I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
Bruise cannot say that he is a particularly large fan of winter.
He does not like the cold that sinks into his bones or the ache that it brings to his muscle. He does not like the way it wraps the world in lethargy—the way everything slows down to a simmer, molasses rolling around. It is boring and gross and he pulls his lip back in disgust of it all. It does, however, have its perks. If you can call it that. It is so boring that he finds himself here, of all places. He has never visited the field before—never really cared to—but with so little else to do, there were few other ideas to amuse him.
The pickings were slim (and, if he was being honest, mostly disgusting) but she struck his fancy. He tilted his handsome head, shark eyes evaluating her from beneath his sooty forelock. His lips spread into a wide, flat smile as he makes his way over to her. He was faster than normal, more agile too, and he did not bother to hide it from her. Instead, he simply skimmed over the snow and came to an abrupt stop.
Bruise tossed his heavy-horned head and gave her a grin, the act charming but ultimately disingenuous. “Were you looking for me?” he asked rakishly, the snow drifting down to rest upon the curve of his hips. “We all know why you’re here, so why don’t we cut the bullshit.” Recruiting was a bore, and he really didn’t have any desire to draw it out. “My name is Bruise, and I’m from Pangea.” If she didn’t know what that was or what they stood for then she wasn’t worth his time. “Who are you?”
And then, for the first time in his life, he waited.
