Snorting a little laugh, Jamie's lips curl upward into a smile. "That's a weird way of askin' me out t'lunch," he teases affectionately. Richmond's got a Friday night game this week, so his Saturday's wide open after recovery. "Erm - could do, though, after recovery, I mean. Which shouldn't take too long, I should be out by, like, half two? Something like that? Depends how long Roy wants t'keep me." Jamie's schedule is something that he almost never plans - he just goes along with where he's told to be when he's told to be there, whether that's with Roy, with his mates, with potential partners. He's never been good at keeping a calendar. "But yeah - yeah, could do, yeah. Where d'you want t'bump into me, then?"

send  ‘ scars ‘  to  trace  my  muses  scars   ;   (   add  +  to  reverse   )  || Accepting

With the armor gone, set aside just next to him, all that had remained between her and his most recent wound is his shirt, and that's gone soon enough. But the wound itself is almost gone, now: shallow as it was, all that remains is a faint line of green scales dotting his skin.

"See?" He tells Liam. "It's nothing worth worrying about."

Whatever this cautious balance is, now between them, after they were gone for so long and then recognized him and made him halt, he doesn't want to be the one to break it.

It's still hard not to look back at those days, when their fingers trace one of the longest, leanest scars. One of many, of far too many.

"You were there for this one." He tells her, softly. "I underestimated you, then crashed into that glass pane."

He looks up from where he’s currently sitting on the grass, next to the field - the pitch - greeting them with a hint of a smile. 

Chim cradles the bag of peas to his forehead, eyes flashing, but mouth shut. He doesn't have anything nice to say. Liam might be right to tease, Chim just doesn't want to hear it right now.

feat. bobby nash and liam kaz.

 ‍  ‍ marlais leans back against a marble column, chest heaving, shoulder to shoulder with the boy she just witnessed strangle a grecian monster to death with . . . a lasso, she thinks? a little atypical, maybe, but clearly it did more good than her accidental -- albeit brief! -- drowning of the museum floor. the power still pulses under her skin, straining like the tide. she doesn't tap into it often enough.