A * BOSS

   He shuffles about unfamiliar streets like a sleepwalker, confined to a baffling dream he can’t pinch himself awake from. He’s disoriented, lost, and he wonders if this is how refugees from those outer walls felt, when their lives got uprooted. Did his family have to pack up and leave as well? Did they make it? Do they know what happened to their eldest son...?

   Conjuring images of worst possible outcomes, Auruo stops mid-stride and rubs hard at his temples. He supposes he should count himself lucky, spirited away from a world where new tragedy bloomed with each sunrise, but all he can think of is what he left behind... Another capable blade, shattered.

   Looking up suddenly, he spies a bright-haired girl staring at him with an expression as mournful as his thoughts, almost as if she’d heard him speak them aloud. Had be been talking to himself? Auruo’s expression sours. He averts his eyes, cheeks coloring despite his clouded brow.

petra mirrors his smile, delighted that between them they share even more common ground – a common experience, more than a decade before fate would tangle their lives. her arms loosen, and she absently traces the rim of her cup with her thumb. “ it is,” she agrees fervently, her voice soft. “there’s nothing quite like it. 

“and somehow i’m not surprised you managed to fall in with that crowd.” this time spoken with a teasing grin. “ though i still think it’s surprising that i managed to, when i was at college. graphic design, yeah; you’d be part of that circle. maybe some of the music students might have looked down their noses at you – they certainly would have at the university of chicago – but on the whole you know what it’s like, so you’d be a part of that club. writers are a little more insular. the only reason i know what you’re talking about at all is because i ended up dating a lot of people from the arts schools, so i’d get invited to their parties.” 

her smile acquires a nostalgic softening, tinged with only slightest mischief as the memories surface. it’s nice to think about the girl she’d been; a little wild, more than a little daring, eager for life and its denizens. 

“Ahh, an imposter.” he teases, nose crinkling in a mock-sneer. “Not like you would’ve stood out much, though -- I mean, as a writer I’m sure y’ could bullshit with the best of ‘em, right?” auruo sits back, laughing under his breath, shaking his head at the memories. it seems the cloud of nostalgia had enveloped them both. it’s kind of pleasant, a little intimate. his eyes flicker back toward her face and he catches her with a soft look in her eyes. auruo purses his lips

“See, you’re doin’ it now. Well-- not bullshitting a’ course.” smooth move, bossard. he waggles a hand hastily, “Bein’ a regular wordsmith. You ain’t shy about it either. I can see why you fit in -- it ain’t so surprising you’d fit in.”

|| IM RLY PUMPED TO START WRITING AS AURUO “motherfucking” BOSSARD SO LIKE FOR A STARTER Y’ALL

Well. Almost better.

Auruo Bossard wakes screaming, back arching over a chrome table, limbs bent and taut like a dying insect. He’d died like an insect -- swatted straight out of the air and-- Wait, what?

He stops screaming, but they push at his lungs until his breath gets ragged. Hyperventilating, Auruo flails a shaking hand and feels beneath himself, at his back, his spine. It’s...intact? 

[ text: freckles ] u forgot ur scarf on the couch