10-18-2018, 03:16 AM
“And yet, here you are: here we are.” she purrs in response, those dark eyes locked on him and her posture unchanging for the moment- instead there is follow up and a heaviness in her voice: a smokiness that conveys the rapturous emotions in a subtle way. “Standing in the thick brush, and vines, and dewy from the moisture in the air. The smell of rain and life, of this ash, and of a home that while not ours truly, is what Beqanna has given us… given you.” she pauses after that, tilting her head and striding forward, allowing her body to lean in close and to brush shoulder against his own (so long as he allowed it) and to circle him whilst brushing against… touching the soft nose to his neck in an attempt of comfort.
Aysel closes her eyes for a second, unconsciously mulling over memories and thoughts, sighing and allowing her voice to carry before peering up at him with a faint, mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “We are creatures of sentiment, of nostalgia- we ache for what was and what has been; but do not discourage what is and what has to be. Foolish, maybe, but not for that: no.”
In that moment she lingers, lazes and even takes seconds to stretch legs and shift her weight. “That flattery with your tongue though,” she begins, chuckling and thinking of the flower she has preened into her hair. “Perhaps for that you may be foolish, after all, as much as I enjoy hearing it: I am far from perfection or perfect. If anything I am like a ruin, the marble is crackles and ivy-ridden, vine tangles and sunken into the earth… an unmoving remind of what was. It is beautiful, breath-taking and inspirational; but the ruin is just that, it will never have the life it once had.”
She sighs.
“So, perfect? No. But, I possess a beauty of my own… and I appreciate you speaking on it. After all, you are pleasing on the eyes, and I have enjoyed our conversations, Magnus.” the vermilion hair falls across her face, those curled and lengthy locks of her mane and tail dragging and her varnish body seemed shaggy; but likely from the turn of season. Aysel shakes her head to brush it out of the way, allowing the sun to briefly glare into the dark blue eyes and catch the silver flecks hidden in them.
Singsong and as she is, Aysel lifts her gaze to the lad spread out before them- contemplative and quiet before continuing from the elongated and heavily pregnant pause. “You’ve brought an old jaguar to the new jungle, I think that’s a start to feeling more at home and easing the sentiment… thank you, Magnus.” the latter was heavy, breathy and she lifted her head again; but this time, she looked to him and nestled against him- thankful and content.
Aysel closes her eyes for a second, unconsciously mulling over memories and thoughts, sighing and allowing her voice to carry before peering up at him with a faint, mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “We are creatures of sentiment, of nostalgia- we ache for what was and what has been; but do not discourage what is and what has to be. Foolish, maybe, but not for that: no.”
In that moment she lingers, lazes and even takes seconds to stretch legs and shift her weight. “That flattery with your tongue though,” she begins, chuckling and thinking of the flower she has preened into her hair. “Perhaps for that you may be foolish, after all, as much as I enjoy hearing it: I am far from perfection or perfect. If anything I am like a ruin, the marble is crackles and ivy-ridden, vine tangles and sunken into the earth… an unmoving remind of what was. It is beautiful, breath-taking and inspirational; but the ruin is just that, it will never have the life it once had.”
She sighs.
“So, perfect? No. But, I possess a beauty of my own… and I appreciate you speaking on it. After all, you are pleasing on the eyes, and I have enjoyed our conversations, Magnus.” the vermilion hair falls across her face, those curled and lengthy locks of her mane and tail dragging and her varnish body seemed shaggy; but likely from the turn of season. Aysel shakes her head to brush it out of the way, allowing the sun to briefly glare into the dark blue eyes and catch the silver flecks hidden in them.
Singsong and as she is, Aysel lifts her gaze to the lad spread out before them- contemplative and quiet before continuing from the elongated and heavily pregnant pause. “You’ve brought an old jaguar to the new jungle, I think that’s a start to feeling more at home and easing the sentiment… thank you, Magnus.” the latter was heavy, breathy and she lifted her head again; but this time, she looked to him and nestled against him- thankful and content.
A Y S E L
so you can throw me to the wolves
tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack
tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack
@[magnus]