#fiddle021

Bee considered her scaled companion's question for a moment with a thoughtful curl of her tail. Her immediate answer, of course, was that there would never be a situation in which she did not offer herself in place of her loved ones, thereby ensuring both lover and friend lived. This, however, was not the sort of answer Caur was looking for, she felt...and so Bee contemplated the situation further. To condemn either lover or friend to death in order to save the other; it was the sort of choice that she felt would be impossible to realistically make. Bee's fingers found her necklace, slowly curling about the red stone as her mind wandered through familiar faces. One particular golden gaze caught her mind's eye as she ran her thumb along the polished stone, her answer becoming immediately clear."I would save my best friend." Bee's concentrated frown had broken, a sly smile emerging as she declined further elaboration, leaving Caur to speculate upon the reasons for her answer.

Taking the flower in hand Koke twirled the bloom, giving Caur a look filled with humor - and endearment.  “[♪Who knew that a friendship born from the need to fish up eels would last so long, scale sister, or be so enjoyable for both?♪]”  The iris was set in her hand for a moment before she impishly leaned forward and tapped one of Caur’s larger horns.

☆  Holiday Commission for @fiddle021 ! ☆

Rhoe is such a cutie, it’s always a pleasure to draw her! Thank you for commissioning me for this!

[OCTOBER . 14 . 2017]

MUMMY - Caur

@fiddle021

Beside his morning tea was another note.

Picking the paper up the man squinted his eyes.

“I just would like you to know,” he said casually to the drunken moogle that was sprawled across his workbench, three bottles of booze around it as it snoozed a drunk-sounding, warbling ‘kupooooo’ in it’s sleep, “that I don’t hold you responsible.”

He paused.

Head bent as she sat hunched over, Aran was rubbing her eyes, muttering softly between the pounding between her temples.

“I still think, sometimes, about going home.  Not to Gyr Abania, but the place we lived, see who was still there.  See whose house was fine, from all the years, who begged to be alive, who gave up their pride and was no better than a dog.  See who it was who listened at the walls or window or door, whoever it was, see if they survived the occupation, if they sold out more families so that their life would be better and that they could eat.” Her voice was low, rambling, head making a curtain.