BE BOLD, BE BOLD
BUT NOT TOO BOLD
He sees her, for a moment, before she approaches. Maybe he has seen her before, but he was too distracted by the scenery to really look – but now that he has seen her, Septimus does not know how he did not notice her before. She moves like the wind through the ancient branches of old-growth elms, each curve of her body the sinuous weave of a river; where are the shoals? The rapids? She flickers like a leaf, dried and reddened by coming autumn, but she is as sturdy as a stone, weathered but standing. And he thinks that she is like a little ember – his eyes are drawn to the way that she moves, the way that those golden chains swirl around her and catch in the gleaming light, the way that she is too many things at once. There is something childlike to the way that she is so unrestrained, the way that she dips to bring cheer to the passerby, the way that she steps too close to the flames-
She is not dancing when she comes to him; a barrier stands between them, long line that separates light from dark. There is something about her that makes him marvel. When she is not dancing, she seems an entirely different creature. She is beautiful, certainly, strong and lithe in the way that any good dancer should be, but she is not an elaborate beauty – she is painted in the hues of a simple bay, with only those golden chains, dripping from her forehead to weave around her sides and circling her ankles, to provide a dash of excitement. (Perhaps that is the attraction of it; if the rest of her were overwhelming, the chains would have no impact.) She smiles, her teeth bright as stars against the darkness of her muzzle, and says simply – softly, “Hello.”
But her gaze – it pulls him from the darkness.
Septimus draws forward, the rich bay of his coat gleaming like polished wood in the lamplight; he is the forest drawn forth into the city streets, with a shake of his antlered head that makes the emerald jewels adorning the points clink and gleam in the flickering light. He brushes by her, just close enough to feel the golden chains against his skin, and turns to watch her, with a tilt of his head and a faint smile. (His dark lips curl up, just barely – just enough to reveal the wolfish tips of his teeth.) “Hello,” he says, in turn, his voice quiet enough to match her own; and he looks her over again, and wonders. “Where did you learn to dance?”
He wonders - there is something about her that makes him wonder.
@Al'Zahra || <3 ||
"Speech!"
BUT NOT TOO BOLD
He sees her, for a moment, before she approaches. Maybe he has seen her before, but he was too distracted by the scenery to really look – but now that he has seen her, Septimus does not know how he did not notice her before. She moves like the wind through the ancient branches of old-growth elms, each curve of her body the sinuous weave of a river; where are the shoals? The rapids? She flickers like a leaf, dried and reddened by coming autumn, but she is as sturdy as a stone, weathered but standing. And he thinks that she is like a little ember – his eyes are drawn to the way that she moves, the way that those golden chains swirl around her and catch in the gleaming light, the way that she is too many things at once. There is something childlike to the way that she is so unrestrained, the way that she dips to bring cheer to the passerby, the way that she steps too close to the flames-
She is not dancing when she comes to him; a barrier stands between them, long line that separates light from dark. There is something about her that makes him marvel. When she is not dancing, she seems an entirely different creature. She is beautiful, certainly, strong and lithe in the way that any good dancer should be, but she is not an elaborate beauty – she is painted in the hues of a simple bay, with only those golden chains, dripping from her forehead to weave around her sides and circling her ankles, to provide a dash of excitement. (Perhaps that is the attraction of it; if the rest of her were overwhelming, the chains would have no impact.) She smiles, her teeth bright as stars against the darkness of her muzzle, and says simply – softly, “Hello.”
But her gaze – it pulls him from the darkness.
Septimus draws forward, the rich bay of his coat gleaming like polished wood in the lamplight; he is the forest drawn forth into the city streets, with a shake of his antlered head that makes the emerald jewels adorning the points clink and gleam in the flickering light. He brushes by her, just close enough to feel the golden chains against his skin, and turns to watch her, with a tilt of his head and a faint smile. (His dark lips curl up, just barely – just enough to reveal the wolfish tips of his teeth.) “Hello,” he says, in turn, his voice quiet enough to match her own; and he looks her over again, and wonders. “Where did you learn to dance?”
He wonders - there is something about her that makes him wonder.
@Al'Zahra || <3 ||
"Speech!"
AND RARELY, IF THE WOOD ACCEPTS THE BLADE WITHOUT CONDITIONSthe two pieces keep their balance in spite of the blow❃please tag Septimus! contact is encouraged, short of violence
