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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    Quand on n'a que l'amour - Warrick
    #4
    we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight
    The air around them is heavy with humidity, the thickness of the atmosphere coiling tightly against the mahogany of his skin. It is more than just the heat that presses down on him, however. The tension is palpable (though it is not with anger or frustration) and he inhales slowly as if to try to alleviate it. She refuses to meet his gaze just yet, but he does not pry nor command her to do so. His brow comes together slightly, his bottom lip pressing upwards in a tight frown. She is staring at the ground - embarrassed, ashamed; but of what? The sharp features of his auburn face are soft with concern, silence overwhelming them as the rhythm of the ocean pounds listlessly in their ears. He flips a single navy-tipped ear towards her as her voice breaks through the air, the words sounding painful as they are forced from her throat. The Overseer turns his face back towards the blue-grey seas, exhaling in a shuddering sigh as he realizes she might not come to join him on the blackened shoreline, but would remain behind him and out of his eyesight.

    But only a few moments pass and her confession brings her to him, finding the slick slope of his neck and shoulder with her muzzle, soft cries passing through her lips. He turns then, slowly, eyes widening before he shifts his weight to lean into her, unfurling a navy wing to allow him to embrace her further if she wished. The smell of salt and sea mingles in the air as he moves, his cerulean gaze dark and unwavering as he searches her face. He says nothing, not yet, giving her time to allow the emotions to flow freely and to catch her breath.

    “What has happened, Amorette?” Warrick’s voice is clear, steady and strong. There is a glimmer of darkness in his voice, ready and prepared for whatever she might tell him. She may not have known of Sylva’s new direction, and he hopes for Modicum’s sake that he has not done something to Amorette. The idea stirs something within Warrick, and though he comforts his friend in their embrace, there is tension in his body that all protectors have. I will take care of it, he tells her wordlessly, waiting for her response before assuming the worst. But whatever it is she has to tell him, it is true; he would take care of it for her. He would fix it for her.
    Warrick


    @[Amorette] <3


    Messages In This Thread
    Quand on n'a que l'amour - Warrick - by Amorette - 04-22-2018, 01:56 PM
    RE: Quand on n'a que l'amour - Warrick - by Warrick - 04-29-2018, 09:08 AM



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