02-24-2019, 08:51 PM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
”Good,” he croons as a glance quickly skims her wintry cloud while ice pelts his skin. They had originated form her, of course, but he doesn’t take offense. In fact, it amuses him. A lopsided grin, nearly boyish in nature, lifts the wrinkled edge of his mouth. ”It’s rude to try stabbing someone with ice,” the remark is lighthearted but he takes the opportunity to acknowledge her attempt to combat the heat he expelled. The fire, of course, has since died away and the smoke has lifted from their eyes. It leaves them staring at one another with heavy scrutiny.
Her arrival to Loess is unexpected, but has already played a distraction. While politics rage on behind him, Castile cannot help to keep forward with her in his line of sight. She isn’t a feeble woman falling into the arms of a man – a damsel, right? – but she provides enough sass to keep him engaged.
A low chuckle rumbles from his throat, resonating through his core. She claims his name resembles a cough, a rattling noise that he has become far too familiar with in these past years. The plague has sunken its claws deep into his flesh, but he addresses the symptoms with periodic visits to the healers on hand. Although not enough to extract the plague entirely, it at least grants him reprieve until the next bout.
Some would take offense to her comment, but instead, Castile takes it in stride. His head tilts, sliding his bronzed forelock aside so that their eyes may more clearly meet. ”That’s cute. You’re already thinking of mnemonics to remember me by,” he tries to flip it, keeping her close at hand as she spurs a rare grin. He wants to grab her here, now, and keep her in Loess, but he somehow restrains himself. He doesn’t edge closer, doesn’t even reach to touch her just yet. He just wants to know her, to understand her. ”Your turn. What’s your name?”
Her arrival to Loess is unexpected, but has already played a distraction. While politics rage on behind him, Castile cannot help to keep forward with her in his line of sight. She isn’t a feeble woman falling into the arms of a man – a damsel, right? – but she provides enough sass to keep him engaged.
A low chuckle rumbles from his throat, resonating through his core. She claims his name resembles a cough, a rattling noise that he has become far too familiar with in these past years. The plague has sunken its claws deep into his flesh, but he addresses the symptoms with periodic visits to the healers on hand. Although not enough to extract the plague entirely, it at least grants him reprieve until the next bout.
Some would take offense to her comment, but instead, Castile takes it in stride. His head tilts, sliding his bronzed forelock aside so that their eyes may more clearly meet. ”That’s cute. You’re already thinking of mnemonics to remember me by,” he tries to flip it, keeping her close at hand as she spurs a rare grin. He wants to grab her here, now, and keep her in Loess, but he somehow restrains himself. He doesn’t edge closer, doesn’t even reach to touch her just yet. He just wants to know her, to understand her. ”Your turn. What’s your name?”
castile
@[Kora]