TONIGHT
WE ARE
VICTORIOUS
all my friends
we're glorious
WE ARE
VICTORIOUS
all my friends
we're glorious
Unbothered. It was a hell of a feeling. See, Sabrina spent a good portion of her life trying to cultivate an air of disdain, acting like she didn’t care for the world or what was going on around her. But her obvious willingness to pick fights and get snippy over the tiniest intrusions into her life was evidence of the opposite. Not caring was a double edged sword, one she’d worked really hard on forging. She was so focused on her own self-serving nature that anyone who stumbled across her path immediately earned her ire. She was liable to go off like a loaded gun at any time, as much as she would have people convinced otherwise.
So here was this smouldery antelope-striped deer-horned tall dark and handsome giant all pissed off at her and usually her first response would be to clock him a good one right across the jaw; he was the right height, after all, to just turn around and fire off a good kick. But, much to her confusion and absolute delight, she didn’t want to; the mystery was compounded even more by how this was the exact opposite of how she acted when she was drunk. It had to be this numinous, mythical concoction-- she took another drink, lips numb, tongue buzzing-- which was filling her with such an otherworldly elation. Such an un-Sabrina-esque happiness. It was addicting. It was a relief.
He looked her over and she did the same in kind. He didn’t look impressed and she didn’t give a shit-- that, at least, hadn’t changed. She had been born ugly, ungifted, and blessedly confident. She was no stranger to a raised eyebrow or a lip lifted in disgust. Here, at least, people didn’t spit on her when they found out she was broken. Back home, the fact she was not only magic incapable, but magic intolerant, well, that made people cross the street to get away from her. Like she was diseased. At a young age, she’d learned to not let it get to her. Eventually it had become a blessing.
But the way his face shifted when he saw her wings-- not her wings, Puck’s wings-- got her gears grinding a little bit. She flexed them, and felt the invasive magic spiraling through her veins, kickstarting her heart. “Take a picture,” she cracked, grinning, “it’ll last longer.”
They ended up in some really cliche half-assed hedge maze where the flowers were already wilting from the Solterran heat. Horticulture was particularly difficult in this portion of the world, Sabrina gleaned; the sun leached the color and life out of everything that dared try to be green. Before too long the hedges would wither and dry up, dead and brown, liable to turn to dust if looked at. But for now, it provided some semblance of privacy.
He seemed to be getting more rankled with everything she said and it just made her smile grow larger and larger. Is this how Puck felt, she wondered, when he got under her skin? God, it was a power.
The stranger puffed his chest out and, she assumed, tried to look threatening. Commanding. It made her laugh. “Well, ya don’t seem fine,” she said through her snickers. “You seem like you could use someone to be concerned about you. Mr. Grumpy Guts.”
He scolded her like she was a teenager loitering at a street corner and he was an old man lingering on his front porch. She rolled her eyes in a relaxed and joking loop. “I’m sorry I bonked into you. These things--” she gave a slow flap, and then couched her wings by her side again-- “--well, I wasn’t born with them, so sometimes they’re a hazard. To everyone. Myself included.” She swallowed a hiccup. No need to extrapolate on that.
“Naw, I’m fine. Takes a lot more than you to hurt me.” Especially right now. "And my name is Sabrina.” She stepped a little closer to him, curious. “So, why’s a guy come to a party just to be all dark and broody? Gotta be better places for it, right?”
"SPEECH." | @Galileo |
So here was this smouldery antelope-striped deer-horned tall dark and handsome giant all pissed off at her and usually her first response would be to clock him a good one right across the jaw; he was the right height, after all, to just turn around and fire off a good kick. But, much to her confusion and absolute delight, she didn’t want to; the mystery was compounded even more by how this was the exact opposite of how she acted when she was drunk. It had to be this numinous, mythical concoction-- she took another drink, lips numb, tongue buzzing-- which was filling her with such an otherworldly elation. Such an un-Sabrina-esque happiness. It was addicting. It was a relief.
He looked her over and she did the same in kind. He didn’t look impressed and she didn’t give a shit-- that, at least, hadn’t changed. She had been born ugly, ungifted, and blessedly confident. She was no stranger to a raised eyebrow or a lip lifted in disgust. Here, at least, people didn’t spit on her when they found out she was broken. Back home, the fact she was not only magic incapable, but magic intolerant, well, that made people cross the street to get away from her. Like she was diseased. At a young age, she’d learned to not let it get to her. Eventually it had become a blessing.
But the way his face shifted when he saw her wings-- not her wings, Puck’s wings-- got her gears grinding a little bit. She flexed them, and felt the invasive magic spiraling through her veins, kickstarting her heart. “Take a picture,” she cracked, grinning, “it’ll last longer.”
They ended up in some really cliche half-assed hedge maze where the flowers were already wilting from the Solterran heat. Horticulture was particularly difficult in this portion of the world, Sabrina gleaned; the sun leached the color and life out of everything that dared try to be green. Before too long the hedges would wither and dry up, dead and brown, liable to turn to dust if looked at. But for now, it provided some semblance of privacy.
He seemed to be getting more rankled with everything she said and it just made her smile grow larger and larger. Is this how Puck felt, she wondered, when he got under her skin? God, it was a power.
The stranger puffed his chest out and, she assumed, tried to look threatening. Commanding. It made her laugh. “Well, ya don’t seem fine,” she said through her snickers. “You seem like you could use someone to be concerned about you. Mr. Grumpy Guts.”
He scolded her like she was a teenager loitering at a street corner and he was an old man lingering on his front porch. She rolled her eyes in a relaxed and joking loop. “I’m sorry I bonked into you. These things--” she gave a slow flap, and then couched her wings by her side again-- “--well, I wasn’t born with them, so sometimes they’re a hazard. To everyone. Myself included.” She swallowed a hiccup. No need to extrapolate on that.
“Naw, I’m fine. Takes a lot more than you to hurt me.” Especially right now. "And my name is Sabrina.” She stepped a little closer to him, curious. “So, why’s a guy come to a party just to be all dark and broody? Gotta be better places for it, right?”
