#lamblood

eyes widen ever so imperceptibly, emotion swelling in narinder’s chest. his throat tightens, and he finds himself choking back tears that rise unbidden to well in his eyes, blurring his vision. he blinks hard, willing them to not fall: how could such a simple phrase bring him, of all people, to tears?

simple: ovtsa saw him.

a shuddering breath is drawn, catching in his throat, and narinder closes his eyes. he tries to steady himself, tries to repress these emo- tions, but oh! how they swell in his chest, a tumultuous wave that threatens to drown him! he is at the mercy of this nameless feeling that drags him down, smothering him, its fist tight around heart and throat alike.

“ i… ” the single syllable is lost amongst the emotion, caught in his throat and tasting of salt. ovtsa is looking at him, and she is seeing him: she is seeing past the facade and bravado, past the anger, past the deeply-hidden fear, and seeing him at the core of his being. without him removing his walls, without him knowing removing his masks, she sees him, and it is terrifying.

terrifying, but also: oh, how strange to be seen by someone, and for them to gently cradle his face! how strange for them to see him, and now toss him aside with disgust! how strange for her to see him, to know him, and to say it is alright, i am here without speaking a single syllable.

narinder leans into the the touch, eyes closed, trying to calm himself. he feels so very exposed, for lack of a better word: he is raw, all nerve-endings and electricity, and if not for her touch, he fears he may fall apart complete- ly, shattering into a million little shards. he places a hand over hers, holding it in place, jaw working as he swallows hard.

his tail flicks as he searches for the correct words to say, how to tell her that she put into a single sentence what he has been trying to say his entire life.

i just want to be loved.

as a child, he wanted to scream it from the highest mountain. he wanted to be loved, he wanted to belong, he wanted to have a home! and for a while, he did —

( but the ache of the stones thrown at his back, the tearing of metal against his skin, the hollowness of being unwanted, of being a monster )

— but it wasn’t enough. he felt weak, he felt unwanted, even when he was worshiped by so many people. it wasn’t the same.

it wasn’t a home.

but here, here, his face cradled in her hands, thumb rubbing his fur, he feels safe. he feels whole. he feels seen. he feels safe, for the first time in...in millennia.

@lamblood​ inquired: ovtsa leaves a gift for the princess, it's a small hand-carved cat.

        She blinks down at it, double tips of her forked tongue flitting from the end of her mouth, scenting the little wooden block. It doesn’t smell like anything in particular — nothing that she should be afraid of, anyhow. Miranda knows many things she should be afraid of, things which could have been hidden inside, things which could have soaked through the wood, chemical smells and sharp smells and inorganic smells and out of place smells. But all it smells of is wood shavings, the inner hearts of trees, though Miranda still double-checks long before she tries to pick it up.

       It fits in her hand easily. Small. Light, in the way that some woods are, not the dense woods which sink when tossed into the waves, but those that float across oceans and ferry life to distant islands. She knows this shape, because she likes felines. They’re cute, a thought which is as simple as it is compelling, an easy churn of comfort.

       Miranda doesn’t know why it was left here. Protocol demands that she should leave it for that reason, refuse to touch it or nudge it, and certainly not take it with her. These things can be dangerous. There are always new tricks that can be found, more turns to the knife. She has to be careful, she does not know what an unknown party might want with her.

What the fuck was Rick looking at here? For starters, he wouldn't underestimate the creature. Not by any means. Something felt off and he couldn't shake it no matter how much he tried. Perhaps it was the fact so many people were gathered around the other and the words being spewed out brought him to see nothing but red flags.

Which lead him to his next choice. The one he always made during these types of situations. His feet moved forward, posture straightening, and his brow furrowed.

@lamblood : 🌿? for funsies! asdfghjkl (if u want)

▬▬ Whisper's quick to glance down to the shorter lamb trotting up to her- where she instinctively tenses up a bit. When she stops, however- she confusedly peeks at something leafy caught in the upper peripheral of her gaze- and her eyes open slightly.

@lamblood sent: ovtsa has left a gift for sonic, a small, hand-carved wooden hedgehog.