• Logout
  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    on a stormy sea of moving emotion; ivar
    #5
    Of course she’d always been drawn to him, on some vague, primordial level.  When the mind clashes with the body, it’s terribly confusing.  Logic tells her to flee, but something else draws her nearer, pulls her closer.  It’s always been a battle of persistence versus will.  But at such a fractured state, it’s like his gaze found the faultline, his words the pry bar and his touch the leverage to pry it all apart.

    And the more that crevice separated, the less her will remained substantial.

    When he touches her, it’s chaos.  The connection between present and past becomes nonexistent and the press of so many entangled emotions becomes overwhelming.  So much so, that she can’t make heads or tails of anything or who they had come from.  Though plain as the daylight cast down over her spotted back, there was fear at the root of it all.  For as much as she suspected there to be something unsettling about the fellow that looked at her so hungrily now, the woman had never expected something so resounding.  And it rattled her in every sense, nearly making it impossible for her to remain intact with her own free will.  

    Focus! Something, something, focus on something.  Anything! she pled to herself.  The gold. At last her chocolate eyes find the golden lines of his patches and she clings to it so dearly it nearly knocks the breath out of her.  Gold is home, gold would always be home.

    “You must be the most beautiful liar I have ever known,” she quips, trying to distance herself verbally and literally by taking a step away from him.  The statement is directed at his unconvincing promise to not laugh at her ‘much’.  It’s not intended as a compliment, but a plaintive truth.

    Despite her own rising fear, or if it’s the residual of those that once stood in her place, she smiles.  It’s feeble, but still it’s there and a small victory that she can claim when there was hardly any to come by.  “As much as I’d really love that, I just don’t have the time today, I need to get back home.  Maybe another time?”

    Though as much as her efforts may be seen as valiant, Breckin is all too frustratingly aware that each ill placed step has done nothing more than move her closer and closer to the water’s reach.


    @[Ivar]
    Reply


    Messages In This Thread
    RE: on a stormy sea of moving emotion; ivar - by Breckin - 08-27-2019, 08:33 PM



    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)