this isn't mischief
He smells him before he sees him. Although the scents of ice and water and snow surround him (oh, the aromas of winter), it was not often paired with the warm whispers of fire on his nostrils. And that is how he knows. Although he wouldn’t exactly call the pyromaniac a ‘friend’, per say, there was still a slightly-less hard spot in his tricky heart for his co-worker.
Although they hadn’t been together for an incredibly long time (only while under the rule of their disappearing-act king and his disappointing promises), the pair had worked together under the ticking clock of chaos with perfection. Each desired some aspect of their shared lover – the pyro with the power and aftermath, the trickster with the beautiful craze and screams of loss. It made for an interesting yet seamless teamwork (something which left open many opportunities of chaos to reign).
A wide, mischievous grin splits his face at (first the smell and then the sight) the appearance of his pyro comrade weaving through the shadows. Only he would know to come find his tricky co-worker among the shade and tightly-knit forest. The sandstorms stir around his heels again (excited by the possibility of another chaotic mission, of playing with an old ‘friend’, of stirring up trouble and wrecking lives again) as he steps out of the darkness and into the fire-lit circle of light. Bruised eyes (blue and black, blue and white) reflect a chaotic excitement from within.
“Long time no see, Flamey,” he says, tenor voice floating out in that terribly charismatic way. “What brings you to the meadow? You don’t usually come this way.”
lokii
this is mayhem