#kalinann

Send 👥 for a headcanon relating to both of our muses // @kalinann

It happened after Fortuna.

Lady always had a quiet understanding of him. Noticed the little subtleties that Trish could not -- whether the demoness simply did not show it or she still lacked that human empathy to see it -- but the gunslinger could. She would glimpse at his distracted gaze, his surprising lack of taunt and banter, how he simply went for the kill rather than throw around his game like a cat on a mouse. There was something eating at him, and she knew. Somehow, she always knew.

They never talked about it. Neither having the courage to pick open the still bleeding wounds in their hearts. But the consolation was still there, as quiet as it ever was. Two figures lounged on the couch, glasses of whiskey both half-empty and half-full, their eyes on some campy horror flick that neither of them really paid any mind to. Eventually, he would slump over. His head on her shoulder, looking just as small if not smaller than she.

Maybe she recognized that far-off look in those eyes. Eyes she'd remember being a deep, vibrant blue -- now an icy steel, cold and dim as if they hadn't been glimmering as they did back on Fortuna. She'd ask him what was wrong, and he'd only shrug. He'd say it was just the rain, even if it wasn't raining.

That's all that was needed, and they spent the night huddled on that couch, watching the credits roll. He tried to hide the hitch in his breath, turn his head so he didn't wet her shoulder. But, as the exhaustion seeped in and his world began to fade to black, he swears that he can feel a touch drying his eyes.

84 degrees today folks — no chance of rain was what newscaster whoever the fuck happily announced on the tv screen hours early; setting the golden standard for a perfect day to get out of a dungeon people called their homes and live a little. Shake the table, drink a beer, make some noise in the clubs. Token actions of anyone old enough and awake enough with the sun saying goodbye and the moon announcing her presence. Prime time for the matriarch to do her nightly duties: surveying the masses ( and their stores ) but more importantly, hunting down food. Ravers, lawyers, college kids, teachers, each one on the proverbial menu for the low cost of free ninety-ninety nine. Her wiles had just caught one too, curled up around an arm,a lovely lady with a name she didn’t care about but she was curious enough to follow Eshe’s lead.

New to the game she was, which she was well-suited to play the partial horror victim of the night. At least, until one other woman caught her eye, hair in a bob — eyes ready, and the smell of something distinctly modern. That was enough of a signal for the shit she didn’t want to deal with around a random person, and with a sigh, she shook the would be meal off, making empty promises for meetings or other, all while keeping stranger number two in her sights. 

When her heels started to clack a little quieter in the distance, that was when she spoke. 

      ‘ mmm —- could be . ‘ she hadn’t noticed , if that were the case . she’d recalled memories , fragmented & shards of something pleasant scattered among oceans of abyss . like roots consuming them , like branches casting a dark shade of them . of what had been , of what was . & of how quickly , suddenly , viciously it’s demise came to be . breath taken , lungs full of an air she’d not consumed in ages . lacking the oppression of authoritative , manic control of one tied to the chaos & disorder of others . those around her , though , those that uttered her name . those that spoke light as much of dark through her history . those that became silent through time , those that turned from barks to bites at the moon . & she , too , perhaps lacked the mind to recall those moments in time . of when she too felt despair , felt a nothingness that was crushing on her psyche ; carrying forth on powerful build , a spirit that would defy , that would struggle against the tide . through that , & those around her , chun - li was steadfast . gentle , wisp like raise at the edge of lips in a radiating low hymn of light that was so commonly suffocated by the outside without dark to repress it . something —- free . ‘ or , perhaps the first real one in a long time . ‘