s w a h i l i
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
It was difficult, to even admit the little bit about her home that the one answer gave. But . . . his reaction was worse. THe way he stared her down, drawing a breath in, as if searching for the lie. Oh how she wished it was a lie. To go home and be wrapped up in an embrace. To feel an embrace, even. Had her father ever embraced her. Her gaze lowers, but she remains quiet, letting him settle his thoughts on what she would have revealed. And then, it's like quiet acceptance. Neither spoke of it, as if it was okay. Normal. And for a brief moment she wants to fight back, to scream how it wasn't fair, that she wanted more. She wanted to feel accepted, to be seen. Dear Zeus, she just wanted to be seen.
But she remains quiet, focusing instead on the plants, and then on him to ask about the dirt. A chance of momentary curiosity. The look he shot her had her smiling sheepishly, even as she nodded for him to tell her, too curious to be properly cowed, her ears perking when he state no, that it was how his body was, and she found her own muzzle dropping open curiously, suddenly filled with thousands of other questions, even as she took a moment to peer him over. The way his body was. With dirt upon his back, a mismatch set of fangs, and antlers as well.
He was your quinsential mountain man wasn't he? "One last question, and then I'll leave it be . . . for now . . . but, can you grow anything from it them?" She asked, suddenly eager with more curiosity, for a safer, more interesting topic then her own dismal home life. He did then offer her some information, or rather, information in regards to the lack of information. New to the land, and hadn't learned much. It made sense and she nodded, before perking up when he agreed with what she had to say about the spiderwort.
Her muzzle split into a vibrant smile, clearly pleased at the approval - even if from a virtual stranger. "Ogden?" She starts, hesitating on the question his name had been turned into, suddenly curious about something else, "You're . . . not part of any particular herd are you?" She finally asks, her voice quiet, "Most herd members carry some of the land's scent upon them. Day smell of spice, Dusk of the sea, Night of fire, and Dawn of nature . . . You're a vagabond, right?" She asks with out judgement, her attention on another aspect of all of this entirely, "What is it like, Ogden; to not be trapped with in the courts? I only have the faintest of memories . . . before I was left on my father's door step . . . Is it as freeing as I feel I remember it to be?"
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Ogden
Notes: <3
