MELITA
It didn’t take much time for Adam to answer (and she breathed a sigh of relief that she had found the correct house), a bit worn and ragged around the edges (which was fine; half the time she bounded and leapt around like a wild ruffian, untamed, feral, and savage, all but caught in the crosshairs of her own ineptitude). She fought the urge to tilt her head in curiosity at his statement (didn’t know if he’d see her – she had promised – but maybe that was how things went here, convictions and vows unfulfilled), but shrugged it away, not bothered for more than a few moments. “Hello!” She remarked instead, curiosity getting the better of her as she meandered and slipped inside; the bow behind her back not worth hiding, but still there, it’s dark wood peeking out from fingers and limbs. Her golden gaze went immediately to the world pigmented and varnished with color, with hues, with blends of items and artifacts scattered from one threshold to the next. Then it swept up and around again and again, striving to catch any array or element she might have missed; trapped and ensconced in her nosey habits. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. Content for the moment, when her gaze settled on the alcohol, the youth hid a snicker. “I’m all set, but thank you,” maneuvering her features towards him and bestowing a bright smile.
She stepped forward, light and airy, ethereal and otherworldly, a blistering contortion of movement and constant noise; Fangorn brushing against her ankles as he tugged at something on the floor. Her arms swept in front of her, presenting the bow, the wood lacquered, the string taut, the calculations hopefully enough. “I brought this for you! Sorry it took so long.” Then her stare lingered on his, waiting for some gesture of approval or dismay.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
