#historicallyaccurate

Egyptian queen with blue wig, flat and graphic style

ODD OC ASKS FOR GABE

🍔: Are there any recent trends you think your OC would hate? Or love?

Gabriel's gaze had only narrowed a bit more at the cheek, vaguely reminded of his boss who took a similar approach to things. He had no problem at all invading the Werecat's space when his other co-workers did not touch him at all unless it was for some actual decent reason.

A feather resting on his head was not an actual, decent reason in Gabriel's mind to simply take it off his head, and honestly, the explanation only pissed him off even more... until the guy thought better of his actions. Pretty late for that, wasn't it?

Oh, what the fuck--he .. he actually... wasn't bad looking and that was even more apparent now that he was smiling. Shit--not this. Not now. Face heating up, Gabriel's flickered down and away as he grimaced.

"Why would I want that? You do whatever you want with it. It's your feather now."

Actions speak LOUDER than WORDS

He'd felt something brush his head, Gabriel had been sure of it, but instead of feeling around at the top of his skull, the blonde had opted to stare through the shop window at the items that were currently being sold.

Food. He hadn't eaten just yet, but--

The gentle sensation of fingers brushing against his head had the Werecat turning in an instant to catch the wrist attached to the hand that had touched him.

His gaze was hot as he stared at the fingers that had a feather--of all things--held in their grasp before that same gaze moved to stare the somewhat taller man in the face.

I sit upon the stones alone; the fire is burning red, the tower is tall, the mountains dark; all living things are dead. In western lands the sun may shine, there flower and tree in spring is opening, is blossoming: and there the finches sing. But here I sit alone and think of days when grass was green, and earth was brown, and I was young: they might have never been. For they are past, for ever lost, and hear the shadows lie deep upon my heavy heart, and hope and daylight die. But still I sit and think of you; I see you far away Walking down the homely roads on a bright and windy day. It was merry then when I could run to answer to your call, could hear your voice or take your hand; but now the night must fall. And now beyond the world I sit, and know not where you lie! O master deer, will you not hear my voice before we die?