TONIGHT
WE ARE
VICTORIOUS
all my friends
we're glorious
WE ARE
VICTORIOUS
all my friends
we're glorious
A lightning bolt of euphoria was coursing through her veins, jolting off of her bones as though they were made of aluminum, and zipping right through her heart. Her face was numb and her chest was somehow light and heavy at the same time; she was feeling emotions she had not felt in quite some time, not since childhood, long before the life-changing events which put her on this path. She was not, and never had been, a creature of happiness, light, and positivity-- she was a beast of rage and anger and profound action, not giggles and smiles and dancing.
It was a strange feeling, to smile so hard her cheeks hurt. It was foreign and unsettling, a chemical change, a golden, skeleton key turning and re-arranging things in her brain. Sabrina had always been more of a poorly-tended fire, liable to erupt in a fit of sparks and smoke than a bonfire of joviality. This seemed wrong. She wasn’t allowed to be happy. She wasn’t allowed to enjoy herself. She was allowed to look, watch, maybe bask adjacent in the glow, but not to experience; not to dip her toes. But here she stood in the midst of a carousing group of partiers, holding an empty chalice with a maniacal grin and half a laugh in her throat, swept up in the notion of, swept up in the wave.
And she could not find it in herself to find herself abhorrent. She was just happy. She was just having a good time. She was just.
The person she’d bumped into was a big dude, no imagination needed. He was tall and made taller by the crown of antlers sprouting from his head. He was golden-eyed with delicate white warpaint adorning his forehead in arrowesque shapes. Sabrina watched him smack his golden-eyed, antlered head into a tent post and set the whole thing shaking, threatening to drop it down on top of them. There was a moment of worry where everyone fell into a mumbled-off silence and twenty sets of eyes went skyward, watching, waiting; then the tent settled and erupted with a HOORAH and everyone started buzzing about again.
Sabrina at least had the grace to offer a “Whoops,” before the mountain of a guy was back on his feet-- if a little unsteadily-- and facing her and demanding answers of her and she had none to give. She was still grinning and just gave him a shrug as she less-than-discreetly appreciated the view.
(Puck hadn’t been big. Puck had been… svelte. Compact. Built for flying. Taut. Soft. Touchable.)
The image of golden muscles in the candlelight shattered by the soft murmur of the people around her, the hive-like humming quieted so they could partner off and whisper, whisper, whisper. Normally she’d have chucked the chalice and asked them, less than kindly, what the hell they were looking at. Instead, she lifted her empty cup-- forgetting entirely that the hot guy had spoken to her-- and asked, “Hey, whose a girl gotta kill to get a refill around here?”
Before she could answer the hot guy in question was bodying into her and ordering her to go outside. She stumbled back a bit, smiling goofily at his chin that she barely came up to, and shrugged. Someone from behind her filled her cup-- she teetered on half her legs and winked at them as the weight tugged at her invisible hand-- and then she did what she was told, and followed Gallileo out of the tent.
“Who peed in your oats, bud?” Sabrina asked with a laugh as the two of them came out into the sunlight. One brown-feathered wing hung at half-mast, the tip dipping downwards, as she brought her now filled chalice around to her face. “I mean, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She looked at him over the cup’s edge as she took another drink. “Look at you, you’re too beefy to get hurt.”
"SPEECH." | @Galileo | lordt
It was a strange feeling, to smile so hard her cheeks hurt. It was foreign and unsettling, a chemical change, a golden, skeleton key turning and re-arranging things in her brain. Sabrina had always been more of a poorly-tended fire, liable to erupt in a fit of sparks and smoke than a bonfire of joviality. This seemed wrong. She wasn’t allowed to be happy. She wasn’t allowed to enjoy herself. She was allowed to look, watch, maybe bask adjacent in the glow, but not to experience; not to dip her toes. But here she stood in the midst of a carousing group of partiers, holding an empty chalice with a maniacal grin and half a laugh in her throat, swept up in the notion of, swept up in the wave.
And she could not find it in herself to find herself abhorrent. She was just happy. She was just having a good time. She was just.
The person she’d bumped into was a big dude, no imagination needed. He was tall and made taller by the crown of antlers sprouting from his head. He was golden-eyed with delicate white warpaint adorning his forehead in arrowesque shapes. Sabrina watched him smack his golden-eyed, antlered head into a tent post and set the whole thing shaking, threatening to drop it down on top of them. There was a moment of worry where everyone fell into a mumbled-off silence and twenty sets of eyes went skyward, watching, waiting; then the tent settled and erupted with a HOORAH and everyone started buzzing about again.
Sabrina at least had the grace to offer a “Whoops,” before the mountain of a guy was back on his feet-- if a little unsteadily-- and facing her and demanding answers of her and she had none to give. She was still grinning and just gave him a shrug as she less-than-discreetly appreciated the view.
(Puck hadn’t been big. Puck had been… svelte. Compact. Built for flying. Taut. Soft. Touchable.)
The image of golden muscles in the candlelight shattered by the soft murmur of the people around her, the hive-like humming quieted so they could partner off and whisper, whisper, whisper. Normally she’d have chucked the chalice and asked them, less than kindly, what the hell they were looking at. Instead, she lifted her empty cup-- forgetting entirely that the hot guy had spoken to her-- and asked, “Hey, whose a girl gotta kill to get a refill around here?”
Before she could answer the hot guy in question was bodying into her and ordering her to go outside. She stumbled back a bit, smiling goofily at his chin that she barely came up to, and shrugged. Someone from behind her filled her cup-- she teetered on half her legs and winked at them as the weight tugged at her invisible hand-- and then she did what she was told, and followed Gallileo out of the tent.
“Who peed in your oats, bud?” Sabrina asked with a laugh as the two of them came out into the sunlight. One brown-feathered wing hung at half-mast, the tip dipping downwards, as she brought her now filled chalice around to her face. “I mean, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She looked at him over the cup’s edge as she took another drink. “Look at you, you’re too beefy to get hurt.”
