ah’ve been fightin’ all mah life. it’s what ah do. sometimes righteous. sometimes selfish.

Rogue hangs gaily against the wooden fence, watching with her tongue between her teeth while he practices. There’s a break of light that crashes over his features, one that seems focused on illuminating him in particular, the chosen one. Touched by the hand of God, whilst she waits beneath it. Rogue has made peace with this place — with her role in this world. And when he turns to look at her, panting in exertion with a smile, she doesn’t think of herself as unlucky.

His stature is of no real concern to the woman, despite the irritation that comes from having to lift her head to view him. The thick of her heel has oftentimes allowed her to be the towering imposition — in this case, however, she finds herself bested. But Rogue will not adjourn quietly, and eyes him with the same glare given to all who find themselves in her path. “ Don’ tell me yer big AND stupid, honey. ” Her teeth gnash, hostile — then soften. Too sharp, perhaps. Rogue’s loneliness has turned her into something rabid. Wayward. She mistakes a good nature for something far more sinister, and who can blame her? Her paranoia is what’s kept her alive for this long.

" happy valentine's, mon cœur. " [ from remy. there's a cat waiting in a green heart-shaped box ]

Rogue hawks up something yellow and sticky, and spits it off to the side, watching as the phlegm bubbles against the scorching road. It evaporates almost instantly, leaving no trace; devoured thirstily by the winding road. Hot — in other words, doesn’t cover the atmosphere they find themselves in. It is a discomfort that sits beneath the very skin, snaking its way up your body with its infection.