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▲ Of the two of you, who is more mature, you or your muse?
That depends heavily on the ‘verse, but I’d like to think that I am more emotionally mature than her— though that is entirely due to the fact that I have had a more or less steady and healthy upbringing and have witnessed a total of no deaths. It’s kind of an unfair question in that respect, since I wasn’t emotionally and developmentally stunted, but for all her intelligence Meg does suffer from that handicap.
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theoceanidqueen
wonderfulmuses
The Countess turned about upon her heel, her form aware there was more than one form following her heel steps this evening in London. Were they human? Creatures? Allies? Enemies? All would be revealed as she let her eyes linger over their features. “I am The Countess, and your names?,” she questioned, before her eyes tracked where the vein in the neck of each would be should the hunger strike her quickly.
Learning to jump waves || Belen & Amphitrite
Belen had left home after meeting with Rosemary and Castor, he was bummed and thoroughly upset. He decided to venture to the shores of Greece's beautiful coast line. Walking with his barefeet alone the sand, he could feel the chilly waters hitting his skin and he didn't care, he was often warm and the cold only rarely bothered him, in a day like that, it was a reminder he was still alive out there.
unexpected ` open canon
The young man sat some way away from his home. The sun had only just begun to rise and he felt a prickle on the back of his neck. His eyes closed and, with the stick in his hand, he drew lazy pictures in the sand in front of himself. With a small sigh and a roll of his neck, bones cracked, but he refused to look around at the sensation of eyes watching him.
‘I did not expect to see you here,’ he said with a small sigh. His eyes lowered to the ground and his hand stopped drawing the stick through the sand.
He didn't turn his head and he didn't look around, he didn't want to, for looking at whoever it was would engage them properly and frankly he was in no mood for prolonged conversation. Achilles dropped the stick and put a hand into the dark leather bag beside him to pull out a skin of wine. What beautiful breakfast.
'What can I do for you?'
