09-17-2018, 06:29 PM
I project an appearance that is nothing like me: hard and wary. He had seen me in a moment of weakness earlier, when the shield was down, but I've no intention of dropping it again. I am obviously spooked by his appearance I recover quickly - leaning back but without giving ground. There's an irritated huff of hot air into the cold spring and my blue-grey eyes reeling in their rolling whites to become thin slits not much different in hue from the roiling clouds overhead.
Once, long ago, I had been pretty. Not especially so, nothing that does more than catch the eye for a moment or two. It had not lasted long, and now I am only striking - not quite conventionally attractive, but at least not unpleasant to look at. My face is made up of sharp planes and dark angles; someone had once described me as fierce, and I hold that word tightly, savoring it and using it for courage in situations such as this.
I don't speak, I know his type.
He doesn't disappoint, proudly quipping a witticism that makes light of my appearance. It isn't one I haven't heard before, but I pin my ears to the smooth navy mane regardless, clearly more than a little irritated. The offer that comes afterward does genuinely surprise me, and it shows in the flash of curiosity in my stormcloud eyes.
"Where?" I ask instead of snapping dull teeth at the audacity of his nearness. The way he'd appeared before me is disconcerting - is that how he intends to run away? I'm certainly doubtful of my ability to run much of anywhere once this storm comes down, and I'm certainly not going to fly. It's either get drenched and freeze the night away, all alone in the meadow or go with this stranger.
My appearance very much suggests I might be the type of suffer (these scars are not those of a warrior, but rather of an oft-broken kind), and it almost surprises myself when I say: "Yes. Wherever, that doesn't matter."
@[Elektrum]
Once, long ago, I had been pretty. Not especially so, nothing that does more than catch the eye for a moment or two. It had not lasted long, and now I am only striking - not quite conventionally attractive, but at least not unpleasant to look at. My face is made up of sharp planes and dark angles; someone had once described me as fierce, and I hold that word tightly, savoring it and using it for courage in situations such as this.
I don't speak, I know his type.
He doesn't disappoint, proudly quipping a witticism that makes light of my appearance. It isn't one I haven't heard before, but I pin my ears to the smooth navy mane regardless, clearly more than a little irritated. The offer that comes afterward does genuinely surprise me, and it shows in the flash of curiosity in my stormcloud eyes.
"Where?" I ask instead of snapping dull teeth at the audacity of his nearness. The way he'd appeared before me is disconcerting - is that how he intends to run away? I'm certainly doubtful of my ability to run much of anywhere once this storm comes down, and I'm certainly not going to fly. It's either get drenched and freeze the night away, all alone in the meadow or go with this stranger.
My appearance very much suggests I might be the type of suffer (these scars are not those of a warrior, but rather of an oft-broken kind), and it almost surprises myself when I say: "Yes. Wherever, that doesn't matter."
@[Elektrum]
