03-12-2022, 01:22 PM
open hand or closed fist would be fine
--rosemary
the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine
Rosemary has never been drunk in her life.
It shows in the way her eyelids droop dramatically, the way her mouth curls loosely, the way her head leans haphazardly to the side. The relaxation is not an altogether unpleasant sensation, but Rose certainly doesn’t like being in control of her faculties. Without control of herself, she cannot control the situation around her—and when her surroundings grow out of control, she wonders if she’ll know if that is what she truly wanted.
Through a hazy mind, Rose watches as sleek scales stretch across Obscene’s hide. She peers down at him—mouth a hair’s breadth from his skin—and matches his grin. Even through the nectar, Rose buzzes with the excitement of having her energy matched.
In the blink of an eye, the little siren dips her head down, mouth hungry to trace the curve of the fae’s cheek. She leans even further down, first pressing her nose into his splayed out mane then moving ever-so-lightly next to his elongated ears. Rose remembers childhood stories of fairies, but has never encountered one—and does not even recognize Obscene as one, not yet.
“Is that what you want to hear in exchange for danger? That I believe you?” Rosemary answers, slowly drawing away from the once-prince before lingering at his jaw.
“I don’t believe in a great many things, but I believe you can give me what I want.”
It shows in the way her eyelids droop dramatically, the way her mouth curls loosely, the way her head leans haphazardly to the side. The relaxation is not an altogether unpleasant sensation, but Rose certainly doesn’t like being in control of her faculties. Without control of herself, she cannot control the situation around her—and when her surroundings grow out of control, she wonders if she’ll know if that is what she truly wanted.
Through a hazy mind, Rose watches as sleek scales stretch across Obscene’s hide. She peers down at him—mouth a hair’s breadth from his skin—and matches his grin. Even through the nectar, Rose buzzes with the excitement of having her energy matched.
In the blink of an eye, the little siren dips her head down, mouth hungry to trace the curve of the fae’s cheek. She leans even further down, first pressing her nose into his splayed out mane then moving ever-so-lightly next to his elongated ears. Rose remembers childhood stories of fairies, but has never encountered one—and does not even recognize Obscene as one, not yet.
“Is that what you want to hear in exchange for danger? That I believe you?” Rosemary answers, slowly drawing away from the once-prince before lingering at his jaw.
“I don’t believe in a great many things, but I believe you can give me what I want.”
@Obscene