When he descends upon her, it feels a bit like hitting himself.
He can see it in the press of their bodies, the way muscle remembers a fight years after it has happened. Beneath him it is no longer Elena, crumbling beneath his weight — but himself. And he sees again Asterion kicking his legs out from under him, sees a flash of stars and smoke, strands of grass braided together in ropes, turning brown and brittle as all the water goes out of them with a sigh.
He sighs now, when his legs stumble against her skin like a heartbeat. He is falling, falling against her, falling down her side, falling into the snow, falling. It might have been funny then, the way they collide against each other like stars knocking each other out of orbit, had it not been for the ice bringing back a thousand memories as sharp as the snow is cold. Another fissure opens up in his heart, and another rose is blooming to fill the cracks of it.
When he came here the first time, he was battling a king.
And now, he is the king.
He sees her teeth reaching out for him the same way he sees the laughter shining in her blue eyes. Her eyes had always known how to smile, and he had always been jealous of that — now he is only thankful. He has forgotten how much teeth can hurt, how violent a fight can seem when it is against friends instead of enemies. He has forgotten, too, how easy it is to smile through the pain when there is a friend there beside you.
He smiles now, when he pushes off the ground and runs away, away, away from her teeth that glint like diamonds against the snow. He imagines they snap closed like a wolf’s on empty air, but if they do he does not hear them over the pounding of his heart and the roar of his magic. It is rising like a snowstorm inside of him, begging every last root and taper buried in the frozen earth to come alive, come awake, and grow.
There is not much for his magic to call to, here on the steppe where the ground is more often watered by blood than by water. But there is still a thistle that answers his call, shooting up like a wildflower in spring, tangled stems reaching to wrap themselves like a kiss around her back ankle. And if they do, she will find their touch as gentle as it is insistent — and he hopes that in their gentleness, she feels the laughter that his lips have forgotten how to make.
Caught ya.
He can see it in the press of their bodies, the way muscle remembers a fight years after it has happened. Beneath him it is no longer Elena, crumbling beneath his weight — but himself. And he sees again Asterion kicking his legs out from under him, sees a flash of stars and smoke, strands of grass braided together in ropes, turning brown and brittle as all the water goes out of them with a sigh.
He sighs now, when his legs stumble against her skin like a heartbeat. He is falling, falling against her, falling down her side, falling into the snow, falling. It might have been funny then, the way they collide against each other like stars knocking each other out of orbit, had it not been for the ice bringing back a thousand memories as sharp as the snow is cold. Another fissure opens up in his heart, and another rose is blooming to fill the cracks of it.
When he came here the first time, he was battling a king.
And now, he is the king.
He sees her teeth reaching out for him the same way he sees the laughter shining in her blue eyes. Her eyes had always known how to smile, and he had always been jealous of that — now he is only thankful. He has forgotten how much teeth can hurt, how violent a fight can seem when it is against friends instead of enemies. He has forgotten, too, how easy it is to smile through the pain when there is a friend there beside you.
He smiles now, when he pushes off the ground and runs away, away, away from her teeth that glint like diamonds against the snow. He imagines they snap closed like a wolf’s on empty air, but if they do he does not hear them over the pounding of his heart and the roar of his magic. It is rising like a snowstorm inside of him, begging every last root and taper buried in the frozen earth to come alive, come awake, and grow.
There is not much for his magic to call to, here on the steppe where the ground is more often watered by blood than by water. But there is still a thistle that answers his call, shooting up like a wildflower in spring, tangled stems reaching to wrap themselves like a kiss around her back ankle. And if they do, she will find their touch as gentle as it is insistent — and he hopes that in their gentleness, she feels the laughter that his lips have forgotten how to make.
Caught ya.
@
”here am i!“
Summary: Po falls down as Elena does, sliding off of her and into the snow in the process. He pushes himself up before she gets a chance to return his nip, and moves away. As he does his magic reaches out to the plants of the ground, which he uses to try and wrap the branches of a thistle plant around her legs to trap her in place.
Attack Used: 2
Attack(s) Left: 0
Block Used: 1
Block(s) Left: 0
Item(s) Used:
Response Deadline: 09/24/20 (but flexible!)
Tags: @Elena, @Sid, @inkbone, @nestle, @layla
Attack Used: 2
Attack(s) Left: 0
Block Used: 1
Block(s) Left: 0
Item(s) Used:
Response Deadline: 09/24/20 (but flexible!)
Tags: @
