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how is the infamous billy butcher gonna spend 4/20? any special marijuana-related plans or nah?
β By gettin' higher than jesus at mass an' gettin' fucked stupid, y' bet. Saved up quite th' stash inna caddy's sneak spots. Migh' call up 'ughie an' Frenchie t' have a proper sesh. Hit th' blunts with Xar. Shotgunnin' w' Maeve. Definitely Sen, too. Ellyn's also on th' list. Annie an' Violet an' Aaron? I'd 'ave t' ask. β
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|| @learningtodie asked: β how have you been sleeping? β // from leonardo
"About as well as you, I suspect," Cullen looks at the other man, hair uncombed and eyes bright despite the darkness below them, somehow always interested in the life around him, or perhaps not the life- maybe something else that Cullen can't quite see. He doesn't think he'll ever understand.
"But I appreciate the concern. Surely I wasn't the sole reason you left your projects? Have you something new?"
For @learningtodie
He is supposed to be the best; Robin can only pray for that to be the case. It's a treacherous journey to reach him. The woods are dangerous enough, but the closer he gets to civilisation, the more perilous it becomes. Foxes are about as wanted as rats, possibly less so, for their reputations as sneaking poachers means that anyone with livestock will chase him away on sight.
By the time he finds the place, after hours of navigating through the dark, twisting streets, standing on his hind legs and craning his neck to check the numbers of doors, Robin is exhausted. He had planned on scratching at the door and yowling so terribly that Fetch would have no choice but to open it; but instead, he curls up on the doorstep with a heavy sigh. The first half of his struggles are over. The second will come in the morning, where he must try to somehow convey, without the power of speech, what he truly is.
@learningtodie
Since the burst bubble of the Chantry and borne to rubble that concept of Circle Life, the scraps hath been overtaken by vultures and bandits, ancient tomes writ from the beginning of the Exalted Age caught in marketplaces and sold for only a handful of silvers ... near three sovereigns, if the seller was feeling saucy.
Sometimes caravans doth borne upturned in that raucous fire of battling sects, with which Roland steers cleanly 'way, but, yea, dost he so mind the treasure of stolen goods in those upturned carts, the horses long gone and sprinted into the dark, safe Wood.
His is crouched as a pauper, a ragged childe of the Wood steeped to his elbows in faded leather and cleanly-bound books, whence he sees Fenris again.
"My brain burns with scraps of poetry and madness," says he, and with a little shrug, as if thus couldst explain his own fieric reasoning. His grin tics and grows without his artful consent. "Hello again, bigoted Savior."
Send βπβ and I will flip to a random page in a book and use the first line of dialogue I see as a starter .
even from where the soldier's head is half sunken into the pillow, he can see the gears turning in fetch's mind ... processing the singular syllabic request. ah. this is what it must be like when he's thinking also β over time, james had seen the similarities in them both, whether he liked it or not.
james will not comment on it though. instead, he simply opens the thin blanket back once more for fetch, same as he had done before. when fetch looked back, he could see the minor shade of triumph that colored the soldier's countenance. james will not comment on that either. β come. β
a moment passes before lips part. curious. β was there something you needed to look at today? β
@learningtodie [ continued. ]
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"It feels different when it's you," he blurts out of nowhere. "Like something like syrup, I think. When you...when you've half the mind to touch me."
How so? Well, sweet and thick like molasses or a treacle. Head tilting, Hal imagines the syrup that's always drizzled on the tarts. Alas, he scarcely enjoys them, unfortunately, far too meager in his coppers when the season begins to shiver and the tinsel begins to hang. At any rate, he's not given over to such pleasures when he's often ran ragged and to the quick of his bones, but the memory of warmth and liquor in his system? Like magic. Spiced, even. Eyeing Thero, drusy, he feels -- half a mulled wine and the quaver of his lightning. "Is that what," he struggles to find his words again, words caught glancing on lake and and ponds and stream. "Is that what's supposed to happen? That comforting, I mean?" He's so brined. Why's he rambling? "Does anyone else start feeling the way I do?" / @learningtodie liked for a starter.
@learningtodie asked: frenchie touches at hughie's shoulder and gestures with his head for hughie to follow and to keep quiet. he looks perhaps a little too excited about what he's got planned.
The look on Frenchie's face could be an indication of so many things, though the fact that Hughie needs to keep quiet narrows it down. It won't be about a new nature documentary he's discovered. Hughie would have been nervous at the beginning, but not any more. He follows Frenchie with a smile, wondering what he could possibly have in store for him this time.
@learningtodieΒ asked:
here, take my jacket. you're shivering. // from gale!
Nimue was not built for the cold. She was a small thing, like a pup who needs a coat or sweater in the winter. Gale's offer was met with a sort of rumbly purr deep in the elf's throat. She was positively chattering and trying hard to hide it in the night's chill.
"That would make you cold." As much as she appreciated the offer-- and wanted that warmth-- she would not leave the wizard cold in her stead. This said, she scooted closer to Gale, if he'd allow it. It wasn't a common move. Nimue had made it clear through their journeys that she wasn't fond of touch. Of contact that she couldn't control. This was different, though. She was the one extending it and Gale was someone she trusted. Now, her side rested against his own.
"---Is this okay?"
