For a breath, the meadow held its quiet listening to the soft whisper of rain threading through the flowers, to the low hum of something electric vibrating between them. Tipsy’s eyes caught the shimmer of falling droplets as she tilted her head, antennae quivering lightly, absorbing the rhythm of his storm. “You didn’t interrupt,” she said, her voice lilting, delicate as if she were sharing a secret with the swaying grass. “The meadow’s used to company, just not the kind that makes it rain.”
She blinked through the drizzle, watching lightning flicker and coil beneath his skin like tiny captive stars. For a moment, she simply studied him, ears tilting toward the deep, slow rumble of thunder rolling through his chest. The rain settled gently around them, misting the wildflowers and casting tiny prisms across her coat. And then, fleeting as a sunbeam through cloud, his mouth curves. It’s not much, and it's hardly there at all, but something in her stills. The movement feels like a secret he didn’t mean to share, and she finds herself wanting to guard it.
“It suits you,” she murmured, voice light but sure. “The rain, I mean. You wear it well.” Her gaze followed the faintly weaving lightning before returning to his storm-darkened face. “I suppose it would be unfair to ask you to turn it off,” she added with a teasing tilt to her tone, though her smile softened the words, sunlight catching the neon streaks in her mane like sparks.
“I’ve never met someone who carries their own weather,” she continued, stepping closer, the mist from his wings brushing her shoulder and chilling her skin pleasantly. “Most just complain about it.” The corner of her mouth curved, a faint, playful lift, and her lashes caught the drizzle like scattered beads of light. “Maybe the meadow’s happy to have a bit of thunder?”
She tilted her head again, letting her antennae flick toward him with gentle curiosity, eyes glimmering. “So… what brings you here, Tumult?”
@Tumult
She blinked through the drizzle, watching lightning flicker and coil beneath his skin like tiny captive stars. For a moment, she simply studied him, ears tilting toward the deep, slow rumble of thunder rolling through his chest. The rain settled gently around them, misting the wildflowers and casting tiny prisms across her coat. And then, fleeting as a sunbeam through cloud, his mouth curves. It’s not much, and it's hardly there at all, but something in her stills. The movement feels like a secret he didn’t mean to share, and she finds herself wanting to guard it.
“It suits you,” she murmured, voice light but sure. “The rain, I mean. You wear it well.” Her gaze followed the faintly weaving lightning before returning to his storm-darkened face. “I suppose it would be unfair to ask you to turn it off,” she added with a teasing tilt to her tone, though her smile softened the words, sunlight catching the neon streaks in her mane like sparks.
“I’ve never met someone who carries their own weather,” she continued, stepping closer, the mist from his wings brushing her shoulder and chilling her skin pleasantly. “Most just complain about it.” The corner of her mouth curved, a faint, playful lift, and her lashes caught the drizzle like scattered beads of light. “Maybe the meadow’s happy to have a bit of thunder?”
She tilted her head again, letting her antennae flick toward him with gentle curiosity, eyes glimmering. “So… what brings you here, Tumult?”
@Tumult