she reserved her responses for either cutting, blunt, keen intrigues, or nothing at all, surveying, much like a predator, a vulture, a wolf. “Sure,” she answered at first, uncertain if she’d even reach Halo or have a moment to spare coming up – but training was training, and bettering someone was tempting. Thereafter was puzzling and perplexing though, because Melita hadn’t done anything to be liked; no compassion, no warmth, no generosity that she usually extended to family, to friends, to near-perfect strangers along each intertwining abyss. It hadn’t been about sparing anyone’s feelings. Each of her words had been tempestuous and mercurial, intentionally clear and severe; a brow arch following the reply. A shrug unfolded, before she turned, the notions of departure imminent. “Well, best of luck to you.” A wave maneuvered through her arm and hand, wondering vaguely if any of it mattered; disappearing back along the long hall, thresholds of familiarity.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
