I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck
than any boy you'll ever meet,
There’s a voice that reaches him next, and he falters in his step while the woman approaches on silent feet, a rose tucked away while he clutches his own tightly to his chest. He turns to her, guarded steel eyes lifting to her face before he exhales a light sigh, reaching up with a free hand to rub against the somewhat healed wound to his jaw before his hand slips to his hair. “Yeah, the midwife.” He offers to her, stepping aside slightly to give her more room. “What about you?” He asks, angling his head down toward her with an almost sad smile.
But he barely seems to wait for a response, imagining that they can plant and converse at the same time, and so he reaches the roots of the Mathair, finding a few other roses already planted, where he finds a space bare of snow he can plant this one. “Have you been in Caido long? I’ve only been here for a couple of seasons.” He admits, accented voice attempting to make small talk while he ignores the feeling of the furs along the wound to his neck, along the scratches along his tattooed shoulders. He exhales a puff of white in the cold as he digs up the dirt and pauses just enough to look at the rose, something deep within him growing uncomfortable from it, but he passes it off as the memory of the clinic’s ordeal.
At least Ashetta is holding a rose, and so it seems to him as though she’s fine and won’t be yet another woman to rip his head off.
But he barely seems to wait for a response, imagining that they can plant and converse at the same time, and so he reaches the roots of the Mathair, finding a few other roses already planted, where he finds a space bare of snow he can plant this one. “Have you been in Caido long? I’ve only been here for a couple of seasons.” He admits, accented voice attempting to make small talk while he ignores the feeling of the furs along the wound to his neck, along the scratches along his tattooed shoulders. He exhales a puff of white in the cold as he digs up the dirt and pauses just enough to look at the rose, something deep within him growing uncomfortable from it, but he passes it off as the memory of the clinic’s ordeal.
At least Ashetta is holding a rose, and so it seems to him as though she’s fine and won’t be yet another woman to rip his head off.
sweetie, you had me
SUNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
