there was a heaven in youbut god there's a devil in me
The grey woman is idle in her posture; studious yet at the same time not at all entertained by his presence. There is a certain weight that seems to fall across the broad plane of his shoulders, settling into the dark navy of his gaze. He is burdened (a feeling that he has come to welcome as normalcy) and it shows, restlessly stirring in the way he manages to hold his heavy head high as he continues to stare out into the golden grasses of the field, musefully remembering the moments he had spent here many years ago - when things had been different.
So very different.
Warrick snorts thoughtfully, his steely gaze flickering towards her casually as her voice draws him from his reverie, blue-tipped ears shifting towards her. There is a semblance of a laugh within his exhaling of breath as well as a slight nod of his head. “Perhaps we are, then. I am Warrick,” he replies amusedly, his voice thick with years upon years of exposure to the ash and smoke of his home, the deep throatiness of his baritone strong yet broken by sulfuric air. He says nothing else for the moment, his stoic gaze leaving the strong lines of her face to glance back towards the open field, inhaling deeply.
A rumbling sigh follows, rattling from his cobalt lips with a weariness and an exertion that has unwantedly become all too familiar to him. After a moment, he idly says to her: “The tides are changing and I must change with it.” He could feel it in his bones, deep within his soul; the moon and stars are shifting, pulling him towards the emptiness of sea and the ravaging waves that boil tempestuously in the beyond. “Peace in Tephra cannot be secured without an iron fist.” He’s learned the hard way - too long has the benefit of the doubt saved those who deserve death; too long has he sat by while wolves slink into his home and sink their teeth into the soft flesh of his family and his people.
“I need an iron fist.”
It is then that his gaze finally falls back to her. It is an offer, though it is not a question.
An assumption, really, that she would know exactly what he is searching for.
So very different.
Warrick snorts thoughtfully, his steely gaze flickering towards her casually as her voice draws him from his reverie, blue-tipped ears shifting towards her. There is a semblance of a laugh within his exhaling of breath as well as a slight nod of his head. “Perhaps we are, then. I am Warrick,” he replies amusedly, his voice thick with years upon years of exposure to the ash and smoke of his home, the deep throatiness of his baritone strong yet broken by sulfuric air. He says nothing else for the moment, his stoic gaze leaving the strong lines of her face to glance back towards the open field, inhaling deeply.
A rumbling sigh follows, rattling from his cobalt lips with a weariness and an exertion that has unwantedly become all too familiar to him. After a moment, he idly says to her: “The tides are changing and I must change with it.” He could feel it in his bones, deep within his soul; the moon and stars are shifting, pulling him towards the emptiness of sea and the ravaging waves that boil tempestuously in the beyond. “Peace in Tephra cannot be secured without an iron fist.” He’s learned the hard way - too long has the benefit of the doubt saved those who deserve death; too long has he sat by while wolves slink into his home and sink their teeth into the soft flesh of his family and his people.
“I need an iron fist.”
It is then that his gaze finally falls back to her. It is an offer, though it is not a question.
An assumption, really, that she would know exactly what he is searching for.
WARRICK
@[City]
that is SO okay! i literally just got back from disappearing for nearly a month, so the timing is perfect.
