#ahmora

“ stop being such a baby and let me finish cleaning you up. ”

Well that was stern and rather unexpected. His brow furrowing to emphasis the glare he was currently shooting the other as she wiped away the dried blood. Not being wounded often, he almost always was going to be the worst patient one could have when he did need treatment. “I don’t even know you.” He grumbled out, resisting the urge to once more move away from her touch. Even if she was being kind to him, in a way. It seemed her bedside manner wasn’t the best and it no doubt fit the situation. “Why are you even helping me?” Another set of words he probably shouldn’t even be saying to someone who was showing good nature in helping him. Yet he couldn’t help it, kindness from strangers was something he was highly unaccustomed to and it was clearly showing here. If they weren’t from The Ten Rings, his family, then he always found it hard to let down his guard. 

@ahmora​  -

            ❝ okay, well, why don’t you just walk away? ❞

                    amora’s  talent  for  the  dramatics  is  truly  without  equal.   she’s  draped  across  him   -   her  favorite  place  to  be  these  days,   it  would  seem   -   and  sporting  one  of  the  most  elaborate  pouts  jason  thinks  he’s  ever  seen  on  anyone.   all  because  he’d  suggested  they  should  keep  moving;   that  remaining  still  the  entire  day  wouldn’t  be  the  best  use  of  their  time.

❛      I  SHOULD  HAVE  KNOWN  this  was  one  of  yours  from  the  beginning.      ❜      a  smooth  stone  with  branches  stretching  away  from  a  rune,  carefully  carved  into  a  teasing  signature  that  only  maeve  would  recognize  rests  in  the  cusp  of  a  clenched  palm.    her  tone  is  anything  but  friendly.    the  black  ire  twanging  the  edge  of  her  jaw  like  a  harp  string  thrums  with  each  seething  clench.  her  knuckles  blanch  with  the  finality  of  dogging  after  amora  in  a  two  year  hunt.    

two  years,  in  the  sprawling  expanse  of  eternity,  is  NOTHING.    two  years,  in  the  long  ramble  of  history  that  spreads  between  them,  is  a  pittance,  an  annoyance  that  grinds  the  pits  of  her  molars.    

ahmora asked: it is late - late enough that any mortal would seek to find rest, even the sorcerer supreme. he is dozing with a tome in his hand as she approaches ( momentarily stalled by the suspicious fluttering of annoying cape ) but ends are met as she bends down to press a kiss against his lips ... hard enough to rouse him but soft enough to have a gentle impression. " dying from exhaustion would be such a waste. "

HEAVY   WAS   THE   HEAD   THAT   WORE   THE   CROWN,      an   easy   yet   meaningful   quote   by   the   beloved   shakespeare.      it   was   in   a   state   of   slumber   where   she   found   him,      the   sorcerer   wrapped   up   in   the   middle   of   trying   to   find   a   reason   for   his   odd   feeling   of   late.      he   couldn't   shake   the   idea   that   there   was   something   terribly   wrong   with   the   multiverse      ---      and   frankly,      who   else   was   there   to   fix   it   ?      

his   eyebrows   were   furrowed   and   his   expression   pinched,      the   weight   of   responsibility   plaguing   him   even   in   his   state   of   unconciousness.      the   book   he   held   was   barely   gripped   enough   to   prevent   falling   to   the   floor,      but   fingers   slip   when   SOFT   LIPS   press   against   his   own      ---      waking   him   from   his   unexpected   slumber.      blonde   hair   cascaded   around   his   features,      mismatched   eyes   of   blue   and   grey   widening   ever   slightly,      tinged   with   exhaustion.

S U R E.  kiel misspells my url and i’m the one that gets harassed !!  this is liable, slander, etc. ??  @ahmora  do you see this abuse ??

BUT ALSO

they  were  both   dead   artists,  in  a   certain,  special  way.   and the two could not have spun more different paintings if ever they were to try;  his head was dark    very dark,  and his statuesque figure taller than most young trees.    the other was fair with great masses of golden hair draped across her shoulders.   and where one had great, piercing eyes that shown near-red in the pale moon,  hers were of a different,  almost venal sort of disposition.    stood together in silence,  with the elder’s eyes fixed upon the parchment that had been strewn across the rostrum by his own hand.    he made to dip his pen in the aging ink,  catching little more than a glimpse of green in his occupied peripherals. 

           the touch of wax upon the dead,  gray skin was enough to shock him from his stillness,  to have him round on her like a vulture to its prey.   his eyes,  once large and full of jaded wisdom,  seemed almost beady whilst they glared down upon her head.    although they somehow were a fair contrast to his gnarled mouth, which had twisted itself into a look of   petrified  malice  and churned to show the great,  white teeth.     WHO  WOULD  DARE  BARE  HER  FANGS  AGAINST HIM,  LAY WASTE TO THE MARBLE THAT HAD BEGAT THEM FROM HIS BLOOD?                   like a savage wolf that might snap against its kin,  the tension rose within him,  evened out,  and then steadily slipped away.    nay,  this was no vampire with her teeth lay bare against him.    realization dawned and time passed slowly,  and with it slipped shut the angered grimace of that count’s ruby maw.