☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
and you run from it then
now you can't escape
He’s drifting, stumbling; she doesn’t know if she would have caught him if he weren’t in such a state, but, as she slips closer and closer, she is met by the familiar scent of wine and…something else. She isn’t sure that it’s a pleasant sort of drifting, though – he doesn’t carry himself with the same inebriated, uninhibited joy and forgetfulness that seems to plague his fellow merrymakers. There is something to his posture that reminds her of a wounded animal, and perhaps he is wounded, but the darkness gives her little room to be certain.
Better for her, then. She still doesn’t know why she followed him, or what she intends to do with him – if anything. She doesn’t know what she wants from this.
(But she can’t let him just slip away into that blackness, stumbling and drunk on something more than wine and flowers.)
At her voice, he stumbles to an awkward halt; like this, he is almost pitiful, void of the youthful cockiness that he seemed to exude at their last encounter. He turns to look at her, features shrouded in darkness, and she can make out little more of his expression than the faint, instinctive curve of his lips. His eyes rise to meet hers. She greets them with cold anticipation, ears twitching forward expectantly to catch his words. He’s being pleasant enough – courteous, even.
He was courteous the last time they met, too.
“Well enough,” She agrees, flatly, eyeing that little olive branch smile of his. She didn’t trust it back then, but it didn’t trouble her as it did now – she felt a hundred years older and a hundred years more jaded, and she hadn’t been a trusting woman to begin with. She doesn’t linger on pleasantries, or even offer any of her own, though; his entire presence is a question, and one she intends to get out of the way before she – if she -
“You are far from home, Acton – I thought the Raven Gates were closed.” Not quite an inquiry, but a comment with an obviously pointed direction; why are you here? He is a Crow, after all, and the Crows are Reichenbach’s most loyal and devoted, even if they do have a reputation as troublemakers. She can’t imagine they’d directly disobey his orders, and his orders seem to have involved complete isolation…but here he is, and here she is.
(A smaller voice, at the back of her mind, wants to sink its teeth into him. Why did you do it, Acton? It bides its time, for now.)
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tags | @Acton
notes | <3 <3 <3
and you run from it then
now you can't escape
He’s drifting, stumbling; she doesn’t know if she would have caught him if he weren’t in such a state, but, as she slips closer and closer, she is met by the familiar scent of wine and…something else. She isn’t sure that it’s a pleasant sort of drifting, though – he doesn’t carry himself with the same inebriated, uninhibited joy and forgetfulness that seems to plague his fellow merrymakers. There is something to his posture that reminds her of a wounded animal, and perhaps he is wounded, but the darkness gives her little room to be certain.
Better for her, then. She still doesn’t know why she followed him, or what she intends to do with him – if anything. She doesn’t know what she wants from this.
(But she can’t let him just slip away into that blackness, stumbling and drunk on something more than wine and flowers.)
At her voice, he stumbles to an awkward halt; like this, he is almost pitiful, void of the youthful cockiness that he seemed to exude at their last encounter. He turns to look at her, features shrouded in darkness, and she can make out little more of his expression than the faint, instinctive curve of his lips. His eyes rise to meet hers. She greets them with cold anticipation, ears twitching forward expectantly to catch his words. He’s being pleasant enough – courteous, even.
He was courteous the last time they met, too.
“Well enough,” She agrees, flatly, eyeing that little olive branch smile of his. She didn’t trust it back then, but it didn’t trouble her as it did now – she felt a hundred years older and a hundred years more jaded, and she hadn’t been a trusting woman to begin with. She doesn’t linger on pleasantries, or even offer any of her own, though; his entire presence is a question, and one she intends to get out of the way before she – if she -
“You are far from home, Acton – I thought the Raven Gates were closed.” Not quite an inquiry, but a comment with an obviously pointed direction; why are you here? He is a Crow, after all, and the Crows are Reichenbach’s most loyal and devoted, even if they do have a reputation as troublemakers. She can’t imagine they’d directly disobey his orders, and his orders seem to have involved complete isolation…but here he is, and here she is.
(A smaller voice, at the back of her mind, wants to sink its teeth into him. Why did you do it, Acton? It bides its time, for now.)
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tags | @Acton
notes | <3 <3 <3
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
