#dawsons mccarthy

That time Crevia’s curse with men was broken.

 (( @agoodbear ;D))

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Calline looks up, blinking.

 Dangling off three of his fingers, there’s a pair of men’s tight and shorts, a whiff of lace that barely passes as clothing, underwear or not, and….a utility belt.

 In the hazy morning light, Angela and Calline share a glance, kind of the same deadpan look on their faces. Calline snorts, shaking her head, “…You just wanted to say that out loud, didn’t you?” 

 A wink, fingerpistols, and both women bust out laughing.

(( @everymanrogue I had to a Thing))

 .

 'For as long as it lasts', Angela had said.

  Calline had never been particularly good with the unknown. Which was unfortunate, as she was kind of stuck with it. She would never know things the way the rest of her family had, once. What was left to her was chance and luck, making choices more blind than any of her kind had ever been. Her luck had been kind of terrible thus far, at least when it came to this mighty venture of love.

 Her feet carried her through the house with a purpose, though. Her coltish nerves weren't only hurting her. They were a domino effect that could effect a dear friend, a troubled girl who needed someone like her, and not one, but two men, who...well. Who knew the depths of their minds. She could know the depths of one, though, if she took this by the reins. Maybe. If he let her.

  She kept walking, leaving her bag by the bedroom door, loosing the laces of her robe, letting it pool on the floor. He was already dozing against the pillows she'd added to his living space, the evening air drifting in through open windows. Calline slipped under the sheets, sliding over him, wrapping her legs around him, framing his face in her hands as he woke. Blinking, surprised, and then quickly game, clutching at her hips in turn, nails leaving crescent moons in her skin.

  Throw yourself down a path already, see where it goes.

 .

It was a good dream. Calline couldn’t exactly say why, but it felt calming, good. She was walking through the house in Dalaran, bare feet padding on the marble floors, trailing her fingers over her fathers’ books. Afternoon sun slanted in through the arches, the mountains around Dalaran lit bright…

.

 She woke up slowly, languidly, being pulled into a strong, warm embrace. Fingers sliding along her skin seemingly without an agenda. Before she was really fully aware, her eyes slipped back shut, a pleased hum on her lips as she turned, nuzzling her face into the inviting warmth of his chest under the piles of blankets and sheets. Dawsons’ low chuckle was what stirred her to further wakefulness, looking up at him hazily, as he curled a long lock of her blonde hair around his fingers. 

 “Morning, beautiful,” He murmured, a smile on his lips, his gaze softer than usual, studying her almost, languidly and…fondly. She couldn’t fight the soft, sleepy smile she responded with, shoving a thousand warning sirens to the back of her mind stubbornly, tilting her chin up as he drew her in for a kiss. 

They cherry of the cigar burned brightly in the dark of the nightwoods. It had to be close sometime to Dawn, low moon, and sure to have the sun rise at any point and time. The air was filled with the smell that could burn the inside of ones nose. A blubbering cultist on his knees, before a click of the shotgun cracked like thunder.

The body falling limp, after vein attempts of bargaining. The conversation held in the off-hand, not gripped around the trigger of a sawed off shotgun, coming to a short end. “See you soon.” Dawsons would say simply, dropping the communication stone after it seemed to had shorted out, to quickly be crushed under boot.

Dawsons looked up, two scorched and burned bodies hanging by their neck, one of them with a leg held to their body by the very last bit of sinew of their kneecaps, falling off at an awkward angle as if it was shot off by a short rang blast. With the cigar nearly burned to the nub, Dawsons flicked the cigar to where the unnatural scent came from. It was fuel, fuel that burned a trail into the hovel of the crypt as heat blasted from the crypt with hot air and flame licking the night air, the bodies swinging around with the force that came from the crypt and the leg that had just barely held on flying off into the distance to thump to the ground.