#inmarcesiblcs

@inmarcesiblcs​

@mystiika​

@supes-up​

@galaeus​

@onlydevilsleft​

He’s aware of what he looks like; the irony is that it’s not because of anything malicious this time. He smells of fresh beef, pork, with a hint of old blood that clings to his skin regardless of the number of times he’s washed his hands today. “...I work at a deli...Butcher’s shop.” It explains the stains on the apron and the stench but not so much the fresh crimson lodged beneath his fingernails.

@inmarcesiblcs​   sent : "i-i-i know you've been w-working hard lately," zoe pulled out a beautifully wrapped box from their bag, careful when placing it upon quentin's lap. "so i think you would like this." it's brownies, made by yours truly. "happy b-birthday." cue a red tint on zoe's cheeks.

                        𝙸𝚃’𝚂  𝙰  𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁  𝙳𝙰𝚈  𝙵𝙾𝚁  𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙴.        it’s  been  a  year  since  his  mother  passed ,  the  one  person  he  shared  a  home  with  for  eighteen  years  that  ever  treated  him   solely   with  love  &  kindness.  he  hadn’t  seen  her  in  six  years ,  in  fact ,  to  his  knowledge  she  wasn’t  even  aware  of  what  came  of  him  following  the  falling  out  with  his  father.  he  peers  down  at  the  inked  skin  of  his  forearm ,  a  soft  smile  just  tugging  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth.        (  i  miss  you ,  ma.  )        the  tattoo  of  his  mother’s  eye  always  brings  him  comfort.  where  he  lacks  vision  on  his  left  side ,  he  thinks  of  the  tattoo  as  a  way  for   his  mother   to  be  his  sight.  it’s  a  bit  cliché ,  but  it  helps  him  cope.  that’s  what’s  important.

                        the  smile  spreads  wider  as  zoe  enters  the  room.  they  always  seem  to  know  what  to  do  to  make  him  feel  better.  the  box  laid  in  his  lap  is  beautiful ,  truly.  it  was  apparent  that  zoe  put  a  lot  of   time  &  thought   into  whatever  they’d  gotten  him.  then  they  say  they  made  him  brownies  &  his  mouth  falls  agape.  not  only  was  time  set  aside  to  wrap  the  box  with  such  care ,  but  now  he  knows  they’ve  baked  the  brownies  from  scratch.  quentin  isn’t  used  to  the  care  &  consideration  taken  here.

Oryanna was not particularly attuned to human dancing, but it seemed rather easy compared to the dancing she had tried to learn when young and reclaiming her heritage. She much easier made the beat than danced to it. But she was young and he was young and charming, and the herald's rest nearly rocked with the amount of jumps and twirling and etcetera, so....

She is holding the forearm of the dark haired man as they twirled together in a circle, jumping with the beat of the music and the claps of the audience. 

“Herald!” she can hear one of her advisors call her, and her head turns to see all three of them looking at her, bemused.

“One last dance!” She calls back.

   Saima often had a hard time recognizing how sensitive they were to touch. After all, they were quite used to having their personal space. And quite used to people not really wanting to touch them even if the opportunity was afforded it. So .. they didn’t really know how to react to when it did happen.

Not that it would take anything away from such precious moments. Out with Mirembe, Saima was glad to enjoy her company - regaling her with the stories of their existence and hearing much of her own travels. Something about sharing such experiences always brought out a brightness, a vibrant energy in them - the results of being heard and cared for in ways that still surprised.

It shouldn’t have surprised them much - being part of the Order had done wonders for them, those connections bringing a sense of purpose that felt even more meaningful than ever. Talk about a refreshing experience.

But even with that in mind, the moment when they felt Mirembe’s hand brush against their own, lurking beneath the table they were sitting at, Saima wouldn’t dare move their hand. Instead they glance at her with a smile, letting themselves relish in that touch and maybe.. just maybe lean into it all the more. Having that hand entangle with hers didn’t seem like a bad idea, they figured.

It was already there, after all.

     Saima certainly can read between the lines of what KC is implying and they don’t like that one bit. Not at all. They remain quiet for a few beats before they respond, clearly caring too much for KC for what he says to be let pass so easily.

“KC. Listen. The world does move on when beings leave it. That I will not deny - but if you’re taking this an excuse to suggest that your life doesn’t matter, that you won’t have left an impact on this world? That’s not true. That’s not true at all and I .. I can’t in good faith allow you to think that.  There’s reasons for us being around, there’s reasons for you being around. And you do and will have made a difference, a notable difference for existing and for being everything that you are.

With KC stumbling up the stairs before her, Dani couldn’t help but let out a vodka fuelled and far-from-delicate laugh. Revellers were gathering outside after the last song and the woman hooked her arm around the man, not exactly helping either of them though as they attempted to manoeuvre the busy street.

“Y’know, apart from the whole not getting laid thing, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather go home with.” She teased.