✩ v i r u n ✩
I couldn't hide from the thunder
in a sky full of song
Apparently his drunkenness has not quite diminished his reflexes. As she stumbles backwards, awkward and entangled by the lengths of her own body, she feels what she can only assume is his own wing snap out against her spine. Although she’s admittedly grateful for the intervention, she’s considerably less grateful when he opens his mouth; there’s something somewhat smug to his good-natured reply, and it takes her by surprise – not that she’s completely sure that she understands the point he’s trying to get across anyways. Swept her off her feet? As far as she could tell, they’d never left the ground. “Excuse me?” She starts, then shakes her head swiftly, as though she’s attempting to rid herself of her vast assortment of – probably foolish – questions. She’s definitely overthinking this. Before he can reply, she follows up with a quick, nervous, “…Nevermind. Thank you.” This much is genuine, even though he is the one that startled her in the first place.
It seems to take him a moment to completely process the situation, and he brings up something that the crowd at large has been too frightened to admit, and he does it right next to her ear, his breath tickling her skin; their trapped leaders could very well perish in the collapsed meeting-place. She shivers, and she isn’t sure if it’s the proximity of his lips or the implications of his comment. There’s something flippant to the way he says it, and it makes her wonder what his prior experience with death is – the way she sees it, only someone who’d faced it many times or hadn’t faced it at all could so comfortably drag out the word interesting, could so easily bring up the topic.
Then again, maybe he’s just really, really drunk.
“There is…indeed a chance of death – probably even a sizable one,” She admits, “b-but isn’t the concept of divinity more interesting than that?” Virun doesn’t know any of the Regime members, save Asterion and Cyrene, and, while she thinks that they’re both good people that have helped her immensely, she’s too focused on finding her way home to spend too much time concerning herself with whether or not they live or die. Perhaps that’s a selfish thought to have; she really thinks that she should be more worried. However, Novus still isn’t quite real to her. The people are just shadows, passerby on her way back home to Roskildar.
He asks her what her name is, and she responds without thinking. “Virun. My name is Virun.” Her northern accent slides comfortably across the syllables, caressing each sound. Veer-rune. Veeer-oon. She ventures, then, to ask, “And you are…?” though she isn’t sure that she really wants to know.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
tags | @sacha
notes | <3
I couldn't hide from the thunder
in a sky full of song
Apparently his drunkenness has not quite diminished his reflexes. As she stumbles backwards, awkward and entangled by the lengths of her own body, she feels what she can only assume is his own wing snap out against her spine. Although she’s admittedly grateful for the intervention, she’s considerably less grateful when he opens his mouth; there’s something somewhat smug to his good-natured reply, and it takes her by surprise – not that she’s completely sure that she understands the point he’s trying to get across anyways. Swept her off her feet? As far as she could tell, they’d never left the ground. “Excuse me?” She starts, then shakes her head swiftly, as though she’s attempting to rid herself of her vast assortment of – probably foolish – questions. She’s definitely overthinking this. Before he can reply, she follows up with a quick, nervous, “…Nevermind. Thank you.” This much is genuine, even though he is the one that startled her in the first place.
It seems to take him a moment to completely process the situation, and he brings up something that the crowd at large has been too frightened to admit, and he does it right next to her ear, his breath tickling her skin; their trapped leaders could very well perish in the collapsed meeting-place. She shivers, and she isn’t sure if it’s the proximity of his lips or the implications of his comment. There’s something flippant to the way he says it, and it makes her wonder what his prior experience with death is – the way she sees it, only someone who’d faced it many times or hadn’t faced it at all could so comfortably drag out the word interesting, could so easily bring up the topic.
Then again, maybe he’s just really, really drunk.
“There is…indeed a chance of death – probably even a sizable one,” She admits, “b-but isn’t the concept of divinity more interesting than that?” Virun doesn’t know any of the Regime members, save Asterion and Cyrene, and, while she thinks that they’re both good people that have helped her immensely, she’s too focused on finding her way home to spend too much time concerning herself with whether or not they live or die. Perhaps that’s a selfish thought to have; she really thinks that she should be more worried. However, Novus still isn’t quite real to her. The people are just shadows, passerby on her way back home to Roskildar.
He asks her what her name is, and she responds without thinking. “Virun. My name is Virun.” Her northern accent slides comfortably across the syllables, caressing each sound. Veer-rune. Veeer-oon. She ventures, then, to ask, “And you are…?” though she isn’t sure that she really wants to know.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
tags | @sacha
notes | <3
