burn slow, burning up the back wall; ryss.

[Volcan]

Volcan

Burn slow, burning up the back wall
Long roads, where the city meets the sky

There is no immediate response to her queer outburst. She is left  to hang in the void, slivered eyes twitching from shadow to shadow as though one might jump out at her. Her conscience goes to her telekinesis, fingers it as an archer might finger a bow; not necessarily to use, but to have as a safeguard. After all, with times how they are, with wars being fought and magicians coming to head, none could be too cautious.

Luckily, the being on the other side of the shadows is only a very colourful, and extremely pregnant woman.

As the stranger ducks under a last branch, Volcan’s ears gently extricate themselves from their laid back positions. The young woman figures that she has little to fear of this rotund pixie; the judgemental little shit takes her to be harmless. But that’s how things go when you’re raised among by a king and born from the Deserts themselves; nothing truly seems dangerous.

She will learn, one day.

“Hello,” She breathes duskily, eyes intensifying, “Is much too predictable.” Noticing the boldness of the stranger’s roving eyes, Volcan invites herself to the same privilege, and gives this Ryss a thorough once over. Lovely blue fur, lovely star upon her forehead, lovely little quipping tongue she has - and a lovely baby bump, on top of it all. A rogue smirk materializes on the girl’s ‘tarnishes silver’ lips; it seems this one prefers the company of men.

A pity.

She straightens - the position - of her gaze at Ryss’ final question. The shadows around them seem far less intimidating now, and the foreign sounds begin to normalize for her. In the spirit of making new friends - among other things -, Volcan figures that revealing her name shan’t be much of a danger.

“I am Volcan, daughter of Vanquish.” She announces herself with certainty, but in fact, she is utterly incorrect in her deliverance of heritage. Poor darling; so oblivious. “What is a doll like you doing in shadows like these?” Oblivious, but a rascal, too. A foxy smirk decorates her lips as she leans into her hip, enjoying this new rhythm of conversation; perhaps she should venture from the Desert’s depths more often.

This is not the end, this is just the world
Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl

lava texture © Mavrosh-Stock

Volcan broke? What is this? I dont know