#cora2ons

❛ was that a friend of yours? ❜

POLDARK SENTENCE STARTERS (33/?)

stretching herself up on her tiptoes, clara tries to look over cora's shoulder, face-splitting grin catching the confused stare of one of her co-stars before the actress succeeds in pushing her into her dressing room, the door closing and locking with a loud click.

@cora2ons said: “ Nonono, don’t come any closer. ”

Consciousness slams back into Wesley like a souped-up Chevy going thirty miles over the speed limit — which makes sense, because that's exactly how the life was knocked out of him. He can feel it, the broken bones that have his limbs bent at awkward angles, the blood that's pooled beneath him and clotted in his throat, his death rattle echoing off the cold brick buildings in a hollow rasp that only makes him feel more sick. Or maybe that’s the flies still buzzing around him, feeding off the rot; do they know how wrong he is, too?

Sitting upright is a clumsy process hindered by muscles still locked in a state of rigor mortis, but he does it anyway, fighting with his foreign body until it finally heaves him forward. Breath panting, he stops, snapping his spine back into place with a gurgling yelp; only then can he scrub the grime from milky eyes, blinking up at a sight he's both relieved and horrified to behold: the faded front of an old-fashioned diner.

( How long has he been dead this time? )

For a moment, all Wesley can do is stare. He barely remembers making the call now, but he knows whatever he had to say must have been really important if he decided to bother Cora. Most things, as he'd told her before, can be dealt with on his own; even, and maybe especially, his death. He doesn't want to think about what might happen if anyone else witnessed the truth of him, if they saw the mockery of life that twists his bones, never staying in one place for fear that someone might smell the rot on him.

But now it seems like he doesn't have a choice.

Shuffling sounds from further down the alley, and he only twists slightly — stumbling on a mangled joint, ribs seizing, heart shuddering with the shock of being alive — before a trembling voice stops him in his tracks. Familiar, and so frightened, but firm in its assertion: stay away.

She's probably right to say it. He knows the sight he makes, covered in gore and starting to tremble, with his breath caught up in a horrible gurgling rasp; a similar ghoulish vision had shattered the mirror in his family home, leaving him to be sick over every fractured reflection that dared to tell him the truth. He still dreams about it sometimes: the glass sticking in chunks to mottled grey flesh that hung from his bones, and the black ichor splattering over white tile, never-ending. It's all he can ever really see, when he looks at himself.

But Cora wasn't prepared for any of this. She probably doesn't even know it's him, whatever the fuck that means, and here he is like a revenant at her door. ( He should've never called her. Hasn't he learned by now that he's just meant to be alone? )

her head thunks back against the first surface it can find. it's hard and metal and she winces at the impact, eyes shuttering closed for just a moment. behind her eyelids she can still see the bright white light of whatever it is you're meant to call those circle light things in the tardis.

( it's not just the lights she recognizes. she can feel the grate underneath her head, recognizes it as the tardis floor she walks on more days than not. )

she groans.

so,  naturally,  flight  is  her  choice  now,  again.  leisurely  strolling  through  the  wes endt,  walking  off  her  time  slip,  a  curiously  dressed  figure  catches  her  attention.  it's  like  her  blood  freezes  in  her  veins,  icy  shivers  down  her  spine  -  like  herself,  the  person  looks  out  of  place.  out  of  time. 

running  into  fellow  time  walkers  is  both  highly  unusual  and  absolutely  terrifying.  what's  even  more  mortifying  is  that,  before  she  has  the  chance  to  duck  into  a  doorway,  or  turn  away  on  general,  she  catches  their  eye.  "  oh  -  bollocks  "

" what was that for ? " asked by @cora2ons .

he'd gotten carried away . truly , he had . hands had bordered her face and pulled lips against his own , fleeting and ineffective . a part of him that had once adored the sensation of physical affection to show appreciation had been triggered without realising . ( visions of curled hair and a cravat come to mind . ) smile sits still content against lips , excitement brightening aged hues . " what ? you were amazing ! "