#scaramouched

❝ impressive electro skill you’ve got there. ❞

It happens too fast for her to notice in the moment — a battle against a handful of ruin hunters, just the two of them because the traveler suggested that the group split up.  It happens too fast, not quite dodging a missile quick enough, being sent flying and slamming into the stone forest’s rocky cliff - face.  It happens too fast for her to realize that her sleeve tore off — and so did the bandages beneath it, revealing the shouting, creeping scars that crawl like frost or lightning up her limb.

She doesn’t notice until the last of the machines fall, and she looks to Scaramouche and sees — something in how they gaze at her.  Her eyes flit down to her body, and she lets out a small, frantic gasp at the sight she sees.

Oh.  She hasn’t...seen her own body unexpectedly in a long time.  That alone would knock the wind out of her.  But they...her eyes raise back to theirs, and she can tell by his fucking expression that he ———

❛    what a cute little speech you made back there.    ❜  there’s a notable air of condescension in the lady’s words, a little smirk appearing on her painted lips. perhaps were it someone else, she’d be more mindful of the order of their ranks. they may have power & status elsewhere but a fool is still a fool in signora’s eyes. ❛    i do wonder if your subordinates will actually follow your orders this time around.    ❜  she cannot blame them really. it’s hard to find such dainty & petite looking person very threatening after all. 

THATS SO FUCKING FUNNY

@scaramouched replied to this post.

oh this is good

there’s no reason for them to be this drunk, and come tomorrow they’ll have no idea why they let themself end up this far gone — but for now here they are, sitting awfully close to dottore, hand almost assuredly gripping his forearm, and letting their words stumble out with even less restraint and much less elegance than they do when sober. “ and i think it’s just a waste of time, ” they’re saying ( or slurring, really ), but somewhere at the end the words trail off into thoughtlessness even as their brow knits in some unrelated thought. bright violet eyes have dropped from their intent focus on his vivid red ones to that mouth they find themself more focused on at times than they ever should be. “ why… are your teeth like that. ” it’s a question even without being inflected as one, their hand not on his forearm moving to the exposed side of his jaw towards his mouth; one finger hooks beneath his chin, thumb pressing to his bottom lip. scaramouche’s brow furrows deeper. “ you always — dodge the question. ” too much emphasis, but that last drink is starting to do a real number on them.

his glass is far less empty—barely touched, really. 

in a situation like this, where (despite the height difference) scaramouche could all-too-easily drink him under the table, it’s really the only sensible option. who knows if they’d stop talking even if he were unconscious by this point. so he’s playing along nicely, nodding absently. what a conscientious host! 

scaramouche is very close. were they anyone else, this would be too close. close enough to make out his eyelashes, distinct from the eyeholes of his mask; paler than his hair, closer to the color of snow.

but, for better or worse, their interest lies elsewhere than more unnecessary eye contact. 

their hand creeps onto his face, settles into its new position. dottore bares his teeth accordingly, but only as a momentary tease at their line of questioning. 

@scaramouched    /     accepting.

sick jan came on my playlist just as i went to answer this.  just wanted you to know that.  when i first met plant i thought they were a regular dad lesbian.  cute short hair.  enough hawaiian shirts to get into a dad convention no questions asked.  what i didnt know was that plant was an absolute nihilist who was willing to risk it all for me —