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    Gale -- Year 215


    "To be a woman is to face monsters" --Brunhilde, written by Phae

    [private]  and you're headed for the gallows, sin around your throat; draco

    She was not one to keep many relationships, or at least, none that were close. She had Thomas, and their children, but other than that she kept most even further than arm’s length away. She had few redeeming qualities outside of being pretty, and mostly she found everyone else to be dreadfully boring anyway. No one ever seemed to appreciate her illusions, which made hardly any sense to her considering it depended entirely on who or what they wanted most. 

    It turns out most of them don’t like being tricked, but that also took the fun out of it. 

    But Draco was someone that had grown on her, having worked his way into enough of her memories that she finds she does not entirely dislike him, and even sometimes misses him. Mostly, she misses having someone from her era of Pangea. She even misses Ghaul, even though she’s relatively certain he had never liked her. She had made little effort—closer to zero effort, in fact—to get to know the current residents of Pangea, save for Jamie and Beyza (where did she go, anyway?), but she’s pretty sure a few others live here, too.

    That was simply another mark against her as a leader, but who was keeping track? Certainly not her.

    Currently, she is loitering near the river, as she found this to be the most tolerable area. The river was wide and deep, and it allowed her to pretend she wasn’t essentially living in a giant dust bowl. She wonders, as she concentrates on lifting a small, jagged rock into the air, if Thomas secretly despised her for convincing him to come here. It wasn’t beautiful, but instead, it was harsh and dry and unforgiving—nothing like Thomas at all. Losing focus on what she’s doing the rock clatters to the ground, sending up a small plume of dust as it does, and she mutters shit under her breath.

    She is about to lift it again when there is the sound of footsteps behind her, and she turns abruptly, ears pinned in annoyance. It’s only once she allows herself to take him in—he looked different, but he was still him all the same—that her face relaxes to her usual cool demeanor, and a smile flashes easily across her white lips. “Well, well, well, look who finally decided to come home.”
    so we're slaves to any semblance of touch, lord we should quit, but we love it too much

    hitch a ride on my violence

    Summer in Pangea is hot as hell.

    Draco gruffly keeps to himself, glowing red eyes focusing begrudgingly on the ground turning to red dust before him. He doesn't think of much else, simply: Why the fuck is it so hot? Why did I come back her before Autumn? Surely Dove and Desire are just fine without me. Desire, though an absent leader, is definitely fine without him; but Dove, she is most certainly worrying over him. The demon misses his friend, too, if he will ever admit it to himself. The woman's cruel illusions always offered him a good laugh.

    There is guilt, too. So much guilt. For leaving Dove, for never visiting his father (and his father's oh-so-perfect family). For shirking his advisor position even if he has never claimed to be particularly good at giving advice (especially diplomatic, level-headed advice - there he leaned toward his deceased half brother: fire and death). Mostly, Draco swallows those feelings by scaring some wayward wanderer or wreaking general havoc in an otherwise peaceful area.

    But you love to wallow.

    At his side, the newly acquired hellhound huffs in what sounds like a snidely amused laugh. The demon sneers down at the creature, agitated that the companion he's been blessed with has a proclivity for picking on him.

    "Shut up, Carl."

    I told you my name is Geralt.

    "I like Carl better."


    "Because it makes you sound stupid. And as small as you look."

    The hellhound peels his lips back to bare black fangs, then turns off to the left, away from Draco.

    "Mission accomplished," the demon mutters to himself, flicking his gaze up just in time to catch the familiar sight of his fearless leader. She hears him, of course. Ever sharp, that Desire. A wide, pleased smile lifts his lips, one to match the look on hers.

    "What can I say, I missed you," Draco answers, then nudges her hindquarters with the sides of his horns.

    "It's hot as fuck in this dust-bowl. Why do we stay here?"

    @[Desire] hehe
    hitch a ride on my violence

    Something inside of her warms at his smile, an affection that is rare for her. Her personal relationships were sparse and she had forgotten what it was like to enjoy someone else’s company, aside from Thomas and their children, of course. She is careful to keep such emotions from showing on her face, though, preferring to keep up this nonchalant charade her and Draco had adopted. It was easier for both of them to simply continue as though neither cared much about the other—it wasn’t as though it was anything especially deep, but it was still more than either wished to acknowledge.

    The smile that she gives him is a poised one, carefully crafted and accompanied by a silver laugh. “Of course you did,” she purrs, swinging her hip tauntingly into his touch where his horns press against her skin. She turns, boldly closing the distance between them until her galaxy curves have fit themselves into the muscled stature of him, sighing dramatically. “Oh stop, it’s not that bad,” she says, draping her head across his back to survey the dry, red canyons and the sparse vegetation. “Well. Maybe it is. But it’s better than that island covered in ice. What’s it called again? Popsicle something.”

    She stares out in thought for a moment, before lifting her head away from him to stand parallel again, though her shoulder remains pressed against his. “So, what’s new with you, bestie? Where’s your sister?” She doesn’t bother to hide the teasing laugh, punctuating the taunt with her teeth just lightly pinching his neck.
    so we're slaves to any semblance of touch, lord we should quit, but we love it too much


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