the fault in our stars

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

The apology, Scorch ignored. Or at least she made but a mental note of it. Such a blatant expression of empathy from one as stoic as Aletta meant more than her dry tone could let on and Scorch found a private, intimate comfort in that. One that would mention to Aletta in but a few moments, and in response to that, Aletta questioned.

Her motives, her findings.

"Habit is as habit does," Scorch offered without caring to explain further. The history of it all failed to interest her the way it had for so many years prior. Of course, that history felt so familiar while embraced by ghosts (Brunhild, Brennen, Hestoni) but right now, the present made itself her lover. "And if I am talking to you, then I suppose I have."

Aletta startled at the ignition of Scorch's ankles, a sharp movement which caused the baroque mare to toss her head in distaste, too. The frown on her companion's face provoked a jade green hue from her roiling eyes and the question that followed brought speckles of orange.

So she's been here before.

Not all that surprising once she considered it a moment. Most everyone made their way back to Beqanna one day or another -- if the once-dead mare didn't know that, no one did.

Pressed to answer, now, Scorch's expression eased with a sigh and she thought back. "Honestly, I couldn't tell you. Time here is so liquid. Ten years, give or take. Long enough for few to remember that time with much passion. A hellish plague happened since then and right now, hell itself has broke loose, or something like that anyway. I'm not paying much attention."

At Aletta's rebuttal, Scorch laughed - a gutteral but somehow motherly and charming sound. "Poorly scented friends, then," Scorch allowed, cocking a brow as though to ask if Aletta felt the same.

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

""

@[aletta]