You're one microscopic cog
In his catastrophic plan,
In his catastrophic plan,
Her smile was so unexpected that Lorca felt his long lashed eyes widen for just a moment at the sight of it, though his face was swift to descend back into cool indifference. He didn't get caught on saccharine smiles or depthless amber eyes, though he couldn't help but to note the lioness prowling behind hers — the strength limning the fine lines of her delicate face. She looked unbroken, not untouched... but not soured by the world and the constant turn of fate, as if she'd chosen to remain steadfast against it's blemish.
Lorca felt her gaze sliding over his satin frame with equal degrees of pleasure and shame, though his face remained cold and impassive. He already knew what she would see — and it was not a lion standing fierce and proud against the world. He wondered if she could see the faded bruises and cuts, the fractures of his soul bleeding through the perfect steel of his flawless skin. He had not stayed brave in the face of life and her cruelty, he'd chosen to turn his fear vindictive, his suffering into the suffering of others. Life was cold and cruel and empty of... of the things she bled into the frigid air. She shifted closer and Lorca cut his vision back to her sharply, then glanced at the offering between them.
After a moment of silence he shifted forward on the log, the golden firelight embracing him wholly as it turned his hair into a waterfall of molten silver. Slowly, he placed the chestnut between his supple lips, chewing on the delectable treat in languid enjoyment, his long lashes brushing the fine planes of his cheekbones in a slow blink. When he returned his gaze to the lion-hearted girl her wings were raised, as beautiful and wine-dark as the rest of her — except for the... Lorca narrowed his burnt butter eyes as he realised what it was that scattered her beautiful wings. Perhaps life had not been so kind to the elfin woman.
"Are you enjoying the festival?”
Velorca watched her eyes slip over the glass of liquor at his side, thinking he'd rather buy her a thousand gallons of it than share the single glass he had, though to his dismay he found himself offering;
"Honeyed liquor. Would you like some?"
His voice was svelte velvet as he continued;
"I suppose.. Terrastella has her moments."
He hadn't come to the festival to enjoy himself — he'd come to find other Davke and overhear secrets that fell from drunk mouths. Yet here he was, the closest to a genuine conversation he'd been in so long... though he wouldn't have titled it enjoyment so much as necessity. She had a way of soothing the other irritants in his life, taking all of his honed focus and placing it upon herself, removing all thoughts but wine soaked feathers and secret golden scars. Lorca's gaze dropped to some sugar crystals Cyrene had missed on her lips, ignoring the urge to brush them off, or worse, kiss them.
"Velorca," he offered simply, returning his gaze swiftly to her too-keen eyes. He licked his own lips, suddenly conscious that he might have some sugar left there too. In an effort to refocus, he asked;
"Are you a Terrastellan? Or visiting from elsewhere?"
@Cyrene bloop <3
Lorca felt her gaze sliding over his satin frame with equal degrees of pleasure and shame, though his face remained cold and impassive. He already knew what she would see — and it was not a lion standing fierce and proud against the world. He wondered if she could see the faded bruises and cuts, the fractures of his soul bleeding through the perfect steel of his flawless skin. He had not stayed brave in the face of life and her cruelty, he'd chosen to turn his fear vindictive, his suffering into the suffering of others. Life was cold and cruel and empty of... of the things she bled into the frigid air. She shifted closer and Lorca cut his vision back to her sharply, then glanced at the offering between them.
After a moment of silence he shifted forward on the log, the golden firelight embracing him wholly as it turned his hair into a waterfall of molten silver. Slowly, he placed the chestnut between his supple lips, chewing on the delectable treat in languid enjoyment, his long lashes brushing the fine planes of his cheekbones in a slow blink. When he returned his gaze to the lion-hearted girl her wings were raised, as beautiful and wine-dark as the rest of her — except for the... Lorca narrowed his burnt butter eyes as he realised what it was that scattered her beautiful wings. Perhaps life had not been so kind to the elfin woman.
"Are you enjoying the festival?”
Velorca watched her eyes slip over the glass of liquor at his side, thinking he'd rather buy her a thousand gallons of it than share the single glass he had, though to his dismay he found himself offering;
"Honeyed liquor. Would you like some?"
His voice was svelte velvet as he continued;
"I suppose.. Terrastella has her moments."
He hadn't come to the festival to enjoy himself — he'd come to find other Davke and overhear secrets that fell from drunk mouths. Yet here he was, the closest to a genuine conversation he'd been in so long... though he wouldn't have titled it enjoyment so much as necessity. She had a way of soothing the other irritants in his life, taking all of his honed focus and placing it upon herself, removing all thoughts but wine soaked feathers and secret golden scars. Lorca's gaze dropped to some sugar crystals Cyrene had missed on her lips, ignoring the urge to brush them off, or worse, kiss them.
"Velorca," he offered simply, returning his gaze swiftly to her too-keen eyes. He licked his own lips, suddenly conscious that he might have some sugar left there too. In an effort to refocus, he asked;
"Are you a Terrastellan? Or visiting from elsewhere?"
@Cyrene bloop <3
