gravity don't mean that much to me
“Samuel.” Milo repeats, committing the other red haired man’s name to memory while he fiddles with the fire. Once a flame begins, he blows a bit on it to spark it up a bit more before stepping back – letting the heat of the fire begin to dry off bronze hued skin. It gives him time to run a hand through his own cherry hued hair. “I’ve ‘eard stories.” He offers, having never met one in person before.
His arms come to fold across his chest as he turns around to let the fire start to dry off his back – head still tilted toward Sam. “I’ve heard… That Ascendeds can run real fast, don’ need to breathe, fancy eyes or somethin’. I think our… The fucks it called.” He purses his lips slightly. “Social Affairs Dictator, or somethin’, guy’s Ascended too.” A shot in the dark, the kids never met Nate. But a story is a story, and he’s interested in what’s real and what’s fake.
His arms come to fold across his chest as he turns around to let the fire start to dry off his back – head still tilted toward Sam. “I’ve heard… That Ascendeds can run real fast, don’ need to breathe, fancy eyes or somethin’. I think our… The fucks it called.” He purses his lips slightly. “Social Affairs Dictator, or somethin’, guy’s Ascended too.” A shot in the dark, the kids never met Nate. But a story is a story, and he’s interested in what’s real and what’s fake.
now i'm floating near the atmosphere
no shackles on my feet
MILO
