#dovesung

    “Something I think is true?” Now, Staci truly tried to think of something, but it was harder, granted the fact he was...being touched. Yeah. Someone was touching him. Why was he being touched? Well. Touched in a positive manner. Sure, he would have been used to that when he was just some prideful Deputy, but not after all of this time. Nobody would do that for him. Not show care. Not lean on him. But she did. She did and each touch and each wisp of perfume drew him in further.

It’s been many years since he took a breath as an alive man. Throughout the years Warren’s seen the world change, and he can’t say he’s impressed. Technology is a disease, and that’s why he tends to stay away from cities and stick to the rural lands that feel like home. Though when he wants to get his own sick kicks, he’ll find people to torment as much as he can. No longer can he take lives like he used to, he’s only able to bring those to the brink of death. This, he’s sure of it, is Hell.

When he can stare at someone and they return the gaze is usually when the tormenting happens. It’s strange when he finds that a woman is staring at him first, and when he looks back at her nothing happens. This hasn’t happened before. Confused, he tries to ignore it and her. Once glance back up has him seeing that she’s still looking. 

There’s hardly anyone else around the two of them. It confirms that she’s seeing him and not through him. Warren tilts his head as he walks up to her, watching her the entire time. Surely she’d be able to hear him if she can see him. 

“Didn’t anyone tell ya that starin’ is rude? Or have ya never seen a ghost before?”

Hi it’s been a month I’m so sorry // Accepting

That was...a very good question. She was so happy now, and she knew she had those who coveted her love and attention. Which would she rather give up. 

“I found happiness again in the Father, in the work we do here, and in saving others and bringing them to our family. I think I’d rather continue doing that, and being happy, even if it meant some resented me.”

   he lost his service pistol somewhere in the chaos of the previous evening, and she’s caught him at disadvantage in more ways than one. he’s also not had his morning coffee, or really any coffee, in at least 24 hours, so by the time she stumbles across him, he’s looking for a caffeine fix in an abandoned home, one of the few in the county that’s not splattered with blood and gore.

   the lack of bodies in the yard lead him to believe it was someone who went willingly with the project, but he’s never too sure anymore, could never be sure in all the chaos. all he knew was that they had coffee grinds, a coffee maker, and a generator that was full of gasoline and worked when he turned it on.

    well, no, that wasn’t all he knew. he also knew that she was one of the project’s people, and she’d caught him weaponless, in a home that wasn’t his, and currently trying to fix up a machine.

   he’s an idiot. a grade a+ idiot, and she should shoot him where he stands.

@dovesung

As soon as the words reached his ears, he looked like a deer in headlights. Warren didn’t dance, mostly because he didn’t know how. He also figured himself to just have two left feet, and always foresaw a future of him accidentally stepping on his dance partner’s toes. So he avoided dancing for a long time.

He would’ve kept avoiding it too if Vivienne didn’t propose the idea to him. They had known each other long enough for Warren not to snap at her to leave him alone, but his hesitance was still there. He had stopped lounging and stood up for her when she had approached. Though he made no move to initiate a dance, she could guide him without resistance if she so desired.

“Sweetheart... I don’t dance.” A hand lifted to rub at the back of his neck, eyes darting off to the side as a sign of his embarrassment. “I just never learned. Don’t think that skill’s in me, yknow?”

     hannah cannot look at vivienne right now. she cannot pinpoint why exactly,    but it is making her incredibly nervous to see those warm axinite eyes looking directly into her pale moss ones when she speaks of letting go.    there is something tender about it.    something gentle that does not quite feel right.    she thinks that is because,    for a very brief moment,    she is reminded of the parents that she left behind in tennessee.    the touch upon her cheek,   the gentle tone,    the brushing of her hair.    all it would take is for viv to call her sprout and she would be that naive twelve year old sitting in between her parents speaking of her nightmares.    that feeling she can’t name,    won’t name,    is guilt.

    “  i don’t know how.  ”      hannah finally confesses.     there is more that she wishes to say,   more that she needs to say,   but she does not allow herself to fall into the comfort that is being offered.    would vivienne even understand what it was like to be the wife of the prophet?    would anyone for that matter?    would they even care to listen to what she had to say or would their eyes sweep right past her and look towards the prophet himself?    would they even notice that she was there?    maybe that is why she aches for her parents so much. they did not know the father.    they would not care to know him either.    they would only know him as joseph.    the man their daughter loved. the man that fathered her two children.    the man they would share embarrassing photos with and tell stories to.    the man they would invite over for every holiday and every long weekend.