M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
All of her paintings turn to ash in her head when she looks at the women who is more a living flame than the Pegasus will ever be - confined to a body too small, too expressive, just too much for it to hold so much fire within. She sees hair flying, brows drawn and teeth bared. She sees harsh movements, she hears the squeal of shock, the stumbling of feet. And then she turns her head to meet eyes softening, anger fading as some other emotion that Moira knows too well bubbles to the front. Square shoulders meet square shoulders, lilting words rush to meet red-tipped ears that are on fire for every reason but what color they were painted at birth.
Although the phoenix does not know what she expected, it is not the cool, delectable words that rumble out as more of a sarcastic growl than anything. Surprise raises her brows high, and still they inch higher as Bexley offers to help clean up. It is not her job, after all, to help a clumsy little waif like herself. Grateful, Moira nods. "You'd never know I can stitch up a wound without a patient hardly feeling a prick with how clumsy I am here, would you?" Wryly, she attempts humor, glancing from under her curls to the woman who seems to stand so much taller than she. Is it her personality? Moira could feel it from a mile away, and for that she chides herself even more for the mess she's made.
Maybe a new friend will come of it.
Hope lifts her heavy heart once more, and a grin falls into place. Not the half-cocked thing she offers so many times - something distant and concerned as any medical professional should be - no, it's real and alive and full of those secrets and dreams she's never really said aloud. With the accidental collision, a new hope is born.
"I'm Moira Tonnerre and at your mercy for directions. I once got lost on my way home and ended up in some desert. They have the most charming insomniacs though," light laughter follows as she thinks of Eik once more. He should be featured, she thinks, in some painting or another. Perhaps he would stand tall over the sun with this golden woman beside him. Silver and gold, like night and day, reigning supreme in a world of fire and sand and falling petals that turn to ash. How pretty it would be, but she'll have to find the time for that later. Turning outward once more, yellow eyes seek blue, then look further to pinks and whites and golds upon Bexley's head. On a lesser woman it could have been intimidating, something so bold and bright, yet on Bexley it seems to fit. She's already larger than life, and the diadem is perfect to showcase such a gem.
@Bexley ;u;
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
All of her paintings turn to ash in her head when she looks at the women who is more a living flame than the Pegasus will ever be - confined to a body too small, too expressive, just too much for it to hold so much fire within. She sees hair flying, brows drawn and teeth bared. She sees harsh movements, she hears the squeal of shock, the stumbling of feet. And then she turns her head to meet eyes softening, anger fading as some other emotion that Moira knows too well bubbles to the front. Square shoulders meet square shoulders, lilting words rush to meet red-tipped ears that are on fire for every reason but what color they were painted at birth.
Although the phoenix does not know what she expected, it is not the cool, delectable words that rumble out as more of a sarcastic growl than anything. Surprise raises her brows high, and still they inch higher as Bexley offers to help clean up. It is not her job, after all, to help a clumsy little waif like herself. Grateful, Moira nods. "You'd never know I can stitch up a wound without a patient hardly feeling a prick with how clumsy I am here, would you?" Wryly, she attempts humor, glancing from under her curls to the woman who seems to stand so much taller than she. Is it her personality? Moira could feel it from a mile away, and for that she chides herself even more for the mess she's made.
Maybe a new friend will come of it.
Hope lifts her heavy heart once more, and a grin falls into place. Not the half-cocked thing she offers so many times - something distant and concerned as any medical professional should be - no, it's real and alive and full of those secrets and dreams she's never really said aloud. With the accidental collision, a new hope is born.
"I'm Moira Tonnerre and at your mercy for directions. I once got lost on my way home and ended up in some desert. They have the most charming insomniacs though," light laughter follows as she thinks of Eik once more. He should be featured, she thinks, in some painting or another. Perhaps he would stand tall over the sun with this golden woman beside him. Silver and gold, like night and day, reigning supreme in a world of fire and sand and falling petals that turn to ash. How pretty it would be, but she'll have to find the time for that later. Turning outward once more, yellow eyes seek blue, then look further to pinks and whites and golds upon Bexley's head. On a lesser woman it could have been intimidating, something so bold and bright, yet on Bexley it seems to fit. She's already larger than life, and the diadem is perfect to showcase such a gem.
@
