✩ v i r u n ✩
but the fire is coming
so I think we should run
Movement.
Her ears twitch in the direction of the sound of hooves against dry grass, barely audible over the whip of the ocean breeze. “You know, I’m sure it’d make for a far more interesting sight without a piece of cloth in the way. Only if you enjoy the ocean, though, of course.” He (or so she assumes) speaks with a voice like freshly-spun silk, and Virun knows that is dangerous. For her, all the world is a sea of illusive noise; until otherwise proven, everyone and everything is a gaping unknown, and she cannot trust it. There is nothing more dangerous in all the world to women like her than seeming, than assuming. Nevertheless, Virun is not the type to automatically assume a threat in a perfect stranger – she is not so paranoid as to assume every pleasantry hides a barb. (Perhaps she will be soon.)
“I’m sure it would make a very interesting sight,” She says, rather dryly, “were I able to see.” Somewhat bitterly, a vindictive tangle of thoughts that do not come out in her tone: The blindfold is for your convenience, not mine. That is quickly pushed aside to make room for more pleasant commentary, however. “I don’t think I’m terribly fond of the ocean, anyways.” Water was not kind when you could not swim. The ocean was not kind when it only served as a reminder of waking up on the shore, wing mangled and bloody and mind black and fuzzy from time spent in a hellish limbo – a hellish limbo that you nevertheless wish that you could return to. (Any backwards movement is somehow more comforting than pushing forward into the unknown, alone.) The ocean, she thinks, is probably never kind at all. It might be beautiful or it might not; it’s not like she’ll ever know. Even if you were to describe the ocean to Virun – the white grains of sand and the frothing, dark waves – the words will mean nothing without a point of reference. Images are empty. It might be beautiful, or it might not be beautiful, and neither matter to her – it is always dangerous.
She is not here, however, to wax poetic about the ocean that she’ll never see. She doesn’t mourn the darkness anymore – it is what it is. The only thing that she presently mourns is the loss of most of her independence, and here she is cliff-diving in spite of it all. She inclines her head, slightly, at where she is reasonably sure that he is standing, and asks, “Are you here to see the sights?” Perhaps it is the adrenaline or perhaps it is the power of small talk or perhaps she is simply a pleasant creature; whatever the reason, her tone is light and inquisitive, and she sounds genuinely curious about his intentions. This is a new world, after all, and Virun cannot make heads or tails of it. Any opportunity to learn of the creatures that occupy it is one she must take, even though a large part of her would rather just be left alone.
(It seems that Celes’ disappearance has caused her social skills to take a plummet, as well. She used to cherish conversation. Now it feels like survival.)
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tags | @toulouse
notes | <3
but the fire is coming
so I think we should run
Movement.
Her ears twitch in the direction of the sound of hooves against dry grass, barely audible over the whip of the ocean breeze. “You know, I’m sure it’d make for a far more interesting sight without a piece of cloth in the way. Only if you enjoy the ocean, though, of course.” He (or so she assumes) speaks with a voice like freshly-spun silk, and Virun knows that is dangerous. For her, all the world is a sea of illusive noise; until otherwise proven, everyone and everything is a gaping unknown, and she cannot trust it. There is nothing more dangerous in all the world to women like her than seeming, than assuming. Nevertheless, Virun is not the type to automatically assume a threat in a perfect stranger – she is not so paranoid as to assume every pleasantry hides a barb. (Perhaps she will be soon.)
“I’m sure it would make a very interesting sight,” She says, rather dryly, “were I able to see.” Somewhat bitterly, a vindictive tangle of thoughts that do not come out in her tone: The blindfold is for your convenience, not mine. That is quickly pushed aside to make room for more pleasant commentary, however. “I don’t think I’m terribly fond of the ocean, anyways.” Water was not kind when you could not swim. The ocean was not kind when it only served as a reminder of waking up on the shore, wing mangled and bloody and mind black and fuzzy from time spent in a hellish limbo – a hellish limbo that you nevertheless wish that you could return to. (Any backwards movement is somehow more comforting than pushing forward into the unknown, alone.) The ocean, she thinks, is probably never kind at all. It might be beautiful or it might not; it’s not like she’ll ever know. Even if you were to describe the ocean to Virun – the white grains of sand and the frothing, dark waves – the words will mean nothing without a point of reference. Images are empty. It might be beautiful, or it might not be beautiful, and neither matter to her – it is always dangerous.
She is not here, however, to wax poetic about the ocean that she’ll never see. She doesn’t mourn the darkness anymore – it is what it is. The only thing that she presently mourns is the loss of most of her independence, and here she is cliff-diving in spite of it all. She inclines her head, slightly, at where she is reasonably sure that he is standing, and asks, “Are you here to see the sights?” Perhaps it is the adrenaline or perhaps it is the power of small talk or perhaps she is simply a pleasant creature; whatever the reason, her tone is light and inquisitive, and she sounds genuinely curious about his intentions. This is a new world, after all, and Virun cannot make heads or tails of it. Any opportunity to learn of the creatures that occupy it is one she must take, even though a large part of her would rather just be left alone.
(It seems that Celes’ disappearance has caused her social skills to take a plummet, as well. She used to cherish conversation. Now it feels like survival.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
tags | @toulouse
notes | <3
