life is a garden. Dig it.
Oh
Oh.
He sways to face her, his cotton-patch glimmering in the soft afternoon rays that peak through the meek treed-barrier. She is eye catching in her soft tangerine and lemon silhouette, the softness of rose peaking in points across her—inexcusably well-sculpted—feminine frame.
Her voice is lacking softness, despite what he assumed she would hum. Though, he cannot help but muse over the fact she is very obviously startled, which would excuse the harshness in her first impression.
“You act as if you didn’t come to one of the most common lands to meet someone,” His voice is butter, softening with every syllable in a low-tone strum. His expression however is less soft, with a crispness of enthusiasm and offer of warmth and safety.
He sees it, whether she tries to hide it or not he isn’t sure. The space between her and nothing as if something used to be there, the habit of leaning in one direction too long as if used to the heat and comfort of someone else. And even if deep down he always has the intention of a daily dose of affection, he can see in her she might genuinely want his company.
Not perhaps in the way he originally planned, but in a way he is willing to accommodate to.
She just doesn’t strike him as the outgoing type.
“So?” He continues, glancing to her with an jovial tune despite the curiosity that lingers behind his throat; bashfully buried in the pits of his chest, “did you come to find someone?”
ARQUUS
@[brunhilde]