#starrytrails

@starrytrails​ asked: ❝ What would prevent you from following someone? ❞ ✦ the be honest meme

What would prevent you from following someone?

@starrytrails​ said : 🙃 - How does your muse respond to losing a battle?

What types of threads are your most favourite?

Munday Styles and Preferences ♫ @starrytrails​​ ♫ Accepting

What types of threads are your most favourite?

send “Hmm?” to catch my muse staring.

“ ... That was you on the TV screen, right ? ”

Willow had been glancing back and forth between the girl seating in front of her and an advertisement displayed on a bus stop. She looked different under projectors and in full make-up but -- she was pretty sure that was her.

 “Huh?”

     Twitching slightly from the sudden feeling of something touching his leg, Wren is snapped out of his daze, his ears back as his golden eyes dark at the ground, looking for whatever had grazed him. Had the kit been in a more frantic or upset state of mind, he would have jumped at such abrupt contact, but luckily he was calm enough at the moment to hold back such a reaction. That, and the touch he felt was quite small, and light-- perhaps an insect had landed on him, and then flew off. Or maybe even a lose piece of shrubbery... Either way, the boy still investigates, and it doesn’t take long for the boy to find who-- or what--, had poked him.

 Although Wren had no clue what kind of species this little creature was, he could sense he need not be afraid of it, but rather this little one seemed to be the one afraid. Clearly it was nervous, perhaps stumbling upon him in it’s efforts to find where it came from. It’s not like it’s uncommon to see creatures get lost or off track in this forest, so he assumes this to be true for the little sandy-colored critter at his feet.

 “Oh, hi there, little guy.”

 Folding his ears back benevolently, Wren smiles at the shrew-like creature, kneeling down so that he comfortably sat on his haunches, much closer to it’s level than his own. He wraps his long tail around himself and partially around the other, as well, wagging the white tip around every once in a while.

     This is not what the heroine expected her day to evolve into. To be followed around by the occasional person is not a rare occurrence-- or, at least, not when it is only for a brief amount of time; a failed attempt to catch the young woman’s attention-- but this is something entirely different. At first, Serena had thought the man to be a mere journalist, dedicated to his job to the point where he would follow her down every street and strange turn, but as his strides started to catch up with her own, something felt horribly wrong. Eyes, slightly wide with fear, began scanning those walking by or standing around-- for someone, anyone, who could possibly help her get out of the situation. Too young. Too troubled. Too busy. More terrifying than her pursuer-- none seemed to fit the bill.      Or, at least, not until her stare falls upon another woman, perhaps somewhere around her age.

     She might be able to help.

     Quick, lengthy strides drag the blonde over to her newfound destination, and before a mere greeting could escape from pale lips, instead comes the question at the front of her mind-- if this stranger could help her. An inquiry which prompts a positive response, to which she silently thanks Shaymin for, yet it is not the only thing that catches the heroine’s ears, no. This stranger’s accent-- she knows it. It is one very similar to her own; one almost identical to those Serena once attended school with. This stranger-- is she from Sinnoh?      In that case, the blonde thinks, it might be best to reveal her true situation in a way that perhaps only the two of them could understand. In Sinnoh’s primary language.

          «Thank you so much. There’s someone following. Could you act like you know me?»

     It is worth a shot, she tells herself. At worst, he will see her with someone else and perhaps give up. At best, Serena has judged this stranger’s accent correctly, and they will hopefully comply. Hands move to dig around in the depths of her bag-- to fetch a small journal; her own, decorated in leather and a few intricate details. One that contains pressed flowers and descriptions in Sinnohan, but could perhaps work as a way to further sell the young woman’s next set of sentences. Fingers press into a single corner of the piece, nervously and as though the words clinging to her tongue could not free themselves sooner.

Yes. Very.

At least, this is what Sora’s mind immediately wanted to blurt out to the other as she seemed to have been called out on her aimless wandering around. Perhaps her accent proved too thick to the taxi driver in her rush, as this area certainly didn’t seem like the hotel which had been booked for her.

Oh well. There was no sense getting more upset about that as that taxi was long gone, and venting to the next stranger kind enough to check in seemed like a great way to make your first enemy in Unova. So with a bit of knitting of the brow, she offered a sheepish smile, nodding at the other.

“I- I’m not from here.” She could only offer a bit of a pitiful laugh. “I am just coming out of a… Um- meeting and I would just like a place I can sit down and relax for a bit. You know?”

    “That’s okay,” she offers the girl a sympathetic smile. She’s found herself wandering aimlessly in a foreign country more times than she can count, so she empathizes greatly with the other girl’s situation. “Nimbasa is pretty huge; it took me a long time before I was able to gather my bearings. However, if you’re just looking for a place to rest up...”